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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher higher higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #king of cups #mandalorian smut

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staggeringsmite · 3 years

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all the afternoon questions for piper !!

thank you tess!!! under the cut because i love piper and i go wayyy too in on all these <333

11. What were their teenage years like?

they were pretty lonely if i'm honest. with the atmosphere on windorf just getting rebuilt from a pretty intense political standoff and turmoil, and piper being dropped in the community (unnamed halfling village close to nosa crossing, port/starting city with a lost of reopening businesses growing up) as a baby, there's if not a big gap, and awkward one for growing up with other kids to get to know and play with. at some point you aren't the baby of a whole village of halflings anymore, and you're deeply struggling with your religious dedication to your family's deity, your gender identity, and your overall place in the world with who you want to be when there are so many decisions to make. it was an alienating time where they did a lot of thinking to themselves, not a bad thing, but often a lonely one.

12. What were their favorite hobbies as a teen?

oh!!! i think that as soon as piper was old enough to walk from the village to nosa crossing on their own they would make any excuse to go into town that they could, probably wound up being a courier for a lot of goods bc of this, but also chronically late because of how comforting those long walks through the woods were. pre-oath of ancients paladin nerd just obsessed with the plant life and would probably press any flowers they found after they'd drop. they also split their time keeping up the temple of tyr with mother abel and helping theresa and yodean at the black cat inn. (idk if these really count as hobbies, but i think they tried a bunch of different things that never really took and realized they just liked taking things slow out in the trees and flowers for a while, learning what things are and how to make tinctures and things)

13. How do they like to spend afternoons free?

what with the taking forever out in the woods, i think piper has journaled on and off for a very long time, a great excuse to just sit outside and get some of those thoughts they didn't feel like they could express to people out of their head or just doze off with a book they don't have to worry about being absorbed in for a while

14. What does their midday meal look like? One big meal? Lots of snacks throughout the day?

food is so important to them!! i think one of the hardest aftershocks of losing mother abel was realizing they would never have her cooking again, which wasn't gourmet by any means but was special because it was hers. if piper sternsong is missing a meal there's something wrong! i think once they get comfortable in a kitchen they're always cooking like there's a crew of hungry pirates on the delrose waiting to eat, so i feel like midday meals are a great time for a compilation of leftovers to make it with them on the go.

15. Do they prefer warm days or cool ones?

warm for sure! they're married to the flame-touched champion of sune for peats sake!

16. How do they feel about rain?

despite a strong preference for the sunshine, i think they enjoy rainy days a lot. they keep very busy, and i think rainy days are a personal reminder to slow themselves down from time to time.

17. How do they feel about snow?

HATE FURY RAGE, not to make everything too deep but i do think it reminds them of the dragon/castellane gauntlet for far too long, as it was one of the first times they were in a seriously snowy environment, even when they're enduring it to ensure the nexus rebuilds well alongside the task force. eventually that fades into a more gentle disdain, but i don't think the bitterness of that fear ever fully goes away for them. it's a relief everytime they come home to the much warmer, moderate climate of linde <3

18. If they could live or visit anywhere, where would they go?

I think living on Linde is already the dream for them, but I think they desperately want to go to the Feywild!! they stayed on Linde to do research when the party went during the events of the campaign, and i think they're extremely curious to see it for themself!!

19. How does the high noon sun make them feel?

incredible, like a mass heal divine intervention from sune channeled through lian's kiss on the forehead, like they're going to win against the worst thing they've ever faced with the people they love most at their side, they always, always remember to bask in it because of what it has given to them by way of the goddess that represents it

20. What did they dream of “growing up” to be?

woowee i think as a kid piper just wanted to help people but was pretty lost as to what they were good at and what reflected that, probably some cross between innkeeper and templekeeper because of mother abel and theresa, being a host or a healer or both in their own way. that's not what they wound up as, but they are much happier doing what they found themself loving than what they thought they should do (despite the genuine desire to help in similar ways to theresa and mother abel)

#ask #lichfucker #c: wandering isles #piper my absolute beloved <333 #this is so old finally getting to it

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jancmalandra · 3 years

Text

The First Voyage Of The Scarlet Mymble

On dealing with unexpected family reunions

The crew of The Scarlet Mymble worked very well together after nearly two months of repairing the ship. Despite their very young ages, there were no fights or bullying between them. Moomintroll was strongly reminded of himself and his friends when they were children. Especially when they were on an adventure, they were far too busy having fun to argue or fight for position between themselves. Snork Maiden had been right, Moomintroll had helped to raise their children well.

Little My was keen on going on a voyage that would last until next Spring, but none of the children, or Snufkin, Moomintroll, or Snork Maiden were up for being away from Moominvalley for that long. They all agreed on a trip around the British Isles before heading back home. The wind seemed eager to cooperate with them, and in only four days they had navigated their way into the English Channel. The heavy shipping and luxury travel traffic forced the crew of The Scarlet Mymble to proceed much more carefully and sail at one quarter full sail. One member of the crew manned the crow's nest armed with Little My's bullhorn at all times. The bravest members of the crew took turns in four hour shifts.

As The Scarlet Mymble headed North along the British coast, they found themselves being accompanied by a number of yachts piloted by curious wealthy beasts. As they entered the waters off the coast of Scotland, a very large and luxurious yacht pulled alongside them, matched their speed and began signaling them using a flashing lantern and Hemulic code.

Little My was manning the crow's nest and she quickly signaled for the next beast to take her place. She climbed down and Auguste climbed up, and she headed for the helm, giving instructions to the crew to furl all the remaining sails and weigh anchor.

"What's up, Little My?", asked Snufkin, who was manning the wheel.

"The owner of that ship wants to come aboard and take a look at The Scarlet Mymble! I'm really looking forward to bragging about how we found her and restored her!", said Little My excitedly.

The boarding ladder was lowered and the crew of the yacht anchored it temporarily to their deck. An intriguing figure wearing an elaborate captain's uniform made their way carefully up the ladder and soon they were standing on the deck of The Scarlet Mymble. He was a Snork who had gray fur and wore a very obvious wig under his captain's hat. Despite his more imperious demeanor, lack of glasses, and fancy clothes, he bore a strong resemblance to Snork Maiden and her brother. Little My was the first to greet him.

"Welcome aboard my mighty vessel, The Scarlet Mymble! I am the captain, Little My!", she said proudly.

"You CANNOT be serious!", said her mysterious guest in a self-important tone. She immediately became enraged, and if Snufkin hadn't held her back, she would have bitten the unknown Snork. Sensing that he had put himself in a bad situation, he quickly tried to change the subject by introducing himself. "Oh, very well. I am William Harris Snork, uhm....Madame Captain. I, ahem, apologize for any offense. Perhaps you could explain how you came by this impressive vessel?"

Little My calmed down a little and, with an edge of hostility in her voice, told William the whole story of the discovery and restoration of The Scarlet Mymble. Snufkin used the opportunity to send Boyle below decks to fetch Snork Maiden and Moomintroll, who were preparing dinner in the galley with Moomin and Tayberry. They left the children to finish getting the meal ready and the pair soon emerged on deck. Snork Maiden and William stared intently at each other as Little My finished her story.

"It can't be!", exclaimed Snork Maiden in irritation, "William?! Of all the unfortunate....What on Earth are doing here?! Don't you have the family estate to look after?"

"Snork Maiden?!", said William in stunned surprise, "So, you've taken up pretending to a be a pirate? How typically childish! I don't suppose that you've finally told our brother about me? Since he made a name for himself, I've been trying to invite him back into the family, but you haven't said a thing about it to him, have you?"

"You have another brother?!", said Snufkin, Little My and Moomintroll to Snork Maiden at the same time.

"So, do you want me to have him thrown overboard, Snork Maiden?", asked Little My eagerly. She had quickly grasped how Snork Maiden felt about her estranged brother.

"I'll do that myself if he doesn't start behaving himself, Little My!", said Snork Maiden, turning to William and looking at him with withering disdain, "The Snork shouldn't be bothered by your existence! He has no need of you or our parents! You're welcome to tour our ship with me if you keep quiet. I'm not going to explain anything about what I've been doing or how I've been living because I don't owe you anything! I can't exactly stop you from following us in your yacht, but you can't stay on board here!"

William was chastened into silence and followed Snork Maiden below decks, but the hostility between them still hung heavily in the air. Little My followed them closely, determined to back up Snork Maiden. Moomintroll and Snufkin stared at each other in concern for Snork Maiden but neither of them were entirely certain what they should do.

"Has Snork Maiden ever said anything about....William to you? I wonder how long she's known about him and how she's managed to keep The Snork from finding out about him?", Moomintroll asked Snufkin.

"No, nothing.", replied Snufkin, "We shouldn't press her right now. She'll open up to us when she's ready."

"I know you're right, but it wouldn't be fair to Moomin or Tayberry to keep his identity a secret for very much longer. They know almost nothing about Snork Maiden's family. Come to think of it, neither do we. We'll just have to be patient and wait for when she's ready. I'm still not very good at that, though.", said Moomintroll.

Moomintroll turned to the children on deck, who had gathered around Snufkin and Moomintroll as the dramatic scene between Snork Maiden and her brother unfolded.

"I hope I can count on you not to say anything about this to Moomin or Tayberry before Snork Maiden has. Please keep from talking among yourselves about it either until then, too.", he said to them. They all nodded their assent silently and seriously.

They all stood around the helm in grim silence until Snork Maiden, Little My, and William reemerged onto the deck and Snork Maiden led him back to the boarding ladder and he made his way to the bridge of his yacht. Its engine hummed back to life and the yacht pulled away from The Scarlet Mymble, but stayed close beside her. Snork Maiden snorted dismissively at this and turned to Moomintroll, angry tears standing in her eyes.

"Tell the crew to weigh anchor and set sail for the northern coast of Scotland, half sail if you please.", she said somewhat shakily.

