#that link was going somewhere alone after their extensive talks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-love-you-all · 9 months

Note

For the shuffle music ask: Breach x Sage (or alternatively solo sage)?

Thank you for the ask! I did Breach/Sage for this one, and I think I'll do Sage solo afterwards bc she does not get a large spotlight in this one as it's mostly from Breach's POV. It's a Nurse!Sage and Criminal! Breach. My choice to make Sage a nurse instead of a doc was because of how I see her. She's more hands on, nurturing, aka more likely to be at the patient's bedside instead of coming in to check every few hours and being the one to diagnose/order tests. Viper would be a doctor in this tho!

The song I got for this one is Mika's Dr. John. The full outline is below the cut. Bold parts are the actual lyrics, everything else is me :))

These are fun, so if anyone else also wants to send in an ask, please do! (Link here to the original post I made)

I look for joy in a strange place; From the back of the bar, from afar

Scene starts in a busy bar that belongs to Breach, or rather, his family, on a friday evening. Breach, still healing from wounds is seated somewhere shady and secluded to finish up “business”. Sage comes in with a couple friends.

Breach notices right away bc her style is so different from others. Wraps up his part as soon as he can and walks over.

“Strange, I walk into your place of business yesterday, and now you come into mine. Almost like fate or destiny huh?”

Sage is ready to leave the bar, remembering that she doesn’t like this guy

Viper gets along well with Breach, he handles her bluntness well, and he’s not put off by anything she says.

But how kind he is to her friends, and by extension Sage, maybe gives her doubts? After all, no one’s an angel when they’re in pain.

He leaves her alone, and for a bit, she forgets about him until they’re about to leave when he maybe sends them home w extra food or helps them call a taxi.

I see the look on my mama's face. When her son's in the corner, undone. She says that my life is over: "Boy, you don't know what you got till it's gone. Come put your head upon my shoulder” She gave me her hand, but I ignored her.

Breach has to reconcile with the idea that his business is not safe and so there’s no point in thinking about the nurse, and that he’s heard the stories and seen firsthand what people will do to hurt someone. Their aim often strays in their attempt to ruin their target.

His mother comes by his apartment to make sure he’s eating well and that he’s not taking the pressure from his father too hard.

She shows him a picture that one of his partners (Raze) took of him and Sage and sent it to his mom.

She asks him about his happiness and if this is what he actually wants to spend the rest of his life doing.

“Haven’t you ever thought about resting? Picking up from your fears and making something nice out of them?”

His answer is no, and when she asks if he wants help, again he refuses.

Oh, Dr. John, What am I doing, what am I doing wrong? 'Cause I keep on trying. Something ain't going, something ain't going on, Dr. John

A scene where Breach is rambling to Raze about his fears about what’ll happen to them if he can’t find a way out of this target on his back. She has complete faith in him and what he can achieve. Almost to a foolish amount, she truly believes that they’ll make it out of this war alive and well.

“Can we stop talking about this? It’s pulling down my mood, man.” (Raze) “What will you do after?”

Breach has no answer because he has no plans. This is all he’s known, one war to another. The opponent always changes, and sometimes, his allies too.

I see the look on my daddy's face. When his son's fallin' over, undone. Father, my life is over. I didn't know what I had, now it's gone Can I lay my head upon your shoulder? If I fall asleep, will it be over?

Breach gets bad news about his brother. He’s stable, but it’ll be a slow recovery. Like Breach predicted, the target widens every time they learn about someone he cares about. And this takes all wind out of his sails. He just wants this fight to end, even if it ends with his death.

He doesn’t realize that well, this is the hospital where Sage works until he talks with Viper (the Dr) and recognizes her.

Sage does come in later, covering for another nurse for the day, and she sees Breach alone, last of his family to leave the hospital, with his head between his knees as he’s trying to think about his next move.

Breach wants to end this as quickly as possible.

Sage gets him a cup of coffee and they talk

They talk about how he’s in the hospital quite often, and Breach divulges that it didn’t used to be like this.

They talk about family, and that his brother was his father figure for a long time and so if he lost his brother…

She makes the leap of assumptions and implies that Breach is part of a gang or some sort of organized crime, and she asks why

Family? It’s just what was expected.

“If you could do anything in the world, what would you want to do?”

Breach has no answer.

Sage might’ve wanted to be a gardener or a botanist. Hospitals can get hectic, and she loves her meditative activities.

First establishment of a connection of some sort until she needs to move on with her shift, and he goes home.

You say I'm a big heartbreaker, but Doctor, I'd never hurt you. Isn't it obvious?

This would come in much later in the story. Maybe they’ve been dating for a month or two. It’s a private dinner in the bar that’s been closed for the day. This is when the finale of the gang/crime war happens, and Breach needs to find a way to defend himself, protect Sage, call backup, and win. At the very end of it, when Sage finally realizes just how deep into all this stuff Breach is, they have a serious conversation.

Sage is able to protect herself and hold her own in a fight (martial arts if ppl come close to try and take her hostage but obviously, Sage doesn’t feel safe.

She knows how cyclical this is. Another group will want revenge on Breach, and then the next and the next, and that’s assuming Breach doesn’t die. She’s seen it too much in the hospital. She also knows that more than just the guilty parties get caught in the crossfire.

Also, Sage doesn’t want to patch up her partner after every fight.

Breach is falling hard for her and though he knew the answer, he doesn’t want to let her go either.

He promises things like he would never let anything hurt her, and that he never meant to wound her like this.

She admits that it feels a little like heartbreak, and he can do nothing but accept that.

How would I end this? I think it would lead to Breach dealing with the aftermath and the revenge plots like Sage predicted. I think she overhears something at the hospital and goes to warn him but arrives barely in time and it’s her, Breach, and Raze fighting their way out before a large event (explosion or something similar). Breach gets hospitalized and with some strings pulled with Viper and Sage, Breach and Raze are pronounced “dead”. They get their new start, and Breach moves on to his passion project, maybe something simple at first like mechanics, maybe car detailing, and Raze can help paint cars. Something simple.

#Thank you for sending that in!#it was fun :))#valorant #valorant fanfic #valorant breach #breach #valorant sage #sage #breach x sage #tremorheal #my writing

4 notes · View notes

fairestwriting · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I ask for an hc for octavinelle + riddle and malleus where their fem s/o was a vampire and the boys just knew it the moment she craved their blood? 👀 thanks!

this ones for all my vampire fuckers out there

+ ko-fi link, if anyone feels like financially supporting my writing

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew you wanted to drink from him because of the look you’d been getting in your eyes when you were together.

Won’t be sure on how to approach it. Azul had expected something like this to happen, it just seemed like something that would come with dating a vampire... but now that it’s happening, what does he do? He can’t help but feel like just offering himself to you would be... moving too fast, or something adjacent to it.

He ends up just waiting for you to come to him about it, and while he does, he thinks about how the whole ordeal would feel like very extensively... you catch him staring at your fangs often, almost everytime you flash them while you speak. There’s a nervous glint on his eyes as he looks.

Honestly, Azul is kind of afraid of the pain. He imagines it might be like getting blood drawn, but that still doesn’t really comfort him much. But somehow, he feels willing to just let you drink from him whenever you feel like asking for it...

When the waiting game is over, he’ll be the sort of person who just stays still and closes their eyes, letting you take complete control of the situation. When you get close to him you’ll feel him shake a little -- But he doesn’t move until you’ve had what you needed. Though if he starts getting too lightheaded from blood loss, he might panic.

Jade Leech

Smells the thirst on you, but he’s polite about it.

He’s not well versed in vampire etiquette, he isn’t sure if just offering someone a drink from themselves is considered rude, so he’ll just not really talk about it directly, preferring to approach it more subtly -- Tilting his head innocently at you, asking if you needed anything to drink, offering to fetch it for you if that’s the case.

He’s probably been providing you with blood from others’ to keep you fed, but let’s say you haven’t bitten him yet. As mentioned, he won’t outright offer to let you drink his blood, but if you just ask him, he’ll just smile and allow it. He has to keep his darling well-fed, doesn’t he?

He’s thought about how it’d feel like before. Everyone would, but Jade thought about it a lot -- He likely has a place where he’d like it to happen in mind, but he won’t mind it if you want to take him anywhere else. As long as he gets to find out how it feels like.

Just... weirdly excited about it. He asks you where you’d rather bite, ready to let you have access to whatever spot you pick (Though he’s always imagined it on his neck... it’s cliché, yeah.)

Makes a small gasp-y noise when your fangs go in, but just from the shock. He doesn’t find it too painful at all. He’ll be pliant while you have your drink, and when you’re done he asks you how you’ve found your meal in his best waiter voice, grinning.

Floyd Leech

Smells the thirst on you and is not very polite about it.

So Shrimpy’s hungry? She wants to have some of his blood? That’s not a big deal to Floyd at all, he’s gotten blood out of his body for worse reasons, after all. A little bite or two won’t be too bad.

The one you go for when you want a boyfriend that’s just really chill about you being a vampire. He’ll usually ask you where you’d prefer to bite, but sometimes he might just randomly offer his neck if he notices you’re especially hungry. It’s only partially to tease you.

He doesn’t sit still, so you’ll have to bite into him fast before he starts jiggling his legs or rocking back and forth. Or just sit on his lap so you can ensure his legs won’t be kicking around everywhere.

No reaction when your fangs are on him. Fangs in general aren’t news for him, he has some of his own, you see! He also just has quite the pain tolerance. Pets your hair and smiles while you drink from him, asking you if he tastes nice.

When you’re done, he’ll usually put his arms around you in a big, tight hug, and ask once again if he’s done well, all giggly. Sometimes he jokes about biting you back, so you’re even.

One day he’ll get too curious and kiss you to see what his own blood tastes like.

Riddle Rosehearts

He won’t tell you, but... he’s a bit scared of it. Not full on fear, but something like unease.

It’s strange to think that his girlfriend would see him... or a part of him, rather, as something to feed on. He can’t process it right, and yet, he finds himself more willing to just let you have his blood than he’d imagine.

But because he’s scared of being seen as food or a prey or anything like that, he wouldn’t just let it happen easily. He’ll have to deeply trust you to let you bite him. While he doesn’t feel ready or safe enough for it, he watches you drink from other sources with this strange look on his eyes. Only part of it is fear.

When he’s ready to let you drink from him, he’ll let you know quietly, in a whisper while you two are alone together, maybe just at his dorm room, laying on his bed. He sucks in a deep breath, loosening his collar to expose his neck, and waits quietly for you to bite into him.

He doesn’t make a sound, trying to just deal with it the way one would deal with getting a shot at the doctor’s... but the way it feels is undeniably different. His head gets fuzzy fast, he’ll grab onto you while you drink from him and keep his eyes squeezed shut, waiting it out.

Things like that won’t happen often, but... he’ll let you do it again, eventually.

Malleus Draconia

Not inexperienced when it comes to vampires, if you two are in a committed relationship he’ll be willing to let you have some of his blood every now and then.

Fae are very resistent creatures, so you wouldn’t have to worry about taking too much, either. The problem at hand is that the sensation from drinking his blood would likely be different from any human or animal blood you’ve ever had in your life -- Maybe it’s the taste, maybe it has specific aftereffects. You don’t know what it is, but it feels different.

Lets you pick where you’ll bite him so nonchalantly, you’d think he was just asking you what you felt like eating for lunch (Well, he kind of is)

Once you’ve made your pick, he’ll bring you somewhere comfortable where you can just feed to your heart’s content. It’s either his or your own bedroom or any special lounge rooms in the Draconia manor, if you’re at his place. He sits down on the most comfortable surface and lets you stay close to him, if you’re drinking from his wrist, or you can be on his lap if you’re going for the neck. Drinking from his leg would be more complicated since he might have to lay down, but he won’t mind doing it either.

Quiet like Riddle, but his breath hitches when your fangs go in. He’s almost completely still for the first few seconds of you drinking from him, limbs tense, but he relaxes soon. As he starts feeling more lightheaded, he might begin to chatter, about his interests or asking you questions, especially about vampirism. His hands wander a bit, petting your arm or your back. It’s a strange sort of intimacy.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lis writing

575 notes · View notes

songbirdstargazer · 2 years

Text

(Non)fatal flaws

I'M NOT LATE YOU'RE LATE

oO0Oo

For as long as Legend could remember, there were only a few people who were always there for him, even when he was too young to actually realize it.

The very first was his uncle, Alphon. As he would later find out, Alphon wasn’t his biological uncle, but he might as well have been. In all of Link’s early memories, Alphon was his only family. There was never a mother or father, only his uncle. And Link was perfectly happy with that.

His childhood was filled with laughter and play fighting in the apple grove, fishing trips at Lake Hylia, and practicing swordplay in front of the house. Alphon was like a father to Link, in almost every sense of the word. He was happy, loved, cared for. That’s what made it all the more devastating when his destiny came to call.

The night Link woke to see his uncle disappearing into the pitch black changed things. Without almost any explanation, Alphon left the house decked in the most armor Link had ever seen him in. Link was already curious when his uncle didn’t bother telling him where he was going, and Zelda’s plea sealed the deal.

He followed his uncle to the castle sewers, dodging the oddly behaving guards and ducking beneath bushes just in time to see the horrific sight of Agahnim striking Alphon down, before vanishing like the coward he was.

Link sat with Alphon, begging and pleading for him not to go, not to leave him alone, until the life in his eyes faded, taking Link’s innocence and hope with it. His final words rang in his head as he sobbed, cradling the corpse of the only family he had ever known. All the boy was left with was cold, unforgiving steel and a mission.

Then came Zelda. As he stumbled out of the sewers and toward the dungeons, covered in his uncle’s blood, she murmured to him, trying to soothe the hurt in his heart, encouraging him to keep moving.

Link found her in the dungeons, cold and wrapped only in a torn blue nightgown, but safe. He quickly dispatched the guards outside her cell and escorted her to the safe house. As soon as they made it to the church and the door was sealed, she explained everything to him.

She was with him throughout his journey, always answering when he called to her. He even visited her in the safe house if he thought he wasn’t being followed, where she wrapped his wounds and they talked.

Even when he was hunted, sought for his head by the corrupted country he called home, she was there. They were fast friends, and thought alike. When those who hunted him took her and killed the priest, Link saw red.

He stormed the castle, not wasting a second longer. But when he found her, and by extension, Agahnim, it was too late. The wizard taunted him and fled, taking any hope of avenging the only people he could call family with him. He searched the room anyway though, and found the coward behind a curtain.

Link fought tooth and nail, paying no mind to his vicious injuries, dead set on ending Agahnim. Before that could happen though, he was banished, stuck in a body he could barely move in.

The time in the dark world was lonely, even after he got his form back. Without Zelda, he was completely alone, everyone he once knew afraid of him. Link pushed himself to the limit, finally freeing Hyrule, the maidens, and finally, Zelda.

The wish upon the Triforce brought back his uncle and Zelda’s father, but Link couldn’t banish the image of his uncle’s fate from head. His uncle moved into the castle and continued his work as a knight, but Link drew back, forever knowing his uncle’s true fate, made even worse by the discovery of his and Zelda’s relation.

When he couldn’t shake the nightmares, he left to find solitude, a time to think and explore somewhere new. What he got instead was a shipwreck and the most bittersweet dream he had ever had, bringing Marin with it.

The moment he saw her, he was head over heels. Her warm hazel eyes captured his attention immediately, bringing a sense of safety and making his heart race all at once. Her soft ginger waves of hair flowed down her back and onto her shoulders, held back only by a vibrant hibiscus, as carefree as the girl herself. And her smile… it was the brightest thing he had ever seen.

She took him in after finding him passed out on the beach, taking care of him with her father. It became clear very quickly that her personality was as lovely as her looks, caring for everyone she saw, hylian, human, or otherwise. He helped the people of Koholint and completed dungeons, and spent more and more time with her whenever he wasn’t. He foolishly ignored the warnings, captivated by the girl with the voice of an angel, cradled by a wonderful dream.

It didn’t take long after for him to realize she was the love of his life.

They made plans for her to travel with him back to Hyrule, to meet his sister and all his friends back home, but to do that, he had to wake the Wind Fish.

And he did. It all fell apart.

He woke up cold, wet, and utterly alone. It came in a rush seconds after he woke up, and brought the taste of salt in his mouth with it.

He didn’t know how he made it home, only that he left soon after, going nowhere in particular but ending up on two more adventures.

He didn’t know a soul, learning to draw into himself to shield the events he would soon fully process. He finished his quests and left, ignoring the parting words from Din and Nauru.

Everything reminded him of her. Din’s hair, the sky, passing scenery. But worst of all, the smell of salt water. As soon as he reached Hyrule again, he promised himself to stay grounded.

Then Zelda disappeared again. He tracked her down eventually, but before he ever got to her, Ravio came barreling into his life.

He set up shop in his house, and never really left. He’d never admit it, but he did come to relax in the sense of familiarity Ravio brought, and he quickly became a fixture in Link’s life.

After that came Hytopia, which to Link seemed more of a fever dream. He decided not to think about it too often.

When he finally found his way home again, this time seemingly for good, he tried to settle down. He started caring for the apple grove again, and took up smithing. He tried desperately to ignore conversation with those around him and finally move on.

He tried to banish his journeys and the goddess that sent him on them from his head, but they were memories he couldn’t shake, haunting him. He rushed along with his life, trying desperately to banish his wandering thoughts with meaningless work.

Then along came the chain, and he became Legend. Stuck in yet another adventure, it seemed. He drew away, determined as always not to get attached. It only ever hurt him.

But the perceived strangers were determined, and quickly rooted themselves in his heart. He would never admit it, but they became his brothers.

When it was all over and he returned home to the warm embrace of his loved ones, he made a vow not to forget what they had done for him.

And if one day he found her again, and added more family into the mix, well, he thought they’d approve.

#linked universe #link #link's awakening #a link to the past #oracle of seasons #oracle of ages #triforce heroes #link to the past #legend of zelda #just gonna drop this and run #lu legend

50 notes · View notes

babyjamiebarnes · 3 years

Text

Build-A-Bear

Part Twelve

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Steve, Sam, bff!Peter Parker

Warnings: language, mentions of smut/sex tapes, blackmail/threatening

Summary: With Tony now on your side, you and Bucky are able to take steps toward stopping your blackmailer — until things take a dark turn.

