#sacrificing a tiny amount of his own comfort for the memory of hers

[south-sea]

shadow having days where he’s more kid than adult, and more adult than kid

but also days where he’s more maria than shadow

#on account of having her soul and all #it’s not so much a matter of her soul having its own consciousness and influencing his decisions #so much as it’s just him deliberately tending toward things She liked instead of prioritizing his usual preferences #and by that i primarily mean the easiest way to tell he’s having one of those days is by the food he gets #he doesn’t Dislike any particular food but he does tend to find sweets boring #so if he’s ordering sweet/fruity things then it’s probably One Of Those Days. #shadow who would normally order a hearty breakfast instead getting something like a strawberry/banana crepe for example #but then stealing a cherry tomato off his friend's plate (with permission) and having his usual Fancy Coffee #because even if he’s having One Of Those Days #he still knows it’s more of a compulsion and he’s not actually being influenced in some physical sense with altered preferences/behavior #at the end of the day he himself still prefers those more complex earthy flavors #but treating that maria side of his soul is what feels Right at that moment #sacrificing a tiny amount of his own comfort for the memory of hers #that kind of thing #idk if i’m making sense it’s a weirdly difficult thing to articulate #and i don’t think he’d be able to explain it either #it's just something about him that no one would even necessarily pick up on #unless they knew him INCREDIBLY well #second chance au #shadow the hedgehog #sea talks

[sequinsmile-x]

High

Aaron gets hurt protecting Emily. 

For my pal @aubreyprc 

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Canon typical violence/injury. Some cursing. Aaron Hotchner high on pain meds. 

She was going to kill him. 

First, she was going to check he was ok, kiss him until she was sure and then she was going to kill him. 

Emily anxiously twirls her wedding and engagement ring around her finger, attempting to channel her nervous energy into something other than tearing her cuticles apart. A cup of coffee enters her eye line, and she looks up to see Dave standing in front of her, a reassuring smile on his face.

“It probably tastes awful, but at least it’s something.” He says as she takes it from his hand and he sits next to her. “The others are finished at the scene and are on the way.” 

Emily grimaces at the taste of the coffee as she takes a sip, but for a second it distracts her, takes her mind off the fact her husband is an idiot. 

An idiot who she loved more than anything. An idiot who happened to take a knife to the shoulder for her less than an hour ago. 

“He’ll be ok, Emily.” 

She scoffs before taking another sip of the coffee, grimacing at the taste again. “He won’t be once I’m finished with him.” She shakes her head and looks at her friend. “Why did he do it, Dave? We’ve been together for years and this has never happened.” 

“The guy had his arms around you and a knife against your throat.” Dave says, his eyes flicking to the tiny cut on her neck. “He would have done the same for any of us.” 

Emily closes her eyes at the memory. She wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, how she had ended up on the floor and the unsub had his knife in Aaron’s shoulder in a matter of seconds. The first thing she was really aware of was a gun going off, Derek taking a well aimed shot at the unsub to disarm him, but not kill him, and Aaron lowering himself to the ground next to her with his hand pressed against his own shoulder. 

She had held him against her as they waited for the paramedics, her hand against the wound and her lips against his forehead as she told him she loved him and how fucking stupid he was in equal measure. 

“I know he would have.” She agrees, knowing it was true. Aaron would do anything for the team, take any of their places if they were in danger. She knew he carried a burden if any of them got hurt, more so if it was her, and it would take weeks for the guilt to fade, for her to be able to convince him that just because he was their leader it wasn’t his fault. “It doesn’t make him less of a self sacrificing asshole.” 

“Em-”

“Maybe you can save the lecture for when I’m not sitting in a hospital waiting room wearing a shirt covered in my husband's blood?” Emily says, an edge to her voice that has Dave hold up a hand in surrender as he takes a sip of his own coffee.

Emily knew Aaron would be ok. He hadn’t lost consciousness once, even when she had sat next to him in the ambulance, his hand grasped in hers as he tried to hide the amount of pain he was in. But he had been so pale, the blood loss making him look weary as he tried to reassure her that everything would be fine. 

“Family of Aaron Hotchner?” 

Emily looks up to see a doctor standing and looking around, a kind look on her face as Emily stood, Dave not far behind her, and walked over. 

“I’m his wife, is he ok?” 

The doctor guides them back over to the waiting area, indicating for Emily to sit down, which she does, feeling anxiety rise through her chest. 

“The stab wound your husband came in with was very deep, and the scans show that the tip of the knife broke off against his clavicle.” The doctor explains gently. “The tip of the knife is still in his shoulder, so we are going to have to do surgery to get it out and close up the wound.” 

Emily felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, memories of when Aaron had been stabbed before, so many years ago now, flooding back in a way that took her breath away.

“Is he going to be ok?” She asks, shrugging Dave’s hand off of her shoulder as he tries to provide some comfort, knowing right now it wouldn’t do her any good.

“There are never any guarantees.” The doctor says, but she smiles at Emily again in a reassuring way. “But he has remained conscious this entire time, and spent a long time trying to convince us he didn’t need pain meds.” 

Emily chokes out a laugh at that. “That sounds about right.” She clears her throat, forces down the emotion trying to claw its way up it. “Can I see him?”

“Of course.” The doctor replies. “I need you to fill out the paperwork too.”

Emily stands and follows the doctor, briefly turning back to Dave. “Can you let the others know?” 

“Of course, bella. You go make sure he’s ok.” 

She follows the doctor to the room Aaron is in, and she blows out a breath when she sees him. The wound to his left shoulder is packed tight and he looks so pale it does nothing to calm her concerns. 

“Sweetheart.” He says as soon as he sees her, a strain to his voice as he tries to hide the pain he is in. She walks over to the bed and sits on the edge of it facing him, taking his hand in between hers. “Are you ok?” 

He lifts his good arm to press his thumb to the tiny cut on her neck, the one that had stopped bleeding before the paramedic even arrived, and Emily rolls her eyes at him. 

“I’m fine. And I’m not the one with a piece of a knife stuck in my shoulder, honey.” She scoffs as she straightens the cannula in his nose delivering him oxygen. “You scared me.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

She leans forward and kisses him, a gentle thing against his lips to remind herself that he is alive, and then she rests her forehead against his. 

“It’s ok. Just don’t do anything stupid like die during surgery.” She says, her smile wavering as tears flood her lash line. “I’d hate to have to bring you back to life just to kill you myself.” 

He laughs at that and it makes him jolt in pain, wincing as the movement makes his shoulder burn. She shushes him, her fingers soft against his cheek. 

There’s a clearing of a throat behind them and Emily turns to see a nurse standing there. 

“We need to take you down now, Agent Hotchner.” 

Emily turns back to Aaron and kisses him, more forceful this time as she tries to pour everything into it. She pulls back and smiles at him. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He says, squeezing her hand.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

__________________

The first thing Aaron feels is pain. His shoulder is killing him, a burning sensation lancing all the way down his arm and across his chest. Then he realises how fuzzy his head feels, the tell tell signs of anaesthesia and heavy pain killers in his system, making his brain feel light and heavy at the same time.

He opens his eyes and looks around, unsurprised to see he is in a hospital room. He groans at the light in the room, the brightness of the fluorescent lights making his head swim even more. 

“Aaron.” 

He turns to see Emily sitting next to him, a look of relief on her face. Her presence confuses him, unsure why she was by his side, and why her hand was in his. 

“Prentiss?” He asks, missing the way she frowns when he calls her by her surname. “What happened?” 

“You were stabbed, you had to have surgery.” She stands up, both of her hands now grasped around one of his. She presses a kiss to his cheek and he shrinks backwards, the pain in his shoulder stopping him from moving more. 

“What are you doing?” 

She looks at him, equal parts concern and amusement on her face. “Trying to kiss my husband.” 

“We aren’t married.” He says, and he watches her smile slip away. “That’s mean, Prentiss.” 

Aaron had loved her for years, longer than he had cared to admit. He’d often wondered if she’d felt the same, but this felt cruel. Like she was messing with him when he was so in love with her just having her touch him made his skin feel like it was burning. 

“I could show you our marriage certificate but I don’t carry it with me everywhere we go.” She jokes, a nurse walking in before she could say anything else.

“Oh look who is awake.” The overly cheery nurse says as she sends a smile to Emily. “Your wife was very worried about you.” 

“Not my wife.” Aaron mumbles. Just my beautiful coworker I’m in love with. He thinks, although a small laugh from Emily and the nurse tells him he may well have said it out loud.

“Is he ok?” Emily asks, concern for him sneaking it’s way into her voice. “He knows who I am but keeps insisting that we aren’t married.” 

The nurse finishes checking Aaron’s vitals, making a note on the chart in her hands. “He’s fine, this isn’t totally unusual for someone coming round from anesthetic. I’ve seen some people completely forget who their loved ones are.” She presses a few buttons on one of the machines he is hooked up to. “I’ve set up the next set of meds, so he should sleep soon. Next time he wakes up, try and get him to eat some of the crackers we’ll bring in.”

Emily nods and turns her attention back to Aaron as the nurse leaves. “See, the nurse knows we’re married.” 

“I’d remember marrying you.” He grumbles, eyeing her wedding rings with jealousy. Her husband is a lucky bastard. 

Emily smiles at him, biting her lip to suppress a laugh as he realises he had accidentally spoken out loud again. She pushes some hair off of his forehead, her touch warming him immediately, something familiar about the gesture that his confused brain can’t place. He thinks he sees her get her phone out, but the room is starting to get blurry, his eyes closing against his will. 

“I don’t think you even remember what town we’re currently in, Aaron.” 

“Too pretty to marry me.” He says, his voice thick as the painkillers the nurse had given him start to make him drift to sleep. “Too good.” 

“Go to sleep, love.” She says, a kiss to his forehead as she soothes him. 

He falls asleep to her soft lips against his skin, and he thinks there would be much worse things in the world than being Emily’s husband.

__________________

It takes another couple of hours for him to wake again, and she can immediately tell he’s more lucid this time. A focus in his eyes that hadn’t been present in the few minutes he had been awake earlier.

“Hi sweetheart.” He says, smiling at her in the way he did on their first date, the way it made her feel now no less significant than it had been then. 

“Hi honey.” Emily stands from the chair next to his bed so she can kiss him, and then she settles on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Sore.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him, but leaves it, knowing that she won’t get any further admission of pain from him. “I need to make you eat some crackers.” She says, a smirk on her face as she indicates the package on the table next to him.

He groans, the idea of eating anything making his stomach turn. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. But I’ll give you a few minutes.” 

“I’m your husband, you’re meant to be nice to me.” 

“Oh, so now you remember we’re married?” She asks, a wry smile on her face that develops into a laugh at his confusion

“What?” 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell you later. I took a video.” Her smile fades slightly as she takes in the bandage poking out from his gown, the way his arm was strapped to his chest. 

“I’m ok, Em.” 

“I know.” She says, looking back at his face and giving him a wobbly smile. “Today was rough.” She lifts his hand to her lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “As soon as you are better we’re going to have a conversation about you sacrificing yourself like that for me.” 

“I’d do anything for you.” 

Emily shakes her head at him and rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot.” 

“But you love me.” 

Emily smiles and kisses him, pulling back just enough to to speak. “I really do.” 

__________________

She shows him the video footage of him in the hospital as soon as they get home, him in their bed on rest for at least a month. She giggles as he tries, and fails, to take her phone from her, his usual strength failing him with one of his arms out of action. 

He promises all sorts of filthy things, once he’s better, in exchange for her deleting the video, which she does in front of him.

It’s only at the office Christmas party a few months later when it pops up in the montage Penelope puts together every year he realises he’s been duped. 

#hotchniss #hotchniss fic #hotchniss mini fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner whump #hurt comfort #fluff #CM fanfic #Criminal Minds

[fluri-above-all]

ToV Rarepair Drabble - Scars

One of the oneshot prompts I've seen lately was about scars. And I've been wanting to write Harry x Ioder again ever since @nagia36 brought up one of my old drabbles...Harry doesn't really get the attention he deserves so I wrote this to make it up to him.

Warning for suggestive themes.

Scars

Harry’s body held scars. 

The first was across the bridge of his nose and honestly…he couldn’t remember how it happened. Yeager had told him once it was from crying so much while he was a baby that the tears created the cut turned scar as they fell. This had prompted further crying from the very young blonde. 

His grandfather later pat him on the head (and whacked Yeager upside his) and proceeded to tell him even he did not know how Harry got it. When Garry's family was driven out of their hometown, he’d reunited with Harry and his mother and the mark had already marred his unconscious face. His mother had had a mental breakdown and disappeared one night, taking the secret with her. With his memories of that day unknown and lost to him, Harry eventually came to simply accept the scar as one of the earliest parts of himself. It was his “favorite” if he had to pick one. 

There were also scars that were not his favorite. They adorned his back, parts of his chest and even the side of his neck. These were from skirmishes, battles and attacks on his life. The ones on his chest weren’t visible with his clothes on, even with his shirt barely covering his torso. The scar on his neck was small, from a younger part of his life when someone had foolishly tried to take him hostage. Their plan would have worked, had they not nicked Harry in the neck and set the guilds into frenzy. It was one of the few times he had ever seen his grandfather look truly angry, “seeing red” is what he’d later come to recognize it as. 

Since that day no one has tried to kidnap or capture the young man. That incident was probably why….

It could also be from the size Harry had grown during his years of rebuilding himself as well...but he liked to think the terrors of Altosk had spooked his assailants away.

One of the scars on his back was up by his shoulder, where the tusk of a large monster had snagged him from behind and pinned him to the ground. Harry winces even now just thinking about that particular instance. 

The oddest scar of all – In Harry’s opinion anyway – was on his ankle. A blood-thirsty group of bandits had attempted – very poorly – to attack the still inexperienced Don on his trip through the desert. One of the bandits speared him in the ankle with a harpoon gun, the retraction dragged Harry several feet before Raven and the other members of Altosk dispatched the group. When the weather gets cold, he can feel the irritation in his foot from the long scarred over wound. It was his “least favorite” if he had to pick. 

Still, the young Don of 23 years took pride in his scars. They were symbols depicting an exciting (and often dangerous) life, proof that through all he had endured, he was strong. And more importantly, he was still here. He'd been stabbed in the back, attacked head on, pulled against his will, and yet, he was still standing tall. 

Harry had never been particularly close with death; none of the wounds engraved on his body were life-threatening. If anything, people would say he had Lady Luck on his side. He'd scoff at that, being a man who believed in carving his own path and not fate…

Still...

That didn’t mean he was itching to meet his maker enough to test it. As reckless as he could be he had no desire to push the limits of his life. It was something precious that had been fought for and sacrificed his whole life. And through those scars, he knew they were signs that represented those who had lost their life for him…It meant their sacrifice was not in vain. He would continue to fight. No matter what it took. 

It was his relentless and unwavering ability to never back down that made Ioder worry – he knew that. 

The first time they had made love he’d hesitated to show himself to the other blonde. Harry wondered if the young Emperor would find him grotesque with his marred skin, a dark contrast to Ioder’s pale perfection. But Ioder said nothing about them, even kissed the one across his collarbone. 

Harry didn’t want to admit it, but the tender intimacy made his pulse quicken and his body waver slightly. 

Who knew a person’s bitter scars could elicit such a sweet reaction? Certainly not Harry. He didn’t think his body could ever be so sensitive to another’s touch, especially with his scars. 

It was yet another surprise that kept Harry wrapped around the Emperor’s finger – contrary to everyone’s opinion of Ioder being swept away by Harry. It was another surprise and a secret Harry wanted to keep to himself. 

But Ioder had ways of figuring him out. 

And he was always so damn sneaky about it too...

The day was innocent enough (as always), Ioder was signing off paperwork at his desk and Harry was lying on the nearby couch. He'd come unannounced so Ioder had insisted Harry be patient and wait for him to finish. It was fairly hot outside, so even with the window open, save for the occasional breeze, it was almost unbearable. 

Except Ioder appeared perfectly fine. 

And for some reason, that irritated Harry. The Emperor wore considerably more when it came to his attire and not only that, the material was bulkier as well. 

“Aren’t you hot?!” Harry cried out, unable to take the heat of the room any longer. Just looking at Ioder made him sweat. The sudden sound of Harry’s voice must have startled Ioder, because he had blinked several times in shocked confusion. 

“Ah forget it, you’re not even paying attention are you…” Harry accused, knowing Ioder had a way of tuning everything out once ensconced in his work. 

“Don’t apologize either.” He added as he saw the gears turning in Ioder’s head. The Emperor likely realized he was not being the best of hosts at the moment. Stretching his arms above his head, Harry elicited a yawn and removed his vest. With the dark garment discarded, he already felt immensely better. 

And while he was at it, he might as well make himself comfortable. Untucking his shirt, Harry’s hands moved to pull the shirt over his head – 

“What are you doing?” Ioder questioned - eyes wide as he regarded the young Don mid shirt removal. 

“I’m taking my shirt off.” Harry answered simply. He opened his mouth to question if there was a problem but then he had to briefly consider where he was. 

Oh that’s right…people are worried about propriety here….

He lifted the shirt up and off anyways,  dropping it on the couch next to him. 

“Harry!” Ioder scolded, face a light shade of pink as he tried not to stare too intently. 