Moomintroll nodded and relayed her orders to the crew, who hopped to obey. He then turned to Snork Maiden and enveloped her with a tender hug without saying a word. She immediately began to cry openly and Snufkin joined their hug, offering his comfort to her as well. They all knew that they could trust in the strength of their family to see Snork Maiden through this trial, no matter what.

To Be Continued

#moomin #snufkin #moomintroll #moominvalley #the snork #moomin oc #moomin fanfiction

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purplehairedwonder · 3 years

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Haven in a Heartless World

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Could be read as pre-Lawlu, mostly nakamaship Words: 3155 Characters: Bepo, Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Nami Note: The title comes from the quote “The family is a haven in a heartless world” by Christopher Lasch.

Summary: When Law reunites with his crew on Zou, the Heart Pirates are finally whole again. Still, Bepo is worried about his captain and curious about their new ally.

Read also at A03 / FF.N

As the party raged on around the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates plus the minks, Bepo wondered at the scene. For months, as the Heart Pirates waited alone on Zou, a scene like this was difficult, if not impossible, to imagine. With their captain on a solo mission, and only his vivre card to assure them he was still alive, there’d been little to do but wait and worry. Jack’s arrival had been a shock, but it had at least given the leaderless crew something to fight for to channel their anxiety.

The arrival of the Thousand Sunny and half of the Straw Hats provided the briefest moment of hope until the Heart Pirates realized Law wasn’t with them. Not long after, Law’s vivre card had started burning, causing the crew to panic at their helplessness; though the burning had eventually extinguished and the card had slowly restored itself, Bepo wouldn’t soon forget the choking terror he felt as he thought about his captain—his best friend of more than a decade—facing down the man he hated most in the world on his own.

But Law hadn’t been alone out there. He’d made allies.

The news had arrived about the defeat of Doflamingo and the return of King Riku to Dressrosa’s throne as well as the increased bounties for the Straw Hats and the Heart captain. (“So much for the Shichibukai,” Shachi had muttered at the news. For a short time, it had been nice not to worry about dodging the Marines. Bepo had just shrugged. Becoming a Warlord had clearly just been a means to an end in Law’s plan.) The crew had devoured every detail they could from the Straw Hats and the newspapers about Law, but it wasn’t until the man himself appeared among the trees of the Whale Forest that Bepo dared breathe again. Law had smiled, and Bepo hadn’t been able to help the tears in his eyes as he jumped into his captain’s arms.

The Heart Pirates were finally whole again.

Law had filled them in on his mission on Punk Hazard, meeting the Straw Hats, and taking on Doflamingo in Dressrosa. Bepo knew Law well enough—knew his history well enough—to recognize some obvious gaps in his story, but he didn’t comment. Despite sporting some bandages, Law seemed fine. Tired but there. The darkness and desperation that had haunted their captain prior to him separating from the crew months earlier had lifted.

Bepo and the crew, for their part, caught Law up on what had happened during their months on Zou. It was equally reassuring to watch as Law assessed his crewmates’ injuries from Jack and admitted that “Tony-ya” had adequately treated them. Coming from Law, Bepo recognized the words as high praise for the Straw Hats’ doctor.

Once the reunion was over, Law brought his crew to formally meet their new allies. The Heart Pirates and Straw Hats had taken well to each other, and laughter and cheer echoed throughout the forest as everyone celebrated being alive after everything they’d been through.

Bepo had to admit, he was curious to see how his captain and Straw Hat Luffy would interact; it was an unusual pairing he’d been wondering about since the day the newspaper arrived announcing the alliance. Bepo’s impression of Straw Hat was rubbery limbs wrapped around others in casual touches accompanied by wide, toothy grins and loud laughs. He was kinetic energy and his heart on his sleeve.

Law, on the other hand…

Well, Bepo had known his captain since he was 13, and he’d always been… prickly. Bepo knew Law well, knew that he felt emotions deeply, but he preferred to keep them wrapped up and hidden away from all but those closest to his heart. Hell, he preferred people think he had no heart, the name of his pirate crew an irony. After everything he’d been through in his short life, Law did not trust easily.

So, it was with great interest that he watched Law and Luffy speak before Nekomamushi called for a party, clearly to Law’s chagrin based on his heavy sigh.

As the night wore on, Bepo found himself chatting with Nami. Bepo was intrigued by his fellow navigator and had enjoyed the conversations they’d shared while they waited for their respective captains to arrive from Dressrosa.

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

Bepo started, realizing his gaze had turned back toward Law—who had settled himself against a tree at the edges of the party—and looked at Nami. She had a knowing smile on her lips.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled out of habit.

She waved off his apology. “I know how you feel.” She glanced toward Luffy, who had his arms wrapped around Chopper as he laughed. Her expression softened. “I don’t think that ever goes away.”

“How do you deal with it?” Bepo asked curiously. The dynamics of the Straw Hat crew were endlessly fascinating to him—they were so different from the Heart Pirates.

Nami shrugged. “I think I’ll always worry about Luffy. He’s always running headfirst into danger. But I trust him. And I trust our crew.” She said that with finality.

“That easy?”

Nami let out a laugh, short and a little jagged around the edges. “Oh, it wasn’t easy. But Luffy…” Her gaze turned far away for a moment before she shook her head. “Well, once he decides you’re nakama, he doesn’t let you go. It took me a while to accept it,” she admitted, her hand briefly touching her tattoo, “but here I am.” The smile she turned to Bepo, in contrast to the earlier laugh, was warm and soft. “And Luffy has decided Torao is nakama.”

Something tugged in Bepo’s chest at that. Oh…

------

Later, Bepo found himself sitting with Shachi and Penguin as the three shared drinks and laughed at the antics of their new allies. Bepo caught some movement in his peripheral vision, and all three turned to see Law, not far away, push himself to his feet. Bepo recognized the slight unsteadiness in his posture and the way he was ever-so-slightly leaning against Kikoku as he straightened.

Bepo gasped in surprise when rubbery arms stretched across the clearing and wrapped around the tree Law had been sitting against and a colorful blur flashed by Bepo’s eyes, leaving an afterimage. He blinked, vision clearing just in time to see Luffy land right in front of Law, invading his personal space. Apparently Luffy, despite being on the other side of the party, had noticed Law’s movement to leave as well. Bepo inhaled sharply and heard Shachi and Penguin do the same from behind him.

Law simply sighed and raised an eyebrow. “Straw Hat-ya.”

“Are you leaving, Torao?” Luffy demanded. “But the party isn’t over!”

“I—” Law began but cut off as Luffy put his hands on Law’s shoulders.

Oh no, Bepo thought, eyes widening. Luffy is just asking to lose a limb or three.

But Law let the younger captain touch him without protest.

Bepo glanced back at Shachi and Penguin to make sure they were seeing the same thing he was. Both men looked as startled as Bepo felt. Okay, so it wasn’t just him seeing this.

“Don’t you want to celebrate with your crew?” Luffy was asking as Bepo turned back to the two captains.

Law’s lips twitched sardonically. “They’re used to me dipping out of parties early. Besides—”

Bepo could hear the fatigue in that last word.

Luffy must have heard something in Law’s voice, too, because any further protests died on his lips. Curiously, his hand dropped to touch Law’s right bicep. The touch was surprisingly gentle considering Luffy’s usual overenthusiasm. Bepo frowned. The Heart Pirates had asked what had happened—it hadn’t escaped their notice that the captain was the only member of the newly arrived group still sporting bandages from Dressrosa—but he’d responded with something vague about Doflamingo and strings. Law, despite being a doctor, had always been a terrible patient, especially when he didn’t want his nakama to worry.

“Does it hurt?” Luffy asked quietly.

Law shut his eyes for a moment. “It’s fine,” he said quietly, eyes opening again.

“Torao.”

Law pressed his lips into a thin line but then his shoulders dropped. “A little,” he conceded.

Huh.

“Chopper can—”

“It’s fine, Straw Hat-ya.”

For a long moment, the two captains regarded each other. Bepo wasn’t quite sure what to make of the exchange, but Luffy finally nodded.

“Okay.” Luffy seemed hesitant to let Law’s arm go, but he finally dropped his hand. “Good night, Torao!”

Before Law could respond, Luffy launched himself back toward the party, landing next to Usopp, who was regaling Uni and Ikkaku with some story.

Law stood still for a long moment, eyes trailing the younger captain, before his gaze turned and caught Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin staring. Bepo blushed and mumbled an apology while Shachi and Penguin coughed deliberately behind him. But Law’s lips just turned upward ever so slightly, and he shook his head. He turned toward the Heart Pirates’ rooms back among the trees. As the captain disappeared into the night, Bepo exchanged looks with Penguin and Shachi. They looked as surprised as Bepo felt.

“What just happened?” Shachi asked, glancing toward the trees.

“Straw Hat Luffy,” Bepo replied. Because that was the only explanation.

-----

Bepo gave Law a fifteen-minute head start before following. Usually, when Law ducked out of an evening early, one of Bepo, Shachi, or Penguin would check in on him after a time—usually to make sure he wasn’t doing something dumb like retreating into that big brain of his. Bepo followed the now-familiar trail through the Whale Forest back to the rooms the Heart Pirates had been provided during their stay.

Bepo headed for the room the crew had reserved for their captain in the firm belief that he would eventually join them. The door to Law’s room was open, and light spilled into the hallway. Bepo raised an arm to knock but froze in the doorway.

“Captain,” Bepo said, the word leaving his mouth in an almost whine before his brain could catch up.

Law, whose back was to the door, stiffened. Apparently Bepo had caught Law in the middle of treating his wounds and changing his bandages. Law’s discarded shirt was piled on the bed, alongside a few medicinal bottles and rolls of gauze. Law looked back at Bepo, his expression unreadable for a long moment before he sighed.

“Bepo. What are you doing here?”

Bepo dropped his arm and took a hesitant step inside the room. “Just checking on you, Captain.”