Author’s Note: Ugh, it’s not as long as I’d like it to be but it’s a good lead-up to the final chapter and I won’t feel so bad about taking forever if I finally get something out there 😖 I haven’t been in the best headspace lately but things are kind of looking up so hopefully I get the conclusion out faster 😞

Series Masterlist

Tags: @amourmarvel @fangirlvoice @kennedywxlsh @devilswaldorf @what-the-hap-is-fuckning @alyispunk @fredweasleysbitchh @wearegroot @sunflowerbebe107 @prestigious-tea @brckenmemories @angelbabymed @charmedbysarge @cruelsummer-s @fandomlovver @ahahafudge @thebivirgin

You thanked every deity in existence that there wasn’t enough room for you and four grown men in the Jeep because your dad had to drive separately from you, Bucky, Steve, and Sam. Once the doors shut, however, there was one question lingering in the air.

“So… how’d it go?” Sam asked.

Bucky let out a sigh.

“I’m still alive,” he deadpanned.

“Are you gonna… you know… stay that way?” Sam asked slowly.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips at the question. And when Bucky glanced over at you, he laughed quietly too. Which led to Steve chuckling at him and Sam smiling at the way he (unintentionally) relieved some of the gravity of the situation.

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a bit for the rest of the drive, but you caught him growing tense again when you all met your dad in the underground parking garage. It was the only place in your apartment building with no windows and no audio, but you knew there was video surveillance. There was a chance your stalker had access to the video, most likely through hacking the system, but they wouldn’t know what was being said. As you approached your father, he pulled what looked like two sniper rifles out of the backseat.

“Barnes, Wilson. You’re coming with me,” he said.

“Dad,” you chastised, assuming he was only taking Bucky with him to keep him from you.

“He was a World War II sniper, [Y/N]. It makes sense to have him using a scope to check where this psycho was watching you.”

You were silent in response, mostly because you knew he was right. And you’d still have Steve with you in your apartment, so it’s not like you’d be left alone.

Bucky immediately checked the safety and pulled back the bolt handle to make sure it was fully unloaded. He didn’t expect it to have anything in the chamber since there was no magazine, but he learned to take extra precaution. And just like when he cleared your apartment all those months ago, something about seeing him wield the power of a firearm made you shiver. How very American of you.

“These are all connected to a secure line,” Tony continued as he handed everyone the type of flip phone you had in middle school. “I hope you all remember how to text the old fashioned way because we’re not calling unless absolutely necessary. Considering what was in the video,” his jaw clenched as his eyes shot daggers at Bucky, “there are probably audio and video devices all over the apartment.”

“We scanned for that when we first started staying with her,” Sam said. “I just figured the video was taken before her identity was released.”

What he said just solidified Steve’s assumption. You definitely knew who was blackmailing you.

“It was after,” you said. “It was… that night was shortly after the…” you hesitated. Everyone looked at you patiently, but you could see Bucky take a subtle step away from your dad. He knew when the video was taken. “Um, it was shortly after the, uh, the pregnancy scare.”

All eyes moved to Bucky and Tony. The emotions that flickered across your dad’s face clearly showed his thoughts: shock, confusion, realization... You wouldn’t be surprised if this was the straw that broke the camel’s back; Bucky must’ve had the same thought as he darted to stand behind you.

“The what?!” Tony barked. “You — Barnes! I’m gonna —” He cut himself off and just huffed out a heavy breath, his hands curled into fists by his side and his jaw tight in an attempt to calm himself down.

“Not to make things worse but it takes two,” you said. “I was a willing participant.”

“But did it have to be with him?!”

“Dad!”

“I’m just saying, pumpkin, it could’ve been Parker!”

“He’s a kid!”

“And he,” your dad countered, pointing at Bucky, “is a senior citizen!”

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “I’m not having this conversation now. We’ll argue about my taste in men later. Go check out the buildings.”

You twisted on your heel and pulled Bucky down for a very unnecessary kiss. You knew it pissed your dad off, but he was being so frustrating! With a snap of his fingers, Tony got Sam and Bucky to follow him out the doors to the street where they would split up and check out the buildings within view of your kitchen and bedroom to see which one the photos were taken from.

Steve led you up to your apartment so you two could stand in the kitchen for everyone to look for from their respective buildings. You hopped up onto the counter while Steve leaned against the fridge across from you, arms crossed and brow furrowed as your eyes met.

“I think you’re right,” you said plainly. Steve held his finger up to his lips and pulled out the flip phone. You were kind of shocked he knew how pre-smart phone texting worked, but he continued to surprise you.

What makes you say that?

It’s not easy to get in this building. It’s even harder to get in my apartment.

Right as you hit send, a familiar jolt of realization shot up your spine. There was one major thing all of you were forgetting. You leaped off the counter and ran to your bedroom with Steve hot on your heels. In your earlier panic, none of you thought to look for a camera in the bedroom. There’s only one angle that video could’ve been taken from and it would’ve had to be inside your room.

If your memory served you correctly, the camera would’ve been set up somewhere on or near your bookshelf. Steve stood in the doorway while you scanned through all your books. You practically knew your setup by heart, so catching the skinny book that was out of place didn’t take long.

You turned to face Steve as you said, “I don’t have a hard cover copy of ‘Romeo and Juliet.’” You turned back to glare at the book and mumbled, “I actually hate ‘Romeo and Juliet’.”

The book was pretty thin, making it stand out even more in your extensive collection, but the title was written in a clear, elegant script along the spine. It almost made you question your own memory — until you noticed the ballpoint-sized hole near the bottom. The black background made it almost indistinguishable, but when you pulled it from the shelf, the hole was evident. And when you pulled it open, you found wires inside the cut-out pages and a small camera tucked against the hole in the spine.

“That fucker didn’t even clean up after himself,” you spat, throwing the pseudo-book onto your mattress. Steve picked it up and checked it out before calling Peter.

“Hey, if I send you a camera, can you see if it’s being wirelessly streamed to a separate device?” Your head snapped back to Steve at those words. When did the old man become so well-versed with tech? The last you knew, he struggled to take an iPhone video. Just a few months ago, he asked what the difference was between a flash drive and a hard drive.

While Steve talked to Peter, you walked back to the kitchen to see if the other boys were all in place. You didn’t have the scopes and binoculars they did, but you could still take a guess at which building your stalker took the photos from.

There weren’t many buildings high and close enough for that kind of angle and clarity, but the one you eyed most was just a bit to your left and a couple stories above where your apartment sat in your building. It wouldn’t be cheap to get a place like that, which made you start to doubt Steve’s assumption.

As you stood in the floor-to-ceiling window frame of your kitchen, your flip phone started buzzing in your hand.

“Yeah?” you answered.

“Don’t say anything that might give us away, in case there’s a recording device in your apartment,” Tony said. “I’m in the building right across from you but the angle doesn’t feel right. I think your boy toy is in the right place.”

As if on cue, Steve stepped beside you and answered his phone.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Sounds like you’re right,” you said to your dad. “He just called Steve.”

“We’ll meet you in the parking garage.” With that, your line went dead.

“Okay, meet us downstairs,” Steve said before ending his own call. “Buck’s pretty sure he found the apartment the photos were taken from. Sent the address to Parker so we should get contact info soon.”

You just nodded and headed downstairs again. Things were finally starting to look up. You had two new leads on top of anything Peter, Pepper, and Happy had found and prayed they somehow linked back to Steve’s accused.

Unfortunately, your optimism was shattered when everyone met back up in the garage. Before anyone could say a word, your personal cell started ringing, but the caller ID was... Bucky.

No one said a word as you all met beside the Jeep and you showed everyone the “James 🐻” ringing on your screen, resulting in a lot of confused looks. Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket and proved he wasn’t accidentally butt-dialing you, freezing your blood in your veins.

“They’re spoofing,” Tony concluded.

“Answer it,” Steve said.

“Put it on speaker,” Sam added quickly.

You nodded as you pressed “accept,” doing your best to keep your voice steady and unbothered.

“Hello?”

“You’ve really done it now, [Y/N].” The voice on the other end said slowly. They were clearly distorting the sound and you’d bet they couldn’t be traced. They’d never be that stupid. “Have your boyfriend search your name.”

You looked up at Bucky who was scrambling to search your name on his phone… and immediately paled. He almost looked like he had seen a ghost, though you’d argue what he actually saw was so much worse.

“They released the video.”

Your throat constricted as you tried to not literally throw up at those four words. And when Bucky shuffled beside you to show you the top results under your name, you weren’t sure how long you could hold it back. The first page of results was just news articles about your sex tape even though it had been released only 20 minutes ago. You snatched Bucky’s phone and clicked the link to the video and sure enough, it was you and Bucky. Two hours of you and Bucky.

“You son of a bitch,” you practically growled into the phone. “That wasn’t part of your fucking deal.”

“You took away my first bargaining chip so I played my second. And believe me, I’ve got plenty more videos. You two are quite the pair,” the unnaturally deep voice snarked. “But now you also know lives will be lost if you don’t listen. You now have three days or that man and his family die.”

The line cut out then, leaving everyone standing in stunned silence.

“I’ll get Pep on taking down the video,” Tony muttered before pulling his phone out to text Pepper. “We’ll have to swing by a couple banks and pull out the money.”

“Dad, I don’t want you to bail me out,” you practically whined.

“We don’t have any other option, [Y/N],” he snapped. “You don’t have to give a shit about him releasing sex tapes of you and the Vibranium Vibrator,” Bucky cringed at that nickname, “but I know you won’t let that other kid’s family die. We’ll keep trying to track them down, but we have to be prepared.”

You sighed. You knew he was right. If you ended up finding the culprit, if Steve was right, you could just put the money back. Plus, two million out of your father’s billions wasn’t enough to break him.

“Okay, fine. Let’s get ready,” you mumbled.

Steve interjected before anyone moved too far.

“I have a plan.”

#bucky x stark!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #Stark!reader

196 notes · View notes

huntertherapyeras · 2 years

Text

just like an amnesiac (tryna get my senses back) - part 2

“Marcy doesn’t really like to think about the day she died. Or the day she was possessed. She supposes no one would, really – she’s read enough about trauma to know the way it affects the brain, how sometimes being reminded of the events can activate the sympathetic nervous system and make it seem like it’s happening all over again. Trauma is a funny thing. Sometimes, for a few minutes, when she’s hyperfocusing on video games or reading about whatever her special interest of the day is, it’s like nothing ever happened. But other times, it feels like her world is ending for a third time.”

Or – Marcy Wu, in the aftermath.

Part 1 | Part 2/??? | Part 3 | AO3 Link

Notes:

Blanket warning for dissociation, trauma responses, and chronic pain in this whole fic.

Chapter specific: Content warning for doctors, injury, and the implications of The Incident.

It’s not good news.

“The damage is extensive,” The orthopedist says, pointing to the images on the wall.

Marcy tunes the rest of what he relays. She can’t even stand to look at the MRI scans. She hasn’t said much about what happened in Amphibia to her parents, and they haven’t really pushed. It kind of seems like they’re more focused on getting back to work a few states over than her overall well-being. It stings, but it isn’t all that surprising, really. This is exactly what she’d been running away from when she chose to leave to begin with.

“Marcy?” her mom says. Marcy looks up. The doctor is looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she musters up in her most polite tone.

The doctor frowns, before deciding to take another approach, “Mr. and Mrs. Wu,” he says, “Would you mind giving me and Marcy a moment to speak alone?”

They look at each other. Her father shrugs, taking his wife’s hand, “Sure. We’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to get some answers out of her,” he says to the doctor, “We sure haven’t.”

Marcy looks down at her hands again, cheeks alight with shame. For a few moments, there is silence. And then–

“Miss Wu,” the doctor starts, gently, “Damage like this… it doesn’t happen from a fall. There is damage to your vertebrae. It almost looks like a stab wound. Did someone do this to you?”

Marcy doesn’t say anything, eyes still transfixed on her fidgeting hands. Her nails are chipped from constant biting, and her fingertips are sore and raw.

That seems to be enough of an answer for him, “I see. You can sit in the lobby now. Please tell your parents to come back in.”

As Marcy leaves, she can feel his eyes on her back, like a sword impaling her all over again.

The next morning, her mother sits her down at the motel room table.

“Marcy, your father and I have been talking,” she says, “His work won’t give him much more time off, and mine, too… they want us to come back as soon as possible.”

Marcy shrinks into her big blue hoodie. Here it comes.

Her mother tucks her long, black hair behind her ear, “Sweetie… you are going to have to do a lot of physical therapy. That’s a big task for us to take on with work. And your therapist told us that being somewhere familiar might help you more than we can. So we talked to the Boonchuys, and they said you could stay with them if that’s what you need right now.”

Marcy looks into her mother’s eyes – something that she doesn’t tend to do often. They’re alight with unshed tears, imploring, “Does that sound alright, Marcy?”

“Yeah Mom, I understand. That sounds good, actually. Anne and I can be roomies!” She plasters on a fake smile, but her mother must not notice because even she, as oblivious as she tends to be, can see that she’s relieved to be rid of her. But Marcy is kind of relieved, too, in her own way.

She got what she wanted, after all.

“That’s good. We’ll get you moved in really soon, just need to get some of your things out of storage. You’ll be alright, yes?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’ll be alright.”

Marcy waits until her parents are both asleep in their room to let herself cry for the first time since she’s been back in Los Angeles. It almost feels like defeat.

#marcy wu #amphibia #amphibia fanfiction #disabled marcy wu #marcy wu has ptsd #autistic marcy wu #aster.exe #hymns #jlaa

11 notes · View notes

azazelsconfessional · 3 years

Text

((so i was gonna open up my askbox again but I got distracted doing this and watching streams i think idr what i did the past few hours, buuut there's something I need to cover first, especially since there are so many new people around! Hello! Especially since so many of you are playing OCs/MCs.

Don't worry, it's a tip to hopefully help you along! It may get a little long, especially as I try and provide examples. . .but hopefully it'll help.

I'm gonna talk a lot about OCs but this applies to canon characters too a bit. It certainly helps.

Tl;dr, you should have a character profile page.

(also remember that tumblr mobile doesn't really have direct access to Pages made with the Pages function on desktop, so you'll have to link them manually in your pinned or description or host them on another site(I used Google Docs in the apst) or in a regular post(this makes it very easy to lose as a forewarning) for maximum accessibility!)

(rules pages are also really really handy if you have alot of resteictions.)

So, in general, OCs have a bit of a lower reception rate in rp. Idk if that'll be the case here with MCs because they're, well, the main character. Housamo is also a series that lends itself well to OCs pretty well, especially non-human ones, but I figured I'd warn for that.

BUT. That doesn't mean you shouldn't play an OC! It just means there are things you need to keep in mind!

Think of all of the OCs you've seen--you all seem to be fun and wonderful people, and your characters are surely interesting. But. . .if you don't tell anybody about them, nobody will know what's going on or where to start, which makes asking questions a little hard, right? That's easier to work around with MC characters--we've played the game, we know the story, we know the characters, so we can figure out questions fairly easily based on that alone and go from there.

But with other OCs, especially those that don't represent charactera from mythology or fiction like many other characters in housamo do, there's like. Nowhere to start. We may see a face or some dialogue, but otherwise we don't have a frame of reference.

That's where a profile comes in!

Azazel-mun, I don't want to share all of the info about my character at once!

What if I don't know everything about my OC yet and want to figure it out along thw way?

The profile doesn't have to be super detailed! At most it shoule include things like the character's name and age and probably things like their location, profession, grade in school or place of work, etc., and anything you'd notice on the surface like their apperance. It's never a bad thing to include a description of their personality too, or a small section about their history/background. Little things that even you should probably know, too.

You can also section your profile off a bit into things like "surface info," "meta info," "things you could easily figure out about them," etc. That way, no one can spoil themself. Making lists like this can help you think these things through if you haven't already as well.

Let's use Azazel, a character that you probably know already, as an example here. I don't have a profile set

Name: Azazel

Species: Fallen Angel; Capra Therian - an anthropomorphic Goat (?)

Gender(pronouns): Male(he/him)

Age: difficult to calculate; several thousand years old?

Apperance age: hard to say, he's not human. Adult.

Origins: banished from his home world of Eden, has been in the human world for several thousand years

Profession: Priest of dubious denomination, most likely Catholic or Protestant; teacher at Daikanyama Academy; de facto head of the Missionaries Non-Profit charity Organization; supervisor of the Aoyama Missionaries

Role & Rule: Watcher; Revelation - allows him to see anything within the territory of the Aoyama Missionaries and anywhere the pages of his Artifact see

Apperance: Azazel is a 5'10"(180cm) tall, anthropomorphic goat of ambiguous breed, with fawn fur all over his body and lighter fur on his head and around his neck. He has brown, riged horns which curve out and back. Though his eyes are often closed, when opened they're red. He always carried around a leather bound bible with an eye on the cover, and is never seen without several chains on his person, although only the one(s) around his neck can be seen unless he's undressed.

He wears a black priest's cassock with a maroon sash and a capelet of the same color, with the same eye as on his bible on the shoulders of the cape, and brown dress shoes. The front of the robe is always open to expose his bare chest and the chains beneath.

Personality: Azazel is kind and doting, very fitting of both a teacher and priest, although his openly flirtatious, lustful, and secretive nature causes others to distrust him. He doesn't mind this at all. He has a strong adoration for humans, and values love in all of its forms more than anything. He's a bit of a passive person, often being unmotivated but working hard regardless, and seems to prefer to watch others and the world go by, although he won't decline most invitations to take part in it. He is always aware of anything that happens within the extensive territory of the Missionaries, and seems to know and see just about everything about anyone he meets, from their surface to their soul. . . .

If you know Azazel, or take note of some of the wording or question marks, you'll note I didn't explain everything(although I may have shared more than you want to.) This is just a bare bones exampe of how I do my profiles--but it can get even more bare!

I'll do two this time, a more vague version of Azazel's, and another that obscures information all together, using the same or a similar format to the above.