“It’s hot.” Harry regarded with a shrug. “Besides….” He turned his head to the side, a suggestive look on his face. “It’s not anything you haven’t seen before.” Harry withheld the smirk threatening to burst forth at the way Ioder’s cheeks flushed before he looked away. The young Don chuckled to himself, smug with this victory. Ioder went back to work once his face returned to a normal shade, but Harry wasn’t making things easy for him. 

Perhaps it was a low blow, distracting Ioder the way he was with his bare torso. 

And the young Emperor was certainly distracted. He stole the occasional glance as Harry sat back to lounge on the couch once more, the Don feeling quite relieved with his skin exposed. With all the sun he’d soaked up recently, his skin had tanned considerably, especially the front of his chest where he showed most of his muscled chest. 

Now Harry wasn’t a narcissist, but he couldn’t help but admit it was a pretty damn good look on him. Catching Ioder staring out the corner of his eye was all the confirmation that he needed. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Ioder’s pen as he wrote, a contented bliss took over him at how comfortable things had become with a few simple garments removed. 

In fact, he almost drifted off to sleep.

Almost.

The sound of Ioder’s chair shuffling back switched his brain back into alertness. Maybe he was taking a break? Ioder sometimes scooted the chair back to get more room to stretch. 

However he didn’t hear the groan come as it normally did when Ioder did this. Instead, he felt the presence of the young Emperor much closer to him than before. Harry opened his eyes to see what Ioder was up to when the other blonde was actually right in front of him. 

“Iod-“

Harry tried to sit up to ask what was wrong when Ioder pushed Harry’s shoulders back against the couch, the Emperor lifting his legs to straddle him. 

“It’s not nice to tease.” Ioder scolded, but it lacked the disciplinary bite it usually did when he was reprimanding the young Don. Instead it held a hint of mischief, with no short amount of lust. 

Harry had to admit – Ioder lasted much longer than he thought he would. The Don’s arms wrapped around Ioder’s waist, drawing the other man closer. “You know I have every intention of following through…” he answered, voice low and suggestive.

He stretched up to kiss Ioder but Ioder leaned down instead, placing a soft kiss on the tiny scar on the side of his neck, warm hands lightly tracing the sensitive flesh across his once injured collarbone and chest. The sudden physical contact elicited a moan Harry hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Pliant lips rested against the young Don’s ear, warm breath causing Harry to shutter as Ioder spoke. 

“Not if I don’t let you.”

The tanned blonde raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Ioder – Mr. Pacifist – able to subdue someone twice his size? He’s seen Ioder talk down people much stronger than him, but Harry? Did he really think he had an edge over him that would keep him submissive?

Ioder seemed to sense Harry’s apprehension and Harry could almost feel the smirk coming from behind his calm expression. “I notice things about you too Harry.” He kissed along Harry’s jaw, sending sparks down the Don’s spine. “I’d noticed this a while ago but…” Ioder trailed off as he kissed down the other blonde’s neck. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, finding he didn’t much mind letting the young Emperor take the reins now and then.

“But?” Harry inquired, leaning his head back to allow Ioder better access. 

Hands traveled down Harry’s sides to the dip of his hips, tracing gently over the scar along his hip bone. Harry’s eyes shot open as he bucked his waist up at Ioder’s touch, a soft gasp escaping his mouth. 

“But you really like it when I touch your scars like that.” 

If looks could kill….well…Harry could never kill Ioder, but he certainly wanted to upend him from his lap and wipe that smug expression off his face. 

“I’ll touch them all you’d like later, so be patient and wait for me to finish my work so there won’t be any distractions. Okay?” Ioder asked, lips curled up in a sickeningly innocent smile. His actions betrayed that sweet smile however, as his fingers gently traced Harry’s chest.

“You say that…but you’re not stopping…” Harry pointed out. 

Ioder’s smile turns into a bit of a smirk. “You don’t sound like you’re complaining….”

“Got nothing to complain about.” Harry smirks back, hands moving to Ioder’s waist. Before they can find purchase however, Ioder pulls back, sauntering off to his desk and leaving Harry slightly miffed.

He does take a small bit of satisfaction in the way Ioder squirms uncomfortably in his seat, face slightly flushed. 

Good, he is affected by it…

Harry settles back onto the couch, heat long forgotten as he tries to calm down his hard-on.

How could he let such a weakness become apparent? And how could Ioder use it against him like that?

And why was he strangely alright with all of it?

Those would have to be answers for another time, but for now…

He settled for simply enjoying the way his scars buzzed from Ioder's lingering touch and the anticipation of things to come once Ioder finished his work.

#Harry x Ioder #Azali drabbles #Should have been sleeping but I really wanted to spoil Harry #Given all the crap he is dealing with in my separate universe #ToV Rarepair

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwyncien part 5 (last part)

Thank you to all who supported this short little story! It really kept me motivated. This is the last part. I’m gonna be honest this part is not as edited at the other parts but I finished it and wanted to get it out to all of you so thank you!

Warning: the smallest amount possible of smut at the end.

Gwyn's body jolted as they hit the ground. Lucien let out an annoyed huff while straightening out his jacket. The wards around the House of Wind truly made winnowing in unfavorable. As soon as she stabled herself though, she felt a rush of happiness.

Home.

It was her only thought. She missed this place- the smell, the comfort, the people. She started to buzz with excitement at the thought of Nesta and Emerie.

"You made sure someone brought Emerie here?" Gwyn double checked with Lucien. He simply nodded while giving her a sad smile. The moment was bitter sweet. She was happy to be reunited with her sisters, but she would miss her newest friend. She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. He returned it just as fiercely.

"Thank you for all that you did for me. It means more than I could ever express." She buried her head in his hair and took a deep breath. He smelled of roasted chestnuts and a summers day. She would miss it.

"I know a way you could make it up to me." He said as he pulled away. Gwyn looked at him expectantly.

"Promise me I will see you again soon." A soft smile graced Gwyn's face.

"I promise." She wanted to show her sisters the Band of Exiles castle anyways. They would love it. Lucien smiled broadly before dropping a kiss on her forehead next to her invoking stone.

She finally decided to wear it as all the priestesses do. Lucien took her to Sangravah to see Catrin's grave. She had been so sad and angry that she almost destroyed the stone right then and there. She did not deserve the stone while her sister's body lay cold in a grave. But then Lucien took her to meet the priestesses and children that had rebuilt the temple. The children that Gwyn had saved. They all remembered her and flattered her in compliments and hugs. The called her their hero and said that they were petitioning to make that dreadful anniversary known as Berdara day. In honor of the twins who sacrificed so much to protect those children. Gwyn cried for a week straight after that. Once her emotions leveled out though, she began to wear the stone. The children had been a distant memory that she forgot about while grieving for her sister. Seeing them, happy and healthy, reminded her that the sacrifice was not in vein. She may have failed Catrin but she did not fail those children. It was one more thing that made her grateful for Lucien.

Gwyn took one last look at Lucien before he winnowed away. She turned back towards the door, took a deep breath, and headed straight for the personal library. She was so excited she thought she might throw up. She wished she had kept her composure to walk the entire way there, but as she came closer and closer to the library, her feet began moving faster and faster until she was practically running. The moment she burst through the doors she scanned the room for the two females. She found them sitting side by side, each with a book in their hands. It made Gwyn smile broadly. They both whipped their heads up at the same time- startled. Nesta reacted first, practically throwing herself at Gwyn. Emerie was close behind, and then they were crushing Gwyn in a hug.

"Gwyn!" Nesta cried. Emerie just squeezed her tighter.

Home.

Gwyn felt completely at ease now that she was reunited with her sisters. She had missed them so unbearably that she almost forced Lucien to bring her back several different times. She was afraid that if she came back, she would not have left again. After a very lengthy hug, the girls pulled apart. Nesta was subtly trying to wipe tears away which only served in making Gwyn start to cry herself.

"We missed you." Emerie said softly while running her hand over Gwyn's hair. It was such a comforting gesture that Gwyn forced another hug from the Illyrian female.

"I missed you two more than anything." Gwyn pulled back from Emerie so that she could grab both of their hands. She pulled them over to the couch and forced them to sit down next to her.

"You better explain why you ran off with Lucien and you better do it right now because I am angry with you so I want a good explanation before I start yelling." Nesta warned with a hardened expression. Gwyn squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile.

"Lucien helped me with some things." Gwyn did not even know how to start explaining everything that had happened. She knew Lucien did not want her telling anyone of their ancestry, but Emerie and Nesta did not count. At least in Gwyn's mind they didn't.

"Things we could not help you with?" Emerie asked. Gwyn could hear the touch of hurt in her voice and suddenly felt very guilty. She never imagined they would blame themselves. She should have known better though, especially with Nesta.

"You cannot repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone." She gave them both a pointed look but it got a snort from Nesta.

"Who would I possibly tell other than Cassian?" She rolled her eyes with a slight laugh. Gwyn continued to give her a serious look.

"You cannot tell Cassian or Mor either. They will feel obligated to tell Rhys. This information is dangerous for me and I need to know before I tell you that it will stay between us three." She squeezed both their hands again. Nesta and Emerie shared a look before giving her a concerned one.

"We promise. We would never do anything to endanger you, Gwyn." Emerie insisted as Nesta nodded in agreement. Gwyn took a deep breath before explaining.

"Lucien's my grandfather. After the autumn court high lord killed Lucien's lover, him and a brother hid my mother at Sangravah." Emerie's eyes widened comically while Nesta took this in with a straight face.

"Holy shit. That makes you the only living heir to the day court." Emerie muttered. Gwyn's brows furrowed in confusion.

"The day court?" Nesta inquired on the same topic that Gwyn was confused about. The winged female gave them a sheepish look.

"Shit. I wasn't supposed to say anything." She gave a deep sigh. "Mor told me that Helion is Lucien's real father and that would make Lucien the only known offspring of Helion." Gwyn wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Does this mean you'll get a real Pegasus?" Nesta pondered. It made Gwyn smile thinking of the tiny Pegasus the house conjured for them.

"I would demand weekends with it if so." Emerie added while leaning back on the side of the couch to fully face the other two females.

"Well anyways, Lucien helped me with some things regarding Sangravah." Gwyn directed the conversation back on topic. She did not want to think about being the future heir to some random court. "I did not ask for your help because I did not want to be dependent on you two. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it on my own. Trust me, it had nothing to do with not wanting your help. There were so many times I almost forced Lucien to bring me back." Nesta looked at the priestess and a smile finally graced her face.

"You are wearing your invoking stone." Gwyn blushed and looked down at her hands. Nesta was one of the only people she had confided in about why she never wore it and she had only done that because she knew that Nesta would understand.

"I am."

"Are you happy?" Nesta asked wearily. The blunt female was not a fan of Lucien's for some reason.

"I am now that I am home. I have so much to tell you, but I might still need to process some of it before then." Gwyn warned. She may not be ready to give them all the answers that they needed or wanted. Gwyn put both her arms around both the females shoulders, tugging them in closer to her.

"You know just by the way, you could have given Az a heads up about your departure. I had to convince him that Papa Lucien did not kidnap you for nefarious revenge plans." Nesta responded after awhile of comfortable silence. Gwyn cringed while Emerie cackled over Lucien's new nickname.

"I figured his shadows told him." She shrugged. It's not her fault if he was being a bad spy master. He should have known Lucien did not kidnap her. Nesta gave a small smirk while nestling her head into the crook of Gwyn's neck. Emerie mimicked the gestured and suddenly all three of them were cuddling on the couch. It made the priestess feel safe.

"Mor said he finally confronted her about their situation." Nesta's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. Gwyn was just as surprised. The Shadowsinger practically ran screaming from emotions.

"How did that go?" The red headed female asked incredulously. She also had no idea why he would chose now when he was finally with Elain to have that conversation.

"Good? I did not get a lot of details but Mor seemed happy." They all sat in another comfortable silence again. There was so much to say on both sides. Gwyn was sure she had missed out on a lot, but they all knew they just wanted to enjoy each other's presence for a bit.

"Hey Nes-" Cassian stopped mid-sentence when he saw the priestess as he strode into the library. A huge smile broke out on his face. "Gwyn!"

"Hey Cas." She gave a small wave as all three girls sat upright on the couch. They all moved over some so Cassian could sit next to Nesta. It was a tight squeeze especially with his wings but they made it work.

"Shit, I have missed you, Berdara. Training is not the same without you. Please tell me you have kept up with it." He berated her like the good trainer he was.

Gwyn gave a short laugh. If only he knew what she had been doing to keep up with her training. She knew he would approve though. She truly had missed Cassian. Nesta and his bickering was a high quality form of entertainment for both Gwyn and Emerie. She also missed his quite encouragement and lame jokes, she would never admit to the latter, though.

"I have missed you as well." He gave Nesta a peck on the cheek which caused a smile to bloom on her face. They were sickeningly adorable.

"Are you coming tonight?" He asked.

"What's tonight?" He obviously did not know that Gwyn just arrived back. They had no time to discuss anything other than her trip.

"Oh I forgot to mention. Remember Balthazar? The guy that helped Emerie and I in the blood rite? Well Feyre and Rhys are throwing him a party in windhaven for not killing us." Nesta rolled her eyes. Clearly, she did not feel that was worth celebrating

"Seems kind of like the bare minimum." Emerie muttered the same thing that Nesta must be thinking. "No need to throw a party for letting us live." Emerie mimicked Nesta with an eye roll of her own.

"Sounds fun.” Gwyn could not stop the sarcasm that flooded her voice. “But I will go anyways.” She relented.

"Really?" Cassian was clearly surprised as he looked at her with raised eyebrows. Gwyn watched as he subtly set his hand on Nesta’s shoulder and rubbed his thumb back and forth. Part of Gwyn felt jealous. She wanted to experience that type of intimacy with someone- with Az. She let out a sigh.

"Yeah. I have had a very enlightening five months. I think I am ready to brave windhaven in a showy dress while everyone schmoozes the high lord and lady." Emerie and Nesta both cheered at that while Cassian gave her his biggest smile. It made her laugh.

"Azriel is at the River house. Want me to take you there?" Cassian suddenly changed the topic. Gwyn narrowed her eyes at him. She most definitely did not want to see the Shadowsinger right now. Besides, she still had so much to discuss with her sisters.

"I can only take so many reunions at once. Perhaps his could wait."

+

Gwyn had never felt this confident. Her normal anxieties were still there, but it was not nearly as overwhelming as it once had been. She felt a little guilty for crashing Balthazar's "thank you for not killing my sister in the blood rite" party, however, she knew the male would not care much. She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror- only to feel that a stranger was looking back at her. For the first time in front of her friends, she wore her invoking stone atop her head. The color matched her dress very well. It was quite a scandalous dress by her standards even if Nesta had said it had nothing on a few of Feyre's court of nightmare dresses. The neckline went up relatively high while the back dipped down low enough to barely reach her tailbone. It left her entire back exposed. There were very few scars there which made her much more comfortable than some of the dresses with low cut necklines. The waistline came in tight enough for Gwyn to struggle to breathe. Luckily, the skirt was flowy with a slit in the side that showed off one of her legs as well as her dagger which was sheathed to her thigh. It was very unlike Gwyn. She would not wear it again, but once for a grand entrance seemed like as good of a time as ever. Lucien bought the dress for her before realizing how scandalous it really was. He saw the color and was reminded of her eyes which she apparently got from Jesminda. She tried it on once for him which resulted in him stumbling over his words in a very un-Lucien manner. He told her he would return it at once and then begged for forgiveness. It was a bit of an overreaction that had her giggling for a decent amount of time. She told him she would keep it and wear it when she was ready. She knew she would be ready when she could walk out of the door without changing. She allowed herself five more minutes of staring before heading upstairs to the House of Wind. Cassian, Nesta, Emerie, and Mor would all be waiting for her up there. She did not quite expect the reaction she received. All four of them stared at her, wide-eyed, for longer than socially acceptable. Gwyn almost asked if she should change, but then Nesta and Emerie were gushing over the dress, Mor was demanding to know where she got it from, and Cassian gave her a shy compliment. The anxiety released her chest as everyone went back to discussing their original conversation.

It appeared the high lord and lady did not spare a single expense for this party. Food and alcohol was everywhere, music played loudly, and everyone was dancing. The dances were different than the ones Gwyn was used to, but Emerie showed her a few of the steps. She had gotten so good at one of them that a crowd formed around the three sisters as they held hands and danced around in a circle, adding in different kicks and twirls on beat. Gwyn had laughed more tonight than she had since Catrin’s death. Perhaps everything was finally falling into place for Gwyn to live her life unafraid. Exhaustion pulled Gwyn from the dance floor and back onto the dais where the high lord and lady stood- deep in discussion. Gwyn did not interrupt them, instead opting to stand by herself for a moment in order to catch her breathe. She chugged her cup of water that was much harder to find than it should have been. She was not alone long before a male approached her.

She recognized the red-haired fae. She was trying to remember how she knew him, but it just barely kept slipping her mind. Based on his looks, he was from the autumn court which made Gwyn wonder why he was even here in the first place. To Rhysand and Feyre's surprise, the male asked to dance with her. Before she could accept or decline though, her high lord interrupted.

"No." Gwyn's eyebrows raised to her hairline. He did not speak for her. Now or ever.

"Rhys," Feyre began, shifting her eyes from her mate to the quickly angering priestess. "I do believe Gwyn has a voice of her own." The couple shared a look before turning to her. The red haired male looked as annoyed as Gwyn felt.