“You’re missing the party.”

Bepo shrugged. He cared more about his friend than a party. A friend whose vivre card had burned, nearly turning to ash, only a few days earlier. And now he could see some evidence of what had happened that day the crew had thought they’d lost their captain.

Law turned toward Bepo, and Bepo got a full look at the wounds Law’s shirt had masked during the day. Bepo looked past the various scratches and yellowing bruises; instead, he zeroed in on the four round wounds on Law’s chest.

Bullet wounds.

Law had been shot.

For as long as Bepo had known him, Law had hated guns. And Law had been shot…

Forcing himself to breathe, Bepo’s eyes then went to Law’s bare right arm, and he growled unhappily. An ugly circle of stitches and deep purple bruises circled his bicep as though…

“What happened?” Bepo asked rather than finish the thought.

Law looked away. “I’m fine.”

“Law.”

Bepo’s eyes met his captain’s. For a brief moment, Law looked like he wanted to protest, to lie about being fine yet again, but something in Bepo’s expression must have stopped him. He sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Bepo walked up to hm and took the bottle of antiseptic from his loose fingers. Bepo had helped Law enough in the infirmary, from treating small wounds to assisting Law in hours-long surgeries, that he didn’t hesitate to start cleaning Law’s wounds.

Law was quiet as Bepo cleaned the bullet wounds, but once Bepo took the gauze to wrap around his torso, Law exhaled, as though defeated.

“Doflamingo.”

Bepo blinked but continued to unroll the gauze, letting his friend speak at his own pace. He knew some of Law’s history with Doflamingo, knew he’d killed his own brother for saving Law, but much of the history had been too painful for Law to talk about, and he’d never pushed. It had been enough to know that he’d hurt Law for Bepo to hate him too.

“He shot me,” Law said as Bepo started wrapping Law’s torso. “Right in the middle of the city. With lead bullets,” he gritted out.

Bepo froze, thinking back to the boy with white spots on his skin who’d saved him on Swallow Island. “He didn’t.”

Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin were the only members of the Heart Pirates who knew about Law’s Amber Lead Disease, and they only knew because hadn’t been able to hide it when they’d met.

“I’m sure he thought it was hilarious.” Law’s voice was flat. “Insult to injury.”

“Bastard,” Bepo growled.

“I took them out myself, but…” Law shook his head and trailed off as Bepo finished wrapping the gauze.

Bepo thought he understood. It was dehumanizing and a brutal reminder of Law’s history—and that was the entire point. Bepo really hated Doflamingo. He turned his attention to Law’s arm, remembering Luffy’s gentle touch not long ago. He glanced over at Law and was startled to see the captain watching him, probably gauging his reaction.

“He cut it off,” Law said finally. “With his strings.”

Bepo blinked, not quite registering what Law had said because his arm was, well, attached. “What?”

“Doflamingo. Cut my arm off.” Law’s eyes turned distant, clearly remembering, and Bepo hated that look on Law’s face.

“Did you—?” Bepo asked, nodding toward the stitches. It didn’t look like Law’s usual precise work.

Law blinked and shook his head. Bepo’s listened as Law explained about the Tontattas, about Leo and the healing princess. It was quite the story, but Bepo was thankful they’d been there to help Law.

When Bepo couldn’t be.

Bepo swallowed down a pang of bitterness. From everything Law had told them—and Bepo knew he’d held things back—it sounded like Dressrosa had been nothing short of hell. But rather than fight alongside their captain—rather than fight for their captain—the Heart Pirates had been halfway across the New World, safe and sound. It had taken the Straw Hats to bring Law back alive. Without them…

Bepo swallowed. He was Law’s first mate, and he’d been completely useless.

“Bepo?” Law apparently had noticed his change in mood. Law knew Bepo just as well as Bepo knew Law, after all.

Bepo shook his head, stewing on his thoughts, and finished treating and wrapping Law’s arm in silence. Law, for his part, didn’t push. Bepo put down the remaining gauze on the bed and stood awkwardly, eyeing the bedspread next to Law’s leg.

“Bepo,” Law finally said quietly. “Look at me.”

Bepo wanted to argue, to storm out of the room and return to the party and forget everything Law had told him, but he pursed his lips and turned to his captain. His nakama. Law was looking at him curiously.

“What is it?”

“We weren’t there.” Law frowned, but Bepo continued before he could interrupt. “Your vivre card nearly burned up, Law. And we were sitting here. You were dying and we couldn’t do anything.”

“Bepo—”

Bepo balled his paws into fists at his sides. “If Straw Hat hadn’t been there, you could have died, Law! He was there, and you almost died anyway!”

“I know.”

Bepo frowned at the soft tone. It was… accepting. And that confirmed something Bepo had been suspicious about for a while. “You were planning on dying.”

Law sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Bepo briefly noted how tired Law looked but pushed it aside because he was angry, dammit! The fact that Law hadn’t denied it immediately spoke volumes.

“I didn’t intend to die,” Law said finally. “But I accepted that it was a distinct possibility. Probability.”

“We could have helped!” Bepo retorted, thinking about how Law had isolated himself in those months before he’d left for Punk Hazard, barely interacting with the crew as he’d plotted. Nothing they’d tried had brought him out of it, and now Bepo knew why; he’d been planning this suicidal mission. “You didn’t have to do it alone, Law.”

“Yes, I did.”

Bepo glowered at his captain. “Why?”

Law leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He shook his head. “It was my fight, Bepo. I couldn’t risk you. Any of you. Not for my revenge. I couldn’t have lived with myself if anything had happened to you for this. I was the only one I was willing to risk.”

Bepo blinked and the anger melted out of him, leaving him feeling hollow. He sat down on the bed next to Law and touched shoulders lightly, careful of Law’s healing arm. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Law blinked. “What?”

“We’re nakama, dumbass,” Bepo replied without any heat. “Your fight is our fight. Just like our fights have always become your fights. Do you think any of us wouldn’t want to fight for you? You’re our captain!”

Law grimaced. “I didn’t want you to. This was a vendetta from thirteen years ago. From before I knew any of you.” He rubbed his face through his hands. “I just wanted to know you’d all be safe from the fallout.”

“Don’t you think we should get to make that decision, Captain?”

Law opened his mouth but closed it again. Bepo wasn’t used to seeing Law at a loss for words. He looked young in that moment, a bit out of his depth, and Bepo thought about Nami’s words: Once he decides you’re nakama, he doesn’t let you go. Luffy has decided Torao is nakama.

For all his smarts, Bepo’s captain might be an idiot, but somehow he’d made friends, not just allies, with another idiot—and that idiot had brought him home. He’d be forever thankful to Straw Hat for that. But Bepo wasn’t going to let his captain do something stupid like sacrifice himself again, not when Bepo and the other Heart Pirates could be there to fight for him.

“I’m glad you’re back, Captain,” Bepo said quietly.

Law gave him a wan smile. “Me too.”

------

Several hours later, when the Heart Pirates returned to their rooms from the party, they checked in on their captain and found him fast asleep, curled up with Bepo. The bear shushed his crewmates, and they smiled and nodded knowingly.

It was good to have the family back together.

fin

#Caitlin's fic #Trafalgar Law #Bepo #One Piece #One Piece fanfiction

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theboardwalkbody · 4 years

Photo

That’s me (in my nursing cap because it’s my most recent photo and capping ceremony was cancelled so I took pics in my house to send to nursing school buddies instead): Amanda - meme - Manda 28 NJ Tired AF And bored so I am answering this Ask Meme I found by @myautisticjournal

What music have you discovered or listened to lately?

I’ve been listening to my Recently Added playlist on iTunes. Only “recently added” has been adjusted to include the last 28 months. lol But I did discover Blinding Lights by The Weeknd and that song’s been making me happy. Hurricane (Reimagined) by I Prevail has hit me in the Depress and next week The Used’s new album comes out so I’m waiting for that.

Have you made any new playlists since quarantine times? If they’re on Spotify, maybe drop a link?

I haven’t made any Quarantine Playlists because ALL my music is about being isolated and depressed anyway that like... what’s the difference?

Make a three-song-minimum playlist of songs that make you happy!

Blinding Lights // The Weeknd (also makes me think of Data because I discovered it around the same time I started watching TNG so now they Go Together) Paradise Lost // The Used Dance Monkey // Tones and I

What’s your go-to show that you like to binge watch? Why do you like that show?

Currently its Star Trek TNG - because Data And One Day at a Time because that shit hits real.

Are there any shows that you‘ve been planning to start watching? Why do they interest you?

It was just Star Trek and I did start watching. Interested because I wanted originally to watch ST Picard because Harry Treadaway but having never seen any ST before it didnt make sense (obvs) so I went back and started watching TNG. I didn’t want to start with the original series because honestly my attention span is garbage and I just was always curious about Data and so I started with him.

What movie(s) always comforts you?

Twister, Forrest Gump, The Lion King (1994). I’m currently wearing Lion King pjs lol. Pirate Radio is a relaxing feel good movie, too.

Are you an arts-and-crafts person? If so, what types of art/craft do you enjoy?

I try SO HARD to be lol. So far during quarantine I’ve tried crochet, I’ve tried making string bracelets as if it was 2005 and I was in 8th grade again but I forgot how to make them and my brain refuses to re-learn its too full of music, nursing school, and data now. I tried coloring and lost patience. I have been working on a Quarantine Photo-Journal. Every day I post a tiny update and a few pictures (mostly memes since i cant leave the house and several Data photos lolololol) but my printer isn’t working right all of a sudden so I can’t print out any new pictures which I guess that one project I was really enjoying is out the window.

Do you have any planned projects to work on during self-isolation? If you’ve started any and you’re willing, share a photo of what you’re working on!

Here’s a pic of page like 3 or something lol

If you had to recommend an art or craft for people to get into, what would you recommend and why?

Man. Just do what makes you happy. I saw someone on TikTok making GIANT ass Worms on Strings and honestly. Pure genius.