Name: Azazel

Species: anthropomorphic goat

Gender(pronouns): male (he/him)

Age: unquestionably an adult

Origins: Eden

Profession: Priest; teacher; head of a charity NPO; member of the Missionaries

Apperance: Horned goatman of slightly above average human height. Light brown fur, blond fur-hair, red eyes. Wears priest robes and a gold chain around his neck and chest. Carries around a bible with an eye on it?

Personality: Kind of eerie, but friendly and affectionate. A little flirtatious, especially towards humans. Seems to know everything about people for some reason?

Compare it to the one before--see how I've left even more things off or left things ambiguous while still sharing what's necessary or surface level? However, it's also not as engaging or as informative as the other one where I gave more information.

As someone who plays him, profiles like this aren't as helpful for me lol since he knows so much about everyone and everything, having a lot of details helps me play my character!

Now, as helpful as this is, this is also a character you probably know. So how about I do this with an OC? Normally I'm extremely detailed in my profiles and such, especially for OCs, sharing headcanons and ideas for relationships between characters. But, again, I'll try and show how you can show some info while leaving some up to people to ask about to later be filled in.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [this is where you would put where you get the art for any icons you use--if you draw it yourself, say so; if you use official art from a series, credit the name of the character and the series; if you use picrews, link the specific picrews. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN PERMITTED TO USE. DO NOT STEAL ART. IF YOU CAN'T FIND THE CREDIT, ASK SOMEONE TO HELP YOU, DO NOT JUST SAY THAT IT ISN'T YOURS. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO USE OR THAT ISN'T FROM A SERIES OF SOME SORT.]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: older than she looks?

Origins: Tokyo?

Profession: Professor; Witch

Apperance: A fidgety woman who looks older than she is. She looks anxious and confused as often as she looks curious and confident. Wavy light brown hair. Often carries around schoolbooks and is never alone, always with a Rattus Therian and often with a Nyarlathotep.

Personality: seemingly anxious, but curious and exploratative nonetheless. On the awkward side, but can still keep up with the Nyarls that accompany her. Gets into trouble when she gets ahead of herself in exploring and learning about the arcane, but her Rule allows her to disappear easily.

History: Has always been curious about magic and attempted to run through a Gate when they began to open up. Performed a summon and brought a certain transients to Tokyo and recieved her familiar and the magic to use her Rule as a result. Currently teaches at a college. She stumbled into a certain someone while attempting to explore time, and became a fan ever since.

That tells you a fair amount, doesn't it? Even for someone you don't know? It may even raise some questions that you could ask. At the same time, it doesn't tell you that much, and that can be as much of a hindrance for coming up with questions as saying too much can. It's really up to you what's too much and too little. Here's a more detailed version! Some things have been left vague or confusing in such a way that they could be filled in after being revealed through asks and play. That way, people are encouraged to/given ideas of what to ask--and you can still share things in the long run.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [N/A]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: somewhere in her 30's, maybe even a little older

Origins: Tokyo, with some sort of connection to at least one other world

Profession: Professor of [?] at [?] Academy; Witch

Role & Rule: [?] & [?]

Artifact, Summon, Familiar?: Always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and some sort of man-rat? She also carries around a book that's labeled as a Grimoire, but it's rare for someone to be both a summon-user and an Artifact-user. . . .

Apperance: A fidgety older woman wearing a labcoat and a witch's hat. She looks quite stressed and has trouble sitting still. Her ashy brown hair is thin and a little wavy, with some strands of gray. Although she often squints, she doesn't wear glasses. She carries around a lot of books relating to maths and sciences and one labeled 'Grimoire' decorated with arcane symbols from Gehenna and Old Ones. She's always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and a very short, bearded man who can best be described as a brown rat therian with a human-like face. Sometimes there's a normal rat on her person or in her pockets.

Personality: Kezia is a fidgety and anxious magic practitioner. She's very curious about other worlds and has been since the Gates appeared in this Tokyo since she was a child, however she has been pursuing magic before then. She often appears somewhat confused about or fascenated by even her usual surroundings, but, at other times moves through the world with confidence even in unfamiliar territory. She also likes rats and other rodents, and as such will often avoid felines and birds of prey. She has a tendency to disappear, seeming to walk through walls despite assuredly being alive.

She's a little bit awkward with people, but somehow keeps up with Nyarlathoteps nonetheless. She's a good teacher, once she figures out how to explain things in ways others can understand easily, but can be a bit difficult to follow and flighty up until then. Aware of this, she's rather patient, if a little down on herself at times. However, she most often simply has her mind elsewhere. Despite this and the company she keeps, she's relatively sane. . .most of the time.

She shares a name with a witch from the world of Old Ones who made a pact with Nyarlathotep, believing him to be the Devil. . .and the ratman always at her side uses the same name as that witch's familiar as well. It's. . .probably just a coincidence. . .who would rightfully make a pact with Nyarlathotep?

History: Kezia is an adult human from this Tokyo before the apperance of the Gates and construction of the Walls. She's explored various witchcraft pursuits since she was a child, with what was originally a mere imaginative curiosity and fascination. After the arrival of the Gates when she was still young, she snuck over the fences built around one and attempted to go inside the massive pillar of light, which she attributes to the reason she often seems to struggle with her vision. Several years later, she performed a successful summon and she recieved her familiar, Brown Jenkin, transformed into a somewhat therian form from one of her pet rats, and was given some powers from Nyarlathotep. She has no discernable control over any of the chaotic creatures, however they seem to spend time around her regardless.

At present she's a professor of a subject that interests her at a certain college. She's had other dangerous run-ins due to her excitement over the arcane and "darker" arts, but doesn't seem to show any signs of stopping. However, after an incident in an attempt to explore time itself, she encountered a certain guardian of time and feels reluctant for once to explore it further. . .although she's become quite a big fan of his.

. . .i ran out of steam amd kinda lost track of where i was going. idk if that helped at all really. But maybe it did! I hope it did. You don't need to use any of those things exactly by any means, but that's the kind of thing you usually see in profile pages. Basics like someone's name and birthday and age and apperance and a little about their personality, maybe some history. Oftentimes things like powers and weapons and the like. Interests, hobbies, ways they could be intereacted with, etc. Just stuff that'd help you know the character.

I write everything in paragraph form, but everyone is more than welcome to use a more script format. I love making profiles, myself--it really helps to think about the character and details about them. Normally I make really, really detailed profiles, but maybe I'll try and be more simple about it this time around. depends on how i'm feeling.

I know this seems weirdly hypocritical given I don't have one but when I first made this blog there were like four of us including myself. I didn't see the need for a rules or profile page because I didn't anticipate that there'd be so many of us or, like, people from other fandoms or who aren't familiar with certain characters. I'll rectify that soon hopefully. But I figured I'd pass along this idea/knowledge to others.

. . .I'm gonna go reopen my askbox now. Feel free to send asks again, ask about this, etc! You can send me an IM too if you want. I'll properly close up the guest event tomorrow. I'm real tired rn lol so idk how much i'll get done, but i usually do things super late at night my time, so i have some time to pull my shit together haha))

#ooc #((anyway i'm gonna open the askbox and crawl into a hole))#((i got nothing done lol i was so engaged with something else all week))

25 notes · View notes

bella-caecilia · 3 years

Note

Could I possibly request #11 reliability?

Thank you for the prompt <3 I hope I included enough of the colour symbolism. Again, set somewhere in series 1. I hope you enjoy this Cobert fluff!

Brown – Reliability

She pulled his arm closer. Walking like this beside him was much warmer than walking alone or a few feet apart (something they had done very early on for a very short period, and Cora had hated it with all her guts) but it still wasn’t warm enough. It seemed rather impractical to only have the small area of their arms touch and spend each other warmth but this was the best they could do on a walk.

“I can’t believe Sybil will be presented at court next summer,” Cora voiced aloud what had been on her mind all day.

It was a day in October and after the sun had dried the leaves a little after yesterday’s constant drizzle Cora had waited eagerly in the doorway of the library for Robert to finish his correspondence and join her on their walk over the amber-coloured grounds. Robert was rather occupied today so that Cora had a lot of time on hand to ponder about the next season she was planning already. It was nice to have Robert now with her and to talk about what tormented her thoughts.

“But you have started the first preparations weeks ago,” Robert gave back. Their looks were directed at the path in front of them. Cora didn’t turn her head very often because, with the great proximity to her husband she had created, the expansive brim of her hat was precariously close to his neck. Their eyes took in the variety of brown and yellow nature that stretched along the horizon.

“I know,” she sighed. “But don’t you feel like she is still so young, our little girl? Presenting her at court means subsequently marrying her off to a gentleman, a Lord, faraway. This is all happening much too fast,” Cora whispered the last words into the wind, letting them being carried away. But Robert would get them nevertheless.

“Mary’s season was years ago and she still isn’t married. They will stay much longer with us than you think.” They passed by the place to usually take a short break on their walks. The bench under the large tree stayed empty today, though.

Yes, Mary wasn’t married, and Cora knew why it was so hard to find a match for her. They didn’t even speak of Edith. But Sybil, Sybil was a whole other deal.

“Don’t forget that it’s sweet Sybil we are talking about. She will charm every eligible gentleman because opposed to Mary, she is intrinsically kind and so very amiable. She is easy to love.”

“That’s because she is most like you.” Robert’s statement sounded like a corrupting compliment but his tone wasn’t any less serious than throughout their prior talk.

“Sybil has a much stronger will of her own and is much more innovative than me,” Cora commented matter-of-factly.

“Well, it’s not me either from whom she has her innovatively modern streak.” Robert stirred them down a path they didn’t take very often in the warmer months because it avoided all the flower gardens and beds. But that didn’t matter in October.

“Right, and her stubbornness is also nothing she inherited from you,” Cora gave back sarcastically. Robert didn’t respond to this but with a silent snort.

“But she is sweeter in her stubborn demeanour,” Cora added in a low tone. She watched him from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction to her taunting comment.

“Hmm, yes, I love you too,” he grumbled in response. His elbow nudged her slightly in the side against her corseted ribs. She chuckled lightly and patted his upper arm placatingly.

They walked together silently for a while. Robert at her side like a windbreaker, not really bothered by her teasing, Cora fell back into pondering. Her throat slowly lost the memory of her chuckle as her darker thoughts about the next London season pushed to the forefront of her mind again.

“I don’t want to let her go, Robert,” she whispered.

Now it was Robert who pulled her hands closer to his arm. His bigger palms covered hers in the crook of his arm. “Sybil won’t go if it isn’t right. She always knew her way, and it will be the same now. And I also know you will support her in what is right for her,” he assured, and his voice became so velvety that Cora wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck or against his chest. “And I will be there with you.”

“I know you will. And I will make her season the most beautiful for her.”

“Of course, you will.”

Robert’s choice of route for their walk guided them to the edge of the forest that bordered the grounds in the south. A row of nearly scarlet-coloured bushes greeted them from afar. The spectacle of autumnal colours was a real treat on their otherwise by harsh wind and cold temperatures marked walk. As they plodded down the gravely way, mostly parallel to the woods, one shade of brown was relieved by another one and yet another one. Cora tried to link her arm more tightly with Robert’s to fully enjoy the comforting palette of warm hues of the brown leaves in the radiance of his heating body. She didn’t know what comforted her more the warm brown vision in front of her or his body next to her.

“Can we make a short detour into the woods?” she asked after a moment.

“If you wish so. I don’t want to overexert you. The weather can change again in no time,” he gave back.

“It will only be a few steps inside,” Cora assured.

…

Inside the forest Robert let Cora choose the way. Outside he had guided them down the paths as he always did. They had their usual route that he variegated here and there slightly. But Cora seemed determined now to explore the grounds and so he let her take the lead. Robert couldn’t quite tell what criteria affected her choice of paths. But knowing his wife, he assumed she followed where nature looked most inviting. He tried to see the trees around with her eyes. But he mostly saw oaks, beeches, and pine trees. One or two times he had to help her across broken branches that lay on the paths. He assisted her in gathering her skirts since it proved a quite demanding task with one of her arms linked to his.

Cora halted at a minor crossroads. She stood right in a ray of the October sun and looked into the depth of the forest.

“It all looks nearly golden,” she said. With her right hand, she pointed somewhere into the trees. “Look how the bark absorbs the warm light. The sun makes the trees shine.”

“I see,” he said, still searching for the exact point she referred to. The gap in the trees, that let in the light to illuminate the tree bark and Cora, also allowed entrance to the wind. A gust came their way, and it wasn’t only dead leaves that swirled around Robert but also the scent of Cora’s hair and perfume. It was a rather nice experience he wouldn’t have expected out here in the woods.

“I want to feel the wind, Robert,” she said as she looked down the narrowing path into the woods. She had to hold onto her hat because gusts tried to grip and abstract it into the distance. Robert furrowed his brow.

“Don’t you feel it?” he asked a little confused. As she turned her face to him, he noticed her rosy cheeks and nose.

“That’s not exactly what I mean. I want to feel it for real,” Cora explained. Her gloved hands now began fiddling with her hat. Only when she pulled out a long hat pin, Robert realised her intention.

“Could please help me for a moment?” she asked.

“Uhm, sure.” Robert let her arm go to ease her task and waited for further instructions.

“If you would please assist me taking off the hat. We can try to keep my hair at least a little put together.” Robert took hold of the brim of her hat and tried his best at taking it off carefully. Cora in the meanwhile secured her coif with her fingers that pushed underneath the hat slightly and pressed the curls to her head. Robert lifted the grey accessory ever so slowly and handed it to her afterwards.

“I feel like I can breathe again,” Cora sighed relieved. Robert had to chuckle. He could never imagine the nonsensical ideas his dear wife came up with. She shook her head slightly in the wind and instantly a few strands of chocolate brown hair tumbled down. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to experience nature armoured against all its merits with these extensive attires,” she explained a little annoyed. For a brief moment, he could Cora as the young girl she once was before he got to know her, running around freely in the woods and on the beaches in the American home of her childhood. And then, after a few seconds, there was the calm and properly dressed Countess again.

“You would freeze without it,” Robert reminded her.

Cora turned around again, looking into the light forest with her hat clutched to her front. She didn’t respond to his last comment but breathed in the fresh wind. Robert came up behind her. Her curls played in the wind. Her coiffure fell apart more and more, and she looked more enticing with every second. The chocolate curls danced while she stood there unmoving. Only the rise and fall of her shoulders, padded in her thick coat, told of the deep breathes she took and of the deliberate movement of her chest.

Robert approached her until he was able to wrap his arms around her. Tentatively he first rested his palms on her shoulders but he didn’t want to oppress her interaction with the wind. His hands on her waist felt much better anyway. Her hair flew around his face and tickled his cheeks.

Cora took good care, he thought suddenly. Nothing that affected their family, their dear girls, escaped her notice. Nothing that had to be done slipped through her fingers. She secured Sybil the greatest coming out ball and the most enjoyable season, and she looked so closely that Sybil would do well when their daughter would leave their caring arms. Robert needn’t worry about any of the girls’ future. Cora was there and she took care where he could never reach. He just had to give her all the stability and comfort she needed, all the stability and comfort he could give. He pressed his cheek to the side of her head. Her hair was soft at his slightly stubbly cheek, and he probably destroyed her coif even more but the wind had already done its deed so he didn’t really give it much thought. Cora leaned back against his chest so that their breathing of the wind synchronised. She was like a hot water bottle in his arms as the wind blew around them. His back and arms began freezing but Cora was pressed to his front, and he could bury his nose in her brown tresses. Knowing she was there with him gave him all the comfort and warmth he needed right now.

#cobert fanfiction #cobert drabble #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #s1 #downton abbey fanfiction #downton abbey #cobert fluff

24 notes · View notes

bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Eleven ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4471

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Hello hello, happy Easter! Tomorrow (Monday) is a little bit hectic for me so I’m getting this one out tonight (Sunday) instead. Thanks for reading :)

After a quick breakfast with Haldir and Glorfindel, they set off and I spend the day exploring Imladris. I do not stray far from the main household, yet all that I discover does not cease to amaze me. Elrond’s home is beautiful. If it weren’t for all the horrible, sudden drop-offs, I would consider it a perfectly wonderful place to live.

I spend the first part of my day in the garden. Behind the stone of the estate is a sprawling field filled with an impossibly wide variety of flora. I pass time exploring each bush, tree, and sprout, every one somehow more beautiful than the last. A few of the more sweet-smelling blossoms make me sneeze, so after a while, I head back inside to explore Elrond’s extensive library. But when the sun begins to sink below the horizon, I know I shouldn’t put it off any longer — I have ignored him since our arrival. I need to go see Alex. We haven’t talked in private ever, really, but I feel like we need to touch base. Though we may be slightly at odds, we owe it to each other to work through it.

I remember an attendant leading him down the hallway below mine as I ascended the stairs last night, and from there, it’s not hard for me to figure out which room is his. All the other doors are open, indicating that the inhabitants are out for the day. Already in my short stay here, I realize the elves are much more trusting than humans — while private, they must rely on each other to respect that privacy, because they don’t attempt to bar others from entering their spaces by closing their doors when they are not home. One door at the very end of the hall is closed shut. It is undoubtedly Alex’s.

I knock once.

He opens the door and I try to disguise my shock at the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair. In all my memories of him, he is so put together, and this is completely at odds with the man I think I know. He ushers me in and shuts the door quickly behind me. The slam echoes through the stone room. He turns to me, wringing his hands together almost nervously. Unease grows in my stomach.

“Are you okay?”

He shakes his head violently and begins to pace the length of the small bedroom. “Of course I’m not okay. We’ve been wrenched from all that we know and dropped in this ridiculous place—” He cuts off his words and stares at the ground, shaking his head. “Look, I’ve decided that there’s no way around it. We are in some sort of other world — there’s no way this is some place back where we’re from. But if we did arrive here somehow, that means there has to be a way back. So we need to find it.”

I sit on the edge of his bed, watching him warily. I, too, have recently accepted the reality of this new world, but I hadn’t expected Alex to come around so easily — especially after our conversations on the way here. But getting home…if it’s a real possibility…”Do you think we could do that?”