"Gwyneth, I apologize for speaking on your behalf, but he is not to be trusted. He is dangerous." He continued to dig himself further into a hole. Gwyn was the last person to openly trust a strange male, but she could handle her own. Especially against him.

"And here I thought we were allies." The strange male rolled his eyes with his sarcastic comment. All three of them ignored him.

"Do you see me warning you away from every female in this room?" It was a rhetorical question, but her point was made. "How would you like me to throw Amarantha in your face every chance I got under the guise of protection? If I want your opinion on a dancing partner, I will ask." She was a blunt person, but she was not typically so harsh. The overwhelming pity that Rhysand sent her way brought the ugliness out of her in a way that many others have not been able to do. She could see the guilt on his face. She also saw the flinch when she uttered Amarantha's name and she wished more than anything that she could take it back. Just because he reminded her of Sangravah every chance he got did not mean she had to stoop to his level.

"I apologize. Obviously, you may dance with whomever you chose." He bowed his head to her and flourished an arm towards the waiting male. Feyre was too busy watching Rhysand to add anything more. Gwyn supposed they were having an internal conversation. She stepped down from the dais to follow the male onto the dancing floor. She did not want to dance with him in particular. Truly, she only wanted to dance with Azriel who had yet to make an appearance, but she was curious. That nagging feeling at the back of her mind said that she knew him. He grabbed one of her hands to hold and placed his other at her hip. The placement at her hip was odd. Typically, that was reserved for more intimate dances between couples, but that was not why he did it. Her back was completely exposed due to the dress. He must have figured this would be better for her. She narrowed her eyes at him. He must know Lucien and therefore who she is to him.

"Eris Vanserra." He finally announced as they began their dance. "Pleasure to officially meet you." Gwyn met his stare. It was surprisingly soft. Lucien's brother she realized. This could be good or bad depending on which brother he is she contemplated. She had only heard wicked things about all his brothers except when Lucien was discussing her mother. He mentioned a brother helped him hide her mother.

"We have met before." She said it as a statement of fact, but in truth it was a question. He gave her a wicked grin before twirling her.

"We have."

"Where?" He twirled her once more before glancing over his shoulder at Rhysand. He must be listening in.

"Sangravah." Was all he said. It was all she needed to remember. He came to the services Sangravah held on Sunday's. It was not every Sunday, but enough of them to recognize him. He sat in a pew in the back and watched. He never participated. Catrin complained one time that she felt he was watching her. Gwyn had brushed it off as mere paranoia- she knew better now though. She wanted to respond with a million different questions; however, she was expected to be vague with prying ears around.

"Why?" Was all she could muster. If Lucien was not willing to risk a visit, then why was he? She was searching his eyes for any clues only to discover a hint of sadness that was quickly covered up.

"To remind myself that it was worth it." The music stopped as the dance came to an end, so he moved his mouth to her ear to continue. It would have seemed an intimate moment to anyone watching. Truly, it was only an uncle speaking a secret to his great niece. "That all I had become to save her was worth it."

Before she could respond she felt a sharp tug on her mate bond, a whisper of a shadow on her wrist, and then Azriel launched himself at Eris.

"For fucks sake." Cassian could be heard muttering as a brawl ensued between the pair. Gwyn couldn't help but agree. Punches were thrown back and forth, but once truth teller had been drawn, Gwyn did the only thing she could think of. She lightly scraped her nails on the back of Azriel's wings. Almost immediately he wrenched himself away from Eris to give her a startled look- his wings tucking in tight. Luckily, Cassian chose that time to insert himself into the fight and hold Eris back.

"Do not do that again." Azriel gave her an intimidating look, but she did not balk from him. Not now.

"Do not give me that attitude, Shadowsinger." She returned his stare with such intensity that he finally looked away.

She turned to Eris who now looked much worse than her mate. He was wiping blood from his nose with the end of his sleeve. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a tight squeeze. He barely had time to return the hug before she pulled away. Everyone was clearly shocked, but it mattered little to Gwyn. This dangerous and cruel male had gone against his abusive father to save her mother. He had risked his future as high lord by visiting her and Catrin. It was not all that long ago that Gwyn thought she had no family. Then she met Nesta and Emerie and now she had a grandfather who loved her despite knowing little of her and a great uncle who cared for her enough to risk all he had tried to achieve. It made her feel a little less alone in this world.

"Thank you." Was all she uttered before turning back to her mate who had the audacity to be glaring daggers at Eris. She narrowed her eyes at him before grabbing him by his hand and tugging him all the way to the exit. She could see him about to speak so she stopped him.

"No. No speaking. Show me to a private room so I can scream at you for a solid five minutes and then I shall allow you to speak." She was fuming mad at the arrogance of this male. He was in a completely committed relationship with another female and he had the audacity to attack her dance partner. He took her down a long hallway, his shadows twirling around him in chaos. His wings were tense even as his face gave off an air of cool indifference. He took a sharp turn and then they were in an empty bedroom.

"I have been back for a total of six hours and before I can even utter a word to you, you have gone and fought Eris Vanserra of all people? Really Azriel I am starting to get whiplash from you. One second you are proclaiming your love for Elain Archeron and the next you are attempting murder on my dance partner. What would you like from me? Because I was hoping we could start off with a pleasant conversation but I suppose that is too much to ask for?" She was glaring him down which was not something anyone else had ever done. While he was beautiful, his icy cruelty laid right beneath the surface. It was enough for everyone to walk on eggshells around him. Even some of his closest friends. Gwyn had never done that though and she would not start now. He looked down at his feet as his shadows went still. Perhaps they also realized they were in trouble.

"You are wearing your invoking stone." He peeked at the stone that lay across her forehead before glancing out the window. She huffed in frustration.

"This is the first you have seen of me in five months and that's all you have to say?" Her glare turned more incredulous.

"You never wore it before." He paused to glance up at her before continuing. "You look beautiful." Gwyn groaned in frustration. This male would be the death of her. She sat at the edge of the bed in the middle of the room. After a moments pause, he followed suit and sat next to her with a small gap in between them. It was silent for another moment.

"I am sorry Gwyneth. My shadows refuse to tell me anything about you and I assumed the worse when I saw Eris whispering into your ear. The mate bond has become harder to control the longer you have been gone as well." She could agree with that. Her own mate bond had become more and more incessant the longer she had been gone. It was like a buzzing in her mind that would not stop. She wondered how Elain managed.

"Lucien, and I suppose now Eris, are important to me Azriel. I cannot explain why quite yet, but it is important to me that you try to be polite specifically with Lucien. Okay?" It was probably more information than she should give. She wanted to be clear with him. He gave her a curious look. He wanted to ask more that was for sure.

"Okay." He whispered. They both looked down at their hands. His were laid loosely on his thighs while hers were clasped tightly together in her lap. "Elain and I decided it would be best if we stopped..." he trailed off at the end, braving a glimpse at her. She was surprised by this. Perhaps Elain's visit to the Band of Exile's was not to reject Lucien. Almost two weeks ago, Gwyn had bumped into Elain in the castle. Their conversation was awkward and brief, but Gwyn thought for sure that the beautiful female had come to reject the mating bond with Lucien.

"Why?" Was all Gwyn could muster. She suddenly felt so tired.

"After our kiss," he started. His hands ran up and down his thighs and she realized he was nervous. She grabbed one of his hands with her own and squeezed. "Nothing had ever lived up to that. I had been chasing what Elain represented that I forgot what I was missing out on. I don't want Elain now and maybe I never truly did. I know I don't deserve it, but I would like a chance to be with you Gwyn. We can go as slow as you like." His sudden proclamation was hurting her head. It was like sensory overload.

"What makes me different from Elain?" She didn't want him to make this decision solely because they were mated. She wanted this to be different. She squeezed his hand tighter.

"You see me for who I am and you aren't phased. You have never hesitated before grabbing my hands. You didn't even so much as blink at my shadows the first time you saw them. You understand why I hold myself to such high standards and you aren't scared of me." He looked directly into her eyes to make sure she understood that every word was true. He wanted her to see him be vulnerable. His stare was so intense that she had to look away before responding.

"I missed you." She gave him a small smile. "But I have been missing you for much longer than I have been gone. I miss my friend. You were so much more to me than just my mate when it snapped into place and I feel like we lost that along the way. This has nothing to do with what you deserve, Azriel. I want you to know that. But right now I would really love my friend back. We can see where the future leads us later." It was not the speech she planned to give him when she thought he was still with Elain, but it was true. They both still had so much to deal with even now. She wanted to deal with it with her friend by her side though. His shoulders slumped slightly which had the mate bond clenching tightly in her chest. After a moment though, his head lifted and he gave her a brilliant smile. One she had never seen from him before and she realized she would do just about anything to see it again.

"I would love to be your friend, Gwyneth Berdara." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She let out a content sigh as she put her arms around his neck. Her head rest on his shoulder as his head lay atop hers. His shadows were moving languidly as though they were also happy.

"Can I ask a favor of you though?" He mumbled against her hair. She nodded slightly.

"Can I ask that you not touch my wings in public again?" His tone was almost pleading. She quickly looked up at him putting a couple inches between them.

"Oh gods! I'm sorry. Did it hurt? Nesta mentioned that they were sensitive once and I figured it would be the easiest way to stop you from killing Eris." She didn't mean to be too rough, but she also wasn't familiar with Illyrian wings. He gave her a sheepish look. A slight blush gracing his cheeks.

"Um, that's not what she meant by sensitive." He glanced at her before laying his head on top of hers again to avoid eye contact. "It's just not something that one does with Illyrian wings in public." There was heavy insinuation in his voice, but Gwyn could not figure out why. What could she possibly be missing?

"Well we aren't in public now? Could I do it now?" If he wouldn't outright tell her, perhaps she could threaten it out of him. She brought her hand up to his wing only for him to quickly grab it and push her away. She started to laugh as his face grew even redder. "Az, just tell me. Are you ticklish?" It was just too easy to tease him. He held both of her wrists between his hands to keep her at bay.

"Gwyn, I am begging you, which I never do if I must add, please do not touch them unless you would like to act out a scene from one of your romance novels." He truly was begging. She smiled until his words finally caught up to her. Now it was her that was blushing like crazy. Nesta was going to get an earful for being woefully stubborn with details.

"Sorry!" Was all she could splutter out like a fool. She quickly shoved her hands in her lap. Azriel began laughing very loudly as realization of what she almost did hit her. Oh, how the tables have turned she thought. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer, dropping a kiss on her head.

"I truly have missed you, Gwyn. Tell me everything."

+

Sometime in the future

Gwyn felt a tickle on her bare back. She tried to ignore it and go back to sleep by burying her head further into her pillow. Another tickle brushed against her. She swatted at her back which was more difficult than she wanted to admit considering she was laying on her stomach. One last tickle had her groaning as she finally popped her eyes open. She immediately gave the Shadowsinger a glare.

"I was trying to sleep." She mumbled, her voice still sleep laced. He gave her a charming smile back.

"Keep sleeping. I was just rubbing your back for you." He had the look of innocence perfected, but Gwyn new better.

It was hard to stay mad at him when he looked like that though. She moved closer to him while he laid on his side. She wrapped her arms and legs around him until she pushed him onto his back with her on top. An ornery grin graced his face as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. He began to run his hands up and down her bare thighs. It made her shutter. The warmth from his chest stopped her bare chest from being chilled by the temperature of the room. She loved waking up this way with her mate. She quickly discovered that neither of them slept too often- nightmares always finding them in their sleep. They stayed up most nights playing chess or singing or training or...doing other things. Gwyn was always curious about the scenes she read from Nesta and Emerie's romance books. Azriel was certainly willing to demonstrate for her. After one particular, evening session Gwyn profusely apologized for touching Azriel's wings in public all that time ago. It made her embarrass to know exactly how close she had been to bringing Azriel to his knees in front of all those people. She thought she might never live it down if it had happened.

"What are you thinking about?" Azriel asked while playing with Gwyn's hair. His shadows were wrapping all around her in a way that made her feel safe especially when they were being this intimate.

"You." She immediately answered with a grin while dropping a quick kiss on to his chin.

"I would hope so." He gave her one last devilish smile before leaning up to kiss her. Right as she began to grind though, Az pulled away.

"Sorry, Carynthian. That is not why I woke you." He teased. Gwyn rolled her eyes at the nickname. He loved to call her that simply to remind her of all she had accomplished. She felt he was bragging about her just a little too much.

"Well then why did you wake me?" She lifted a singular eyebrow but he only laughed her off. He sat up with her still in his lap and started to carry her towards their bathroom.

"Nyx's party will be starting soon." He set her down on the counter before getting the bath water ready. Gwyn lifted one of her legs, so that her foot could rest on the counter as well. If he was going to tease her, well then two could play at that game. Even during times like these, both of their competitive streaks came out. It was always a game to see who could get who to cave first. The look Az gave her when he turned around told her that she won this round. Before dropping to his knees in front of her though, he grabbed her face and pressed a harsh kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Gwyneth Berdara." And then she was screaming her love for Azriel, over and over again.

They were both late to the party. Neither of them cared.

The end

#gwyncien #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #lucien vanserra #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #emerie #cassian #eris vanserra #rhysand #feyre archeron

[bonny-kookoo]

Bunny Boy (JJK x Reader)☁️⚠️🔪(💜)🔞 Part 3

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere!AU, Stalker!AU, questionable romance, smut, Oneshot

Warnings: (oh boy) Stalking, Obsession, Yandere themes, cute Koo but aggressive, he ready to fight, graphic description of violence, blood, very twisted JK, oblivious! Reader, kinda Stockholm-syndrome Reader?, soft romantic lovemaking, body worship, Dom! Jungkook, Sub! Reader, Handjob (fem. receiving), oral (fem. receiving), protected sex because even with your mind scrambled up in a frying pan we still wrap it before tapping it y’all hear me STDs ain’t cute Susan

Summary: It all started with a hello kitty charm.

A/N:(IMPORTANT) I’d like to note here that I do not condone nor romanticize any of the things depicted in this. This is purely fictional, and only to be seen as a work of art, not as a depiction of real life relationships. For short: if he a creep, kick his balls, don’t kiss. Thank you.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

His eyes had seen the words written in neat lettering time and time again, yet he still read it again, trying to calm himself down.

They were trying to take you away.

Your parents were basically not as financially stable as you thought, basically having the audacity to ask you for money.

He was trying not to snap.

He'd known that your mother was a whore, already trying to safe your situation by digging up information he'd rather delete from his mind, forever scarred with the blasphemic image of her showing herself off to strangers on the web like a cheap commercial before a video starts, desperation being an understatement to describe her actions. Or maybe she did it only for the thrill.

She was a vile and distusting woman after all.

It was quite confusing to think of her as the woman who'd been responsible for bringing you into this world. He had a hard time believing it as he thought about your gentle and sweet nature, pure and caring while this sorry excuse of a human being did everything to play with karma it seemed.

Well, maybe he'd change his name for a day and play that role for her.

After all, she was an impatient woman he'd noticed from her constant reminding to buy obscene photos and short videos of her truly underwhelming body for an amount of money he'd rather spend on a coffee and a small breakfast to share with you, if he was being honest.

Why someone would genuinely pay for content like that was beyond him.

"I dont.. understand-" The female voice quivered on the other side of the line, making the corners of his lips turn upwards a bit as he listened to it, gaining some sort of satisfaction in knowing he'd gotten under her skin.

"Oh but I think you do." He said, voice smooth like velvet as he watched her pace back and forth in front of her admittedly bad webcam of her opened laptop. Living off of her husbands money couldn't be so luxurious he thought, if she couldn't even afford a decent laptop for the things she did whenever no one was looking.

It was truly making his saliva taste bitter merely thinking about it.

"If you think deleting your account will safe you, you're even more stupid than I initially thought." He mumbled into his phone as he saw her eyes widen, hands stalling as her gaze locked with the tiny device on top of her screen. She probably paled, yet the quality was too bad to tell for sure. "Everything has already been saved and will remain in my possession for as long as I have need of it." He stated, and clicked his tongue as she seemed to think of something to get herself out of it. "And remember; calling the police or informing any other authority will only result in you having to admit to your crimes as well. And I believe that isn't truly what you want." She snapped, hitting her table as she watched the camera, unknowing how Jungkook didn't even pay attention anymore, knowing he'd finally caught her head inside his noose.

"How much do you want?" She gritted out, and he chuckled, before clearing his throat.

"Your mindset truly disgusts me." He said, before sighing. "I don't want your fucking money."

He sat down properly again as he looked at his screen again.

"But I want you to do something for me.."

"It's nice to know that she finally found someone who can look after her." Your father stated, smiling at Jungkook who sat next to you at the table,taking your hand in his as he mirrored the gesture, spotting the way your mother tensed up in the corner of his vision, making him chuckle a bit.

"No, really, I am happy I've found her." He said, rubbing the back of his neck a bit shyly, making you giggle at his antics. Initially, you'd been a little worried when your parents wanted to meet Jungkook, not even knowing how they got to know about your relationship- your mother, however, had cleared things up for you, explaining that he'd updated them on your condition when you were in hospital. Maybe she did care, after all. "Right, angel?" He said, and you nodded, smiling with a bit of redness on your cheeks.

Absolutely divine.