What are your favorite YouTube channels? Why do you like them?

Achievement Hunter. Rooster Teeth. Markiplier. They make the funny. Various ASMR channels. They make the sleep.

What is the weirdest YouTube video you’ve ever watched?

Conspiracy Theory videos probably. I don’t really know.

Recommend a book or book series to read!

Across the Universe trilogy by Beth Revis read it and fangirl with me I am so alone.

Are there any books that you’ve read multiple times? If you could re-read a book that you loved as if it were the very first time, what book would you choose?

The Islander by Cynthia Rylant. I don’t know why but the first time I read it it just transported me into the middle of it and it was amazing (I was like 11) and it was so mysterious and everything. I’d like to read that one like the first time. Also Living Hell by Catherine Jinks did a similar thing

What’s your favorite book genre? Why do you enjoy it?

Science Fiction. Because I like science. and Fiction and space and robots and things.

If you were to write a fanfiction about your own life, how would it go?

LOL The tags would be like : #depression #anxiety #ptsd #childhood abuse #adulthood abuse #i miss having sex but at least i dont wanna die #except i still do #twsuicideideation #badluck #dontread lol

What’s the best fanfiction that you’ve ever read (or the top three if you can’t choose just one )? What about it made an impression on you?

My brain hurts too much to pick a top three but I will say I am currently reading May I by @ladyfogg and it’s been giving me the squishy feels and I am loving it and ya’ll should read it. Her OC is relatable and also inspiring and I think at this point I don’t need to mention Data anymore. (But I did).

Do you listen to podcasts? What kind of podcasts do you listen to?

Off Topic podcast and used to listen to RT podcast when Burnie was still on. IDK what kind of podcast that is other than ‘usually wild’

If you could make your own podcast, what would it be about and who would you invite to make a guest appearance?

It would be about anything and everything. I’d invite anyone for an appearance lol

Are you addicted to Animal Crossing: New Horizons? If yes, what’s your favorite thing about it so far?

Yes. My favorite thing has to be CUBE. CUBE I LOVE CUBE. I WOULD DIE FOR CUBE.

If you had to recommend ONE video game, what would it be and why?

Cube. I mean, Animal Crossing.

Have you tried any new recipes lately? If yes (and if they were good), share it with the class! I’m sure everyone is as bored with the same old foods as I am by this point.

I am too lazy to cook even when I want to so I always end up getting take out or delivery.

What is your favorite website to waste time on? (Is it, perhaps, tumblr?)

Tumbebells. (Tumblr yes)

How are you finding ways to stay connected with your friends and family? From video calling to playing online games, what would you say has worked the best for you?

Nothing. I’m sitting here wallowing in deep loneliness and it’s killing me. It’s just my grandma and my cat and that’s why I can’t go out or work (I am a Patient Care Associate and I know the hospitals could use help but my grandma is 83 years old and it’s too high of a risk for her for me to be working in a hospital and coming home from there).

If you have pets, first of all share some photos! Second, how have you been spending your time with them?

LOLA. L-O-L-A LOLA. LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LOLA She doesn’t leave me alone. Her new trick has been LAUNCHING her 7lb body on to my back while I’m standing and pretending she’s my goddamn backpack. And earlier today she decided to pull the socks out of my sock drawer. Because she loves me.

Share your general quarantine experience so far. How are you handling it?

Bad. I often forget to take my meds, we’ve been on “spring break” from nursing school this week so I have 0 sense of time and no routine and I’ve sometimes been going to bed at 4am, sometimes 4pm, sleeping until like 9-11 regardless and I spend 95% of the day in bed. I can’t be bothered to change, sometimes can’t be bothered to really eat, and I care 0% about showering and Doing Anything. lol

I mean it’s been great guys. Ba-da-ba-ba-ba I’m lovin’ it!

I did somehow loose 2lbs without trying tho. That’s a total of 7.8lbs lost since March. Only 125 more to go BUT THE GYM IS CLOSED AND IT HAS BEEN COLD AND RAINING.

I’ll shut up.

I tag @lyrslair, @ladyfogg @datalaur and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it even tho its really long and I fucked up the layout so instead of 25 questions they’re ALL NUMBER 1. lol

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sparda3g · 5 years

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One Piece Chapter 942 Review

This chapter was something else. This is why I am so invested with this series for so long through ups and downs. When a series gets away without any action and still deliver sheer quality, you know you’re doing something right. This chapter solely based on Yasuie and the day of execution; however, there’s a small flashback that show his side of badassery. He didn’t fight, but you can tell he was rougher than today’s former shell. One thing is certain, his pride for Wano Country and its people remain strong.

He has known Oden for a long time and wanted him to inherit the throne. Oden, on the other hand, wanted to sail the sea. It’s worth noting that not only his appearance remain in the shadow, but his desire spoke for a pirate life. Oda knows how to keep things a secret, only to exploit with a shocking revelation, and I believe this will be a big one. Nevertheless, Yasuie had a long history that citizens remain fondly of, but the day of farewell is here.

Throughout the chapter, it’s all about Yasuie’s final words to Wano Country; one that will shake the balance and bring forth a renewed hope. Easily, this is the best part for many reasons. One is the context itself. Yasuie takes this chance to expose Orochi as a coward, breaking the trust for some people. It’s no wonder Oda highlighted carefully with each guard growing tired of Orochi’s fear. This proves world building has a great effect to a grander picture for a greater delivery. Not to mention, most if not all people are focusing on his execution over the funeral. The message will be heard and felt.

If his reputation from his history wasn’t enough to draw attention, his recent action also influenced people from Ebisu Town. That’s why the past chapter about his well-being was necessary to draw a believable attention. You may have thought one chapter or highlight was pointless, but with Oda, each moment has a reason and purpose. Because of it, I care wholeheartedly about his message and character.

His words have strong meanings and felt passionate. Its meanings are greatly drawn out by its scenery, the metaphor, even if it’s blatant with him on the cross, and words that needed to be said. Orochi is a coward and don’t own anyone. Orochi was exposed so bad, if he has a YouTube channel, his subscriber count will plummet incredibly fast. In other words, his reputation is badly wounded and the downfall has begun. As brave as he is exposing the truth with a smile no less, it is hard for people that knows him such as Kin’emon to hear his last words.

There are interesting notes to gather from his speech. He claimed that he’s not the Midnight Boy. I don’t know if that’s a lie to stir up the commotion and conspiracy, but if he’s not, the mystery will continue strong. If he is, then why lie about? Again, it could be a way to throw a fit at Orochi’s fear. Also, he claimed that the symbol was a prank of his; it was never intended for a rebellion. I don’t know why would he lie about it as well, but I do believe it was a way to cause a stir to make Orochi look like a damn fool. In fact, the guards are beginning to believe so due to history. That’s a clever move to bring in more men to the army.

The part that strikes me the most is how his words not only belittle Orochi but also rise up men who wanted a hope to make Wano Country beautiful again. His words moved so many men in the cage, convinced guards to retaliate, and touched citizens’ heart to believe. Orochi is ready to execute him in front of hundreds of people. I was thinking, “Okay, someone has to save him. O-Toko is almost there and seeing her father die in front of her will be so cold of Oda. Thank God, it’s One Piece with its no death policy.” Honestly, this is what I was thinking. Was I a fool to believe it?

While believing someone will save him, most likely Zoro, his inner monologue does make me sad to believe otherwise. It’s a sendoff dialogue that defined his action. It was his move to rejuvenate hope for everyone to rebel and take their beloved country back. O-Toko finally makes it to see her father. Not going to lie, my eyes got a bit watery when he realized his daughter is there to see his last moment. It’s painful for a father to leave his child so soon, so this hits me. I thought the very next page could be a reaction shot or Zoro saving the day.

Yasuie dies by gun shots in front of his daughter. This series is cold as f**k.

I honestly was shocked that Oda will go with this route. No death policy is truly dead; when a person die, they die. I’m legit stunned that not only we have an explicit death scene, but O-Toko had to witness it. In fact, I’m even more stunned with the aftermath. Let me tell you, I haven’t felt so heated in a long time, but what follows up did it for me. Everyone begins to laugh at his death. I was like Zoro; I was so pissed beyond belief. This is so morbid and traumatizing, I wouldn’t be surprise a sane person begin to hate the world. It’s an ironic twist.

I did cool down a bit when O-Toko begins to laugh. It was like, “Something is wrong now…” The big reveal is everyone there lost their emotions and can only smile. It’s all done by SMILE. I can’t believe the whole oddity of permanent smiles from certain citizens was explained and hinted for a while, but this is a painful way to reveal. Now I am very curious about it and more of this corrupted country. Out of context, this scene was absolutely painful to read. Actually, it is with it as well, because the fact is people can’t express true emotions. That’s incredibly sad for anyone to unable to express anything but smile. Ironic twist of fate.

This was a really great chapter. I was emotionally invested and when a series can move you, you know it’s doing something really well. Whether you care or not about Yasuie, his words were meaningful and he had to serve as a martyr. It’s a movement that needed to be done, even if a child loses a father. The ending was painful to read; my emotion was running high, which is ironic to say the least. SMILE got me incredibly interested, but unfortunately, we have another week break. Time to put a smile on my face for the next two weeks.

#one piece #chapter 942 #review #spoilers

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theunredeemable · 5 years

Text

Stealing the Rich

Chapter two: Dark Awakenings! Art work done by the wonderful @spicybon

Weiss watched the others in the boarding pod carefully. The former crew of The Silent Breeze , those that had accepted the pirates’ offer, were sitting far away from her, nervous about the three pirates that stood near her, trying to avoid catching their eye. No doubt some of there were second-guessing their decision, Weiss thought. Not that she could blame them, feeling nervous herself. Throwing their lot in with pirates, especially those as infamous as the Sun Dragoons, was not a choice they could go back on. She felt her heart sink upon realizing that she wouldn't be welcomed back in her home, and then it sank further realizing that home wouldn't have welcomed her back anyway. A bright flash from the void caught her attention.