His eyes snap to mine, desperation causing them to blow wide. “I think Elrond could. The people here hold him in such high esteem—I believe he’s very powerful. We need to talk to him, plead our case. If anyone could send us back, it’s probably him.” He notices my silence and turns on me with an accusatory stare. “You do want to go home, right?”

I swallow. “I…I think so. I mean, it is really dangerous here….But Elrond had a good point when I talked to him earlier. He said it’s probably just as dangerous in our homeworld.”

He groans almost animalistically. “I cannot keep having this fight with you! We don’t belong here. The dangers of our world are ours and the dangers of this world are theirs. And just because we agree that this is a different world doesn’t mean that anything’s changed. We still have people back home who miss us.”

But after my conversation with Haldir, I’m not so sure that’s the case. Yes, there are probably people who miss us in the usual sense, but the crushing grief that must come from being separated from someone you really, truly care for…I’m not sure I have that. I think I would know if I did.

I try to redirect the subject, not wanting to get into it with Alex. “How do you think it would work? Getting home. Do you think we would get our memories back?”

He stops pacing, excitement entering his eyes now that I’m seemingly more agreeable to his position. “Yeah, I think we would. Now, does that mean we would lose the memories we’ve made here? Maybe. Probably. Again, I think Elrond has the answers.”

I let my eyes fall to my fingers. The thought of forgetting…of basically erasing my time here, the friendships I’ve made…it makes me feel horribly sad. I drop my head into my hands. Oh, I just don’t know what to do!

“Let’s go talk to Elrond,” Alex urges. “See what he has to say.”

“Okay,” I agree, trudging to the door. At the very least, it will provide a distraction from the grief that has hit me so unexpectedly. “He’s probably in his study—follow me.”

I lead Alex along the same route I took this morning. Only, then, Haldir was at my side. I feel a pang of loneliness. Huh. After two weeks in constant company, I guess it is a little strange to be separated from him and the others.

As this morning, Elrond is in his study, surrounded by books and stacks of parchment. Stress tugs at the edges of his eyes but when he raises his head to greet us, it fades into a look of knowing. He was expecting us.

“Ah,” he stands, beckoning for us to enter. “I was wondering when I would be seeing you. Please, come in. I believe we have much to discuss.”

Alex strides forward, a stubborn set to his shoulders. He wastes no time. “How do we get back home?”

Elrond raises a thoughtful eyebrow, leading us to an auxiliary room with plushy chairs and couches. I sit on an unoccupied cushion. “What makes you so sure you can?”

Alex huffs. “If we got here, we can get back. Somehow, there’s a link between the worlds. We just need to find it and use it to get home.”

Elrond nods, appraising my friend. Unexpectedly, he turns his head to me. “And you, Cosima? Do you think there is a way home?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I close it, looking at the ground to buy myself some time. What are the possibilities? What are the chances? … And what am I hoping for? “I…I think Alex is probably right. Doors open both ways, right? If it opened to send us here, it can open to send us back. But we don’t know how easy it is to open that door.”

A sparkle enters Elrond’s eye. “Humans often do not get enough credit for their intelligence, nor their tenacity. Yes, I agree that there should be a way for the two of you to return to your homeworld. Power in Arda is changing. Forces of evil grow and the wisdom of the elves must adapt to overcome it. There is a finite amount of power in this world, and with it being pulled in so many different directions, it is possible it has grown thin in its blanket over our universe. The two of you could have fallen between the cracks.”

I look at the wall, not able to withstand Elrond’s piercing gaze or Alex’s frenzied one. If there is a real possibility of going home…isn’t it my duty to try?

Something in Elrond’s words catches my attention. “If the dispersion of that finite amount of power is constantly changing…is it possible that the ‘crack’ that let us in has already closed? Or moved somewhere else? If we tried to go back, isn’t there a chance we would end up in some other world?”

Elrond’s mouth sets into a grave line. “Precisely. There is a great deal of risk involved in your endeavor to return to your world.”

“But you can help us?” Alex speaks in a rough, desperate voice.

Elrond shakes his head, expression regretful. “I have power, yes, but not in the way you seek. If someone were able to help you—and bear in mind, it is a strong ‘if’—it would be Lady Galadriel. I believe you have heard of her through your companions?”

Alex grits his teeth, standing and beginning to pace a furious line. “Are you positive there is nothing you can do? It took two weeks to get here and that wasn’t even the whole journey. We do not have time to wait for them to decide to return to Lothlórien and then make the trip there. That could set us back months.”

“With regret, I am unable to help. My skill lies in healing and languages—academia, really. My power cannot compare to that of the Lady. I am sorry.”

I hate myself a little for it, but I feel relieved. The choice is taken from me. For the time being, all I can do is wait. Lady Galadriel might be able to help us, yes, but it will be at least two months before I have to make the choice to attempt to return home or not.

Alex evidently doesn’t feel the same way, and I don’t like the way he’s glaring at Elrond. I try to smooth things over. “Thank you for speaking with us and trying to help. We’ll let you get back to your work.” I stand, bowing my head in farewell as I’ve seen the elves here do. Alex makes no move to follow me. I prompt him with his name. He keeps his jaw tightly clenched but does incline his head towards Elrond before stalking from the room.

I have to jog to catch up. “Alex—“

“Entertain yourself, Cosima. I want to be alone.”

I take a step back. It’s not his words that stun me, it’s the grief in them. He sounds like he’s being torn apart.

Whereas I feel relief and, if I’m being honest with myself, no small amount of happiness.

I think I’m a bad person.

But I can do one good thing, and that’s grant Alex his wish to handle his feelings in private. I step forward, give him a quick, awkward hug, and let him walk away.

{***}

After lunchtime, there’s a knock on my door. I open it to the grinning faces of Rumil, Orophin, and Lavandil.

Laughing at their enthusiasm, I wave them in, grateful for the seating area in my bedroom — it makes hosting quite convenient.

Rumil whistles lowly, taking a look around. “Look at how they’ve set you up! I’ve got to share with Haldir which is just as terrible as it sounds. He says I snore! I do not snore.” He looks so offended, I don’t have the heart to tell him that he occasionally does.

Lavandil runs her hand over one of the gossamer curtains, eyeing the view. “I love these falls. You don’t seem them as well back where I grew up—that’s partly why I moved to the main city. They’re wonderful, no?”

Even though I’m not a fan of their height, I can definitely agree to their splendor. “Oh, absolutely. After days of the plains and rocks, it’s so nice to have a change of scenery.”

Rumil pours himself a glass of water and reclines on the chaise. “So, where have you been off to today? Baranor and I came looking for you this morning but you weren’t here.”

I blink. I figured Rumil would know, given he shares a room with the brother who collected me. “Haldir took me this morning to see Elrond about my arm. See?” I hold it up to present the thin, raised scar. “All healed. It’s miraculous, really, how it healed within minutes. And then Glorfindel, Haldir, and I had breakfast in the kitchens because I guess we missed the main meal, and then the two of them took off for the borders. I explored for a bit and then—” I falter. Should I tell them about my meeting with Alex and Elrond? Silly, I admonish myself. You didn’t do anything wrong. Still, it feels strange to admit to them that I had been seeking a way home—a way to leave them, essentially. But there’s no good reason to keep it hidden, so I brush aside my hesitation. “I talked to Alex, and then he and I went to visit Elrond.”

“About your home,” Orophin guesses, gravity in his voice.

“Yes,” I admit.

Rumil gapes, evidently caught off-guard, and I shoot him an apologetic look. Yeah, that hurts.

“We wanted to know if getting home is even a possibility. And, well, jury’s still out. But Elrond thinks if someone can help us, it will be Lady Galadriel. So…” I shrug.

A twinkle enters Rumil’s eye and he sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So you’re returning to Lothlórien with us?” All traces of hurt have disappeared from his features.

I can’t help but grin at his excitement. “Yes—if you’ll have us.”

“Of course we will!” He beams, sitting back into the chaise with a new air of relaxation. “I mean, Haldir has the final say of course, but he’ll say yes. He might not like Alex, but he has grown quite fond of you.”

Each ellyn suddenly seems very interested in scrutinizing my face. I feel my cheeks heat under the weight of their stares and try to disguise it by standing and filling a glass of water. “I’ve grown fond of all of you, too.”

Rumil presses further. “Yes, but if you had to pick one—someone you’re the most fond of—who would that be?”

Orophin chuckles and Lavandil bites her lower lip, looking up at me with interest. I take a sip of the water, trying to buy myself time. This feels like a trap. I get around it as best I can. “Roch, of course. I miss him already.”

This sends them into fits of laughter and evidently puts their curiosity to rest — for the time being. I return to my seat, lounging along with them. When the sky begins to darken, Orophin requests dinner to be brought to us and we talk into the late hours of the night enjoying good food and even better company. And, though I am sure to feel guilty about it later, I do not miss Alex or my home at all.

{***}

Despite my full belly and long day, sleep eludes me. Part of that is my fault—I hold myself back from drifting off, not wanting to have another nightmare. When it must be at least midnight, I give up tossing and turning and change back into my day clothes. I didn’t spend near enough time wandering the garden or the library — perhaps I can tire myself with some exploring. As silently as possible, I push open the creaking door and step into the hallway.

It’s surprisingly bright — I’ve caught the moon when it’s high in the sky, and tonight it is full and robust in its shine. Light dances atop the ever-flowing water, creating a sparkling effect that leaves me breathless. Once again, I find myself glad that I have more time here. Though part of me feels like I should want to return home, another part of me isn’t near ready to leave. There’s so much more to see and learn and…well, I’m not ready to give up my new friends.

I go slowly down the open-air corridor, trying to keep my noise to a minimum. The household is asleep, for the most part. I see the odd attendant bustling around finishing duties, but the night is quiet and peaceful. It’s too beautiful to pass time away inside, so I elect to go back to the gardens and just avoid the blossoms that sent me into a sneezing fit earlier today.

The gardens are at the back of the estate and I do my best to remember the path I took this morning. With so many pavilions and archways and hallways and staircases, it’s easy to get lost. But all hallways—sooner or later—lead outside. So, after minutes of unsuccessfully trying to retrace my path, I choose a hallway at random, deciding to follow it to its end.

Further down, warm light flickers and ebbs—candlelight. As I get closer, I catch a voice I know well. He speaks in hurried, hushed tones in the Elvish language—arguing, maybe? Or just having a rushed discussion? A vaguely familiar voice responds in the same manor. Abruptly, the sounds cut off.

I take a few steps forward, the two figures becoming visible in the limited light.

“Haldir?” Squinting, I realize why I sort-of recognized the other voice—it belongs to Glorfindel. The two turn to me, each dipping their head in welcome.

Glorfindel looks perplexed. “Hello, Cosima. Do humans not require much sleep?”

I laugh guiltily. “No, they do — probably more than elves if we’re basing it on my traveling companions. I just couldn’t sleep so I was trying to find the gardens.”

Haldir steps out of the doorway and turns to Glorfindel. “Ah, I should be letting you get to bed, mellon.” He gives a nod of farewell to his elven friend. “We will continue our discussion tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes.” Glorfindel waves off Haldir’s stern look and moves to shut his door. “Goodnight.”

Haldir and I are alone in the hallway.

He clears his throat. “Would you like company?”

I smile, gesturing in the direction of what I hope is the outdoors. “Sure. You’re not tired after being gone all day?”

He shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back as he walks. “Tired, yes. Though my mind is not yet ready for sleep.”

“Was it a long day, then?”

Haldir sighs, and the sound is so weighed down with exhaustion and sadness that I nearly stop and insist we both go to bed. Sleep might make him feel better. But he is an adult and so am I, and neither of us really wants to sleep. So I say nothing and wait for him to explain.

“Much of Elrond’s border patrol is young. I worry they are unprepared for the increase in attacks. The conversation you heard—Glorfindel and I were disagreeing. I think it is worth advising Elrond to send his more experienced fighters to the borders and allow the newer ones to use this time to train. Glorfindel thinks calling the entire army is an overreaction and that I am overstepping my bounds. And he is right. I am captain of the Lady’s guard, not Lord Elrond’s. Still, I cannot help but believe it is worth interfering in this way — I think it could save lives, help Imladris be more prepared.” He looks at the ground, shaking his head. “I am sorry. I don’t need to be bothering you with this.”

“No, it’s alright.” I chuckle ruefully. “You’ve seen me cry so many times, you’ve earned the right to talk about whatever you want.”

He smiles and gives me a side-eye. “I’ll admit, while your tears used to perplex me, I think I am more accustomed to them by now.”

I roll my eyes and make a conscious effort not to be offended. “Great.”

He gives me an apologetic look, but mirth dances in his eyes. I turn the conversation back on him. “So what are you going to do?”

He sighs slowly, turning the corner into an adjacent hallway. “I will continue discussing it with Glorfindel tomorrow — it would be ideal to have him on my side. But if not, I plan to go to Elrond. I’d rather cause offense than withhold strategies that could save lives.”

I nod, agreeing. “Hopefully Glorfindel will see your side, and if he doesn’t, at least Elrond. I can’t imagine he would disagree — Elrond doesn’t seem like the type of man to choose pride over lives.”

“Ellon,” Haldir corrects gently.

I turn over my shoulder so he can see the begrudging look I give him. “Ellon.”

Haldir smiles almost smugly and we step from stone to lush grass. We’ve come out on the side of the estate — the garden is in the back. Thankfully, Haldir seems to know where to go. We curve our path left.

It’s a bit humid and I can feel my hair already reacting. I bring a hand to the back of my head, attempting to smooth the frizz. “Speaking of Elrond, Alex and I went to see him today — Did Rumil tell you?”

Haldir shakes his head but gives me a look that shows he’s not surprised — he guessed Alex and I would ask Elrond about getting home.

I continue, feeling a tad nervous. Rumil said Haldir wouldn’t object to our returning with him, and I don’t think he would…but what if he does? I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from taking it personally.

I twist the fingers of my right hand into the fabric of my dress. “Um, Elrond mentioned that if anyone can help us get home, it would be Lady Galadriel. So—if it’s alright with you, of course—I—we—would like to return home with you. To Lothlórien.” I add, perhaps unnecessarily.

Haldir stops walking and turns to me, blinking once. Dread seizes in my chest. Oh no.

But his lips twitch and I realize he’s fighting a smile. “Lothlórien would be happy to host you, and I would be honored to escort you back.”

I beam, feeling nearly giddy with relief. Haldir relaxes and a hesitant smile brightens his face. The movement causes moonlight to reflect in his eyes. It sets them alight. I can’t believe I used to think them cold towards me — they are anything but. Guarded and suspicious at times, yes, but never cold. Not now that he’s gotten to know me, anyway. Instead, they are soft, gentle. And, exactly as Rumil had said, fond.

“Thank you.”

He inclines his head in that formal way of his, and the softness never leaves his eyes. He resumes his steps, leading us around the corner and into the labyrinthine garden.

I sneeze.

And again.

Haldir sputters out a ridiculous laugh, the sound so carefree and wild that I almost don’t mind having to sneeze to hear it.

“You’re allergic,” he accuses, gesturing to the flowers to our right.

I shrug, trying to ignore the tickling in my nose. “Just to some of them. Come on, I found an area earlier that’s not so bad.”

Haldir chuckles and shakes his head but follows me through the gardens. “Why did you want to come here if it just makes you sneeze?”

“Because it’s beautiful,” I answer simply. Because sometimes, that’s enough.

I find the alcove I discovered this morning and sit on the stone bench there, scooting over to make room for Haldir. He sits next to me, stretching out his long legs. Looking up at the sky, I can see stars through the wooden, flower-filled lattice that hangs above us. I sigh, finding the sight of the sky sobering. “Do you know how I finally realized I was in another world?”

Haldir shakes his head, waiting for me to continue.

“The stars,” I murmur. “In almost every memory I have, I’m looking at the stars. I know their patterns, how they move with the seasons, the names of each constellation. I watched them my whole life. But that night in the plains—when you came looking for me by the river—I looked up and realized that I don’t know these stars. They’re not in the right order or in the proper places. And I knew, even if I wasn’t ready to accept it, that these aren’t the stars of my world.”

Haldir tilts his head to the side, watching me in silence. He twitches as if to move and then tenses, looking uncertain. But after a moment he sets his jaw and, in one fluid motion, stands and removes his cloak, laying it on the ground. He offers me a hesitant smile as he sits—the expression so at odds with his usual confidence that I half-gape at him in disbelief. He reclines slowly, leaving room for me to do the same.

I press my lips against a smile even though I can feel that I’m losing the battle. Okay. I rise from the bench and, taking great care not to step on Haldir’s fingers, lay down next to him.

The thick fabric of his cloak mitigates the coolness of the ground and I stretch out, feeling my back resting on the firm surface of the earth. Though we slept near each other outside every night for two weeks, there were more people, then. We were farther apart. Now, we are alone and, due to the width of the cloak, there is only a sliver of space between us. If I moved my arm even slightly to the right, it would touch his.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, gentle, and rumbles deep in his chest. “I have been watching these stars for centuries. They will become familiar to you, too. You only have to spend time with them.”

So I do.

Haldir and I lay on his cloak staring at the stars for hours. We don’t say much, only periodically mentioning something about our days or asking the other if they’re comfortable or cold. The newness of our proximity never fades, and I find myself hyper-aware of the warmth on the side of my body that nearly touches his. There’s a desire in me—something new and strange—to close that space between us, to rest my head on his chest and feel his arms hold me. I fight it, attempting to focus on what’s above me instead. He doesn’t seem to be struggling like I am.

At some point, I must slip into sleep. When Haldir gently nudges my shoulder, there’s a touch of early light in the sky. He smiles softly, offers me a hand up, and walks me to my room in silence. My efforts and sleep deprivation have left me exhausted. I barely remember climbing into bed and immediately fall back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile <3 Let me know if you’d like a tag!

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart Tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

62 notes · View notes

softluci · 3 years

Text

they’re cute (ii)

because of who i am as a person, i like to think that the brothers don't all hate each other and that they each take time to be, like, affectionate with each other, in their own ways. i think when there's no one around, they are very much cute with each other. this is just a set of headcanons for that because i just think the dynamic between each brother is neat ^_^

this got to be longer than i thought it’d be, so i’m gonna make separate posts; this one will be for mammon, and as i complete the rest, i’ll link them here :]

(lucifer here!)