"Alright, let me clean this up, You guys can head to bed, its already late." Your father said as he stood up, everyone else following after, when you'd suddenly grabbed Jungkooks plate and empty glass, smiling. Out of the corner of his he could see your mother empty her glass greedily, making him smile even wider.

Greed was a sin to be punished, after all.

"I'll do that, don't worry." You smiled, and he cooed at the sight. You were so absolutely sweet, he was always astounded at it, even though he should be getting used to it by now. He'd never get used to you, however. He nodded, giving you a kiss to your cheek as your father called for your mother, who'd been about to leave the table.

"Can you show Jungkook here where the guest room is? Help him set the bed, will you." He spoke, warmth as fake as her eyelashes as she smiled tensely, nodding towards Jungkook as he followed, comfortable with leaving you and your father alone for the moment. He wasn't a threat at all.

Your mother however, was a different story.

If she'd thought he wouldn't pick up on her dark gazes and blunt lies she truly was brainless. But then again, considering what she did with her freetime, he wouldn't be surprised to find her entirely empty.

Opening the door of the guest room, your mother closed the door behind him, slowly walking towards his back which was turned towards her, hands running over his shoulderblades as he shuddered.

But not with pleasure.

"I bet a young boy like you has stamina, heh?" She said, trying to form a seducing tone with her voice, yet failed as his eyes continued to stare forward, cold as ever as he stood unmoving, even when she came even closer. "Why would you get yourself someone like her anyways? There's nothing about her.." She chatted away, before stopping. "Wha-" She breathed out as she felt something poke her hip.

She was dead inside already, so why was she still up and walking like a zombie?

"You truly are disgusting." He murmured, turning around to hold his hand against her throat, backing her up until she could feel the wooden door against her back, chin pushing itself upwards as she looked at him with wide eyes. "To imagine that your rotten womb gave birth to an angel like her.." He said, eyes still trained on hers as he pushed a bit more, feeling and hearing her struggle, before moving away from her, snapping the knife he'd in his other hand shut to put it back inside his pocket as he opened the drawers, searching for fresh sheets. "I advise you to not ever touch me again if you want to keep your skin intact. It's nauseating enough that I have to share the same roof with someone like you tonight." He said, as he finally found what he was looking for, not caring as she swallowed hard, leaving the room and him alone, but not before running into you.

"Oh, sorry, I.. Uh, Jungkookie?" You asked, peeking into the room as his entire demeanor made a full 180 in front of your mothers eyes, body language suddenly speaking a different dialect it seemed, as he smiled, walking up to you, and leading you inside the room, closing the door with a last warning look thrown at her.

"Please angel.." He hummed against your skin, as you shyly touched his skin, making him sigh in bliss. He'd showered after his encounter with your witch of a mother, yet he couldn't help but not feel clean enough- he needed your touch, your salvation, to finally feel good again, to exorcise the demonic memories of her gut wrenching hands on his back, or her obscene words towards him. He needed your purity to cleanse him again, to give him back his wings you'd granted him.

"They won't hear." He promised, but in reality he wanted them to, craving deep down inside his being to drench the walls in your heavenly sounds, to clean this room of her presence with the help of the pleasure he was giving you. He felt you give into him with ease, smile warm and happy as his fingers entered you, knowing that he could not nestle himself inside you without sacrificing safety. And getting you pregnant was far from his mind.

No, the only thing ever being inside you would be him, and no one else.

You breathed out in sweet euphoria as he worked you with his hand, before dipping down, taking the covers with him as his tongue got in contact with your pearl, mouth feasting on you like a starving man enjoying his first meal, humming in pleasure as your hand found its way into his hair, gently tugging, never hurting.

He highly doubted you could ever hurt a fly.

And you'd never have to, with Jungkook at your side ready to soak his hands in the blood of anyone you wanted to have killed in cold murder, all of it with a smile on his face. He was ready to flood the streets in his own guts just to make more room for your praise and affection inside of him, he'd do it all for you in a time shorter than his heart could ever beat.

Your sighs turned into mewls.

He pushed your legs apart gently, hands reminiscing in the feel of your skin underneath his palms as he put even more effort into his actions, making you squirm in pleasure as your back arched like a feline stretching itself after a well deserved rest as you came undone with his touch, mouth finally parting from you, crawling upwards to your face as he kissed you, uncaring of your own residue on his lips.

You loved him.

He suddenly let out a short moan as he felt your delicate hands touch his bulge, eyes questioning as you silently asked for his permission.

Who was he to deny you anything?

As you pulled him out of his underwear he sighed at the view, your entire body showing off how lost you were with the task you'd taken on, making him smile as he began to help you, placing your hands around him in a proper way and showing you how to please him.

You learned quick.

Slowly growing more confident, you started to grip him with a bit more confidence, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you suddenly dipped down, making his eyes as wide as the moon before he huffed out a breath, head falling back as he could only stare at the white ceiling when your tongue touched his tip. Your soft lips took him in, inviting him inside the warmth of your mouth as you gently sucked before releasing him again, using your saliva and his own precum as lubrication for easier motions.

He was in heaven.

Of course he'd though about it, yet it seemed almost embarrassing how he fell apart so quickly under your touch, cum suddenly spurting out as he came violently, not prepared to last under such circumstances. He caught his breath, smiling apologetically as he stood up on slightly unsteady legs, reaching for some tissues inside his backpack near the bed before crawling back to you, cleaning up your face and neck with the outmost care as you suddenly spoke. "So, was that.. good?" You asked, and he scoffed, kissing you deeply before he rested his forehead against yours.

"Angel, you just sent me to heaven." He said, making you giggle as he made you lie down, cleaning between your thighs as to not make too much of a mess of the sheets.

His cum stained tissues however, he'd leave as a present for the witch to find.

If she was to wake again, that is.

"I'm so sorry, she isn't feeling well-" Your father apologized, yet Jungkook simply waved him off with a sympathizing smile. You nodded next to him, agreeing with Jungkook that this was simply a bad day for her. Everyone got sick once in a while. "I hope you have a safe trip home, and thank you for the wine Jungkook, you really have taste." He said, pale skin showing to him that he'd seemingly been affected as well. "We'll stay in touch." He told Jungkook, hugging him in a friendly manner as a form of goodbye.

He was collateral damage.

He actually liked the man a bit, noticing how calm and collected he was, even though he had to share his life with a woman such as your mother. He admired him really, for spending his time with her every day, for simply coexisting with her, without feeling the need to end his own life.

But maybe this man had exactly those thoughts he wondered, as he though about the wine bottle inside his car, evidence he'd taken with him to discard of in safe distance.

And as you both waved one last time, driving off, Jungkook only had one sentence running around inside his head as he thought of the witch that was your mother.

"This time, please just stay dead."

“I don’t have much space-“ he said, sitting on the engine hood of his car, patting his thighs as an invitation for you. “But it’s gonna be okay. I like having you close anyways.” He mused, voice low and drawled as if exhausted. You sat on his lap, legs hanging off on one side, head leaning on his chest, craving his warmth like a newborn kitten. He snaked his arms around your form, bathing in your presence in pure feelings of bliss as you sighed. He looked down on you, hand running over the top of your head. “What is it angel?” He said, worry a present undertone in his voice. You played with the buttons of his coat as he watched the sun set in front of you both, twilight slowly setting in.

“They.. won’t take me away from you, right?” You asked timidly, unknowing why this option scared you so much. Those were your parents; you shouldn’t be scared of them, should you? Yet Jungkook had told you to be wary of them, and you knew he was to be trusted- when has he ever been wrong? He only wanted your best, just like he said; he only wanted you safe and protected, and it made you feel oh so special. The pure option that you could be forced to live without him now seemed utterly terrifying, like a phobia you didn’t know you had.

“No, no angel.” He said, smile ever so present as if he’d just been gifted the thing he’d always wanted. You seemed so upset with the mere possibility of being away from him, it showed him that you had finally accepted him fully; you finally were his and his alone. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me.” He growled possessively, eyes growing cold as you leaned even closer to him, making him take a deep breath in fondness. “I’d rather die.” He whispered, and your head shot up, delicate hands on his chest, and an absolutely divine and desperate look on your face.

“Then I’ll die with you! You can’t leave me behind-“ you said, wide eyes looking at him in pure horror of the simple mention of his death, and he chuckled, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear with gentle hands, as he answered you lowly.

“Don’t worry angel-“ he said, his hand resting on your cheek, eyes watching you like a piece of art. “I’ll take you with me wherever I go.” He said, leaning in for a kiss you eagerly accepted, uncaring of how his hands gripped your waist tightly. Dangerously. And you were just as uncaring of his next words that left his lips between heated kisses.

“Even if I’d have to kill you myself.” he mumbled into you as you smiled.

You felt like Romeo and Juliet.

Or bonny and clyde for that matter.

The news should've hit you hard, yet it only left you with questions. You by now had your suspicions on what had happened, yet instead of igniting fear, it only left you with more things to wonder about. Why would he do these things?

Was he this scared to loose you that he even killed in his desperation to keep you close?

Would you one day be his victim as well?

"Angel?" He asked, standing behind you as his eyes scanned your form, noticing how you'd stopped packing your stuff, simply sitting in your old bedroom, on the floor, on your knees, in the middle of the room. "Are you okay?" He asked.

Well.. were you?

And if you were-

For how long?

Taglist:

#bts #bts imagine #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts reactions #bts yandere #bts yandere au #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere bts

[noble-and-damned]

console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry. (For Miahka or Ezekiel! You pick!)

It came every cycle.

That unchangeable day. No amount of science or magic could undo the past, at least so far, no matter how the stubborn Raen wished otherwise. The memories were there, etched upon her mind like the ridges of a scar that would never fully heal. Never fully fade. Always there to ache.

She resented it.

Resented it with the depths of her being; that unshakeable flaw and hinderance to progress. Although fascinating to observe in a wide array of subjects, analyzing herself had never been a forte or preference. Indeed, she wished to do away with it altogether; benefit from the loss of feeling loss. The absence of feeling that unmistakable absence. It was practically tangible how she felt the abyss of their presence, as if the very air sung with a melody of memories doomed to never grow. Never to gain even another note.

That undeniable finality made her seethe with anger; better to lash out than wallow in pain. She’d spend the bells in a hurricane of frustration, her urgent scribbles sloppy and inpatient as she labored in vain to keep her mind elsewhere.

The usual composure carried in every step was nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by irritated snarls and far-flung objects as she saw problems and issues with every item in the room. The shatter of glass was more endurable the pang in her chest, the scatter of notes across the marble floors a means to keep her occupied come the following morning. It had been ten turns since her annual disappearances began, the rumors around Sharlayan sprinkled with truth and yet still left shrouded in mystery.

So caught up in her tantrum, the wistful Raen hardly noticed as Ezekiel stepped into the room. A quill found itself sacrificed against the wall a few paces in front of him, splotches of thick ink quickly following suit as the inkwell joined its unfortunate companion in a disgraceful burst of tar-stained shards. Why he didn’t simply walk right out again would forever remain a mystery, perhaps finding a reflection of kinsmanship in her rather unseemly behavior.

Rather than leave her to her own devices, the clank of his boots accompanied every step as he crossed the room over towards her. Metal and plate shifted as the cool embrace of his armored arms wrapped about her tiny form, pulling her into his looming form and even from the ground itself. For a moment she’d freeze in his hold, expression turning to one of disbelief as she tried and failed to process that quiet gentleness. Yet it served to break the dam, releasing behind that wall of anger a surge of sorrow that promptly began welling in the depths of her ruby gaze.

Without even thinking those slender arms threw about the Viera’s neck, her porcelain visage burrowing beneath his chin as quiet sobs shook her form. Although her pride very often prevented her from seeking solace with her peers, there was something shameless about finding comfort in someone who understood, who knew what it was like to lose. Who knew what it was like to feel the gaping vacancy left behind in the face of death.

And so he held her, silent and stalwart as she wept warm tears against his flesh. It wasn’t until the tears were spent; until the very exhaustion claimed all her fury and mourning, that he’d settle both himself and her slumbering form upon the destruction of blankets that covered the bed.

Angst angst angst. Thank you so so much @bloodybattles for sending this ask! I especially enjoyed writing this, I really have to admit. There’s really something to be said about a person who doesn’t try to talk their way out of grief, but instead just stays as someone sorts through their feelings. I definitely feel like Zeke would be that kind of person, so I hope I captured him well! 

#ask response #its drabbletime #love me some angst #// ruby eyes and a crimson gaze #non canon prompts #its late but this was so on my minnnnndddd #now i can rest

[acdeaky]

i have never known a closeness like that

warning: fluff, angst, touch-starved and oblivious idiots in love

note: this is just a self-indulgent, touch-starved piece that holds the promise of (more) din djarin. also, i love this! so much! at this point, idc if it gets little notes because i love it anyway!

word count: 5.0k

black lives matter

the mandalorian was not romantic.

no; he had grown up in a creed with his brothers and sisters, never showing much affection or emotion when around them nor in his bounty hunter daily life. the helmet covering his face had some impact. he could feel (or not feel) whatever he wanted under there and it would be his own little secret.

of course, he remembered little bits and pieces about his parents and their relationship, witnessing the true act of love as they hid him away while sacrificing themselves all those years ago.

but now, he couldn’t remember much. new memories had overtaken those of his childhood, but he also liked to keep his mind blank. keeping it blank meant keeping it tidy, and keeping it tidy meant staying alive.

he stayed alive for two people only; himself and the child. and it was easy. the child didn’t kick up much of a fuss, being content with travelling the galaxy with the mandalorian and eating whatever he could get his tiny claws on. most of the time, they stayed in silence, fluctuating between hyperspace and landing on new and exciting planets to refuel and mend the razor crest as well as finding the odd job or two for those extra credits.

but then he had to filter you in. he had to find ways to care for another human being, after only looking after himself for so long. mando struggled for a while, having to remember there were three mouths to feed, three beings on the crest now. he made sure you were comfy and cared for before doing anything else, but, maker, he would do it for you. even if it took longer, even if it meant changing his routine, even if it meant giving up his unforgiving cot to house you, he would do it.

and that was how you lived for months. between mending the crest, watching out for the child and assisting mando on jobs, the two of you fell into a comfortable routine. yet, despite never seeing his face and only hearing a few words at any one time, the caved and enclosed tin can become someone of importance to you. after finding you on the desolate planet of tatooine, the mandalorian (silently) vowed to never allow you to come to harm again, constantly checking his surroundings for any sight, any minuscule amount of evidence that you were there. that you were safe.

but you didn’t know that. his dark, stoic persona which he tried ever so hard to maintain around others was still upheld around you. the mandalorian would beg to differ, but all you felt was cold, hard silence around him.

it didn’t stop you having unwanted feelings. even if you felt far away from the mandalorian when you were only a few feet behind him, you couldn’t help but wonder what was beneath the helmet, and who he, mando, was really was.

of course, you never expected to been shown his face. you understood that revealing his true form, his identity, would break his creed, so you wished for it to never happen. but whenever you tried to look beyond the visor, beyond the harsh gaze you received whenever he looked at you, you longed to see the colour of his kind eyes, feel the soft tips of his hair between your fingers, to see who the mandalorian really was when the beskar was no longer there.

but space is big and lonely and even being on the razor crest with the mandalorian and the child only statisfied you for a short time. somehow, you had convinced the mandalorian to land on naboo, using the planet’s unlimited resources as an excuse to rest for a day, collecting what you could before setting off into the galaxy once again.

as night fell on naboo, both you and the mandalorian agreed that staying on the crest overnight would be better use than wasting credits on an inn. and so, as he slept in the cockpit, ready at a moments notice for anything, you managed to collect what little you had with you, pulling it into a cloth bag before escaping out of the crest.

it surprised you that neither the mandalorian nor the child woke to your sudden departure, but you were grateful; it would make leaving less painful.

throughout the weeks the three of you had been separated, you regretted leaving without a goodbye or writing a note thanking him for everything. regardless of if you did or not, no amount of words or gestures could equivalate to how thankful you truly were for him, for both of them.

you’d become a strange little clan, a family almost. and leaving that confined space of a craft was difficult, but you needed to move in a different way, you wanted to breath in unrecyled air and you wanted to be alone, away from the mandalorian who truly couldn’t care less that you had gone - or so you thought.

that next morning when the mandalorian awoke, he was expecting to hear the light humming of your voice as you made some breakfast with whatever he had in the hull. he was expecting to see the child bustle around your feet as you danced in a perfect rhythm, like you’d done it before. you had - and that’s what he wanted to see; you being so gentle with the child, but he just wanted to see you, be near you, experience you. but you were gone.

the mandalorian debated leaving the safety of the crest to look for you, thinking you’d gone out to explore the city more, to browse the markets you may have passed. but seeing your belongings gone made him realise you had left - you’d left for good.

he blamed himself really. it couldn’t have been the child - no one could leave him alone - so it must of been him. maybe he came off as rude? or maybe you had figured out the way he felt and left before it could become a reality? whatever the reason, the mandalorian was heartbroken.

so he left naboo without so much as doing anything. he brought the child up to the cockpit, strapped him in and started the engines to the razor crest, setting his coordinates for as far away as possible before lifting off and out of naboo’s atmosphere and straight into hyperspace.

that had been weeks ago, but the wound was still fresh and it was extremely reluctant to scar over.

being back on mos eisley brought back some memories for the mandalorian. he remembers chasing after a bounty with a good-for-nothing hunter who was doing it for nothing but the glory of being in the guild. it was a shitshow, but getting the crest fixed was a weight off his shoulders.

he didn’t even have you by then, and he sometimes thinks what would have happened if you were there by his side. he could imagine the sarcastic, and angry, comments about toro and the many idiotic actions he took in the space of a few hours that would have fallen from your lips. and he allows himself a moment or two of remorse, letting himself chuckle at the thought of you, before becoming stoic again and landing the razor crest in hanger three-five.

as the crest landed with a grunt, the mandalorian watched from the open ramp as peli motto came out from her stand, her eyes shifting over the ship before declaring to herself that she had most definitely missed the child and the razor crest. just as her droids began to perk up, she raised her hand, watching as the mandalorian left the crest and said,

“no droids, right?” she smiled as he nodded his head once, letting peli give the crest a once over before beginning the work. “the child?” she enquired, waiting on a reply.