Everyone looked out the hatch viewport. The pirates looked on stoically as the other occupants looked in shock as The Silent Breeze was racked with silent explosions.

Yang watched as the trade ship was crippled further by the detonations racing through the interior. She knew that the crew that stayed behind would be safe, gathered into the cargo bay or already shooting off into space in escape pods. Her eyes moved on from the derelict, and onto the other boarding pods, taking count of those that had left, and those that were still extracting themselves. Nodding to herself, she turned away from the view port and pressed her hand to the bio-panel connected to the pilot's door. As it slid open she paused to take a look the shell-shocked woman, frowning.

Looking back to her compatriots, she let out a very quiet series of whistles that only the two Faunus could hear. The Rabbit Faunus looked over to her, then to Weiss, nodding in response. Her orders subtly given and received, Yang entered the pilot's cabin, carefully lowering herself down into the co-pilot's seat. The pilot herself was focused on guiding the pod back home, gently nodding to the music stuck in her head. Remaining silent, she offered Yang a quick smile, then focused back on her task. Chuckling to herself, the blonde reached to the control console, opening up a channel between the two ships. “This is Yang aboard the Steel Parasol, to the New Dawn. Prepare the welcome mat for new family members and warm up those engines. We're heading back to Beacon.”

Static answered her at first while the message was scrambled and sent to her ship. A safety measure designed to ensure that no one they didn't want hearing the message could understand it. A few seconds later the static cleared to allow through a response. “Aye Captain. Was it a good haul this time?” The voice was joyful in its response.

“It was certainly...an interesting one.” Yang looked back to the door for a moment, before opening a holographic data-slate, swiping through the reports inside. “Teams Vixen, Phoenix, and Lupine all report the acquisition of more Lien, as well as a few new volunteers. Coco sent a report saying that she found new experimental Schnee blueprints. Tempest found more parts, Siren more food, and I think I may have stolen a Schnee.”

More temporary static filled the air as the message transmitted. “I'm sorry, the signal must have glitched. Did you say a Schnee?”

“It wasn't a glitch Penny. We found a bona fide Schnee. White hair, blue eyes, everything.”

“I thought we didn't deal with hostages.”

“We don't Penny, and I don't intend on ever starting.” Yang looked back to the door as she spoke, thinking of the poor girl. “She was a hostage I think? Definitely a bad situation though. She asked me to help.”

“Curious.” The voice fell silent as the cabin was filled with static. Yang waited for a response, before the voice cut in again. “I must evaluate this information. I'll open the hanger bay now, and engines will be prepared to jump within twenty minutes.”

“Thank you Penny. See you soon.” Clicking off the communicator, Yang leant back into the chair with a sigh, hand unconsciously rubbing her right elbow. She looked down at the injured appendage with a frown, before sighing. The pilot watched her out of the corner of her eye, tilting her head in a questioning manner. Yang smiled softly and shrugged. “I'm fine Neo, still not used to it I guess.” Neo nodded, frowning, but focused on piloting her vessel home.

Back in the main cabin, Weiss was slowly withdrawing further into herself, holding herself as she tried to ignore the crushing uncertainty of her future, as well as the former crew of The Silent Breeze . She barely even noticed the figure sitting down next to her, only noticing when they placed their coat over her shoulders. The scent of cinnamon hit her nose, and the warmth of the coat helped combat the cold she felt inside. Looking up to find the one responsible, she found herself staring into warm hazel eyes and a soft, kind smile. “T-thank you, Miss...?”

“Velvet. Just Velvet, no miss. And don't worry. You're safe now. We'll make sure to look after you and protect you.”

Weiss stared deeply into those kind eyes, seeking any sign of deception on the Faunus's part. “Is that a promise you can keep?” She found herself becoming dangerously lost in those eyes, for instead of deception she saw a deep-seated warmth and intelligence. She felt her heart flutter and frowned at the notion.

“Of course, I promise you that I won't let anything bad happen to you?”

Weiss felt herself relax at the promise, and quietly repeated. “Anything?” Velvet nodded her affirmation, and Weiss let out a sigh of relief. In that moment she felt all the stress and weariness of the past three weeks catch up to her at once. With a yawn her eyes slowly fell shut, even as she was speaking. “g-good. I'll....I'll hold you to that.” her unconscious form slid sideways and into Velvet's arms as the Faunus made sure to catch her. After making sure the the Schnee wasn't in danger, and simply asleep, Velvet looked up at her partner with an amused smile.

“Isn't she adorable, Blake?”

“Hmm. I won't deny that she is, but we have to be careful, Cinnamon. She is a Schnee after all.”

Velvet pouted and looked down at the sleeping woman in her arms, careful to not wake her up or drop her. “But Midnight....I don't think she's like the others. There's a kindness to her. She asked me to protect her.” Blake couldn't help but frown at that, thinking over the possible meanings to such a request, while Velvet continued to look at Weiss, before looking back up to her partner. “Can we keep her?”

“She's not a pet, Velvs.”

“You know that's not what I meant.” Velvet said in a sing-song voice.

Blake sighed with a fond smile and shook her head. “I know, but I'm not sure if so soon after being abducted-”

“Saved!”

“...Ok, saved, by pirates is such a good idea to invite someone in.” Both fell silent as the door slid open again, Yang standing in the frame. “News, Captain?”

“Neo's pulling us in. How's our guest?” She looked over to Velvet and Weiss, quirking an eyebrow. “Asleep I see...and in the arms of Velvet. Is so soon appropriate, when you just met?”

Velvet stuck her tongue out at the two of them. “She just passed out, looks like everything caught up with her.” Velvet looked down at her again with a soft frown. “I wonder why she was on that ship. It didn't seem willing.”

Yang stood in silence, before sighing and running her hand through her hair. “When we touch down take her someplace safe that she can sleep. I've got to see to the welcoming committee.” Velvet and Blake nodded, with both of them looking at each other in silent communication. Before long Blake let out a quiet, fond sigh.

“Fine. We'll keep her in our quarters for the time being. Just until we find her her own.”

Static filled the compartment, before being replaced by the voice of Penny. “All boarding pods please proceed to your usual docking stations, and welcome home.” The occupants looked out the viewport and saw The Silent Breeze disappear behind large metal doors. A few seconds later and the vessel jostled lightly as it touched down on the landing deck. With a hiss of steam, the hatch slowly opened, and the occupants slowly and tentatively exited. A few of them gasped in wonder at the size of the hangar, having never set foot aboard a battle cruiser before. Others gasped upon seeing how many crewmen were stationed in this single part of the ship, as well as the rusty metal girders that made up the floor. The voice chimed throughout the hanger bay again. “Hello, and salutations new family members! I know many of you will be confused, but do not fear. Please exit the boarding pods, and our captain will soon address you all!”

“Well that's my cue. Look after her you too.” Blake and Velvet nodded, the cat Faunus carefully picking up the unconscious woman and cradling her in her arms. Yang watched the two make their way through the controlled mayhem of her crew working, admiring the way they moved like water over pebbles. Smiling, she made her own way through the crowd of former trade ship crew, and up onto a platform prepared for such occasions. Looking out over them she did a quick head count, making it to be that twenty men and women had accepted the offer to join them. Clearing her throat to get all their attention, she threw her arms open wide in welcome. “Welcome to the New Dawn ! I hope that in time that some of you will come to think of it as home, and I hope that you do think of it now as a new chance at life.

“I know you'll have heard the tales and seen the holo-vids about us, about the Vale expanse. That we're pirates. That we're filthy, backwards, and cruel. That the Atlas government took one look at us and called us a waste of resources. But I'm here to tell you that was a lie. In truth, they ran away. They ran, because we would not bow to them. They ran, because we fought tooth and nail for every world. Are we pirates? Yes! I won't lie to you. But we don't steal from just anyone. We steal from the oppressors. From the SDC, from the Atlesian Military, from the Mistrali Regime.

“There are many factions of us, but we, the Sun Dragoons, belong to Beacon, and we have a strict code of rules that we expect you to follow. We are not cruel. We steal, but we do not kill unless necessary or to prevent further cruelty. We steal from the rich, not the poor. Not for profit, but to provide to those who cannot provide to themselves.” She paused for a moment and shrugged slightly with a laugh. “And a little bit a profit. We all need to make Lien right?

“But above all, We are free. We are responsible for our own mistakes, and we are family.” She stopped to look out amongst the crowd, still smiling. She took note of the faces. Some seemed already swayed by her words, soft smiles and looks of relief. Others were on the verge of being convinced, but were still suspicious. “But don't just take my word for it. You'll see when we arrive at Beacon. For now though, rest, eat. We'll assign all of you temporary quarters so you can get some sleep.” Jumping down from the platform, she made her way back through the crowd. They parted before her in an effort not to hinder her progress as she made her way to the elevator at the far end of the hanger.

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

Weiss slowly woke up, stretching her limbs and yawning. Sitting up in the bed she looked around the unfamiliar room with a frown. It didn't look anything like her room on The Silent Breeze . For one it was far more lived-in. Two bookshelves occupied the far wall of the quarters, lined with various novels and histories from what she could see from the bed. Slowly standing up she felt the cold metal of the floor on her feet. Looking for her shoes, she found them carefully placed next to the bed. Slipping them back on she began to properly explore the room she found herself in.

She couldn't but help but notice the lingering scent of cinnamon in the air, mingling with the sticks of incense someone had left burning. Continuing to walk around she found where it had been left, an ornate holder sitting on a small counter connected to a small built in kitchen. The kitchen itself was simple and stocked with long-lasting preserved foods, intended to keep the occupants of the quarters fed for long journeys. Moving away from the kitchen area Weiss inspected the books on the shelves, and couldn't help but smile at the disparity between the two. One was full of older books, high fantasy and fairy tales from across the galaxy, as well as a full shelf dedicated to romance novels. The other held cook books, travel guides and photo albums, and a small shelf dedicated to fiction.