(ii) mammon

bonding and affection aside, lucifer is the most difficult person for him to be around in general. while he is at least a little certain that lucifer loves him, he understandably has doubts, but that’s for a different post. the point is that mammon is afraid of him and, while he would like to spend more time with him, he is often under the impression that lucifer doesn’t feel the same way, which makes it difficult for him to do so. this just means he has to strategize. he has to make sure no one else is around. it would be best if it were late at night, between the hours of three and five. that’s when lucifer usually gets a cup of coffee to power through the last of his work before going to bed, so he’s tired. tired lucifer is similar to drunk lucifer in that both of them are more receptive to giving and receiving affection. this is good. the problem is that mammon is normally asleep at those hours, and the few times he isn’t, it’s usually because of nightmares. it works out fairly well because lucifer is the only person he’s willing to seek out after nightmares anyway. mammon will pull himself together enough to hide that he was crying and make it look like he was only going to the kitchen for some water. lucifer will be there, and he’ll ask what mammon is doing up, what he wants. he doesn’t speak at all. all he does is wrap his arms around him, rest his head on his shoulder, and wait for him to do the same. he never has to wait long.

unlike almost everyone else, mammon completely ignores the fact that levi doesn’t really like being touched; this is for two reasons. the first reason is that he knows levi only dislikes being touched because he thinks other people shouldn’t want to be around him, let alone touch him, and the second reason is because mammon likes hugs ^_^. mammon especially likes being affectionate with levi in a way that’s doting because he knows levi doesn’t really get treated like a younger brother as third oldest. mammon also knows lucifer isn’t exactly the doting type, so, in his brain, it is up to him to treat levi like the little brother he is. mammon will approach an unsuspecting levi and ruffle his hair, squish his cheeks (with both hands sometimes), he’ll hug him from behind and won’t let go until Well After he relaxes, etc. whenever levi tries to resist (which is just about every time), mammon will immediately start pretending to be sad by way of saying things like, “i can’t believe my little brother doesn’t care about me,” or “why don’t you love me?” and it works out for mammon in one of two ways. either levi will stop resisting almost immediately because of how easily he’s disarmed, or he’ll keep resisting, but he’ll start yelling things like, “i Do love you, but Go Away,” so mammon will leave him alone faster. mammon will either let go of him if he’s feeling merciful, or he’ll keep holding him until he has to leave. the only scenario wherein he won’t leave is if he’s already in levi’s room and he plans on sleeping in there.

it’s already canon that mammon is physically affectionate with satan (there’s an official image of him squishing satan’s cheeks somewhere), but i will supplement it by adding that i think part of the reason for that is that mammon is confident that satan won’t try to hurt him too badly, and even if he Did, it’s not like mammon couldn’t defend himself anyways :p. in addition to random bouts of physical affection, i like to think mammon taught satan how to dance. like, satan would’ve hated it if lucifer taught him, and it’s canon that mammon is the best dancer out of everyone (source: just trust me). as satan got older and no longer needed dancing lessons, i think it most definitely made mammon at least a little bit sad, and i feel like he tries to dance with satan whenever the opportunity arises. it doesn’t even have to be in private, either, because the brothers don’t have qualms with dancing with each other in public settings (that is canon /gen). whenever there’s music playing in the house and satan is nearby, he can expect for mammon to approach him with the biggest smile on his face and a, “dance with me!” most of the time, mammon won’t even wait for him to accept or deny before pulling him into a waltz or a slow dance (the first two dances he taught him), even if the music playing doesn’t call for one. satan never even really puts up a fight, interestingly enough; not because he’s enjoying it or anything, it’s just because you can never go wrong with brushing up on your dancing skills🤨 nothing more🚶🏼‍♂️

asmo is one of the easiest brothers for mammon to spend time with; i feel like since they’re both the token extroverts of the family, they go to clubs/parties together fairly often—like, at least twice a week. they’d go shopping together too, if mammon had money to spend, but that’s neither here nor there. as far as affection goes, mammon doesn’t even really have to do a whole lot. asmo is already a touchy person as it is, and mammon is the only brother he can cling to whenever he wants without being questioned or pushed away (and vice versa). it’s not uncommon to see the two of them holding onto each other just ‘cause. for these two, physical affection is a natural, core aspect of their relationship.

beel is also a very easy person for mammon to be around/be affectionate with because he never tries to reject mammon’s affection, ever. beel is also the most open about his love for his family, so this is to be expected. he and beel don’t have too much in common, so, a lot of the time, in place of hanging out with him for extensive periods of time, every so often, mammon will just check in and see how he’s doing. it’s a really simple thing, but given that mammon is hardly ever honest about wanting to be around his family out of love, it makes beel the happiest person around whenever it happens. that mammon goes out of his way to check on him for no reason other than he cares about him—just thinking about it puts a smile on his face. if mammon misses is feeling particularly distant from beel, he'll drop by his practices for a little bit, but he always leaves before beel can see him and ask what he's doing there. he has no idea that beel always knows when he's there & is actually a bit sad when he doesn't wave or say hi.

mammon doesn't really initiate anything with belphie. he doesn't know how to approach him, he doesn't know what to talk to him about, and he's never alone with him because whenever they're alone together (and both awake) he hates the inevitable quiet that falls between them. he thinks about ruffling belphie's hair while he's asleep, but he doesn't want to risk waking him up or finding out that he was pretending to sleep, so he really just leaves him alone. he knows that belphie knows all of this because since he's the only one mammon is never alone with, it's obvious. all of this makes mammon feel awful, so to compensate, whenever belphie does something bad, and no one knows who did it, mammon takes the blame. every time. sometimes he isn't even taking the fall for belphie, but nine times out of ten, he is.

as a bonus, i just wanted to add that mammon is without a doubt, the most protective/doting when it comes to his brothers, and i made this as a visual representation:

#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me hc #obey me scenarios

29 notes · View notes

clairenatural · 4 years

Text

look at you, strawberry blond

destiel, 1.8k. pining, fluff, growing up together, etc! minor character/parental death, vague mention of John’s A+ Parenting. based on the mitski song (this is a repost because the first one got deleted)

I love everybody because I love you

Castiel first learns what love is when he’s eight years old and Gabriel, sixteen, is grumbling about driving an hour out of his way to find his girlfriend the rare chocolates she likes for Valentine’s day.

“Why?” he asks his older brother, and Gabriel sighs, melodramatic as always.

“That’s love, little bro. Remembering the little things and then putting in the time to make it happen.”

Cas thinks about when he told Dean his parents don’t let him eat candy. He thinks about how Dean has given him half his Kit Kat bar every day for the last year.

He thinks about the time he scraped his knee falling off the jungle gym and Dean spent the rest of recess picking dandelions to make him feel better. Yellow is his favorite color.

“Oh.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Cassie. Love is about sacrifice, and commitment--” he goes on, but by the time Michael cuts him off, yelling from his office that you’ve only been dating for two months, Gabriel, stop preaching to Castiel, Cas has already sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom.

A broken piggy bank, $1.50 in pocket change, and several pleas to Gabriel later, and Castiel tucks a king-sized Kit Kat into Dean’s valentine box.

--------------------------------------

When you stood up, walked away, barefoot

It’s eight years later, one summer in high school, when Castiel realizes that there’s a difference between loving and being in love, and that he is, in fact, in love with his best friend.

He realizes this as he watches Dean walk away, sandals discarded and unnecessary in the soft grass, back to the picnic tables to get them both more fruit punch. It’s the annual junior class picnic, the official welcome to being upperclassmen, and the August sun casts a warm glow over Dean’s freckles, and Castiel knows.

Two seconds later, he watches Dean nearly get hit by an errant frisbee and completely forget his punch mission in lieu of playfully tackling its thrower, Benny Lafitte. He watches Lisa Braden, giggly and glowing and perfect as always, yelp as she’s almost caught in the crossfire, and Dean winks at her as he releases Benny.

He swallows thickly and turns his attention back to the patch of grass they’d been laying in, flattened where Dean had been just a few moments before. He wishes he hadn’t come to this particular realization.

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape I looked over it and I ached

--------------------------------------

I love everybody because I love you I don't need the city, and I don't need proof

Castiel goes to college in Chicago and pretends like the two-hour drive between them doesn’t mean anything. And it doesn’t, until Dean’s father gets a job back in Kansas halfway through his freshman year. Dean goes with him even though he’s an adult because the alternative is letting Sam deal with John alone, so Castiel spends most of that summer in Lawrence, dodging both his friends in the big city and his family back in Pontiac. He tells them all that he’s studying Kansas’ role in the Civil War, assisting in research back at the University, but he and Dean spend two months going on road trips with Sam.

His sophomore year John dies and Castiel flies back for the weekend, explaining his sudden departure as a family emergency and getting an extension on two papers. Dean holds his hand at the funeral but won’t look him in the eyes for two hours after, even as he refuses to leave Castiel’s side.

The boys move in with Bobby but that summer Dean shows up in Chicago, explanations lined up about not worrying about Sam anymore and wanting to see what about the city made Cas keep coming back. Castiel gets an internship and pretends like that was the plan all along. He quietly cancels his plane tickets to South Dakota.

All I need, darling, is a life in your shape I picture it, soft, and I ache

--------------------------------------

Reach out the car window, trying to hold the wind You tell me you love her; I give you a grin

Dean stays in Chicago. He moves into Castiel’s empty room when his original roommate moves out, he finds work at an auto shop, and he starts taking mechanic classes at a community college. Castiel isn’t sure why—he doesn’t want to ask. Afraid to look the gift horse in the mouth and risk having his happiness bitten off.

Then Dean starts talking about a girl. Then Castiel meets the girl, Cassie Robinson, and it all makes sense.

He pretends it doesn’t sting every time Dean brings her up, that the way his face lights up doesn’t burn, that he doesn’t feel physically ill the first time he meets her.

By the time Dean tells him he’s in love, gushing about Cassie in a way eerily reminiscent of Gabriel twelve years earlier, it’s turned into a dull ache that Castiel has mostly contained in the back of his chest. They’re on their way to Cassie’s apartment, the first stop on their way to a cabin spring break of their junior year, and the ache is suddenly threatening to break through his ribcage.

But the sun is warm on his cheek, and the radio is playing a soft summer soundtrack, so Castiel allows Dean’s happiness to wash over him long enough to forget who—or, more importantly, who isn’t—causing it. He grins at his best friend before turning his gaze back out the passenger window of the Impala.

Oh all I ever wanted was a life in your shape So I follow the white lines, follow the white lines, Keep my eyes on the road as I ache

--------------------------------------

Look at you, strawberry blond

Dean and Cassie break up, and Dean drinks for a month, but Castiel getting into Stanford for grad school distracts him just long enough to go back to normal (a normal that does not involve thinking about how Dean nearly kissed him when they were both drunk the night he got his acceptance).

This new normal involves staring graduation in the face, and California beyond that, and moving out of his Chicago apartment somewhere in this middle, which also involves coming to terms with moving away from Dean.

Until Sam gets his own acceptance to Stanford a few months later. Then Dean starts sending him links to two-bedroom apartments, and using “we” when talking about the move, and looks just as confused as Castiel when he asks about it.

“Well, yeah. I mean, with you gone, and now Sam—You thought you were going by yourself?”

And even though Castiel vaguely thinks this is a bad idea, and living with his best friend who he’s been in love with for his entire memory had been hard enough for the two years they’d been doing it, he can’t say no. Because every time he gets up the nerve to say something Dean calls him over and shoves his laptop into Castiel’s face, talking about hiking trails and flower fields and front lawns and dogs, and that quells any doubt he had.

They move to Palo Alto, into a townhouse with a lawn and a communal garden. Dean adopts a golden retriever.

Fields rolling on, I love it when you call my name

--------------------------------------

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm? Watching your arm

Two months into Castiel’s first year of graduate school they have a picnic, taking advantage of the lingering warmth of the California fall. Sam is off in the field playing with Zeppelin, obviously having used the ‘come meet my brother’s dog’ excuse to invite the pretty blonde woman (Jess?) chasing the golden with him. Dean is rambling about Star Trek and Castiel is paying half attention, the majority of his focus on the reading in front of him because professors don’t consider picnics an extension-worthy excuse.

He’s just started to get invested when he hears a yelp and looks up to see Dean Winchester, his best friend, most trusted confidant and the possible love of his life, swatting a bumblebee. Cas gasps, reading forgotten, and lunges across the picnic blanket to grab Dean’s wrist. “Dean.” He chastises, and Dean gives him a look.

“It’s a bee, Cas.”

“It’s a bumblebee, which are essential—”

“To our ecosystem, yeah, but it’s pretty essential to me that it doesn’t sting me.”

“It won’t sting you if you don’t swat at it.”

“You didn’t see the look on it, man. It meant business.”

“Bees are attracted to sugar. You probably just smell good.”

Dean grins. “You calling me sweet, Cas?”

And, well, no. He isn’t. He’s talking about the empty pie tin next to Dean. But the words make him realize just how close they are, how far he’d moved into Dean’s space in his efforts to stop his hand, how the force of the movement had pushed Dean almost back onto his elbows.

He opens his mouth to respond the way he usually does to Dean’s cavalier flirting, but the words don’t leave his mouth—which is, somehow, he swears, closer to Dean’s than it was a second ago. Just as Castiel is preparing to push back, clear his throat, and add this moment onto a growing list of almost-but-not-quite moments stretching back years, Dean sucks in a breath and closes the gap.

Castiel reacts before his brain can fully comprehend what’s going on, bypassing any shock entirely and kissing Dean back immediately. He lets go of his wrist, instead bringing his hand to the side of Dean’s face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Dean pushes himself back up and wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him essentially into his lap, and then they’re kissing, and Dean smells like summer and tastes like apple pie, and Castiel suddenly understands more than ever why bees are always buzzing around him.

It feels like a lifetime until it’s over, until they’re just staring at each other and out of breath, both scared to say anything and break the magic they’d accidentally created. The silence is only broken by a shout from across the grass, followed shortly by a tennis ball that nearly misses them, followed by 65 pounds of golden retriever that does not miss them and nearly topples Castiel in his pursuit of the ball. And then Sam comes running after the dog, still shouting—apologies, this time—and then there’s Jess, laughing hysterically, and then Castiel has to scramble out of the way because Zeppelin has made a U-turn, interpreting the whole commotion as a game of keep-away.

Dean meets his eye above the chaos and grins, and the sunlight hits his dirty blonde hair, and it’s so breathtaking Castiel almost forgets to smile back.

I love it when you look my way.

#destiel fluff #deancas fluff #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel #fic #spn #i told myself i wasn't gonna repost this but this verse lives rent free in my head so like. here u go sorry #also i like it and want it on my blog!!!#my words #(tumblr actually put this in the tags challenge)#over 1k words

342 notes · View notes

imaginedhaven · 3 years

Text

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Seven

Link to Masterpost

Guys, I loved this prompt! Please feel free to keep sending them my way!

Today’s prompt:

"Shut up, you don't know what it's like to have your body attack you every month" for Aelin on her period please?????

~*~*~

Two weeks after she had broken her ankle, and on the very first day she was supposed to go back into work, Aelin woke up with the distinctly unpleasant sensation of her lower back muscles attempting to crush her spine. With a vicious curse, she hauled herself up out of her makeshift bed and made for the kitchen. Her phone chimed from the desk Rowan had been using as an office before the incident, and she snagged it off of the charger, quickly sending a text off to Sam.

Cancel the ride. I can’t do it today after all.

She didn’t bother to await a reply before making her way to the cabinets where she usually stored all of her treats. Her brownies had run out a week ago, but surely she still had something stashed away.

As she rummaged, she took a moment to count backwards in her head. Surely she hadn’t miscounted? This was far too soon for her usual monthly cycle, or so she had thought. After all, her last one had been just two weeks…

Two weeks before she had broken her ankle. Fuck. It was right on schedule and she was the fool who hadn’t counted right. And since she hadn’t counted right, she had done exactly none of her usual self-care routine for the day before that mitigated the symptoms of this first awful day. Gods, she felt like such an idiot.

Gently, she let her head fall forward and into the cabinet door with a soft thunk. It served her right for forgetting such an important thing and messing up her very first day back at work. The best she could do now was try her best to catch up to it with painkillers and hope she would be better enough to try again tomorrow.

Her phone chimed on the counter with Sam’s reply.

I was wondering if you were sure. It’s awfully soon, aren’t you still on those heavy duty pain pills?

Of course she wasn’t. They had run out four days ago, and she hadn’t given it a second thought before now since her ankle had been feeling so much better.

No, I’m just an idiot who can’t count days and weeks. A vague message, to be sure, but Aelin knew that Sam would know exactly what she was talking about. She had complained to him enough about it over the years, after all.

Damn, that sucks. I can stop by after my shift if you need anything?

It was sweet of Sam, really, and a holdover from how they’d helped each other out while they were dating, but she knew it would be too little too late and she didn’t want to interfere with his own schedule. I should be fine, really. Just gonna curl up and try to sleep it off. I should be better tomorrow, you know it’s always just this first day.

That’s true enough. Feel better xo

Aelin smiled and set her phone aside, then winced as her more immediate problem made itself known once more. She finally opened the cabinet…

And was met with plates. Gods, she didn’t know Aedion had even owned this many plates. Not only that, but this meant that Rowan had reorganized the kitchen again and most likely thrown out her snacks. He’d probably even sniffed with disdain as he’d done so, the joyless buzzard.

Aelin whined quietly. Fuck, she just wanted one thing to not be completely screwed up today. Apparently that was too much to ask, though.

Her supplies were kept in the upstairs bathroom next to her usual bedroom, and since she had stocked up the previous month she knew that at least those wouldn’t be an issue. She just had to get up the stairs. It was slower going than usual, as she still had to wear the boot, but now that she could actually walk as long as she had the boot on she managed okay. Several minutes of cleaning up later and she was ready to awkwardly clomp her way back down the stairs, taking some of her stash with her so she wouldn’t have to make this trek again in the next day or two at least.