“in the hull.” was all he said, turning back towards the door and leaving the hanger.

the mandalorian found himself walking the same dusted streets he once did a few months ago, observing that nothing had changed physically, but that couldn’t be said to be the same otherwise. he spent his hours waiting in the cantina, sitting and observing before forcing himself to leave after becoming sick with the dusty atmosphere.

although the streets of tatooine were as bad, they were bareable when not in a confined room with a couple dozen more people. and after finding that the winding streets were soon about to turn him insane, the mandalorian began to think about making his way back to hanger three-five, hoping to find more joy in the silence of the hull rather than the emptiness of mos eisley.

so that’s what he did. and, just like he thought, he found peace within the crest, watching as the child ran around the hanger, scaring the droids back into the shells while picking up random parts and discovering them with his mouth.

like earlier, the mandalorian allowed himself a moment to laugh, thinking how different things would be without the child before taking up refuge inside the hull while peli worked on the outside.

it wasn’t until the door to the hanger slide open a little while later that he paid his full attention to his surroundings. being more relaxed was a habit he had picked up while being around you. and, well, old habits die hard. but as he looked at the door, the last person he expected to see was you.

and yet, there you were. your hair was slightly askew and the breaths you were pulling in were heavy and deep. before you gracefully fell into hanger three-five, all you could think of was escaping the elomin - who ran slower than you thought - but now, seeing the crest and the mandalorian and hearing the child’s sweet babbles was an even more pressing issue than the elomin.

for the first time in months, the mandalorian said your name. any emotion, any feeling, he had behind it was erased as soon as it hit the modulator and crawled towards you.

“mando.” was your only reply, thinking how truly unfortunate (lucky) you had to be to run into him, here, of all places. he never really liked tatooine, the sand being an aggravating factor. it got everywhere and it didn’t please him to be clearing sand from his beskar.

but it held a place in his heart. despite the sand, the dust clouds constantly hovering over head and the looming threat of a sandstorm at any given moment, it was where he found you. so maybe, subconsciously, when finding a place on his starmap to rest and refuel, just maybe, he thought of you. forgetting his troubles with toro, and his complete hatred of sand, the mandalorian landed on tatooine in hopes of finding you. and by stars, he was happy to see you.

“i thought i’d never see you again.” the modulated voice called out. peli didn’t stop working, only moving towards the front of the ship to be away from the two of you.

“oh, maker,” you whispered, not completely knowing how this conversation with him, with the mandalorian, would plan out. “i’m sorry for leaving, mando. i really appreciated everything you did for me, but i felt trapped; i wasn’t used to being stuck in one place for one time and i’m sorry for not saying anything and just up and left.”

the mandalorian was a man of few words. you’d known that when you’d met him. his reputation had proceeded him, and when he walked down the ramp of the crest at the pace you could only describe as a strut, you didn’t question why he said nothing and perched himself atop one of the taller boxes of scrap parts.

“i cant begin to think of ways to apologise for leaving nor can i begin to think of ways to thank you.” you sighed. of course, you weren’t about to let on the real reason you left that crest, and the safety of the mandalorian, that night. that was something that would stay silent inside you forever.

like usual, he didn’t reply, only shifting his head to look at you straight, your gaze meeting the t-shaped visor like you had done many times before. and, although you could never truly see who he was behind the helmet, you couldn’t help but think that you knew his eyes. only after many quick glances and looks towards him and you felt like you could imagine what they looked like.

and the mandalorian knew this. he saw when you tried to look at him, and he often tilted his helmet away from you to see if he could catch you looking again. the creed and what it meant to be a mandalorian was never a topic of choice between the two of you, but you knew about the way and understood what it meant. it didn’t stop you falling for the man behind the beskar.

“why are you running?” he asked, his head and body as still as a statue.

“i made a bet with an elomin. they said they had seen a mandalorian and i begged to differ. i lost and couldn’t pay the credits. seems ironic now, huh?” you laughed lightly, thinking how incredibly delirious the elomin must have been to have spotted a mandalorian.

once again, he didn’t reply, only watching your face as you glanced around the hanger, your own eyes landing on the child which made you smile widely. then, the mandalorian did something he never thought he would again.

“there’s still space on the crest.” once he said that, you didn’t look away from the child. you had missed him - and the mandalorian - and seeing him playing and experiencing new things was something you truly missed.

“are you sure?” you finally spoke up, looking back at him before continuing, “even after what i did?” in typical mando fashion, he only stood up, not so much as offering you a reply and headed back to the crest. but you knew what that meant; it was the thing he had done the last time he offered you his living space: he stood and walked away, waiting for you to board the crest before, and only then, closing the ship and heading to the cockpit.

and so, as soon as the mandalorian touched base with the ramp, you were on your feet and following him, feeling back at home at an instant.

it didn’t take long for peli to finish up the repairs. as soon as she was done, the mandalorian paid her and he, the child and yourself were up in the air, heading straight out of the atmosphere and into the galaxy which you had also missed.

just like old times, you were down in the hull, tidying the crest up and watching the child while mando sat up in the cockpit. he began looking through starmaps once again, looking for the smallest hint of a lead as to where he might continue searching for the child’s people. before that, he had allowed that blue streaks of hyperspace to distract from the seemingly daunting task. instead, he found himself thinking of his foundling, (hopefully) sleeping soundly in his carrier in the hull, and, in spite of his best efforts, you.

in all his life of being a foundling of the mandalore, the mandalorian hadn’t experienced a connection like his with you. of course, there had been the kind soul omera, but he knew, as well as she, that her life was no match for his. there would be too many complications, and, being a bounty hunter, mando just couldn’t fathom settling down in the peaceful village on sorgan; it would be a while before that become his reality.

that was, until he found you. he knew there would be no settling down anytime soon, but you made him feel. you made the mandalorian feel things he had never experienced before. he remembers the first time he felt his heart race while around you. it was a new feeling, and it wasn’t like the one after the thrill of chasing a bounty. it was new and exciting and it came from you; that’s what made it for him.

it was the most subtle brush of hands, a little intimate connection, but even through the thick leather of his gloves, mando could feel everything. from then on, he wished to feel every part of you, wanting the feeling to never stop. even if he found an undiscovered part of your skin, it would soon be found and added to his memory.

but that never happened, because you left. and with you, you took that feeling. since you’ve been back, it’s all the mandalorian can think about.

the week flies by as you both search for the whereabouts of the child’s people. the only person who enjoyed the adventures into new atmospheres was the child, you and mando truly hating the constant take off and landing of the crest and the jumping in and out of hyperspace.

the only positive was that things had returned to normal. the two of you had easily fallen back into your previous routine, only this time there were more longing glances, from both you and him, and it took everything inside of you both to not let on that you noticed.

you enjoyed the thought of the mandalorian looking at you like that. it made you feel less guilty for leaving suddenly, even when you already knew that he had forgiven you; even if he hadn’t said it, you could tell.

the mandalorian didn’t do things if he didn’t want to. he didn’t speak unless he had a reason. it was common knowledge to anyone he interacted with and, after being around him for so long, you began to pick up on his tells. they were slight movements or changes in his attitude after something had happened or when something was happening.

so one night when he had extremely frustrated, either from being further away from finding the child’s people or his restlessness of being stuck in the crest, you made the effort to calm him. you made his favourite meal, taking it up to the cockpit and enforced the idea of autopilot, letting mando have some time to himself where he didn’t have to think of anything.

it was only an hour later when he came back down. he was so quiet and stealthful that you only noticed him when you heard the clatter of metal in the small kitchette. the child had taken up your attention, making him one less thing for the mandalorian to worry about. and seeing you there, being so kind and gentle, made his heart swell; but he wouldn’t tell you that.

“how was it?” you asked, picking up the child and passing him to mando before working on clearing the last bit of the kitchenette.

“good,” he replied, holding the child with care. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” you said, leaning over to cast a quick glance at him and the child before returning back to the cleaning. “i know you were getting frustrated with things, so i wanted you to relax for a little while.”

maker, if his heart hadn’t swelled when looking at you and his foundling, after hearing those words leave your lips, it most definitely would have. he felt that the thudding behind his chest was so loud that you could surely hear it. if you couldn’t, then it was a miracle.

but, little did he know, seeing him and the child close together, even if it was only a quick glance, made your heart swell, too. any other time before hadn’t - hadn’t as much as now - but maybe now that you were reunited, your feelings were in overdrive. things had been overwhelming; being back in the crest after the way you left was so foreign and strange. but being back to mando and the child felt so safe and familiar, that it made you forget you had ever left.

later that night, as the mandalorian was placing the child in his cot and settling him down, you decided that you would tell him. tell him how you felt, how he made you feel, how happy you were to be back with him and the child on the crest. and even if he didn’t reciprocate the feelings and things soon turned awkward, you had just landed on another bustling planet, so you could make another escape.

but, maker, you hoped that that wouldn’t happen. you hoped deep down that it wouldn’t. even though it may seem better in the long run to hide your feelings and stay with the pair, you couldn’t do that anymore; you couldn’t live in a lie and make yourself believe that you felt nothing towards mando. because you did. you really, truly did.

so when he came back to the hull and began to make his climb to the cockpit (which had been implicitly deemed his new quarters), you grabbed his attention and made the decision to tell him.

“mando,” you started, working up the courage (which still wasn’t completely there) to finally tell him. “i want to say something. you don’t have to reply or say anything to make me feel better or whatever, but i just need to say this.”

and, like usual, the mandalorian was stoic, keeping his head and body unmoving while underneath the beskar his heart was pumping, his hands were sweaty and his brain was running a thousand miles a minute.

“the actual reason i left last time was because i feel strongly about you. and i don’t mean like a friend or anything like that. i care about you a lot, more than a friend. seeing you with the child makes my heart swell. stars, just you in your own makes my heart swell. i ran because i was scared of how i felt and i didn’t want it to ruin our relationship, but i ruined it anyway be leaving. i had no one then i had you and i’m just sorry, mando, for everything. but i think i’m falling in love with you, and it scared me. i understand if you don’t feel the same. i’ll be out by tomorrow if that’s the case.”

without even thinking, the mandalorian stepped closer to you. he saw the terror, the sadness, in your eyes, even through the dusted, old visor and did the one thing he can think of.

his helmet pressed against your forehead, and you can hear his breath and the soft groan he makes as you bring your fingers to the back of his neck, slipping between the beskar and the tunic to brush against the soft hair you can reach.

“you still have me,” he whispered, and it was too quiet for his modulator to pick up, and instead the words slipped under his helmet and caressed you, finding a place in the deep recesses of your heart and made home there.

his words were all you needed to heal. he hadn’t rejected you, he hadn’t laughed in your face - even though you knew your mandalorian had no malicious bone in his body. just then, ever so slowly, his leather-clad hands reached to find your hips, the mudhorn signet glowed in the little light that the many suns of the planet had allowed the two of you in that moment.

your hands slowly make their way up his arms, finding their purchase on his bicep, just below the beskar. if there was anyone around you, it would seem like the two of you were stood in silence, looking at one another, but it was much more than that. you could hear the shallow breaths coming from mando, so quiet that even the modulator could not pick them up.

he’s scared; he’s never done this before. but you’re opening like flower petals leaning into the sunlight so he doesn’t care. 

your foreheads were still pressed together, so much so that you were afraid that you’d never be able to separate. but that didn’t bother you; you would stay there for a thousand years if it meant keeping him as close as this. and even though the mandalorian hasn’t spoken in reply to your confession, you knew you’d never go back from this, you’ll never be able to be just companions, friends, without the lingering reminder of your words.

“i feel-” he begins, cutting the silence and letting you breathe easy. “i feel that way, too. i don’t want you to leave, not again. i care about you... more than a friend.”

and that was the spark that ignited something that would forever be engraved in your mind, something that would be etched within the walls of the hull forever, and no amount of scrubbing, or running away, would erase it.

the mandalorian began with his gloves. one by one, he pulled the fingers of both gloves lightly, allowing the material to peel off of his fingertips before taking it off entirely; they fell to the floor beside him.

next, was the cloak. he slid it from underneath the chestplate, letting it float to the floor, which landed in a heap around him.

the beskar shoulder plates followed that. as he took them off, he placed them down gently, not wanting them to be damaged in any way. his chestplate came after that, followed shortly by the thigh plates and, soon after, the tool belt.

and, just like that, your mandalorian had put himself in a vulnerable postion, on a strange and unnerving planet, just to be closer to you; to feel your skin underneath his as he traced your body with his uncovered fingers, letting himself feel, truly feel, for the first time in forever.

it didn’t take long for you to react once mando was stripped of his armor, the only thing now separating you from him was his tunics, his underarmor. but that didn’t matter, none of that mattered because he was here and compromising himself for you and giving you all he could without wasting away too much.

you can’t bring about the words, but you somehow do physically, and ask to touch him, to feel him without anything shielding his true self away from you. mando replies with a nod of his head, it being the only form of consent for you to touch him.

so you do.

you bring your hands up to his shoulders, lightly tracing over the indents from the beskar on the clothing. from there, your hands travelled downwards, firstly covering the area of his chest before moving lower and lower onto his soft stomach. the sharp inhale of his breath wasn’t missed by you; it only further cemented the fact that your mandalorian hadn’t been touched like this in a while, or ever.

once you reached his waist, you moved over to his arms, tracing your fingertips over his before exploring his palms, wrist and forearm, moving up towards his strong bicep, letting your hands linger there for a moment longer than other places.

and you would have kept going if you hadn’t have heard a whisper come from the mandalorian. it was so quiet, so breathless, that not even the modulator could help pronounce it.

so you looked up from your hands on his shoulders, your eyes being met with the harsh t-shaped visor and beskar, a complete opposite to what you felt underneath your hands as of late. you gave him a quiet look, a question of ‘what was that?’ without any words being spoken, only a gentle movement down to his biceps to encourage him.

“din,” mando practically moaned, your hands still moving slightly on his biceps, pushing gentle circles into his touch-starved skin. “my name’s din.”

you didn’t utter a word, just nodding before looking back at his body, moving down his arms before landing on his hands. mando took the first step and grasped yours tightly, leaning forward again to let his forehead meet yours. as you let out a sigh at the cool metal, you heard a slight groan from underneath the helmet, imagining that mando - din - was relishing in the feeling, too.

“i like it,” you whisper, keeping your head pressed completely against din’s helmet. “din...”

“djarin. din djarin.” he replied, matching your actions as he pressed forward slightly, letting his eyes flutter close.

you couldn’t. as much as your body fought to live in the moment and revel in the closeness to din, you couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes, thinking you may miss something if you did.

instead, you pulled your hands from his uncovered ones, bringing them back up his arms, over his broad shoulders and up to where you believed his cheeks would be under the beskar. mando was quick to react, bringing his hands to grasp around your wrists, as if to still your movements.

but he didn’t need to. you knew, you knew so well, about his creed and the way; there was no possibility of you ever doing that, not now, not ever. so when din was sure that you weren’t going to remove the last of his armor, his grip loosened on your wrists, but he kept them there in a vain attempt at pulling your body flush with his.

you obliged, letting yourself fall completely into him, all while keeping your foreheads fused together and your hands on his helmet. it was one of those things that could happen forever and you’d thank the galaxy, that being stood there against din. being stood there against din djarin, the man, who’s face you’d never seen, who’d stolen your heart and unconsciously broken it. but he was also the man who had put it, and yourself, back together without so much as a second thought.

and it was then that you realised: you had never known a closeness like that.

-

TAGLIST: @shes-over-bored @i-barely-go-on-online @sohoneyspreadyourwings @brian-maybe-not @deakysbabybooty @1001-yellow-daffodils @retromusicsalad @hardcoredisneynerd @painkiller80 @leatherjacketmazzello @scarecrowmax @mebeatlized @seesiderendezvous @alright-mrfahrenheit @someone-get-a-medic @miamideacon @chlobo6 @teenagepeterpan @spacedustmazzello @deakysgurl @forever-rogue @xcdelilahxc @keepsdrawings @igotsuckedintothevoid @kill4hqueen @supersonicfreddie @laedymoon @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @warriorteam1924 @painandpleasure86 @boomerangbassist @mamaskillerqueen​ @bhxrdy

pedro taglist: @leatherjacketmazzello @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @fioccodineveautunnale @yespolkadotkitty @marvgrrl @wander-lustbabe

din taglist: @no-droids-allowed @datmando

some people who may like it: @damerondjarin @bobafvtt @pajamasecrets @pascalplease @aerynwrites @din-damn-djarin @thisisthe-way @altarsw @spacedadheadcanons

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #x reader #acdeaky

[secret-engima]

Re-reading Nox for like, the seventh time, and I'm at the part where Mid and Melba died—and Cid and Nox are talking—Cid freezes at something he sees in Noxs face(?) Can we get that bit from Cids POV? Please and thank you.

oliverslewty said: Aso—did I mention in my last ask??probablydidnt—Cids reaction to Nox staying and helping while him and Cindy weren't in the right headspace, helping out around the garage n stuff??? I dont think I mentioned this but if I did—ignore this.