Turning away she cast a glance over the room again to take in the rest of the surroundings. A mocha-coloured love chair occupied part of the room, facing a large screen that had been set into the wall. Humming to herself Weiss dragged her hand across the back of the chair, feeling the fabric beneath her fingers and looked around the room one final time, noting the two doorways, one near the bed she had just vacated, the other opposite the kitchen. “Whose room am I in?” Pondering aloud, she sat down at the edge of the seat, waiting for an answer to make itself apparent.

She didn't have long to wait as one of the doors slid open with a beep, giving Weiss a quick glimpse of the corridor outside before the view was blocked by Velvet entering. “Oh, you're awake! How do you feel?” Velvet rushed inside and sat next to Weiss, taking her hands into her own. Blake followed shortly into the room, but instead made her way over to the kitchen.

“Um, I'm feeling fine. How did I get in here? Last I remember...”

“You passed out after we talked in the boarding pod. You must have been exhausted.”

Weiss frowned and looked at the hands holding hers, trying to remember through the fog of sleep. “I was. I...Father.” Her frown deepened as she almost scowled as the word left her tongue. “He was punishing me.”

“Punishing you for what?” Blake asked, looking over to the two women on the chair from the kitchen, still suspicious of the Schnee scion.

“I had begun to question his methods... about how he was treating Faunus and his shady business deals. Next thing I knew I was being sent far away...to Argus Augmentics.”

“Why there?”

Weiss's shoulders dropped as she remembered the taunts of Gole and Mercury. “He was selling me.” She missed the looks of surprise on the two Faunus' faces, and the expressions of horror they gave each other as she continued speaking. “He made me think I was going there to broker a deal. But, I was the deal. Test out new cybernetics on me, I think take away my free will or brainwash me. I don't know. But... I can't ever go home.” Tears welled up in her eyes as reality hit home, and fell silent as she was once again taken into Velvet's arms, and clung on tight as the woman tried to soothe her.

“I promised you that I'd protect you. That isn't home anymore. This is, if you want it to be.” Velvet looked up to Blake with a sad look in her eyes, ears twitching in silent communication. Blake nodded, and started to rummage around in one of the lower cabinets, pulling out a tea set. As she prepared to make some tea for the three of them, Velvet gently rubbed Weiss's back soothingly as the young woman silently cried.

A few minutes later, Weiss pulled away from the hug, sniffling and rubbing her eyes. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't cry, not for him.”

Velvet shook her head in disagreement. “No, you're right to cry. Though he's a monster, he is...was, your father. And he betrayed you.”

Weiss looked down at her hands again, clenching them into fists as her sorrow turned into a defiance. “Where am I anyway?”

“In our quarters aboard the New Dawn .” Blake gently placed a cup of tea into Weiss's hands as she answered, passing another one to Velvet as she opened up a hidden compartment. Pulling out a fold-out chair, she sat down with the other two after getting her own tea. “Being the left and right hands of the captain comes with certain perks.”

“Such as the second largest quarters in the ship.” Velvet chimed in with a beaming smile. Weiss couldn't help but smile softly in return, optimism radiating off the Faunus. “We should probably introduce ourselves properly. I'm Velvet Scarlatina, Second Officer of the Sun Dragoons. My partner here is Blake Belladonna, the First Officer.”

Weiss gently sipped her tea before responding. “I'm Weiss. I guess, just Weiss now.”

“Well, just Weiss. You can stay with us.” Velvet smiled kindly, warmth radiating from her. Blake looked at her partner lovingly, nodding in agreement.

A new voice chimed in, from over hidden speakers. “We are now exiting the jump. Would Blake and Velvet please report to the bridge before the next jump.”

Blake sighed and took out a small communicator from her pocket. “Yes Penny, we'll be right there.” Clicking it off and placing it back into her pocket, she stood up and placed her mostly full cup of tea down onto a side table. “Please make yourself at home. The shower's through the other door if you need it.”

“Thank you. I think I might use it, but I don't have any clothes.”

“Borrow some of mine. We should get going Velvs.” Blake smiled kindly at Weiss, gesturing for Velvet to follow as she made her way out of the room. Velvet quickly stood up to join her, waving goodbye to Weiss as she went.

As the door slid shut, Weiss looked around the room one final time, before finishing off her tea and going into the bathroom. Inside was a large room with eggshell blue tiling. Smiling at the surprisingly innocent colour choice for pirates, Weiss fully entered the room, undressing as she went. Turning on the water, she waited until it was hot until fully stepping into the shower. Turning her face up into the stream and closing her eyes, she let it cascade over her and wash away her worries. For the first time in perhaps her entire life, she felt safe.

The water soothed her bruised body and hurting soul. As she relaxed, she never even felt the intricate swirls that covered her back begin to thrum with energy, casting a soft blue glow.

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

Deep in the bowels of the New Dawn , something began to stir. Long had it slept in the metal behemoth, hibernating as it waited for its choice meal to make itself known. It knew not the passage of time, for it was far too old and far too alien to consider such concepts. It sniffed the stale air that surrounded it, and growled lowly.

Dark red eyes opened up in the darkness, glowing with malice. Food had finally arrived.

#stealing the rich #rwby #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #Blake Belladonna #velvet scarlatina #black velvet #blake/velvet #neopolitian (rwby)#penny rwby

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hypahfixations · 2 years

Text

~ Hello One and All! ~

And Welcome to a Thrilling Breakdown of Dimension 20!

You’ve met our humble dungeon master Brennan Lee Mulligan, and now you’re curious on what other stories he and his crew have told. Whether you have encountered Brennan as a player from his various one-shots across different Actual Play TTRPG brands or have fallen from the heights of Avalir itself during Exandria Unlimited: The Calamity, it can be a little daunting figuring out where to start.

Allow this Intrepid Hero to be your guide, Gang!

~ Who is the Core Cast? ~

The core cast for Dimension 20 are a group of seven improv comedians, but don't let that fool you into thinking that they are not masterful storytellers.

From Left to Right: Brian Murphy, Lou Wilson, Emily Axford, Brennan Lee Mulligan, Siobhan Thompson, Zac Oyama, and Ally Beardsley.

~ Where to Watch ~

The first episode of every campaign can be watched for free from Dimension 20’s YouTube channel, with some of the older seasons being fully available for free. To gain access to all Dimension 20’s content, along with everything else on Drop Out (including Game Changers and Um, Actually?), you can either become a member on College Humor’s YouTube channel or sign up for DropOutTV. The subscription price is the same for both, just $5 a month, but the DropOut app allows you to download as many episodes as you’d like to watch in offline mode, as well as offer podcast versions.

~ List of Campaigns ~

Dimension 20 has 14 seasons, nearly half of which are played by the core cast while the others are a rotation of guest players and GMs. Rather than listing the campaigns in just release date order, I opted to list by congruency as well for those of us who like to experience one story fully.

~~~

In the World of Spyre

Genre: Fantasy John Hughes movie System: DnD 5e

Fantasy High

Core Cast

Meet our Intrepid Heroes in their first recorded DnD campaign as teenagers attending Aguefort’s Adventuring Academy! Watch as they overcome the trials and tribulations of high school life…oh, and saving the world.

Full Season Available Here

Pirates of Leviathan

Players: Aabria Iyengar, B. Dave Walters, Carlos Luna, Krystina Arielle, Marisha Ray, and Matthew Mercer

Aboard the floating city of Leviathan, our players discover an incredibly powerful artifact. What? Did you think they were going to give it back? They’re pirates, duh! Will they be able to contain it or will they sink the city into the briny depths.

**Note: This was recorded at the start of the 2020 pandemic partially through the recording of Sophomore Year.

Fantasy High: Sophomore Year

Core Cast

It’s sophomore year, baby, and you know what that means! That’s right, time for young love, tragic backstories, and hiring your parents as your employee while on a quest that 70% of your final grade!

First Six Episodes Available Here

** Note: This season is a bit heavier and has aspects of psychological horror.

The Seven

Players: Aabria Iyengar, Becca Scott, Erika Ishii, Isabella Roland, Persephone Valentine, and Rekha Shankar

Playing as the Seven Maidens set a year and a half after the finale of Fantasy High, the girls have to come to terms that their party will be broken up at the end of the year due to being in different graduation classes…or do they?

~~~

Escape From the Bloodkeep

Players: Amy Vorpal, Erika Ishii, Ify Nwadiwe, Matthew Mercer, Mike Trapp, and Rekha Shanker

Genre: Lord of the Rings Parody

System: DnD 5e

Fighting for the side of Darkness and Evil, the players are the elite advisors of the Lord of Shadows. Except the Dark Lord just suddenly died and now they have to figure out how to thwart Good once and for all!

Full Season Available Here

~~~

In the World of Actual New York City

Genre: Urban Fantasy / Superhero Adjacent System: DnD 5e

The Unsleeping City

Core Cast

Inspired by concepts from Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, natives of the Big Apple discover the city has so much more than meets the eye. They must come together and discover their power to defeat corruption before it destroys everything.

Full Season Available Here

The Unsleeping City: Chapter Two

Core Cast

Taking place three years after the finale of the first chapter, the players must reunite to confront the evilest enemy of them all: Capitalism Part Duex Electric Boogaloo!

~~~

Tiny Heist

Players: Clint McElroy, Griffin McElroy, Jessica Ross, Justin McElroy, Lily Du, and Travis McElroy

Genre: Ocean’s 11 meets Toy Story

System: DnD 5e

Our players embody the whimsical personas of bugs, toys, and Bitty folk to take down an overreaching mafia boss. After all, there is only one thing more motivating that the love of a child, and that’s a roll of quarters.

~~~

A Crown of Candy

Core Cast

Genre: High Fantasy / Medieval Political Intrigue

System: DnD 5e

The epic story exploring the world of Calorum, where each kingdom is comprised of different food groups that their citizens are made of. Our players are members of the House of Rocks, rulers of Candia, on their way to the naming of the next Emperor of Calorum during a time of great strife.

** Note: This campaign is perhaps the most serious out of anything else in their compendium. They explore themes of war, death, and betrayal with the gravity those topics deserve.