She paused in front of the television, going through her collection of movies and selecting an older musical Rowan was certain to judge her for before gathering up every blanket they’d left around the living room and forming a cocoon on the couch.

She’d just gotten some semblance of comfortable when the door opened, footsteps heading for the stairs and then pausing. “I thought you said you were going to try working today,” Rowan said, clearly confused. “Unless… is your ankle bothering you?”

“What? No.” Gods, she’d lost track of the time, and she hadn’t expected to deal with Rowan this soon.

“Did your ride fall through? If you’d called I could’ve—”

Her grip on her temper, already tenuous due to the situation at hand, frayed and broke. “Shut up,” she snapped, and a part of her reveled in Rowan’s stunned silence. “You don’t know what it’s like to have your body attack you every month.” She avoided Rowan’s eyes, not sure what she’d find in his expression and even less certain she wanted to know.

She curled up a little bit tighter, though, when his footsteps quietly retreated through the front door once more.

Gods, not only had she messed up her own day, but she’d probably ruined Rowan’s too. He hadn’t asked for her to snap at him, and in hindsight he hadn’t deserved it either. He’d been the perfect picture of a caring roommate, and she’d stomped all over that. It sucked, and not just because she’d actually been trying to befriend him.

No, it was awful because it wasn’t until the door had quietly closed behind him that she realized the last thing she’d wanted was to be left alone.

She’d brought it on herself, though, so she didn’t reach for her phone again. There was no point in dragging anyone else into the utter mess that was her day, and the last thing she wanted was to send a pleading text to Rowan and have him ignore it. Instead, she burrowed deeper into her pile of blankets and tried to ignore the tears she could feel welling in her eyes.

She had mostly succeeded in banishing them and was drifting somewhere between waking and sleep when the door opened once more. She said nothing, hardly daring to hope he’d actually come back. No, most likely he’d forgotten something he needed and he’d be gone again in a few minutes.

Her self-loathing tirade stuttered to a halt when something warm was tucked behind the small of her back.

Stunned, she reached behind herself and found an electric heating pad, the kind she’d always thought about buying but never managed to remember until it was too late. When she turned her head to look at him he wasn’t looking at her, instead setting a cup of something on the table in front of her. It turned out to be a mocha from the café down the street upon further investigation, and suddenly those tears she had mostly managed to shove back down were welling up to the surface once again. “Rowan…?” Gods, her voice broke on his name, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be embarrassed about it.

“You should drink some of that,” he said quietly. “The caffeine will help, and I know how you feel about chocolate.”

Gods, who was this man and what had he done with her roommate? She was having a hard time believing he could be so… soft. She supposed it made sense, though; surely it was just an extension of all he’d done for her in that first week after breaking her ankle. She knew better than to call attention to it by asking; if she knew Rowan, that would just cause him to grumble something at her and retreat into his room for the remainder of the night, and that was the last thing she wanted. Instead, she quietly reached for the cup and sighed as she inhaled the scent of it.

He wasn’t done yet, though; no, he was reaching into one of those reusable grocery bags she’d never seen anyone else using. “I didn’t know if you preferred sweet or salty snacks,” he admitted as he pulled out a couple bars of chocolate and a bag of pretzel sticks.

“Gods, those pretzel sticks sound perfect right now,” she replied. “I… you didn’t have to do all this. How’d you even know what to do? Most men I’ve talked to panic at the very thought of it.”

The question earned her a tiny hint of a smile. “Contrary to popular belief, I have lived with a woman before,” he said.

Aelin immediately fought down a surprisingly strong surge of jealousy at this unnamed other woman who’d had this amount of care from Rowan and presumably lost it somehow. “What happened? I can’t imagine she’d just let you go, if you did this for her.”

“She didn’t.” The words were clipped and short, and Rowan’s expression had shut down completely.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” The words rushed out of her, and she ached to reach out to him, to do something to smooth that look away from his face. “Whatever it was, you don’t have to talk about it to your idiot of a roommate who can’t leave well enough alone.”

He finally looked at her, then, and there was a deep sorrow lingering in that green gaze but the smile he gave her was genuine enough. “Maybe I will, someday. But not today.”

“Please tell me I haven’t scared you off. I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.” She could feel her face heating, but not even her own embarrassment was enough to contain the words. Not when he’d already done so much to help and she was finally beginning to relax.

He pulled a small container of medicine out of the bag and set it beside her drink. “Take this while I put the rest of these away, and I’ll be right back,” he offered.

She nodded, and as she reached for the pills he moved into the kitchen. She had just settled back against the heating pad once more when he returned, true to his word. He didn’t take his usual position in the armchair, though, much to her surprise. Instead, he sat beside her on the couch and didn’t even protest when she snuggled herself up under one of his arms.

As she drifted off, comforted by the warmth and the blankets and his loose embrace, she could’ve sworn she heard him humming along to the musical that still played.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee

#haven writes #reluctantly rooming #rowaelin

105 notes · View notes

mimik-u · 3 years

Text

Archive

Summary: As a part of the extensive process for documenting the war, Pearl and Blue Diamond prepare to have a conversation about Pink.

Prompt: One of the Diamonds interacts with a Pearl (either “our” Pearl, our “their” Pearl) post-CYM

Note: My gift to @runrundoyourstuff for our holiday gift exchange. Dani, your writing always inspires me—I’m always looking to it for your complex understanding of characters, your depth, and the beautiful way you have with words (always so thoughtful, even to the syllable). Thank you for all the wonderful conversations that we have. I’m so lucky to have you in my life!! And please check out her gift to me—Seasons! I’m so excited to read it, too!!!!

AO3 Link

—

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Steven reminds her for the fifteenth time since he woke up this morning and bounded down from the loft to interrupt her daily newspaper reading. He’s sitting on the corner of her desk in Little Homeschool now, one of his jacket sleeves scrunched up at the elbow and the other rolled down, leveling her a serious look beneath his bushy brow, mouth pressed into a thin line.

It strikes Pearl suddenly, and for no readily available reason, that her little boy has grown up somewhere in the space and span of two measly years.

Soon, if he keeps growing, he’ll be even taller than she is.

“Yes, you’ve made sure I’m aware of that,” she returns wryly, absently reshuffling her notes again. They’re half-English, half-gem glyph in a shorthand that only she understands, alternating languages from line to line depending on when glyphs were not sufficient enough to capture all those once-foreign concepts to gemkind: love, romance, the depths of sacrifice. Gems didn’t need symbols to encode for these complex sensations, even if they felt them, and perhaps especially if they did.

It was scary to love someone on Homeworld.

It was terrifying to love them so powerfully that you would risk your very gem for them.

Traitors were duly punished.

Survivors were rare in Era One.

(Garnet can attest to that.)

“I’m just sayin’,” he protests playfully, sounding rather like Amethyst, and even resembling her when he raises both of his palms in mock surrender. “I know this project is important and all, but it’s not as important as me knowing that you’re comfortable…”

Pearl places her papers down and straightens them neatly, all the while feeling the force of Steven’s expectant gaze.

The strength of his love.

It warms her all over.

It colors her pale face.

But when she finally glances up at him, even though her cheeks are assuredly pink, she keeps her voice and resolve firm.

(Though she’ll never say this to him, not now, not anymore—never again—he reminds her so much of his mother sometimes.)

(His kindness, his warmth, his goodness.)

(Because Rose wasn’t all bad—not really. Not to her, at least.)

“I’m fine, Steven,” she reassures him. “I promise. I wouldn’t have agreed in the first place if I wasn’t. This isn’t the first time I’ve done one of these recordings, and it won’t be the last either.”

“But never about… this, you know”—he makes a vague pointing gesture with his hand, struggling for the right words—“and never with a Diamond.”

He says the word Diamond nervously, like it’s one of the expletives that Amethyst has gotten more comfortable in dropping now that Steven is a bonafide teenager, and he’s simply waiting to see Pearl’s response, how she’ll react.

She certainly did give Amethyst one hell of a scolding the other day.

“This is history,” she returns quietly. “It’s painful history, yes… but that can’t be helped.”

“But it can!” He argues pointedly, his eyes wide and incredulous, his voice scratched around its strained edges. “You don’t have to share the things that have hurt you for the entire galaxy to see, Pearl. That isn’t what this is all about.”

“But I want to.” And there’s a sense of finality in her tone that closes a mouth that had already been half-wrenched open in preemptive protest. Pearl takes the opportunity to reach over then and place a hand on Steven’s jean-enclosed knee, smiling gently. “Of course, there are a couple of details I’ll keep to myself—keep between you and me—but for the most part, I’m ready to tell this part of the story. Indeed, I think it’s essential that I do.”

“For archival purposes?” Steven asks dryly, resignation in his voice, a little teenage petulance, too.

Pearl pats his knee once, laughs lightly, and then withdraws her hand.

“For closure,” she says simply, but then, because she knows it’s not enough for him, and she wants it to be enough for him, elaborates. Explains. (It isn’t quite justification, though.) “Two years ago, I was bound by your mother’s final command to never talk about what we did. And most of the time, I didn’t want to… I don’t think I could have forced myself to even if I tried. As you got older, though, as you learned more about your mother and all of her many… complexities… as you began to have questions—so many important questions—I knew I needed to but couldn’t. And now…”

“You have a choice,” Steven finishes for her, realization washing across his face, unbending the protective sharpness in it.

“Exactly,” she nods approvingly, “and so I’ve thought about it… I’ve weighed everything out carefully… and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is what I want—to claim our history… even though it’s painful, even if it still hurts. I’ve had trouble doing that before, even with secrets in my own volition, and I don’t want… I refuse to let that be me anymore, Steven. I don’t want to live with thousands-year old ghosts anymore.”

Though his brow remains furrowed, though there’s something in the dark of his eyes that remains a little unsure, Steven nonetheless blinks to show that he’s heard her and nods solemnly to indicate that he understands.

It’s a simple gesture.

It means a lot.

And she smiles at him in radiant, weary relief.

A few months ago, Homeworld and Little Homeschool scholars had a conference to determine how best to record, preserve, and proliferate the history of the war, and all the events that resulted in Era Three. There are extensive gaps in Homeworld’s own archives, which had been scrubbed free of mentions of it in obedience to Yellow Diamond’s commands, and Little Homeschool, of course, being relatively new, doesn’t have an archive so much as it has a file cabinet in Pearl’s office that’s at the very least meticulously alphabetized. And so, they decided upon creating a universally accessible Archive, a series of recordings and documents and interviews delivered by gems and humans from both sides of the war, giving accounts of all that has happened in six thousand elapsed years.

Most of the Crystal Gems have done several recordings.

Garnet, Bismuth, and Pearl did one just last week on the Battle of the Ziggurat.

Biggs and a few other defected Homeworld soldiers have covered some of the minor battles.

Yellow and Blue Pearl have recorded a few on what it was like to be in the palace during the war.

And even the Diamonds themselves have proffered their perspectives whenever they’ve had the time.

Because the scholars emphasized early on that it was essential for all sides of the story to be brought to the table in order for the universe to get the fullest canvas of what it meant that Pink Diamond started a war that her half-human son would one day finish.

The minutiae of Homeworld politics.

All of the many battles.

The rebellion.

The beauty of Earth.

The aching desolation of Homeworld after the faked shattering.

Gems’ encounters with humans.

Humans’ encounters with gems.

The casualties.

The grief.

And what that does to a gem—to hold her comrade’s shards in her hands.

What it does to people.

The various townies have given their accounts of what it was like to live through alien invasion after alien invasion, to see their beloved Beach City upended so many times, right before their eyes.

War.

“When does it start?” Steven asks in a would-be-casual voice, straightening up from her desk and stretching his arms over his head before pulling them back down again. With a meticulousness she fancies he inherited from her, he finally fixes his sleeves, dragging the cuff of his left arm to perfectly match the length of the other.

“In ten minutes,” she replies.

“Do you want me to stay?” Lines crease his eyes even as he offers it. “I can if you need me to.”

He glances at the still dormant Holo-Crystal on the desk and just as quickly glances away, finding her face.

Searching her own gaze, even at the very moment she searches his, the both of them looking for something to be concerned about and unfailingly finding love.

Pearl knows for a fact that he doesn’t want to listen, that he’d rather not hear the sordid story all over again.

He’s seen it.

Goodness, he’s half-lived it through the mire of her own head.

But she also knows that if she asked him to, he would do it.

Just for her.

He’s selfless like that.

He’s Steven.

“Go,” she smiles softly at him, leaning back in her chair. “Get out of here. If you and Amethyst will grab the stuff from the store, I’ll make cookies for dessert tonight.”

Steven returns the gesture crookedly, and the relief in his eyes is almost mistakable for excitement.

“Chocolate chip?” His voice young, almost childlike.

“Do you even need to ask?” Her voice fond, always motherly.

“Thanks, Pearl!” He chuckles. He half-skips. He snatches his car keys from the desk and all but slaps the door handle. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He winks his final goodbye, twists the knob and in a brief flash of golden sunlight, disappears into the day. The door clicks to a merry close behind the shuffle and haste of his heels.

And Pearl is left alone, hands templed delicately in her lap, staring at a deadened Holo-Crystal that’s lying almost forlornly on its side.

Her smile slips away from her mouth like falling sand the moment she thinks she’s safe.

She shuffles her papers again.

She stares, very quietly, at the crystal.

She looks, just as pointedly, away.

Occupies herself by touching her notes again, raking her fingers over all the words that give a form to the one secret she had kept to herself for thousands upon thousands of years—not entirely out of her own will.

She wasn’t lying to Steven when she said that she wanted to do this.

She was lying about the fact that she was fine to do it.

Somehow, in the tangle of her own head, it makes sense to her that these sensations are not mutually exclusive. It’s perfectly compatible to want to do something that’s scary and still feel intensely scared about doing it.

Fear doesn’t stop at the threshold of a made decision.

After all, if fear had ever stopped her from doing what she wanted, then she would have never loved Rose Quartz.

So she stares at the Holo-Crystal, and then she emphatically doesn’t.

Tries to distract herself.

(Eight minutes til…. seven.)

Fails.

Abruptly gets out of her chair, a sudden restlessness in her lanky limbs, and begins to pace the floor, sunlight from the nearby window dusting her skin gold in square patches, in slivers. When only one minute remains, and the Holo-Crystal suddenly glows a bright, electric blue as a warning alert to a scheduled call, she throws herself back into the chair as forcibly as possible and tries to arrange her face into an expression that’s just as equally cool.

Focused.

Put together.

Fifty seconds…

She pushes a hand through her hair and hates herself for doing so; assuredly, she just ruffled it, and now her hair will be a rumpled mess on a hologram for time immemorial.

Thirty seconds…

What in stars’ name does she do with her hands? Arrange them on the desk? Temple them on her lap? Place them stiffly by her sides? She settles for some awkward combination of the three—templing them on the smooth surface of her desk with her elbows at stiff angles.

It’s highly uncomfortable.

Twenty seconds…

She could bail now, and Steven wouldn’t think the worse of her for it. She’d join him at the beach house after he returned from the grocery store, and he’d help her make the cookie dough and never say a word as to her cowardice. Perhaps he would even be relieved that she decided not to go through with her intentions in the first place. After all, they weren’t strictly necessary… that was one of his arguments even… someone else could do it… could tell her story… and it would all be the same.

Ten seconds…

But she wouldn’t be relieved.

She wouldn’t be proud of herself.

She could live with herself, yes, but she wouldn’t be able to forget that when the opportunity came to speak her truth freely, she refused to, denying a voice that had already been long denied.

So many times over.

From the very first moment she emerged into the world as a gem whose highest and only pleasure was to serve.

Five seconds… the Holo-Crystal begins to blink rapidly, throwing its frenetic hues in quick pulses across her desk.

And so she has to do this then.

Four seconds…

She wants to.

Three seconds…

It’s her narrative and no one else’s.

Two seconds…

Not even Rose’s.

One second…

Maybe especially not hers, even if she isn’t ready to admit that yet, to face that raw fact.

In a diamond shaped burst of energy, the Holo-Crystal throws its projection upwards with a series of gem glyphs that she reads with both trepidation and ease: ACCEPT FEED? YES OR NO?

Breaking the solemn temple of her fingers, swallowing her electric, jangling nerves, Pearl, against all her better judgment, presses yes, and the glyphs fall away, replaced by a live portrait of a gem who somehow looks exactly like Pearl feels.

Arctic eyes wide.

Charcoaled beneath with thousands of years worth of shadows.

Brow furrowed with indecision.

With hesitancy.

With all the indelicate trappings of fear.

“Blue Diamond,” Pearl greets coolly, jerking her head in a stiff nod. Somewhere deep in her gem, an odd impulse to salute pulls at her facets.

“Pearl,” the Diamond returns softly, almost wonderingly—as though the name is unfamiliar on her tongue. In a way, it likely is. The Diamonds once viewed the Pearls as objects as opposed to gems and referred to them in such a way.

The Pearls.

Our Pearls.

They were interchangeable.

They were possessions.

In the Reef, they even came with accessories: staffs and wands and batons.

“Thank you for consenting to do this,” Pearl continues in that same clipped but professional tone. “I think this will be an important entry in the Archive.”

“Aye,” comes the quiet reply, thoughtful. “Yellow and White don’t quite understand it entirely yet, but there is rationality in this—in proffering the fullest account of our history for anyone to access it if they so choose. It’s about preserving her… all of our legacies—the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

Pearl is suddenly reminded that of the three remaining Diamonds, Blue was the one who upheld the human zoo, who perceived it as a relic and immortalized it as such.

Steven had told her about all of those bubbled Rose Quartzes.

Dozens of them.

Hundreds.

Made to cover the illusion of Rose’s identity.

Punished for a crime that they didn’t perpetrate.

Perfectly preserved in stasis and purgatory for thousands of aching years.

“And so often the ugly,” Pearl emphasizes scathingly, and it’s a condemnation of them all—of Rose for making the Quartzes, of Pearl for being complicit, of Blue Diamond for imprisoning them and calling it mercy.