Me: Sure! Here- have a full fledged Drabble from Cid’s POV! Hope you like it!

     Cid found Nox in his garage. He found the boy pressed up in the farthest corner of the garage, wheezing and shaking, eyes glazed and magic spitting tiny crystalline shards from his fingertips in a way that could only mean a very bad panic attack for a Lucis Caelum. Swallowing back his own emotions —grief, rage, his son and daughter-in-law were dead because of their own stupidity and it hurt—, Cid focused on Nox and slowly talked him down.

     He didn’t expect the boy to apologize past the tears drying on his face, and at first he didn’t understand what Nox was apologizing for —everyone got panic attacks, and a kid Nox’s age, as badly scarred as he was, was more entitled to them than most—. But then the boy said Mid’s and Melba’s names and Cid understood. The boy was blaming himself for their deaths. Blaming himself that he hadn’t been able to fix it with the magic he didn’t realize that Cid knew he had and it was such a Reggie mindset, so in character for stupid Lucis Caelums that Cid wanted to cry.

     As he always had since he was a boy, he got angry instead, “Don’t ya dare.” He stomped closer, intent on hauling the boy out of his corner and physically dragging him out of his idiocy like he always had with Regis, but in the breath he took to continue, Nox’s face twisted, froze, folded into something broken and resigned. An animal braced for abuse it couldn’t escape, a martyr waiting for a blow that could not be escaped.

     He thought Cid was going to hit him. He thought-. All this time Cid had been so careful around the boy and he still thought Cid was going to hurt him and the fury at himself —for slipping up around Nox, for putting that fear into him, for giving him any reason to think Cid would do more than cuss him out for his stupidity— made his shoulders square and his spine straighten even as he kept his hands in view and away from Nox and spat, “Don’t ya dare blame yerself for what happened to Mid an’ Melba.”

     Nox started to say something, but Cid already knew what he was going to say —stupid, self-sacrificing Lucis Caelums, always trying to take on the weight of the world, he was too much like Reggie—, “Ya couldn’t have known what was gonna happen and ya couldn’t have helped even if ya had.” And that was the truth, it was a truth Nox needed to hear and know because if he started blaming himself for everything that went wrong, he’d never survive to his twentieth year, “It was their fool decision to be out on the roads that late without the proper tools to stay safe an’ nobody else’s.”

     Nox stood up, but there was a set to his jaw and a darkness in his eyes Cid couldn’t chase out, “I could have helped-. I should have-.”

     “Should have nothing,” Cid spat, grief knotting up in his gut and adding fuel to his anger —anger was so much easier than grief, safer, more productive when grief would rob him of even the will to move—, “Yer a kid with a pair of banged up old knives and twig arms. Mid and Melba were adults who had lived here all their lives. They knew they was being stupid the moment they got in that car and there wasn’t a thing ya could have done to stop them-.”

     Nox snapped. Shouted with a voice of thunder that rattled bones and cracked windows and sent his toolboxes crashing to the floor in his self-recrimination, only to freeze with a look of devastation on his face when he realized what he’d done.

     And Cid knew that Nox was going to run. He was going to run away and never come back, and Cid would have lost both his son, his daughter in law, and Reggie’s boy —his boy, his scrawny idiot with a heart too big and secrets too heavy— all in one week. Because Nox would run away and throw himself into all the dangerous things Cid had been trying so hard to keep him away from and he would just keep going until it got him killed or worse.

     Nox twitched backward and desperation gave Cid speed as he grabbed Nox and pulled him into as tight a hug as he dared and didn’t let go. Not until the boy had dragged a promise to keep Nox a secret from Reggie out of him, not until the boy had shattered quietly in his arms and cried all over his jacket while Cid squeezed his eyes shut in a failed effort to keep from crying himself.

     In spite of everything, he hadn’t expected the boy to stay. Not for as long as he did, not with a steady, all consuming dedication and … almost calm that kept Hammerhead going and Cid from losing his mind. Anything that needed to be done, Nox was already there doing it. Anything that needed to be fixed or handled or somehow dealt with, Nox was there. On the days Cid felt more like a ghost than a man and couldn’t bring himself to function —not even to help Cindy, his poor granddaughter who needed someone after losing both her father and mother—, Nox was in the background, holding Cindy close as she cried or gently taking the bottle out of Cid’s hand before he could drink himself into the hospital. Cid couldn’t bring himself to react, but he saw everything Nox did. Supply running for Takka, helping Cindy, cleaning the house and the garage, stocking the store, dragging Cid up to his bed after he’d drunk himself into a lethargy or was just too deep in his own head to make his limbs move.

     Cid eventually crawled his way back to functionality out of spite and desperation, for the sake of Cindy and Takka …

     And Nox. Nox who stayed. Nox who helped with far too much experience in his eyes and age in his movements. Nox who was grieving for their sakes, because he had only known Mid and Melba in passing, but he cared for Cid and Cindy and their pain was his pain. Nox who’s magic slipped out and coated Hammerhead in a thin, ever-present mist of regret-sadness-determination-love-care-sadness that Cid could feel —could recognize— only because of his connection to Reggie.

     It was the longest amount of time the kid had stayed in one place for as long as Cid had known him, and it wasn’t until months had passed that he was able to shake off his own grief enough to appreciate it. To work again and function again and look back on his memories and realize just how much Nox had done for them.

     Astrals. Astrals that boy had too much of Reggie in him. Too much love and stubbornness and care toward the people he had picked as his own even if they didn’t deserve it —Cindy deserved it, even Takka deserved it, but Cid? Cid was an adult, he shouldn’t have had to rely on a teenager to keep his home together or comfort his granddaughter—.

     Astrals, Cid didn’t deserve the time of day from that boy.

     Words would never express how grateful he was that the boy gave it to him anyway and so much more.

#SE asks #oliverslewty asks #Nox verse #Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles

[olicity-fanwork-exchange]

Twist of Fate

Hi Andrea ( @lucyyh )!! This is made me super emotional now that arrow is ending after “season 8” and that our dear Felicity is leaving this season, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing something inspired by your amazing work. It gave me a chance to reflect on how far we have come as a fandom and how far the show has come. And your gif- and photo sets have been so important to so many people in this fandom. They perfectly capture the love, the loss, the angst, the happiness, and the beauty we found in this show and in Olicity. The way you connect their love and the characters’ experiences to song quotes is such a talent.

As a thank you for all you’ve done for this fandom, here’s a little fic inspired by this post: http://lucyyh.tumblr.com/post/133756961540/and-your-love-is-born-with-a-twist-of-fate . I adored all of your work you submitted, but this one really touched me. This fandom and journey we’ve all been on for 7 years was a twist of fate and I wanted to honor that. There’s angst. There’s Olicity. And, of course, there’s a happy ending! Side note, this is partially inspired by another song by the same name because my googling skills are terrible and at first I thought that was the song you were inspired by haha. I hope you enjoy the direction this went, and I hope this does your amazing work justice!

Desirae ( @wrldtravler )

————————————————-

Twist of Fate

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Laying there, on the cold and snowy ground halfway down the side of a nameless mountain, Oliver’s eyes fluttered weakly against their fate. His breathing slowed to painful wheezes. The snow under him slowly warmed as blood pooled from the penetrating stab wound. 

This was it. He failed. He hadn’t been strong enough on that mountain top to stop Ra’s. He wasn’t strong enough protect his loved ones. Their lives would go on without him now… maybe for the best. Now, those closest to him wouldn’t be in danger anymore. 

With a strained inhale and exhale, a sense of calm washed over him. 

They could all live happy, safe, care-free lives now. 

Oliver…. 

Warmth cut through the biting cold quickly over-taking his body. The soft voice in his head was comforting, familiar, and so full of love. 

“Felicity…” He gurgled out, coughing out the blood filling his lungs.

This time, when his eyes fluttered open, he was in the foundry. Felicity was in front of him. His hand gently cupping her elbow. He could still recall the soft feel of her forehead when he pressed his lips to the skin there, and the tiny sigh she had exhaled that day was as loud as a pin drop in a quiet room. 

His eyes watered. They fluttered shut again to fight the tears. When he pried them open again, it was a new scene. The most painful. He recalled holding her face in his hands like she was a delicate flower that he wanted to protect for eternity. The feel of her soft lips on his that day in the hospital was still burned into his skin. 

Then, the scene changed to unfamiliar territory. Things he hadn’t lived, but visions that called to him and made his heart ache. They were happy, so ridiculously happy it hurt, as they kissed this time. Felicity was smiling against his lips, and it was infectious and had him smiling back at her. 

His eyes fluttered, trying to hold onto the moment, but when he opened them again, it shifted. They were on a bed, sharing an intimate yin-and-yang kiss. The mood shifted back to happiness in the next moment his hallucinating mind managed to conjure. An intimate kiss on a balcony came with swelling pride in his chest for the woman in front of him. 

“Stop…” He croaked out weakly, his energy fading against the barrage of emotions, thick tears falling from the corners of his eyes. 

The mood shifted. This one felt like a goodbye. Felicity is crying against his lips this time in the most bittersweet of kisses. Screwing his eyes shut, he pressed his forehead to hers. Savoring the feel of her warmth, hoping this moment never ended. 

Then, it was fading. Coldness seeping back into his body. Opening his eyes, Felicity’s vision faded from his eyes. Black slowly replaced it. “Felicity…” He tried desperately, lifting his arm to reach out for her. All he felt was air. 

Then, blackness. 

“FELICITY!” He gasped desperately. His eyes flung open, but flinched closed again when he was blinded by the whiteness now filling his vision. 

He was on his knees now, panting desperately. Slowly blinking his eyes open, allowing them to adjust to the brightness around him, he slowly looked around when he could finally see again. 

“She must be very special.” 

Oliver’s head perked up immediately. Standing, he swung around to find the source. His breath left him once more. “Mom?” He croaked. 

Moira Queen looked upon him with a soft smile, uncharacteristic tears in her eyes and her arms open wide to welcome him. 

Closing the gap quickly, Oliver stepped into her embrace, a moment he was robbed of when she sacrificed herself to Slade less than a year ago. “Where am I? How are you here?” He questioned as he stepped back to observe her. 

Lifting a hand, Moira sentimentally cupped his cheek. “Oliver… I think you know the answers to those questions.” Her tone was somber, a new sadness slipping into her gaze. 

A breath left Oliver when his thoughts were confirmed.  Felicity crossed his mind again, his gaze dropping in shame from his mother’s. “Wait.” His head snapped up. “You said something, when I got here. About Felicity. You know what that was that I just saw.” 

Moira nodded subtly. “It is what should have been.” 

He was more confused by her cryptic answer. “What do you mean?” 

Stepping forward again, Moira slipped her arm through his. “Walk with me.” The scene changed as they moved forward. Suddenly, they were in Queen Manor, stepping into the ornate living room and taking a seat on the familiar and opulent couch from his childhood. 

Moira took his hand, wrapping it gently in hers and giving the top of his hand a loving pat. “My sweet boy, you are always doing the heroic thing, putting the needs of others before your own. You were even like that as a child with Thea.” A soft smile touched Moira’s lips as she briefly relived the memories. “But why are you so eager to die? You have so much left to live for. Someone left to live for.” When his mom’s eyes met his again, there was a fire in them that he knew all too well.  

“Mom… I can’t- we can never-” He tried to rebuke. 

His words were cut short by the unamused look he found in his mother’s eye when he dared to look at her again. “I know I raised you better than that Oliver Jonas Queen.” 

Oliver opened his mouth to try again, but quickly closed it when his mother raised another brow at him. 

“Good.” She smirked. “I wish I could have met Ms. Smoak under different circumstances. She seems very special to you and I may even have liked her.” 

Tears sprang to his eyes with a slightly watery laugh, which he averted from his mother’s observant gaze. “You would have. She is…” His voice cracked. Clearing it quickly, he tried again. “She is, Mom. She’s remarkable.” A sad smile curled his lips remembering the first time he told her that. He was so naïve then, completely unaware of the impact she would have on him in such a short amount of time. “I was never worthy of her.” He admitted quietly. 

Quietly, Moira squeezed his hand that was still wrapped up in both of hers.  

“Is this it, then?” Oliver asked quietly, hollowness setting in at the thought of what could have been. 

Pursing her lips, Moira shook her head slowly. “It doesn’t have to be, Oliver.” 

His whole body straightened. His wide, eager eyes met his mother’s, waiting for her next words. 

“You still have a choice, my sweet boy.” She lifted from where she clutched Oliver’s to cup his cheek lovingly. “You just have to want it. You have to want to live for yourself now. Not because of some sense of duty, but because you want to live your life and be happy.” 

“I don’t know if I can.” Oliver slumped slightly. He was still so flawed. A danger to himself and those he loved. It would be selfish to go back. 

“Nonsense.” Moira retorted in a clipped tone. “You are such a brave boy. But so blind. Your friends mourn you. They’ve made you better just as you have made their lives better. So, go. Be. Better.”

**********************

Turning the corner, Oliver faced the hospital door and paused. Seeing the door was like a serious sense of déjà vu. Like he had been here before. But that wasn’t possible.

Shaking his head, he pushed the door open gently with a soft knock against the metal frame to alert the inhabitants to his presence. His hand froze over the frame mid-knock when he got the door open and his eyes took in the sight before him. 

The first thing he should have seen was Lyla and Dig, but he barely registered that they were there. His eyes immediately landed on Felicity. Clad in her gorgeous pink dress. She leaned against the hospital bed, fawning over the newest member of the gang. 

Oliver’s heart stopped. His mouth went dry and he found himself swallowing thickly to try and find his voice again. “Hey.” He croaked. Could that have been anymore pathetic? “I can… come back.” 

All eyes spun to him, but his only met Felicity’s.

She had the most gorgeous smile on her face, clearly captivated by the little girl in Lyla’s arms. The slight pink to her cheeks and twinkle in her eye nearly ended him. Things he locked away – for what he thought was her safety – bubbled to the surface. 

Be. Better. 

Those words, in what sounded strangely like his mother’s voice, echoed in his head. And honestly, for Felicity, he wanted to do just that. 

“No, Oliver. Come in.” Digg greeted, finally pulling Oliver’s gaze off Felicity and over to his good friend as the large man rose to greet him. 

“She’s perfect. Congratulations.” Oliver praised with an uncharacteristically bright smile for his friend.

Stepping up next to Oliver, Digg crossed his arms over his chest with just as big of a grin tugging at his face. “Thank you, Oliver.”

Glancing at Digg next to him, Oliver pinched his lips together. There was something different about his words.

“When I looked at her, my whole world changed. Everything changed.” Digg continued, unable to take his eyes off his wife and child. “You were ri-” 

“No.” Oliver cutoff, shaking his head and turning slightly to face his friend. “I mean, yes, things are different for you and Lyla now. I shouldn’t have done that tonight – at least, the way I did it. You are your own man, Digg. I trust you to know what is best for you and your family now.”

Digg turned and observed Oliver with an oddly critical eye. “Where did this come from?” Digg grinned. “You sound like me now.”

Opening and close his mouth a few times, Oliver shrugged and combed a hand nervously through his hair. “I’m… not sure, but I do know I’m trying to do better.” He offered.

Somehow, Digg’s grin grew even wider. About as wide as his open arms, which were now poised to embrace Oliver. “Thank you.” He repeated as they shared a brief hug.

Breaking away, Diggle clasped his shoulder one last time before going back over to his wife, leaving Oliver to watch the scene before him again. Longing tugged at his heart. Images went through his mind of things he could only dream of right now. None of it seemed real, but that didn’t stop him from wanting all of it.

“Why don’t Oliver and I leave you guys to get acquainted.” Felicity eyed him weirdly, before briefly turning a warm smile back to Digg and Lyla.

“Thank you.” Lyla laughed tiredly. “It’s been a long day for all of us. Thank you both for coming by.”

Felicity laid a warm hand on Lyla’s shoulder, then let Digg wrap her up in one last giant hug. “Of course. She really is beautiful. Mazel tov again, guys.” Felicity grinned as she backed out of the room towards Oliver.

“Get some rest.” Oliver offered. “And let me know if you need anything.” He added, opening the door for Felicity to exit first.

As she brushed by him, his hand slipped out to brush her lower back, ushering her out as he followed behind her to escape the closing door. He didn’t notice what his hand was doing nor did he notice Felicity’s reaction to his very affectionate touch.

“They look so happy.” She commented with a bright smile.

“They really did. And I’m happy for them.” Oliver added, a ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips at the scene he walked into not too long ago. “Hey.” He paused in the hallway. His hand sliding down to grab hers. “Can we… talk?”

“Oliver.” She sighed, turning reluctantly to face him. “I don’t want to talk. The minute we talk… this is over.”