~~~

Mice & Murder

Players: Ally Beardsley, Grant O’Brien, Katie Marovitch, Raphael Chestang, Rekha Shankar, and Sam Reich

Genre: Whodunit / Murder Mystery

System: DnD 5e

In a world where the denizens are anthropomorphic woodland critters, the players have been invited to a fancy birthday party…where a tragedy most foul occurs.

~~~

Misfits And Magic

Guest GM: Aabria Iyengar

Players: Brennan Lee Mulligan, Danielle Radford, Erika Ishii, and Lou Wilson

Genre: Harry Potter Parody

System: Kids on Brooms

Set in the modern day, our players are invited to a prestigious wizarding school to participate in the foreign exchange pilot program, where they discover magic, themselves, and just how impractical this school can be.

** Note: There’s a Holiday Special too!

~~~

Shriek Week

Guest GM: Gabe Hicks

Players: Ally Beardsley, Dani Fernandez, Lily Du, and Ify Nwadiwe

Genre: Monster College

System: The Mythic System

Follow our players in their final of university as they try to find a Roëmænce Partnær before the end of year rager, as well as fend off some unwelcome visitors to their campus.

~~~

A Starstruck Odyssey

Core Cast

Genre: Sci-fi / Space Opera

System: Star Wars 5e

The players are a rag-tag group of down-on-their luck spacers just trying to survive the rough and tough galaxy of Starstruck, a technicolor multiverse based on the series of comic books created by Elaine Lee and Michael Kaluta.

~~~

Coffin Run

Guest GM: Jasmine Bhullar

Players: Carlos Luna, Erika Ishii, Isabella Roland, and Zac Oyama

Genre: Gothic Horror

System: DnD 5e

The followers of Count Dracula eagerly await his return home only to find their dark lord has been ambushed. The players are tasked with desperately trying to get his coffin back to the safety of the Castle.

~ That's a lot. Recommendations? ~

Honestly, I would start with Fantasy High! It's a really good introduction to both the core cast and the way Dimension 20 sets itself apart from other Actual Play shows. From there, you can either go in order (release or series), or simply dabble with whichever genre or campaign trailer catches your eyes most.

As for my personal favorites, that would be between A Crown of Candy and A Starstruck Odyssey. A Crown of Candy has some of the most incredible storytelling I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing - Game of Thrones wishes it could be as good! Meanwhile A Starstruck Odyssey is perhaps the funniest games I have ever watched.

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laurens-lil-fics · 6 years

Text

Parallels Chapter 1 (Starlord x Reader)

Series Summary: In a universe where Yondu returned Peter Quill to his father, a bounty hunter is about to make the catch of a century. But will she turn in her quarry and walk away rich? Or will both she and her cargo go through a change of heart on their intergalactic road trip?

Chapter Summary: (Y/n) receives a call from some old friends and gets a job that’ll change her life.

Word Count: 2111

Warnings: Rated MA. Some angst. Dark themes, violence and mentions of death to come. Slooow burn but not too slow.

Author’s Note: FINALLY writing “Parallels!” It’s taken me basically the whole Summer to plan this series and work up the nerve to post the first chapter. But here it is! Let me know what y'all think, reblog or send in some asks with feedback. I’ll try to post an update once a week. If y'all wanna be tagged in this just lemme know!

“If anyone out there can hear us, you’re not alone.”

(Y/n) jolted awake that the crackling radio beside her head. She hadn’t even remembered turning the damn thing on the night before. Funny how alcohol will make you forget little things like that, never the things that count.

“They’ve been keeping the truth from us. All this, it wasn’t a rescue it was a hostile takeover-”

(Y/n) switched off the radio, the familiar voice making her shit headache even worse. Every day it was the same broadcast over a different frequency. What a way to wake up. It was always nice knowing nothing had changed in the past 2 years.

She ran a hand through her hair, groaning as she massaged the deep ache in her head. The blinking red light coming off her console became more and more urgent the more time she took to get to it.

Bright blue light flashed into her eyes as an image of Yondu shouting at her appeared onto her message screen. He looked a little worse for wear, and that was saying a lot considering… well, how he usually looked.

“Girl I dunno why you’re not answerin your comms, you better be sleepin or dead!” He sneered, “I got us the payload of the lifetime, you meet me at these coordinates in 24 hours or it’ll be yer ass I take to the pyros next!”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, memorizing the coordinates before putting them into her navi console. Once the ship was set to auto pilot she pushed herself to shower and get on some proper clothes.

Did she always do business with the Ravagers? Only on the jobs that counted. She figured she owed them something… At least that’s what was screamed in her face every time she took a job from them.

(Y/n) plopped into the captain’s chair with a grunt. The backroads of the galaxy were the best route to get her to Yondu, but she’d be cutting it a bit close, arriving at the coordinates about two hours before her deadline.

She flicked on the radio in the cockpit. A different and even more oppressive broadcast echoed through the empty ship and she was suddenly in the mood for another drink.

“-roadcasts are an attack on the peace that our Emperor has helped to establish throughout the galaxy. These terrorists have done nothing for the safety or well being of the galaxy.”

(Y/n) cursed to herself, trying to cycle through the different frequencies. Unfortunately the same irritatingly calm female voice was blasting through all the channels. She eventually gave up and relaxed into her chair, sleep ebbing at the corners of her brain.

“If you see any suspicious activity, report it to the royal police immediately and you shall be rewarded by the father himself.”

(Y/n) felt the hair at the back of her neck stand on end and her eyes blow wide as the galaxy before her exploded into swirling clouds of purple and black and white.

A figure who had haunted her dreams stood before her in the abyss, his hands outstretched for her ship and white hot power flowing from his palms.

“Father of everything, the creator and giver of life, our Emperor Ego loves all of you, his children.”

A shrill scream echoed in her ears and the figure came closer to her, so close she could see the emptiness of his eyes.

“By his grace, may you prosper.”

(Y/n) practically jumped out of her chair when she heard someone shouting at her over her radio. A string of drool connected to her chair made her feel a strange mix of disgust and comfort as she realized it was just a dream.

Finally focusing on her surroundings, Yondu’s massive ship came into view. She took a deep breath before responding to the new message.

After docking in the freighter’s landing bay she began making her way through the ship. It had taken her only a month to memorize the corridors when she stayed on the ship, she was glad she wouldn’t have to ask anyone for help, especially with how each Ravager she passed eyed her up and down.

Once she got into the main bay she elbowed her way through the small crowd of Ravagers blocking her path to where she knew Yondu would be perched among the chaos.

However, she found his seat empty once she fought her way through the center of the room. The other Ravagers went quiet once they finally realized she was standing among them.

“Well…?” she called out, looking among the sea of faces, some familiar and others new. “Where’s Yondu… and what’s the emergency?”

“Yondu’s restin,” (Y/n) turned her head, recognizing the second in command, a Ravager known as Dhaki. Kraglin was lost in the chaos two years ago, leaving Yondu with Dhaki. “Got pretty roughed up gettin his haul back here…”

“Then I imagine it was important.” (Y/n) said, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops, standing tall as the Ravager approached her.

“Maybe he would’t’a gotten hurt if you bothered to stick around!” He growled, baring his sharp teeth at her. “You still owe us, don’t forget that.”

(Y/n) took a step away from him, ignoring the snickers among the Ravagers as she did so. “It’s hard to forget when you keep reminding me. Just cut to the chase and get to the job, what’s my haul?”

Dhaki’s scales began to practically glow with anger, (Y/n) definitely wouldn’t have been feeling so brave if her senses weren’t still clouded from her night of fun.

He snapped one of his clawed fingers, his eyes not leaving hers as a handful of mean left the large room.

“You know the drill… Get the cargo to the pyros and bring us the bounty.” He said.

“That doesn’t answer my question, what’s my haul?” she asked again, stepping beck once more as Dhaki moved closer to her.

“Does it matter?”

(Y/n) went silent, knowing her cargo wouldn’t change the details of the job. Still, she had always been curious. Two years in space among pirates hadn’t changed that.

The small group of Ravagers returning with a prisoner in tow pulled the two apart. (Y/n) eyed the prisoner up and down, taking in the details sewn into his fine clothes. The blue and gold silk was a dark contrast from the sack over his head. He was someone of high importance, more important than the generals and commanders she had smuggled in the past.

It wasn’t until one of the men holding him held out a small metal orb that she slowly realized who the prisoner was. She slowly took the orb from him, looking over the intricate carvings before looking back at the man on his knees.

(Y/n) didn’t even realize Dhaki had been speaking to her. She only stared down the prisoner before her in a daze.

Approaching the man, she gripped the orb like a vice at her side as her free hand reached to touch the sack that concealed his identity. She roughly pulled the fabric from his head.

The room broke out into howls of anger and whoops of delight. Each noise crashed into her like the wave of an ocean’s storm against the shore. She could feel tears burning at the edges of her eyes.

Peter Quill.

“This must feel as great for you as it does for me.” Dhaki said, the pride evident in his voice as he brought a hand to (Y/n)’s shoulder. “The man who helped Ego take the cosmos, you get to bring him to justice.”

Peter’s eyes flew around the room from one face to the next, finally landing on the woman who stood before him. She looked like she was torn between breaking down into tears and breaking his nose.

He tried speaking against the gag between his lips, cursing at his captors as the lifted him onto his feet and placed the sack back onto his head.