“Yes,” Blue agrees faintly, new lines forming beneath her eyes. “We did some terrible things…”

Her demureness and her honesty irritate Pearl for some reason—perhaps because she didn’t expect them, or perhaps because she very well did and still finds that they ring false, insincere, affected. How could they not in the face of millennia worth of cruelty and injustice? How can two years of positive growth overturn the effects of two hundred thousand?

Perhaps it’s simply that she believes in action as correctives and atonements.

Perhaps she doesn’t trust mere words, even though this is what this entire event is all about in the end—mere words.

Perhaps she wants to see it in Blue Diamond’s eyes for herself—the change in them, the repentance.

And perhaps, at the very same time, she doesn’t want to look too closely in case she finds precisely what she’s looking for.

“Yes,” she repeats primly. “You did, and today is about looking backwards to that, about assessing all the things we did and didn’t do—on both sides of the war.”

Blue Diamond absorbs this all quietly, looking downwards, strands of silvery-blue hair falling from her neat parting and across her tall forehead.

“How exactly do we do that?” She asks. “Where do we even begin?”

Admittedly, they’re both excellent questions, and now it’s Pearl’s turn to glance down, to recognize the scrawl of all her neatly organized notes and suddenly realize that they feel insufficient for the task at hand, bare.

The word love crops up so many times, but nothing is said about the overwhelming force of that love—the all-consuming dimensions of it.

How Pearl would have been content to stay in Rose’s presence forever, and that alone would have been enough.

And how complicated that same love was.

How it was sometimes tangled in programming and servitude.

And how at other times, it was dangerous, bold, revolutionary, transcendent.

And how it hurt sometimes.

Perhaps even all the time.

Love so deep that it felt like pain.

Even English doesn’t have the capacity to describe those complexities of emotion.

Even language itself.

“Well,” she begins hesitantly, before she has all of her words in order, “when I press record… we simply have to… you know… talk about it, about everything that led up to the Corruption Song, sparing no detail.”

“Simple, is it?” Blue Diamond asks quietly, and there is slight admonishment in the question, ancient sadness in her geometric eyes, in all the lines and shadows beneath them.

“No,” Pearl replies, glancing away from the screen. “Not at all.”

Loving Pink Diamond was so many things.

It was not, in fact, simple.

“But it’s important,” she continues, her voice gaining strength, “maybe even necessary for us to at least try to tell our stories as fully as we can because she never felt like she could tell her own.”

“That must have been so lonely for her,” Blue whispers, anguished, the words half-caught in her throat.

Pearl forces herself to look at the diamond portrait again.

To search the other’s expression.

To acknowledge the truth in it.

The love.

The pain.

The love that feels so much like pain.

“It was, I think,” Pearl murmurs. “She wanted to be everyone else but herself—on that day. On all the days afterwards as we recovered the shards of our companions, as we had to fight their corrupted selves. Maybe even until the very end when she became Steven.”

And this, she thinks, is the fundamental truth of Rose Quartz above all, one she doesn’t think she’ll share with the rest of the universe, one she thinks will keep between herself and Steven and now… Blue Diamond.

Rose loved the entire world.

She was moved by it. Endlessly.

She loathed herself.

And seemingly the entire world—Pearl included—pedestalized her.

“We did that to her,” Blue says, and there’s venom in her voice, an air of admission. She brings her tall hands upwards and spiders them across her face. “We… I… never told her that she was good enough. I required her facets to be perfect and scolded her—punished her—every time she so much as toed our harsh lines.”

“You never told her that you loved her,” Pearl says, and there’s solemnity in her voice, an air of accusation. She clenches her own hands on top of the surface of her notes.

Glyphs interspersed with words.

Pain.

Love.

Grief.

“And when you finally showed that you did,” Pearl continues, closing her eyes at the memory of a world being swallowed in white light, of a sky being rent by the echoes of so many thousands of gems screaming to the same tune of the Diamonds’ feral, wailing song, “you destroyed nearly an entire population to do it… all of you… together.”

“Yes,” Blue Diamond can only utter between the gaps in her fingertips.

There is nothing else she can really say.

No defense against the indefensible.

“This is the story we have to tell,” Pearl finishes unsparingly, and yet, at the very moment she does, she leans backwards in her chair, suddenly exhausted, completely drained, as though she’s already done all the telling and the reckoning and the processing and the labor.

But she’s only scarcely begun.

They both have.

“Not only for this project… but for ourselves, too. We owe ourselves that, at least—the ability to claim everything that we’ve done.”

“Or”—Blue finally lets her hands fall away from her face, leaving only the carnage of overbright eyes behind—“that has been done to you.”

She’s talking about her own atrocities—this Pearl immediately intuits—but Pearl thinks about a different Diamond instead.

A covered mouth.

A hibiscus flower.

And command to never speak of this again.

Because no one can know.

“Yes,” Pearl can only utter.

There is nothing else she can really say.

No defense against the indefensible.

They lapse into silence then, the static from the hologram’s particles humming in the still air.

“It’s a tragic story,” Blue Diamond says, “but I believe you're correct… we have to tell it anyway. For that very reason—so other gems will know the truth… and remember it… remember her.”

Pearl slowly reaches forward to grab the Holo-Crystal, her fingers hovering just above the recording mechanism.

“It’s a story about love,” she quietly asserts, renegade defiance in her voice. “About all different kinds of it, really.”

“The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

And so often the ugly.

“It was complicated,” Pearl only says and presses record.

It’s not an admission here; she's already admitted to this fact—several times over.

To anyone who will listen.

(No one really does.)

Rather, it's a tiny kindness.

Maybe to Blue Diamond.

Maybe to herself.

And maybe even to the memory of the long dead ghost who sits in the space of the thousands of lightyears between them, hands beneath her chin, smiling gently at some beautiful thing that she just saw.

A flower, perhaps.

A human.

An infinite, changing sky.

A world where she could perhaps learn to love herself in the same way that she loved others.

Entirely.

#pearl #blue diamond #steven universe #s: steven universe #mimiku #I HAVE TO GO FINISH THE LAST EPISODE OF FUTURE AND THEN IDOHFIOAHF #I CAN READ MY GIFT BRB

49 notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Crack

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Family Characters: Scott

This is entirely @gumnut-logic‘s fault. ‘Twas her suggestion that got my muse raving away, therefore we are blaming Nutty for this. Also in typical Nutty style, it’s apparently not content with only being a oneshot, so there will hopefully be a follow up to this later. I’ll hold off on crossposting this until I know for sure, but from the ruckus in my head from certain brothers, I think more is likely.

When a storm gets too intense for Thunderbird One to fly, Scott has to hunker down and wait it out.

Scott loved Thunderbird One. She was his other – better – half and he’d racked up more flight hours in her than any other craft during his extensive piloting career. Together, pilot and Thunderbird, they had faced down many situations, and together, they always got through. State of the art, the very cutting edge of aeronautical engineering and kept that way through constant upgrades from Brains, there was very little that could stop her.

Not even Scott was willing to pilot in this storm. It had been fine – some buffeting winds and even some sheering ones as they’d danced around the mountains together, collecting stranded and struggling climbers – but barely moments after he’d dropped the shivering but grateful people off safely at base camp and got back into the air, it had turned severe.

Worse than severe. Thunderbird One had told him, loudly and with many red holograms, that she was not interested in flying in this weather, Scott, and through a crackled line with storm interference, John had been saying something, too. He hadn’t heard what, but he hadn’t had to.

Scott knew he had a reputation for recklessness. He also knew that he was stubborn, and a damn good pilot. It was that latter point that had had him guiding his weather-tossed Thunderbird onto the first clear and stable area he could find to wait out the storm. Contrary to popular belief, he knew exactly what his limits were.

This? This was beyond them. Thunderbird One, as amazingly beautiful a craft as she was, had sacrificed much in the way of stability for speed and manoeuvrability. Winds whipping around crags with no discernible pattern, and too many jagged edges waiting to snag a plane that blew too close, were the worst possible flying conditions for her. Scott had no intentions of adding to the list of names in their family that had met their end to a mountain or in a plane crash.

There were too many names on that list already.

Hopefully, this wouldn’t last too long. With the weather disrupting signals from Thunderbird Five, he couldn’t even tell John that he’d landed safely, let alone get any data on the storm itself. Scott might not have been able to hear John’s last transmission, but he’d got enough data from it to know his brother was worried. With his reputation for recklessness, there was a reasonable chance that his family feared he’d try to make the journey home regardless. Radio silence for too long would do nothing to abate their fears.

Scott just hoped the rest of his family were safe, wherever they were in the world right then, and not caught up in this or another storm.

There was a crack that could have been lightning, or could have just been something shifting under the unrelenting winds on the peaks around him. With his link to Five disrupted, he couldn’t check the weather data, and leaving the safety of his warm, dry Thunderbird to investigate didn’t appeal to him in the slightest.

He wasn’t scared of mountains, but he was never going to forget the day one claimed Mom’s life. He was also cold and wet from his earlier forays into the weather, before it got quite so terrible and he was still saving lives. There was a spare uniform in a locker in the cargo bay, and towels to dry off. Logically, the sensible thing to do would have been to take the time to get changed, rather than sit in wet clothes, water dribbling down his face from where his hair had got wet at the base camp. He shouldn’t have taken the helmet off, but talking to people with it on once they were out of danger always felt a little too impersonal.

Scott’s relationship with logic was somewhat on and off. While John stuck to it like glue and his one true love (a title also shared between space and physics), Scott listened to it when it suited him.

With his communications all cut off by the storm, there were no witnesses. Cold, wet, and memories of Mom’s final hours a little too close for comfort, Scott pulled his knees up to his chin, muddy boots cramming on the edge of his seat and arms wrapped around his shins to keep them in place.

Outside, the wind howled threats, a combination of haunting shrieks and furious bellows. Rain lashed down hard on the cahelium hull of his Thunderbird, a constant thundering that echoed around the enclosed space and sounded much too loud for drops of water. Randomly, One would shudder as a gust buffeted her too hard from one side, or whipped around under an extended wing, trying to force her up into the air.

All the grapples at her disposal were firmly deployed. The ground she was perched on was more likely to peel away from its surroundings than she was from it; Brains took no chances, and Scott was thankful for that. Still, every time she juddered, or leaned slightly to one side, his grip on his shins tightened.

He wasn’t scared. He just knew that in the face of nature, he was insignificant. The storm and mountains didn’t care for a single, squishy human in a plane. If they ever did, International Rescue wouldn’t be needed.

Mom would still be alive.

Scott trusted Thunderbird One and the genius behind her with his life, but that didn’t make it any easier to be stranded in similar terrain to where Mom had taken her last breaths.

Water dripped from his hair onto his knees. There was the familiar sensation of mud on his face, no doubt rubbed there by the uniform he was pressing it against. Something wet trickled down the back of his neck, slipping inside his collar.

He should get changed. Dry off, at least, but it was so long since Scott had last been truly alone that those ideas were barely fleeting observations in the back of his mind. Even if he was shaking as the cold seeped in, past the neoprene defences and deep into his bones.

It was definitely the cold, and not fear.

Scott wasn’t scared.

Just alone, with the wind experimenting how many different eerie and threatening noises it could make and nudging at the single man-made item in its clutches as though determined to tear it from the mountains. With the rain, hammering down with what sounded like enough brute force to dent the metal.

With the periodic cracks that could be mountainside or lightning. Cracks that sounded too much like the one he heard when he was fourteen and the mountain stole his Mom.

The crack that changed his life forever.

Trembling fingers clung harder to neoprene-covered calves, arms wrapped so far around his legs he might as well have been a human pretzel. More moisture seeped through onto his knees, too close to where his eyes were pressed to be a coincidence.

He wasn’t crying, the water from his hair had just run into his eyes on its way down his face.

Thinking about Mom hurt. Somewhere in his heart, Scott knew that he’d never properly mourned her. Sure, there had been the funeral, and the sombre air of tragedy permeating through their home that had never really left, but when Mom had died, Dad had been on the Moon and there had been four tearful faces looking up at him.

Four little brothers that needed him.

By the time all four little brothers maybe didn’t need him to always be there, he’d been nineteen and then the Zero-X had happened and-

Scott cut his thoughts off there. Mom was one thing. Dad another. Both simultaneously was more than he could handle.

His brothers came first, always, and he’d pushed his own grief into a box in the back of his mind to be dealt with later – a later that still hadn’t come. A later Scott kept pushing back further and further because he had to be strong and time alone was a rarity. Even his Air Force stint had seen him surrounded by squadmates and never a moments’ peace. Now, with International Rescue and at least one brother only a word away at all times, he was still never alone.

This storm, these howling winds and lashing rains and maybe-lightning-maybe-mountain cracks, was the first time he’d been alone.

Scott gripped his calves so tightly he pinched the skin against neoprene and tried not to jump when another, louder crack split the air.

Closer.

It was probably lightning, logic told him. These mountains were ancient bastions of stability, not known for excessive rockfalls or worse. For John, that would be enough. John could cling to logic and shut out the niggling doubts in a way Scott sometimes found himself envious of.

Scott’s own hold on logic, less than tight at times, didn’t let him find security in the thoughts.

He was safe in Thunderbird One. He knew that. The harness was still lowered, and despite his boots muddying up the edge of the seat instead of the footplates, he was secure. Cold, wet and definitely only trembling from those two factors and nothing related to those cracks, but secure.

He should dry off and get changed, mitigate the shivering and cut off any reasons for the medics of the family to eye him critically and declare him grounded until they were confident he wasn’t going to get sick, but that meant leaving the seat.

The fourteen-year-old whose life had been irrevocably changed by a single crack did not want to leave the seat. With no witnesses to see the teenager he’d never really got to be yanked to the surface by a storm, Scott couldn’t bring himself to move, either.

He wasn’t scared. There was no fear paralysis kicking in and keeping him there. He just… he just…

He just remembered that day too well, and it established itself more and more firmly at the front of his mind with every crack that snapped into his ears.

He just wanted his Mom back.

It was nearly half his life ago, now, since she’d been stolen. Another year and he’d cross over into the unstable realm of having lived longer without her than with her.

Everyone thought he was a Dad’s boy. Of course they did; he’d always looked up to his father, watching his exploits with wonder on his face and a determination to follow in his heart. But Scott remembered long months without Dad, when he was off on the Moon or even Mars and it was just Scott, an ever-increasing number of little brothers, and Mom.

He loved Dad, but it was Mom that had raised him. Dad had been – still was – his hero, but Mom had been Mom. Mom had taught him to be kind, demonstrated what unconditional love meant and even tried to get the little boy who always had to go fast to understand patience.

Then she was gone and he tried his best to pass those lessons down but he’d never been as good at it as Mom. She’d been such a huge influence on his life, but in a year he’d have lived longer without her than with her, and that box of grief was still stuffed in the back of his head for a later that would never come.

A later that sensed he was alone and all his excuses why he couldn’t address it now were being blown down by an aggressive wind or washed away by a torrent of rain.

Crack.

He didn’t remember what Mom looked like. Not exactly. Sure, he had photos, and old holovideos, but things got lost, like the exact colour of her eyes, or the aura of love she exuded no matter what. He didn’t remember her perfume, or even if she’d worn any.

He didn’t remember the last thing she said to him. It could have been don’t forget your gloves, or keep an eye on your brothers or it could have been something else entirely. When the topic came up with his brothers on the rare occasions they talked about her, the day, he lied and said it was go carefully and I’ll see you at the bottom.

He just remembered the crack, and a faceless man saying sorry, kid, but she didn’t make it. Remembered four terrified faces looking up at him and needing their big brother to fix something that could never be fixed. He’d tried anyway.

Thunderbird One lurched again, fighting the storm trying to fling them away from their relative safety lashed to the ground, and Scott jerked against the harness like a rag doll.

He didn’t ease his death grip on his legs. Couldn’t. Pressed his forehead tighter to the apex of his knees and let more mud from the uniform smear his face, mingling with the water running down the skin.

The storm would pass. Thunderbird Five’s connection would be restored and then he wouldn’t be alone again as John hovered for the entire flight home and the rest of his family chimed in over comms. Scott knew that, clung to it as he tried to drive his fourteen-year-old self back into the box he should never have left. Tried to shove the memories, both the faded and the too clear, of Mom back in that box, before the thoughts overwhelmed him.

He just had to sit, cold, wet and shivering with boots muddying up the seat, in the safety of Thunderbird One and wait out the storm. Then he could go home, get changed and dry off and do his best to ignore the disapproving clucks from the family medics as they threatened him with the words trying to make yourself sick and grounded. Then everything would be normal again and the box in the back of his mind could be brushed aside for a later that he never wanted to come.

Crack.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #crack #thunderangst

41 notes · View notes

scaredyships · 3 years

Text

Renegades (Din Djarin x gn!Reader) | pt. I

y’know what, it probably makes more sense to crosspost the entire chapters rather than just post links. :v So here we go!

summary: You're used to your job as an infochant sponsored by the Bounty Hunters' Guild bringing you the occasional violent incident. But when a certain Mandalorian you've helped out before comes to you for help and accidentally brings his very dangerous problems along with him, it's all you can do to let yourself get dragged into it.

word count: 4.3k

author’s notes: If other people are allowed to write reader-inserts where the reader character has specific qualities about them then I’m allowed to as well. :v This is going to be a big multi-part reader-insert fic following the show, starting almost immediately after Mando escapes with the Child from the Guild. With how much I’m churning out per part, it’s going to be a long fic. Slow burn, mutual pining, the works - however, no smut. No allusions to it either. I’m ace and this is my own personal indulgent work where Mando is also asexual to some degree, as is Reader.

Reader is very mildly Force-sensitive, but doesn’t know it. The sensitivity manifests in them being able to sense the presence of people, impending danger, and being a little luckier than usual when it comes to anticipating oncoming attacks. They can also vaguely pick up on others that are Force-sensitive, but it comes off as a weird sense of familiarity. Grogu can tell what's going on, but there's no way for that to be communicated.