He paused. Again, this seemed familiar. His mouth parted, searching for the words he wanted to say, but he fought against the first words that popped into his mind. Closing his mouth, he frowned.

A quiet scoff passed Felicity’s lips. “See. I’m right, aren’t I. This was over before it even began.” She dismissed, turning back around to leave.

“No!” He blurted out quickly, reaching for her hand again. This time, he refused to let it go when he turned her to face him again. “I’m sorry. I just needed a second. I know what I say next is important and I want to make sure you understand me correctly. Because I don’t know if I can do this a second time.” He laughed nervously, his free hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

Looking at him strangely again, Felicity pinched her lips together. “Okayyy. You’ve been acting really weird since you got here. Is this related?”

Taking a deep breath, Oliver looked up briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Felicity.” He started softly, his gazing melting with his words. “Do you remember our date? What I told you?”

Raising a brow, Felicity nodded slowly. “I mean, yes. But which part?”

“I’ll never forget the day I met you. And that silly red pen you were chewing.” He grinned, his mind wandering briefly to that moment. “It was a twist of fate. Something brought you into my life because it was what I needed.”

Felicity’s skeptical gaze melted in an instant. Her eyes, laced with shock, held his gaze.

“I kept you away for so long because I didn’t want my damaged life to ruin your own. You have such a bright future ahead of you.” He praised.

Felicity opened her mouth to retort, the frustration at his words tainting her gaze.

“Please.” He whispered quietly, making Felicity close her mouth quietly with a frown. “But, I realized something. It’s not just about how my darkness affects you, but it’s your light that makes me better. Because of you, I can free all the demons inside of me. For the first time, I feel like I can really be myself. When I tell you about my time away, you don’t judge me. You listen, attentively. You don’t cringe at the scars that liter my body. You see me, for me.”

Tears silently filled Felicity’s eyes. Her hand in his gave a little squeeze. She was definitely listening now.

“A wise friend once told me that we are more than our masks. And you are one of the few people that sees beyond my mask, pushes me to be the best version of myself, and that I finally want to be better for.”

Blinking back tears that threatened to fall. Felicity shook her head. The last of her doubts bubbled to the surface. “Stop. Don’t dangle these words in front of me if you’re just going to say maybe. No more maybes. No more what ifs. No more lies. Just say you don’t love-”

“Felicity.” He whispered. In an instant, his gigantic hands cradled her jaw in his palms and his lips were on hers in a lingering kiss. “This is me saying I love you.” He pulled back slightly to see her again. “I was selfish to even think about pushing you away. Not only was I hurting but I know I hurt you too. I want to really give this a try. It’ll be some work, and I’ll have to fight every protective instinct in my body, but I can’t do this without you anymore. Fate had a plan bringing you into my life like it did, and I want to see where this goes.”

Felicity’s wide, hesitant eyes stared up at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Rising onto her toes this time, her lips met his again. Oliver grinned against her lips, his hands framing her face holding her close, prolonging the contact.

When she pulled away and dropped back onto her heels, she gently slapped his chest. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses.” She laughed.

Sadness briefly overtook him, forcing his gaze away from hers. “Me too.” He assured quietly. “Now,” He started, an eye-crinkling grin tugging at his lips. “What do you say about a redo on that first date?”

“What did you have in mind?”

Grinning, he watched as he took her hand in his. “How about your favorite? It’s late, and we’re exhausted, but we need to celebrate. And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Felicity’s eyes lit up. Walking side-by-side with him to the elevator, her step didn’t falter when she twisted to curl herself around his arm. “You don’t mean-”

“I never thought I would say this after I turned sixteen.” He huffed out a laugh. “But, Felicity Smoak, would you like to go on a date to Big Belly Burger with me?”

Rising on her toes again, she pressed a lingering kiss to his stubble-ridden cheek just as the elevator doors opened for them. “Always.”

#ofae #ofae fanfic #submission

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

Stiles had dolls. 

Little, perfectly cared for dolls, with specially made doll clothes, and doll shoes, and doll hair. 

Not made from porcelain, but a nice cloth. 

He generally kept the dolls out of sight, tucked away safe. Not because he was ashamed of having dolls, fuck you very much. Dolls as creative outlet or comfort item are appropriate for anyone at any age. No, these specific dolls he kept out of sight so as to avoid any... misunderstandings. 

They were voodoo dolls, you see. 

Of the pack. 

Well, they weren’t “voodoo” dolls. He didn’t know much about actual Vodun practice or any of its magical variants found around the world. However, he’d found a way to create dolls that functioned in basically the same way that Hollywood said voodoo dolls worked, so the name stuck. 

They were reciprocal models. When serious injury occurred to a pack member, it showed up on the doll as a little black mark. Stiles also found that he could influence small things about their physical state. 

For instance, he had several sweaters on standby for Lydia. When the weather got cold and she found herself constantly freezing because werewolves literally never think to turn up the heat, Stiles put an extra sweater or two on her doll. It wouldn’t save her from hypothermia or anything, but Stiles noticed that she didn’t shiver quite as much. 

A few weeks later, Derek got into yet another shouting match with Erica over the way she’d handled a minotaur. Derek got there just in time to prevent her death, but paid the price by getting gored in the back. Afterwards, in pain and terrified of losing her, he yelled some less than choice words. Ashamed and defensive, she yelled back, threatening to leave the pack again before stomping out of the loft with a snarl. 

Derek kicked everyone out of the loft, demanding they go home to their parents. Stiles’ last view of him was shoulders hunched, back tense. So Stiles did go home. Not to his father though, who was at work. He went home to his dolls. 

He immediately pulled out Derek’s, seeing the slowly fading mark on his back. Stiles pulled out a healing cream and dabbed it on to the mark, gently rubbing it in. Across town, Derek felt a wave of relief, and managed to fall asleep. 

Stiles pulled out Erica’s doll next and checked her over for any black marks. When he found none, he sat her doll next to Derek’s, petting her hair slightly and making her lean on him. He had no idea if it would have any affect on her state of mind, but it made him feel better to have her there. 

The dolls were more or less left alone for a few more weeks after that, until Peter dropped Stiles off after rescuing him from yet another coven. 

He limped into his room, Peter following with agitation in his step. Stiles had been lucky; only bruises this time. Peter wasn’t quite so lucky. The witches knew the Hale family history and had been perfectly willing to play against that trauma in order to keep him away from Stiles until he could be sacrificed. 

The line of fire between Peter and Stiles had given him pause, Stiles yelling for him to turn around and get out of there before the fire spread. Instead, Peter gathered himself and dashed through, snatching Stiles and covering him with his jacket before crossing the fire again. By the time they were free he’d been burned mildly, healing in just a few minutes. 

Of course, lingering trauma doesn’t really know mild from severe. 

“I’ll kill him,” Peter growled, pacing Stiles’ bedroom. 

“No you won’t,” Stiles said tiredly. 

“If Scott had killed those witches in the first place like I said he should, they never would have had the chance to take you. They never would have-” he choked on his words for a moment, turning his head away. “That entire row of buildings must have burned down by now,” he finally finished. 

Stiles didn’t doubt that. The fire had gotten out of control quickly.

“You’re still not going to kill Scott. At least not over this,” Stiles said anyway. 

Peter continued to pace. 

“’They just want to visit family,’” Peter scoffed in a mocking tone. “They were dripping with blood magic! I fucking told him-”

“Yeah, I know. So did I. He still thinks everyone deserves a chance. He’s idealistic, Peter.”

“So am I. I have amazing ideas about how to kill-”

Stiles interrupted him by suddenly falling sideways on the bed, having completely lost the will to stay upright. 

“Just-” Stiles’ voice was muffled into the mattress. “Just don’t kill him until I wake up, okay? We can argue some more then.”

Peter paused in his pacing, his face softening, and then tightening again with the new view of the bruises on Stiles’ arms. But he sighed, and walked over to Stiles, pulling a blanket over him and running a hand over his hair, unable to stop himself from scent marking him. 

“If you insist,” he said quietly. Stiles grunted and poked one hand out of the blanket, giving a thumbs up to indicate he’d heard. Peter chuckled and then turned off the light, letting himself out of the house. 

Stiles was already asleep. 

Unfortunately, he only stayed asleep for half an hour before a nightmare had him shooting upright out of bed, scrambling for the light. He panted, checking his surroundings, checking his fingers, checking his closets. His heart rate finally began to slow when he was sure he was home and safe. He stood in the middle of his room, far too anxious to go back to sleep now. Instead, he pulled out his dolls, needing to assure himself that everyone was safe. 

Lydia was fine in her extra sweater, as were Boyd, Erica, and Derek. Allison had a fading spot on the ankle that Stiles knew she’d twisted a week ago. He kept her where she was, with her foot propped on a tiny pillow. 

Scott was fine. 

A buzzing sound caught his attention, and he noticed a mosquito was hovering around the dolls. He considered for a moment, and then let his petty side reign free. He held up Scott’s doll and pulled the band of his pants wide. A few magically infused words coaxed the mosquito into the pants, and then Stiles firmly allowed the band to snap closed again, trapping the mosquito inside. 

He gave it several minutes, allowing the mosquito as much time as possible to search for blood, and then let it go outside. With a slight smirk, he placed Scott’s doll back with the others. 

Finally, he checked Peter’s doll. 

The entire left side was an ashen grey. 

Stiles hadn’t seen anything like it before, and he immediately worried. Grabbing his phone, he called Peter while trying not to freak out. 

“‘Lo?” Peter answered. 

“Peter? Are you alright?” Stiles asked urgently. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Peter’s tone was confused. “I thought you’d still be asleep for at least another ten hours. Are you alright?”

Stiles glanced back at the doll. The left side was still grey. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just had a bad dream.”

“Do you want me to come over?” Peter asked casually, in a way that Stiles knew was deliberate. 

“No, I think I’m just going to try to go back to sleep.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Those flimsy human bodies need an absurd amount of rest, you know.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Goodnight Peter. 

“Goodnight Stiles.”

After hanging up, Stiles picked up Peter’s doll, taking a closer look. 

Could psychological injury manifest on the dolls? 

And what could Stiles even do about it?

After a moment, Stiles got up and put the doll on his window sill, left side pressed up against the cold windowpane. Slowly, the grey began to recede. It didn’t vanish entirely, but it was lighter than before. 

Stiles yawned so wide his jaw cracked. Groaning, he climbed back between the covers, leaving the lights on this time. 

The next morning, Peter was so distracted that he didn’t even think about killing Scott for more than a minute or two. 

When he’d left the Stilinski’s the night before, his entire left side had burned like it had years ago. The memory of his nerves burning and slowly trying to heal only to burn again was seared into his skin, felt on every inch of skin despite not being real. 

Now, however, it was gone, replaced by a soothing cooling sensation. 

Was it a curse? It was a luckily pleasant curse, if so. Had the witches done something? Would the cooling sensation slowly turn back into a burning sensation, or slowly freeze him from the left to the right?

He got up and headed straight for Stiles, partially to check on him after last night, and partially because he knew (slightly) more about curses than Peter. 

As soon as he arrived at the house he knew Stiles was still asleep. His slow, even breathing was a balm to Peter. He quietly let himself into the house, unconcerned with the second slow heartbeat behind the sheriff’s bedroom door. 

He slid into Stiles’ bedroom, a slight tension in his chest easing with the visual evidence of Stiles’ wellbeing. He glanced around the room, wondering if Stiles had changed his laptop password since the last time he guessed it. There might be a few files on curses in there-

Suddenly he noticed the doll. An unmistakable miniature version of himself sitting on the windowsill, leaning on the glass. He crept over, fascinated, and picked himself up. Suddenly his left side warmed. Not burning, but no longer pleasantly cool either. His eyes widened, and he put the doll back up against the window. The cold sensation returned. Peter’s mouth dropped open and he picked up the doll once more. 

He’d never say what possessed him, aside from the need to be absolutely sure, but he grabbed hold of the doll’s arm between two fingernails and pinched. 

“Ouch!” he hissed, rubbing the sharp pain on his own arm. 

Stiles suddenly stirred, blearily alarmed eyes scanning the room before falling on Peter. 

“Pet’r?” he mumbled. “What’re you doing here s’ early?” He yawned and rubbed his eyes. 

Peter said nothing, just waiting for Stiles to finish waking up and notice what he was holding. 

It only took another moment. 

“Oh shit,” Stiles said. Peter raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t gonna stick pins in you or anything,” Stiles blurted. 

“I can see that,” Peter said, looking back down at the doll amazed and curious. “Why was he leaning up against the window?”

Stiles fidgeted for a moment before answering. 

“Your left side hurt,” he said quietly. Peter stilled. “It looked different from a normal injury, so I thought- well. I thought the window would help.”

Peter stood quietly for a moment. 

“It did,” he finally said, and sat his doll back on the windowsill. He turned bright eyes on Stiles. “You’re truly amazing, you know that?”

Stiles tried to fight down a blush, but it found its way to his face anyway. Peter took a step closer to the bed, bringing himself within touching distance. 

“Incredible. Wonderful. Brilliant. Stunning-”

“Oh my God,” Stiles groaned, face getting pinker with every word. “Why are you doing this?”

Peter leaned down closer.

“I just want you to know all the reasons I’m about to do this.”

And then he kissed him. 

Stiles let out a startled little gasp, allowing Peter to slip his tongue in, bringing his hands up to cradle Stiles’ head. Stiles moaned into the kiss, tilting to deepen it and grabbing on to Peter’s wrists with his own hands. The press of their lips seemed to last an eternity while also only lasting a second, the licks and bites in between marking movement of something other than time. 

When they finally parted, Peter pressed his cheek to Stiles and whispered into his ear, “It’s not because of gratitude. It’s because of you.”

Stiles shuddered, gripping onto to Peter more tightly before moving to gently pet down Peter’s side. They stayed that way for a while, but eventually Stiles’ bruises needed attention. 

As he rubbed an arnica mixture into them, he showed Peter the rest of the dolls. 

“Amazing. Truly exceptional, except where’s yours?” Peter asked. 

Stiles stalled out at that. 

“I... don’t have one?” He shrugged. “I dunno. Seems weird to take care of my own voodoo doll.” 

“Hm,” Peter said, the wheels already turning in his head. 

Scott stopped by later to check on both of them and bemoan the lack of honesty in blood witches. 

If Stiles noticed that he couldn’t sit still for itching, then he said nothing. 

Peter eventually convinced Stiles to make a doll for himself, and then swiftly took it into his own care. He kept the doll tucked away safe most of the time, although on days Stiles couldn’t be there, it came out at least twice a day for a kiss good morning and kiss good night.

And when the others saw, they said nothing, because Stiles was sure to inform them that dolls as a creative outlet and comfort item are appropriate for anyone at any age. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: For @nobodyinparticular98, who was going to die unless I did something with this, and @bookwormcheerleader who was totally right that this is a steter idea. 

#steter #steter fic #fyi I have never proofread a single thing on tumblr and this is no exception lmao #voodoo dolls #extension of a tag fic idea #<tbh that should be like a permanent tag on my blog #this blog needs a tag for my bullshit #2k under the cut #written in an hour while I procrastinated feeding my family #the cat is mad #the kids don't care tho #okay I came back and fixed a few things lol #tumblr fic and kinda fic

[erinelizabethh]

What’s Left Behind | Avengers: Endgame

Implied Tony Stark x Reader 

Summary: “What about those left behind, struggling to reach that same amount of normalcy they were promised? What more is there to say?”

*SPOILERS BELOW*

They all say that your life will resume eventually, that everything will return to normalcy until the year follows because you’re supposed to not let it consume your life. They hold you as you remain stiff in their embrace, your shoulder wet with the taste of salt and sorrow as they look for you for comfort. They don’t ask why tears don’t fall past your eyelashes, for they know you too well. None of it ever changes, that you are sure of, except your eyes fall to the ripples of water that spread from grief-stricken clouds contrasting your impassive demeanor with the realization that change is more prevalent than you would have liked. Of course, you can snap your fingers and drag the clouds from their despondence, perhaps become the light the world was in need of a year ago, but you wonder how fitting that would be when the light of your life was extinguished that same day.

The world isn’t as it was without him, yet a child remains unaware of that as her footprints stop just behind yours near the lake. Her hair grows past her shoulders, her outfit as red as the suit her father spent his life in, yet a smile stretches at her chubby cheeks not knowing just how important she is… was to him—to you. Her tiny frame wraps around one of your legs, and she, Morgan, calls your name until you’re obligated to spare a glance over your shoulder, a grin tugging on your lips that’s too much of a façade for a child to inquire about. Her hair begins to frizz, strands becoming out of place as she stands outside in the rain for what seems like no reason at all, and a thought runs rampant that Tony beyond existence thinks you need her.

That’s the last person I need, someone like you.

The world is no longer the same now that the infamous playboy philanthropist is gone, a title you once loathed hearing, and you notice the change happening when a teenager stands adjacent to you by the lake house. Like Morgan, Peter finds your frown in his periphery before mimicking your actions and shuffling his gaze towards a lake meant for the loss of many. Your eyes remain fixated on petals drifting in the waters, petals of a flower that decorated the brief eulogy of a man who sacrificed a life he once fought for so those close to him can continue the fight to live as their own. You almost fail to remember that the last of his legacy is frolicking behind you in the pouring rain because the tribute of flowers embracing his soul was off without a body or mind to dictate it, now frivolous in the bottom of the sea. Is society aware of that? Are the people aware who they truly lost?

“I miss him,” Peter chokes out with a shake of his head, as he is but a child still naïve to loss and how it will tear him apart regardless of whether he deserves it or not. The Grim Reaper will catch his fleeting gaze, and only then will he realize of how expendable he is in this world.

You miss him too, you suppose; you miss his smart mouth and you miss his impact he left on the world when the only danger was to New York—finer days, as New York truly needed the upgrade in their subway systems. You reminisce of that grin reserved only for you when you were positive he was the one. You miss the moment he soared into space with the promise that you would be alright, because regardless of what happened, nothing would change but the absence of a man too good for this world. The years have not been kind to you since, because the world fell apart eventually until you were forced to pick up the pieces of everyone you lost, futile attempts to reunite them weighing at your conscious because normalcy depended on it. The second Tony Stark decided that he was going to end all of it, the regret, melancholy, the ache in your heart that life was meant for more than this, the second you found that the lack of snide comments and childlike independence was something that could never be replaced.

Morgan cries out your name, dirt coating her hands as she digs into the earth with a grin reserved for you, and you return the favor by allowing the tears to trail down your chin. The droplets glisten on your skin, persevering despite your pleads for them to stop. They told you that life will be better, that he will be but a distant thought that will fuel you to live if not for his lingering memory. They told you that he is in a better place, where he no longer has to worry about the fate of the world he fought so hard to protect, sitting idle until people like you follow him into a blissful afterlife you fucking knew didn’t exist. Perhaps that’s the hope people hold onto, that there exists a place more than the one they occupy, a paradise where their loved ones wait, and wait, and wait until they are ready to move on.

What about Morgan? What the hell are you supposed to tell her?

What about those left behind, struggling to reach that same amount of normalcy they were promised? What more is there to say?

#tony stark x reader #avengers endgame #avengers:endgame spoilers #tony stark #avengers imagine #avengers #FUCKING Y I K E S #angst #writing #it glitched out lmao

[ofmikaelsonmagiks]

With Matthias all grown up, could you describe his relationship with each of the Mikaelsons? How have they evolved now that he's like a legit man?

WARNING: This is gonna get long, because Matthias’s relationship with most of his family members is pretty complicated. And I wrote these out in order of least-to-most complicated dynamics.

Kol: This is probably the easiest relationship to define. As a child, Matthias was probably a little unnerved by Kol, honestly. Unlike the rest of the family, who tried to immediately warm Matthias up to them all and make him feel like one of the family, Kol was very closed off and sort of had a “KEEP OFF THE GRASS” kind of aura (note: Kol was the grass). They warmed up to each other naturally, though, with both of them reaching out on their own terms. As he grew up, Kol became the person he could go to without fear of being judged or chastised or bullied into one decision or another. This led to Matthias, as an adult, having a fairly open and welcoming relationship with his uncle, and made him the uncontested favorite (whether Kol likes it or not). 

Hayley: Matthias adored his aunt. Still does, to this day. And he will forever be grateful to her for taking care of him the five years their family was out of commission. Living with Hayley and Hope was sort of surreal, because he got to really see for the first time what a normal mother-child relationship was like. There was no baggage or trauma between them, they just. . loved each other. It kind of made him sad sometimes, because he knew, no matter how much he and Freya loved each other, their relationship would never be that simple. Hayley often tried to mother him as well, which was fine when he was a child, but something he chafed against as he grew older, for a multitude of reasons. Still, he always loved and respected Hayley.

Hope: Firstly, it needs to be known that Matthias would literally die for this kid, no questions asked. From the moment he saw her, he loved her. She was a sweet, innocent baby who smiled and wrapped her tiny little hand around his finger and tried to use it as a teething toy; how could he not? It was also a lot easier to bond with a baby when that baby was one of the only people not to pester him to talk about his life with Dahlia (the other being Kol). However, growing up, there was always a small amount of resentment, and A LOT of jealousy. 

Hope had this entire group of people who were willing to sacrifice everything for her, who were determined to keep her safe and preserve her innocence for as long as possible. She had a mother who died for her, literally. Most importantly, she never had to experience Dahlia’s abuse, despite being a Mikaelson firstborn like himself (like his mother), and in spite of being on the run for most of it, she had a pretty happy childhood. Matthias got over it as he grew up, the love far overshadowing everything else, and ended up taking on the role of a big brother. He did everything in his power to make sure she never felt alone as he had so many times, going so far as to follow her to the Salvatore Boarding School. He even became a teacher there for the sole purpose of still having her back (and maybe, a little bit, to actually help the next generation of witches). Matthias tries to make it crystal clear that Hope can always depend on him, no matter what. (Especially after everything that happened in canon events of s5)

Rebekah: While his aunt was nothing but loving to him, it was often a bit too much for him to handle. He didn’t know how to handle the loving touches or kind words. Like Hayley, she often got motherly with him. Sometimes he felt like he was a replacement–or rather a place holder–of sorts for her, for what she couldn’t have on her own. That was a bit too much pressure for him. It got easier as he got older, in some ways. She was less motherly, but no less pushy when it came to being involved in his life. He felt more exasperated with her than anything when he was an adult. Still, Rebekah’s one of the easier people in the family to talk to.

Elijah: Where Kol was more of the much older brother, Elijah was more of the stern father figure. He cared for Matthias, and tried to be there for the boy, he was also a bit controlling and domineering at times, as he had been with his siblings. Elijah frequently tried to drill into him the importance of family, which was overwhelming for the boy either way you looked at it; he was neither prepared for that gift of this supposed unfailing family loyalty, nor was he prepared to give it. Elijah had all of his memories erased when Matthias was a teenager, and he couldn’t help feeling betrayed by it. Just as he was starting to truly open up to the man, he goes and abandons everything he’d been trying to pound into Matthias’s head. This betrayal turned into indifference as the years passed. By the time Elijah regained his memories, Matthias really wasn’t sure how to feel about the man. Being an adult now, Matthias maintains a slightly warmer than cordial connection with his uncle, but they’re really not that close.

Klaus: Matthias was always frightened of him, as a child. His explosive bouts of anger, shouting, throwing things, throwing threats and punches at his family (which sort of contradicted everything the Mikaelsons were trying to teach him), always set him on edge. He was never sure where he stood with Klaus, in any regard. This wasn’t helped by the stories he heard as he got older about all the times Klaus had turned and stabbed one sibling or another in the back over some petty offense. If that was how he treated the siblings he’d known for a thousand years, what would he do to Matthias, should he ever cross his uncle? His opinion of Klaus dropped further still when he abandoned Hope. He didn’t give a damn about the man’s intentions, there was no excuse for cutting off all contact with her. As an adult he has a rather tense relationship with Klaus, because he has a hard time forgiving the emotional damage he caused Hope.

Freya: This is by far the most complicated relationship in his life, but also the most important. There will always be that inherent love that comes from being someone’s child… but there’s always going to be that resentment and pain from being a child that was abandoned repeatedly in one way or another. Matthias spent most of his childhood hearing horrible things about Freya, how she’d tried to kill him, how she’d abandoned him when that hadn’t worked, how she’d never wanted him to begin with… They were lies (or carefully twisted truths) told to him by Dahlia, but he couldn’t exactly unhear them, just because he finally met the woman who gave him life. His relationship with Freya was always bound to be strained. Even once he accepted her as his mother and began warming up to her, there was no way for her to undo all the damage that had been done to him before, nor was there a way for her to erase the fact that her actions had allowed it to happen. 

Just when he was really getting comfortable with her, Freya killed Davina. It frightened him because of how much her sacrificing a young woman for the sake of power (even if it was in the name of protecting family) reminded him of Dahlia. Then immediately after she was drugged and had to be put in an enchanted sleep to preserve her life. He had five years to think about what his mother had done, and what that meant for him, for their relationship. When Freya awoke, he was a young man, and he felt an extreme amount of pressure to let the past be the past and make up for all the time they’d lost with each other. He could see how desperately his mother wanted a relationship with him, could feel their whole family watching him expectantly. In some ways, it was easy to let her be his mother, because it was what he’d always wanted. In other ways, it was so much harder than he’d ever expected, because it felt like a lie, like a game of pretend. He was nearly grown, anyway, and he didn’t really feel like he needed a mother–at least, not in the way she wanted to be one. Dahlia had done her damage when he was a child, and Hayley had raised him for five years. . there wasn’t much left for Freya to do at that point, other than just to be there. 

It was hard watching Hope bond with his mother in a way that he knew he never really could. It was even harder watching Freya start a life with Keelin. He felt even more out of place with her than ever, but didn’t know how to express it without making her feel guilty–and that really wasn’t what he wanted. Matthias had to accept that they weren’t ever going to have a normal mother/son relationship, so he did the only thing he could do: he moved on. He went to school, he became a teacher, he made a life of his own, but kept in contact with Freya. It was easier to have a relationship at a distance. Texts and phone calls were much more manageable than face-to-face encounters, and all the reminders of what they could never have, no matter how hard they tried. Their relationship has always been, and will always be, complicated and full of too many conflicting emotions. It doesn’t make him love his mother any less, but it does make it difficult to get close to her, even (or especially) after all these years.

#asks #anonymous #meta #headcanon #relationship headcanon

[impvarjack60]

05 Meet the Real Anna

I was just nodding off to a blissful afternoon nap when the door swung open, my heart leapt into my throat...

"Hi, honey!, I'm home!" "Aghh!, what are you?!!" "What do you mean, 'What are you?' I'm your girlfriend, silly! Don't you recognize me?"

My God!, what is this thing?, she looked exactly like Anna, yea, that Anna. And I mean, exactly like Anna. What did these crazy aliens do? Why her? She was positively creepy looking in real life, her eyes were the size of cue balls, she had this tiny button of a nose that barely worked as she started to breath heavy.

"Are you real?" "Of course I'm real, silly, just touch me." She held out her hand to me, but my only instinct was to recoil away from her, then I ran out of space.

"You don't like me?" "No Anna, I mean,... that is your name, right? It's just the fact that you shouldn't exist." "You... don't.. want me...then?" Tears were welling up in her eyes, it looks as though I've offended her somehow. But that's just it. I didn't know if she was a robot, or some radically altered human, or even one of them. Her appearance was absolutely shocking, I mean, animated characters shouldn't walk up to you in the flesh. She then burst through the door and took off running. Her white dress flowing behind her. Oh, shit, now what have I done?, guess I better go find her. I do care about her well being, don't I? She's the first 'human' contact I've had on this ship.

I found her down by the lake on a bench drowning in a pool of her own tears. I felt terrible. Oh crap!, this may be some kind of test. Those tricky bastards! They send me the one 'woman' that I couldn't possibly resist falling in love with, then I'm supposed to comfort her and assure her everything is OK. Fine, they win this round. So I took a seat beside her with my hands folded into my lap, I was still leary of touching her.

"Anna, I'm sorry. I don't reject you, but you have to understand, your appearance is very bizarre to me. You're supposed to be a fictional animated character from a movie, you shouldn't be here right now."

"But they made me for you! You are all I have. I can love no other, ever." "Anna, what did you expect when you walked through my door?" "I expected you to give me a hug and say, 'I love you!'" "Anna, it's just not that easy." She was planted with memories, most likely with some of mine. Apparently they were very selective with what they put in there. Maybe they wanted her to grow, and come up with her own individuality. Either way, they did make some mistakes, they certainly misjudged me, now this poor girl is miserable. But misery is an emotion, and I find it touching she feels so strongly about me, even if it is misguided.

I took her hands and looked into her eyes. My God, her hands were soft, but this was going to take some getting used to. Her pupils were so large that in certain light I could see the veins on her retinas. Those eyes. I've always had a thing for eyes, I really liked them in the movie, but then everyone else in the film had big eyes. So Elsa and Anna kinda' blended in. As a living being and presented to me in person however, my brain goes with fear. The impossible has happened again, just like this place. I must calm down. See her for what she is. We're on a spaceship, crazy things are going to pop up every now and again. This is flat out insane, but I'm going to give her a chance, no matter what.

"Look, there will come a day when I'll look at you just like this,... and say 'I love you', in fact, I'm certain of it. I cannot help but fall in love with you. But today is not that day."

"I think I understand. I'm kinda' new to this whole being alive thing." She was like a child, with just enough mental faculties to get her into trouble. What have I got myself into? I spent a lifetime fantasizing about space travel, and leaving that God-forsaken rock behind. Now I'm on this space ark headed to a fresh, brand new world, charged with building the next Garden of Eden, with the most beautiful yet bizarre woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I still manage to screw it up.

"Why don't we take a walk around the lake, and you can tell me what they planted into that head of yours."

"I'd love to." And with that I took her hand and we walked along the trail. Creatures of all sorts were out and about, going about their lives without a care. They just had to make sure they had enough to eat. Shelter wasn't a problem, well, at least not now. That would change sometime in the future.  

"OK, Anna, start at the beginning. What are your earliest memories?"

"Me and my sister are in our room, and there are pretty colors shining thru the windows. It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. I said something to the effect of wanting to build a snowman?" I just started laughing, she was implanted with my memories from the movie, as if they were real. "What's so funny?" "Um, you!, those memories are from the movie that you are based on." "So all those things never happened?, my parents death?, my sister ignoring me? 'L' something...." "Elsa, your sisters' name was Elsa." "We lived in a castle, I was a princess! Elsa became Queen, then something bad happened, but it gets fuzzy after that." "Ugh,.. yes, that's what you were, in the movie. You are not a real princess, although you certainly look like one." She smiled a bit at the fact that I gave her a complement.

"What was it in a princess movie that you were so attracted to?"

"The answer to that is more mysterious than this ship we're on. I really don't know. I watched it just to see what all the fuss was about. I was really in love with that animation style, and this movie got so much attention. I started watching it and was just floored, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. About every ten years or so, I see a movie that just wrecks my life, and this was one of them. Olaf told me that this movie was my most dominant thought, and it's true, Frozen was an obsession, and those are very dangerous to one's sanity." "Olaf, you mean the snowman?, is he here?" "Sort of, he's a round metal ball that is the go-between for us and the beings who created you." "So where do I fit into all this?" Now she's asking all the questions. Curiosity, there may be hope for her yet. Curiosity is a sign of intelligence.

"As a character, I was in love with you. You were brave, and impetuous. You had this youthful vivaciousness that was just infectious. You were warm and caring, and just plain irresistible. Your sister struck you with her magic, and you slowly froze to death, and in your last gasp, you sacrificed yourself to save your sister. I just couldn't get over what a powerful statement that was. They must've thought you'd be the perfect mate for me."

"Why can't I remember that?" "I don't know, it was a big part of why I was so enamored of you. Maybe because the chance of you meeting your sister is near zero, unless some other person on this Ark is as wacko as me." "Oh, stop it!" Then she hit me in the arm somewhat playfully.

It was all so nuts. I sometimes wonder if I'm dying, and this is just some fantasy my mind is creating to ease the pain of death. I remember getting sucked into the ship, maybe we're just being slowly roasted for some alien banquet, and they just stopped at Earth for some groceries.

"Anything else in there?" "Yea, going to school, and learning stuff, English, math, history, and... welding?" "Ha, those are definitely my memories." They used my education to give her the basics, that seemed very resourceful. "There was something about being put in a closet at recess, and writing stories? Something about a lion?" "Wow, thanks for dredging that one up, his name was Leo." She let out this adorable little giggle, at least they got that right. "That was the doing of my seventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Stokes. I thought she was a miserable witch for doing that. It took me a few decades to figure out she was just trying to help me, and that she thought I had potential. Most teachers don't care enough to go thru that much effort for just one pupil." "I see that now." This was just weird. Anna was just an infant, and they needed something to put her together with, so she could function like an adult, but her brain was a scramble of mixed memories. I just hope I don't wake up one morning with her standing over me with a butcher knife just before she plunges it in.

"We should head back, we're not even supposed to be out here yet." "Are you gonna' follow all the rules, silly?" The impetuous child comes out again. "Let's go, Anna." I put some forcefulness in my voice, let's she how she responds to that. "OK, but it's so pretty out here." She kinda' hung her head down, as if disappointed. "Yes, it is. But we have no idea how our 'benefactors' will react, and I'm not willing to find out." "I'm getting hungry anyhow, how's about us getting something to eat?" "I am feeling a bit peckish, great idea." And with that, we headed back to the domicile.

_________________________________________________________

On the way back she ran out in front of me to chase some ducks. Well, at least I thought they were ducks. If it walks like a duck, and squawks like a duck, it's a duck. Just ones I've never seen before. She was laughing and giggling the whole time, practically dancing as she moved, she looked so light on her feet, while waving her arms about. She was truly enjoying life. It was easy to see she could make me very happy, a woman like her fulfilled my every fantasy. But that's just it, that dreaded word fantasy. I had been brought up to crush down every dream I've ever had. "You have to work very hard at a real job, or you'll never amount to anything." My mom always used to say. She was a dream killer. In my youth, I always wanted to learn a musical instrument, but was always told no. "Your brother blew into a horn three times then quit, it was a waste of money." And that was it, I didn't get the chance because of something my brother did decades ago. I wonder if that memory is in her head.

It looks as though I've been given a second lease on life. I hope we have some musicians on board who are teachers, with my rebuilt nervous system, maybe now I can learn to play. One thing's for sure, we've got time on our hands.

And I'm no longer alone.....

__________________________________________________