Part 1 (you are here) // ao3 link

---

It wasn’t every day that you’d get a Guild member coming through your doors. Granted, you’d get all sorts of customers as an informant, but Guild members tended to be the proud sort that would rather start their hunts from scratch and not bother trying to get help from anyone. Even if that help was in the form of extensive galactic maps and planetary inhabitants that held more detail than most databases - courtesy some archives from a long-established library somewhere on Coruscant - and would come in handy once they determined what direction they were going.

It was even less often that a Guild member would try to sneak in and take you by surprise, trying to keep the knowledge that they’d even been there hidden from anyone that may be watching. Or to try and intimidate information out of you for the fee of letting you live, if they were new to the bounty-hunting field and were preoccupied with maintaining the reputation of a mercenary. Those types annoyed you to no end.

Today seemed to be one of those days.

Without fail, you always got a strange niggling in the back of your mind when someone was around that shouldn’t be. You never could explain why it was that you could do that, but it came in handy and in turn took the visitors by surprise that you knew they were there. You liked to think that’s part of why you were able to maintain your reputation within the Guild as a preferred informant.

The strange sensation was there. But it was… different somehow. You stood from your desk and brought a hand to hover near your temple, focusing on it. No, this was stronger. Not just in the way that you felt when there was more than one person, either. It was stronger, and despite being so foreign, it had an almost familiar sense to it. You furrowed your brow, eyes darting aimlessly as you tried to process it.

You stepped out from behind your desk, the work you’d been doing double-checking and updating your own archives forgotten as you cautiously reached for a hold-out blaster you kept within hand’s reach. You could never be too careful with potential clientele.

There really weren’t many places in your “office building” to go from where you were. A hallway with a small set of stairs that led to your living space, and the front door. There was a back door to the living area and a few windows that would every so often have to have their grating replaced on, and if someone was feeling especially sneaky there was an air vent that dropped into the center of the hallway.

You turned your eyes towards the ceiling, where just above was the modest kitchen area. Whoever was setting off your stranger senses, was there, even though they weren’t making noise. You sighed quietly to yourself and padded your way towards the stairs and the doorframe that led to the area, blaster ready in your hand.

Rounding the corner slowly, face blank, you glanced up and watched for any shadows or other movement on the walls ahead of you. Still no sound - though you swear there was an almost sub-audial humming that wasn’t there before, the kind you’d expect from idle machinery. You hadn’t left anything on, you knew that much.

You rolled your eyes at the thought of some meathead bringing some convoluted contraption to interrogate you with. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Might as well get this over with.

“Hey, I know someone’s up there. Your sneaking isn’t going to work on me. State your business.”

You stepped up the stairs, blaster slightly raised, not trying to be silent anymore.

You barely made it to the top step when a pair of hands grabbed you, one slamming over your mouth and the other wrenching your arm just enough to make you drop your weapon, and you were bodily lifted and pinned against the wall just to the side of where you’d been entering the room. You pushed back instinctively, trying to wrench your arm free and thinking about how effective it would be to try and bite the glove-clad hand over your mouth—

“Y/N.”

The modulated hiss of your name burst through the fight-or-flight haze that had taken over, and with a jolt you registered the Beskar helmet in front of you. All your movements stopped as you stared, dumbfounded. There was no forgetting that “face”, no matter how long it had been since you last saw it.

To be truthful, even though you’d only met him a few times before, this Mandalorian was by far the most bearable of the Guild that came to you for information. To-the-point with what he needed, no awkward attempts at small-talk, and despite how blunt he was, surprisingly polite. It made those few encounters memorable and had you wishing for more in the future over other clients. Of course fate would have it be like this.

In all honesty, the physical closeness of the whole thing was throwing you for a loop and your mind was choosing now of all times to remind you of how touch-deprived you were, and bringing back to the surface those old vaguely fond feelings for this man that occasionally crossed your path. But you were still lucid enough not to let that be at the forefront of your mind.

You quirked your eyebrow at him as he carefully released your arm, motioning for you to stay quiet. You were just barely able to nod your head enough to indicate you understood. He slowly removed his hand from your face, moving as if he went too fast you’d spook like a trapped animal and lash out.

Something was very off if Mando of all people was sneaking around your place and trying to keep you quiet. He was the last person to care about what the rest of the Guild thought about what they saw him doing, he just cared about getting jobs done and doing so as efficiently as possible. You’d heard enough about his reputation to know that much.

This predicament all but confirmed the talk you’d heard around town that Mando had gone and broken some big rules, something about going back on a bounty after turning it in, and now had a price of his own on his head.

You swept your hands out to the sides in your most “what the hell” motion you could muster. You didn’t miss the very slight sag in Mando’s posture, like he had quietly sighed.

And that’s when you noticed it.

You stared at the egg-shaped pod floating in the middle of the room. The source of the humming you’d heard earlier, no doubt. What was he carting around that was so valuable he had to take it with him instead of leaving it on his ship?

The quiet noise that came from it made you start. It almost sounded like… something alive was inside.

You gave Mando a sidelong stare. The Beskar warrior tilted his head in your direction, just enough to indicate he was looking back at you.

“Mando… what did you do.”

You watched with baited breath as he approached the pod, standing close by its side as he keyed in something on his wrist panel to open it. You knew he was honorable, but some morbid part of your mind expected something viscerally upsetting to greet you.

What was actually inside, took you more by surprise than anything you could have imagined.

Sitting up amongst a pile of blankets and peering at you with curious dark eyes and perked oversized ears, was a baby unlike any you’d ever seen. You were pretty well-versed on the galaxy’s species, but this one escaped you entirely. And somehow, you still felt some kind of familiarity towards it. This was what was causing that other strange sensation earlier.

You blinked owlishly at it. It blinked back.

“...he’s just a kid.”

It was a low murmur, one you barely caught, but it struck you with the force of a thunderclap. The last two minutes alone had completely upturned any previous conceptions you may have had about the bounty hunter and what kind of person he was.

You did not understand why he was trusting you with this. At all. Yet here you were, and there he was.

You didn’t realize you’d been slowly moving towards the pod until you were arm’s length from the child and it chirped at you, reaching up with a curious hand in your direction, his eyes bright and watching you expectantly. Your hand drifted upwards and you cautiously let the little one grasp your finger, transfixed.

A familiar voice brought you back to reality.

“I need options for lying low, somewhere off the grid. You’re currently my best option for getting them.”

You turned your head to look at the Mandalorian. It was a simple enough request, but the circumstances being what they were, he was clearly pressed for time and needed to be as discreet as possible with his actions.

Glancing back at the child and carefully removing your hand from its grasp, you didn’t miss the way he seemed somewhat disappointed to no longer be the center of your attention. Sparing a glance at Mando, you motioned for him to follow you back to the office room, stopping momentarily to retrieve your blaster from the ground. He’d been there enough to know that there were no windows to be spied upon through in the lower area. With a quick tap to his wrist panel, he trudged carefully after you, the child’s pod drifting along close behind.

“How extensive are you hoping for?”

“As much as you can manage, as quickly as you can manage.”

You casually toggled on the earpiece you were never without - com link, translation device, and a handy little neural connection that let you activate and sift through your databanks hands-free. It was expensive, but very worth the investment. As soon as you entered the room, numerous holoscreens came to life around you and began pulling up planets based on various criteria - remoteness, levels of inhabitants, general hostility levels, neutrality with the New Republic, to name a few. Your eyes flitted between screens, highlighting the more promising results and using a slight swiping motion of your hand to dismiss the less promising ones.

“I’ve got a handful you can look at, if they’re good I can download more of the information about the actual planetary ongoings for you onto a data stick.”

You glance towards the bounty hunter when you see him nod his head, but notice he’s not paying as much attention to the actual selections as you anticipated. He seemed... on edge. More so than he did when you found yourself trying to fight him after he snuck into your home. The child, meanwhile, paid no attention at all to the armored man and was mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of screens and their data streams, ears swiveling and gaze darting about, the colorful reflections dancing across the black of his eyes.

You weren’t one to fawn over kids, but you had to admit, this one could be pretty cute.

On your way to pull a blank data stick from the storage space in your desk, you froze. All the hairs on your body stood on end and something at the base of the skull felt like it was writhing, yelling at you to get out, get far away, now.

“What’s wrong.”

You rounded on the Mandalorian faster than you’d done anything in your life, data stick falling from your grip and clattering to the ground so you could instead pull out your blaster for the second time that day. This actually seemed to startle him as he backed up a step. The screens around you shut down, plunging the room into darkness now that the only light source were the small lights on some of the machinery and the dim lamp on the desk. The child whimpered, shrinking down into the safety of his pod.

“We need to leave. Right now. No time. Someone’s coming and it’s not gonna be good.”

That was all he needed to hear. With a quick look at the child, he closed the pod and unholstered his own blaster, stance wary but leaving nothing to the imagination about how often he must’ve found himself in similar situations before this and come out the victor. If you weren’t so on edge and consumed with the need to get out, you might have been able to admire the sight before you of the broad-shouldered, Beskar-clad warrior.

Another time.

Noises of someone trying to force entry echoed from the upstairs area before you even made it a step past the doorway to the office. The front door was closer, and while it seemed counterintuitive to go there versus the back door, something told you you’d have more luck that way.

You snatched your outerwear and pouched belts from their hanging hook in the hall, knowing you’d have to be lying low yourself for at least a few days before you could consider coming back home. You were an infochant, you knew of all the possible places in the immediate area that would be good for that.

There was hardly any time to react when the front door was forced open, and an unruly-looking individual aimed a blaster down the hall and began firing. How you managed to twist to the side and avoid getting hit, you’ll never know. You’ll also never know how you managed to shoot off your stun blaster at the same time Mando fired his, so the man was not just stunned into unconsciousness but hit squarely in the stomach by the blaster fire. He fell to the ground with no sound other than the thunk of his weight against the floor. You blinked in slight shock at it, turning briefly to look at the equally-taken-by-surprise bounty hunter.

Hey, you’ll take it.

He nodded briskly and brushed past you to go out the door first, and he was barely through the frame before he was effortlessly dodging and striking out at two more assailants. You almost felt sorry for them as he knocked them to the ground, the Beskar armor rendering their attempts to strike back useless, and used some well-placed blaster shots to ensure they wouldn’t get back up.

Again, there was no time for you to properly be in awe. The intruders in the upper area were making their way towards where you were, and you had to keep moving. As soon as he signaled it was safe you dashed outside, slinging your belt over your shoulder and making sure the pod with the child inside was unmarked. You didn’t doubt Mando’s ability, but you felt like now that you were in this mess, if anything did happen, it would be on you.

And you just saw what he was capable of doing to anyone on his bad side.

None of you stopped until you were several buildings away, but within view of your place. You watched from your hiding place as at least three people moved from the two different entrances, some kicking at the corpses of their accomplices and motioning to the ones going back inside, their words too distant to be made out. You could see some items haphazardly being tossed through the door, mostly your equipment. Your personal databanks were heavily encrypted and couldn’t be accessed without your genetic signature, so they’d find they were useless sooner or later. At least you had backups in storage, so it wasn’t a total loss.

They had possibly realized this, as they left the equipment, and after what looked like a brief regrouping, the vandals parted to scour the streets for any sign of where you had went,

“I think I may have to follow you on your way out of the city. I can hole up somewhere until things calm down-“

The explosion brought your thoughts to a grinding halt.

Fire, horrifically beautiful, burst through what was once your front door and upper windows as if they were made of foam and not the reinforced durasteel that all buildings in the area were required to have. Everything was simultaneously in slow motion but happening far too fast for you to truly register anything. It didn’t even feel like you were in your body anymore, it felt like you were looking through a pair of scopes from another planet. You could only stare dumbly at the smoke laced with embers as it billowed into the sky above.

“Hey, we need to move.”

A brief clap on your shoulder shocked you free of the spell. You glanced at the gloved hand, and up at its owner. There was no time to try and decipher any further meaning in Mando’s stance, if there was any sympathy expressed towards you in the hand that rested shortly on your shoulder. He motioned quickly with his head to follow him, and briskly moved to retreat from the area. With a small sigh, you hurried after him.

The three of you only stopped once you’d gone past the outskirts of the city, taking cover in an outcropping of rocks.

You didn’t need to tap into any chatter frequencies to know your name was now amongst those that you’d help bounty hunters track down.

Well… used to. That avenue was as burnt up as your home was now.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, eyes closed, now that you had a second to stop.

“If you need a ride, I can help.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked over your fingers at the man that just turned your life upside down. You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant about it, stance casual and visor pointed steadily in your direction, but you could feel a sense of guilt through the way he couldn’t stop shifting on his feet every so often and the way he couldn’t figure out where to settle his fingers on his belt. Must’ve been unusual for him to find himself in this kind of predicament.

“...sure. I don’t really have any other options right now.”

It was quiet on the Razor Crest. The Mandalorian sat at the helm, charting a route through hyperspace. The Child had been let out of his pod and was freely wandering the cramped cockpit, but you couldn’t be bothered to even idly watch what he may have been doing. All you could do was stare blankly at the space ahead of you.

It was gone. All of it.

Your archives you had meticulously compiled over the years. Your collection of plants from various systems that made living on the dusty rock you called home more bearable. Personal things you had held onto since your childhood, things that had been passed on to you from generations past. All that was left was what you’d managed to grab on your way out the door, thinking you’d have a chance to come back and resume life there in maybe a day or two.

And you were a fugitive now, too, for aiding Mando and fleeing rather than let yourself be captured and punished. You weren’t even able to get any of the information Mando had come to you for. You reached up and ran your fingers over your earpiece, the only thing left of your once-extensive setup. At least it was still useful.

Your brooding was interrupted by a small tug on your pant leg. Looking down, you met a pair of big, dark eyes peering up over your knees.

“Uh...hi?”

The Child cooed, tiny clawed hands gripping into the fabric, tilting his head like he expected something from you.

Kids were weird.

You hesitantly reached out, awkwardly patting his head and thinking to yourself how the combination of the grooves in his head and his thin, downy hair felt strange. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile. You glanced up at where Mando was sitting, to see that he had turned to watch you and the kid. You couldn’t see his eyes but his gaze still burned into you nonetheless.

You quickly turned back to the Child, letting him grab your hand and begin inspecting it thoroughly like it was an interesting toy.

This seemed like as good an opportunity as any to ask a question that had been bothering you.

“So, uh, Mando… why didn’t you try to hide the kid back at my place? You had no way to know I wouldn’t tell someone once you left.”

There really wasn’t any reason for him to trust you like that that you could come up with. The odd consult for planetary guides wasn’t nearly enough interaction for either of you to really say that you knew the other, beyond impressions. You sold information, you had no loyalty to one client over another, and knowing Mando had the kid with him at that very moment could have ended with you possibly… doing something rash, if you really wanted to. You wouldn’t. But he had no way of knowing that. Right?

There was a quiet modulated sigh from the bounty hunter. You changed looking in his direction again, and let out a small breath you’d been holding when you saw he wasn’t watching you anymore. Rather, he was watching the kid playing with your hand.

“...you’re trustworthy.”

And before you could try and get him to elaborate on what he meant, he turned back to the controls.

That wasn’t something you were expecting to hear.

You looked back at the Child, who had moved past your hand and was now pulling at the shiny silver latch tucked into your wrist piece that had your keycard attached to it. All that was left of your old residence. You pulled it out and let him take it, watching him pick at the etched grooves and writing with his claws.

You felt something akin to pain and grim amusement that something that used to be so important in your life, was now relegated to a baby toy. He could keep it, you didn’t need it anymore where you were headed.

...wait, where were you going?

“Mando, what system are we headed towards?”

“Don’t know yet. I’m getting as far as we can go first.”

Oh, good. You closed your eyes to suppress an eyeroll.

“Well, when we have some idea, let me know so I can figure out just what degree of screwed I am for starting over at everything.”

Silence from the pilot. It wasn’t his fault that he was followed, not his fault that the assailants had decided to ransack and then destroy your abode and livelihood. But you could still tell he carried the guilt as if it were. You hadn’t meant to sound like you blamed him, but your irritated tone of voice at the situation at hand could certainly be interpreted that way.

“Sorry, Mando, I just… don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

You sighed softly, absent-mindedly messing with your hands. The Child watched you, his ears drooping at your defeated tone.

“I could use an extra set of eyes around, with watching out for the kid.”

He was facing you again, this time turned in the pilot’s chair with an arm partly draped over the armrest. He was trying to look nonchalant again. The way he peered over his shoulder made you want to hide away, and you prayed he didn’t notice the flustered flush trying to creep its way onto your face.

The Child made a noise of agreement to Mando’s suggestion, looking enthusiastically from the armored man back to you, eyes bright and ears angled high in anticipation of you answering. Why this kid seemed to be so interested in you, you had no idea. You’d only just met him, why was he so excited? The only thing you could think of was that strange, familiar vibe he gave you, maybe it was a two-way thing?

Mando suggesting you stay around to help with the kid at all took you by surprise as well. You slowly turned your head to stare at him head-on. He didn’t exactly state he wanted a babysitter, but with your understanding of his profession you would probably be saddled with a lot of doing just that. You knew if anyone decided to try and come after you for information, if you were traveling with the Mandalorian you’d be safer than anywhere you might settle down. But at the same time, a nomadic lifestyle such as his relying on hunting down troublesome quarry was equally dangerous. But it wouldn’t just be you by your lonesome, and, hell, it could make for some interesting experiences.

“Are you being serious?”

All he had to do was incline his head. You looked back down at the kid, who seemed to be holding his breath waiting for an answer.

“...I don’t know the first thing about kids. But I’ll help out where I can, with him or anywhere else.”

The Child squealed, clutching the keycard he was still holding close. That earned a small chuckle from you.

You looked back up at the Mandalorian watching you both, not needing to see his face under his helmet to know he was also being affected by the small green child’s charm. He finally turned away, back to his controls, looking through the ship’s navigation to plot the next leg of whatever journey you were on.

This was going to be one hell of a ride.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #mando #din djarin #if you want to get technical reader is an oc but i'm keeping it hopefully vague enough to just be a reader insert #my specific interest to be tailored to include - gender neutral and ace reader/aspec mando/absolutely no smut #people are allowed to like what they like but some of the popular things i've seen are not my thing #still posting to my sideblog bc I'm shy

28 notes · View notes