“That collar on his neck,” Dhaki began, holding up a slim black remote, “Those were used for powered people back on Terra. It’s holdin back his Celestial shit from destroyin us all… You keep it on him…”

(Y/n) slowly nodded at him, taking the remote from Dhaki and grabbing hold of her cargo.

Soon the noise of the room they were in was gone, and he only felt a small pair of hands holding him and dragging him through the ship. He tried fighting against the person’s grip, only for them to stomp on his foot and force him to keep moving.

Peter yelped as he was pushed into a small cot. The sound of something metal clanging shut told him he was in a cell. He stayed absolutely still, hoping whoever had him wouldn’t rough him up the way the Ravagers had.

After what felt like an eternity had passed, Peter realized he was alone. He squirmed against the cuffs that held his wrists behind his back. His hot breath made the sack feel almost humid.

He grew still once he heard lone footsteps approaching his cell. The door opened then shut, and he let out a deep breath once the sack was pulled off his head.

The woman from before stood over him, refusing to make eye contact with him as he sat up.

“I’m trusting you enough not to attack me while I’m in here…” She trailed off, feeling his blue eyes burn into her as she removed his handcuffs and his gag. “My job’s to keep you alive till we get to our final destination. So I won’t pull anything unless you do.”

(Y/n) left the cell, locking it behind her and leaving him confused. She came back a couple minutes later with a tray of warm food and a cup of water.

Peter eyes the food suspiciously as she placed it in his lap.

“What… no utensils…?” he spoke up, looking between her and the tray.

She scoffed lightly, shaking her head at him and leaning against the cell door.

“I don’t trust you that much, Quill…”

Peter rolled his eyes at her and scooped what looked like beans with his fingers and began eating.

“You know who I am…?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

(Y/n) nodded her head at him, scrunching her nose as she chewed through the meat on his plate.

“That’s a stupid question… I’m Terran, of course I know who you are.”

Peter sucked his fingers clean, his eyebrows knitting in confusion at her statement.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Judging on the look on her face, he shoulda chose his words more carefully. She had that look on her face again from when he first saw her, only this time she looked more like she was leaning towards hitting him.

Before she could cave she left the cell, locking it behind her.

“I’ll make this simple. The more you try to escape, the more unpleasant your stay on my ship will be. So behave yourself and we won’t have any problems here. Leave your tray at the door, there’s a blanket under the cot. If you’re good, you get to shower.”

“Wait, cmon!” Peter shouted, going to the door of the cell and gripping the bars as she started walking away. “What did you mean, it’ll eat me up if you don’t tell me!”

(Y/n) scoffed, shaking her head as she made her way up the stairs to the cockpit. He only continued shouting for her, but she was most comfortable answering once she was out of sight.

“You destroyed earth, douche nozzle!” she yelled from the top of the stairs, smirking to herself once the ship grew silent. She felt prideful only for a moment, then the weight of what she had revealed set in. She had tried her best not to linger on those memories.

The sky going dark, the rescue ships arriving and leaving once they were stuffed full of people, the Avengers trying their best to stop the figure in the sky before it landed on Earth.

(Y/n) remembered just barely catching a glimpse of the man as she and… as she was hauled onto a Ravager ship. The man who was sitting in her ship, eating her food, breathing her air.

But while (Y/n) escaped to her quarters, trying to drink away all the memories of that day, Peter sat awake in his cell, racking his brain for something, anything resembling what she had described. But he found nothing.

#star lord #star lord x reader #star lord imagine #starlord x reader #starlord fic #starlord imagine #Dark!Starlord au #Dark! Starlord #Dark! Star Lord #Peter Quill #peter quill x reader #peter quill imagine #peter quill au #Chris Pratt

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thiswomanshouldbewriting · 6 years

Text

A Tale of Magic - Chapter 4 (Sons)

In the past, Belle has to deal with an unexpected development. In Storybrooke, father-son relationships will move things forward.

As always, thanks to my wonderful beta @galactic-pirates.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Ao3 link.

As the weeks passed, life found a new, pleasant rhythm inside and around the Evil Queen’s castle. Snow and David were doing a great job at organizing things so that everyone’s skills were put to good use; camps were cultivated under Tiny’s expert supervision, Marco coordinated the construction of new houses, and Regina’s magic was turning out to be a real blessing, especially when Blue refused to offer help with some issues. It was Regina who had to turn Archie back into a human when the fairy refused to do so.

“I turned him into a cricket to give him another chance at being free and, most importantly, being good. To turn him back would mean taking away the lesson he learned on that day,” was her only explanation.

Blue also resented the fact that several dwarves, beside Snow’s seven old friends, had decided to help around the castle rather than go back to the mines. The decrease in the production of fairy dust only seemed to irritate her more, making it even harder to obtain help from her, but aside from Blue’s sour mood things were going nicely.

Even Belle had been assigned to her dream occupation. She was now in charge of Regina’s old library, with the added duty of collecting and recording all of the knowledge that they had acquired through their cursed memories. She had been given a list of every person who had come to the castle, and she had noted beside everyone the fields in which they were knowledgeable. It was a pity that Whale had gone back to his old world, and not just because Ruby missed him terribly; medical knowledge had been way more advanced in the Land Without Magic, and it was definitely one of their highest priorities. Thankfully, a bunch of nurses had come over, giving her a place to start.

She went to talk to the first one early one morning, bringing parchment and ink down to the infirmary, so that nurse Lewis, Charlotte, could still be available if there was an emergency. Everything was going nicely, and Belle already had three sheets of parchment full of notes, when the other woman started cleaning something with alcohol. The pungent smell went straight to Belle’s stomach, and a second later she was fighting the need to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as she was able to talk again. “I haven’t been feeling well these past few weeks, and strong smells really don’t help.”

There was a curious look on the nurse’s face.

“For how long exactly? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I guess since shortly after we came back to the Enchanted Forest. I just didn’t pay much attention at first because, well… my True Love had just died. Feeling sick was basically a constant state for me,” Belle explained. God, it still hurt so much to say it.

“My condolences,” Charlotte said immediately. “Look, I know this might be too blunt and possibly a shock for you, but have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?”

It took Belle several seconds to fully grasp the meaning of her words.

“No,” she said instinctively, without even thinking. “No, I can’t be, it’s not possible…”

But it was. Her voice trailed off as the realization hit her. She had been so caught up in her grief that she had missed all the signs: the sickness, her missing period, even her sudden and strange craving for lemon cakes. Her head started spinning, and she sat down heavily on the closest bed.

“I mean, it’s just a thought, you’re not certainly pregnant,” Charlotte said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Belle shook her head. She might not have considered the possibility until then, but now she felt in her heart that it was the truth. She was pregnant. She was going to have Rumplestiltskin’s child, and she didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. Now a part of Rumplestiltskin would always be with her, and their love would live on in the new life they had created together. Yet their child would never know its father, nor would she ever see Rumplestiltskin’s eyes lit up as he held his child for the first time. Images of the life they could have had flashed before her eyes, and knowing that they’d never become real felt like losing Rumplestiltskin all over again.

Neal was the first person she told about it. He was very surprised, then sympathetic, and eventually he managed to make her laugh by quipping about having always wanted to be a big brother. She had lost Rumple, but his children were still here, and she’d do her damnedest to take care of them as Rumple would have. Even though she had no idea where to start.

**********

By the time Neal and Henry arrived in Storybrooke, they had been attacked two more times. Emma and Regina were waiting for them at the townline, ready to fight off any other monkeys. Zelena’s beasts tried to keep anyone from leaving town, but coming back in was easier, as Emma herself had seen. Better safe than sorry, Emma thought, even though her magic was still quite unreliable. Regina was trying to teach her, but Emma was turning out to be quite a difficult student. She was full of potential, but she had trouble channeling her emotions into her spells. Emma would never admit it, but she suspected that part of her struggle was due to the fact that, deep down, she still hadn’t accepted all this magic craziness. She had started to after Henry ate that poisoned turnover, but he was the believer in the family, not her. After nine months back in the real world, with its normal problems, Storybrooke felt like nonsense. Dangerous nonsense. Back in New York, bills were her major problem. Now that magic was back in her life, the stakes had risen so much; she wasn’t struggling to make ends meet anymore, she was fighting to keep her family alive. Even though she knew this was technically her world, a part of her couldn’t help but long for the calm of her old life.

Henry rushed to hug her as soon as the car was safely across the townline, immediately making her mood lighter. Magic or not, she felt infinitely better with Henry in her arms. Neal came to hug her next, while Henry awkwardly shook hands with Regina. Emma could see the pain in her eyes at not being recognized by her own son, but there was nothing she could do about it. As much as it pained Regina to admit it, even she had agreed that it wasn’t wise to tell Henry that he’d actually been abandoned as a newborn. His world had just been turned upside down, and the last thing he needed was another shock, especially now that he knew he was in danger.

Neal decided to go back to his father’s house, to check on Belle and hopefully get some sleep. To Emma’s surprise, Henry hugged him before saying goodbye, even if he was somewhat awkward.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Neal… I mean dad, I mean… what do you want me to call you?” Henry asked, confused. Every word felt wrong on his tongue.

“It’s alright, you can still call me Neal if you want,” Neal reassured him immediately. “But should you feel like it, then call me ‘Papa’. It’s what I always called my father.”

Henry nodded, clearly more at ease, and Emma burned with curiosity. She wanted to know more about this sudden change in Henry and Neal’s relationship, but she didn’t want to pressure her son. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t keep silent about it for long anyway.

“I hit that monkey in the face, you know? Twice!” Henry said enthusiastically after they had parted from Regina as well.

“I hope the monkey didn’t do the same to you,” Emma replied, torn between pride and worry.

“Nope. It did try, but Neal always stopped it. He saved me, more than once. Not that I wasn’t able to take care of myself, but Neal helped. A lot,” Henry babbled, still high on adrenaline.

“I’m glad that you two are on better terms now. I’m sorry I had to leave you with him, especially when you didn’t trust him, but things have a tendency to go downhill pretty quickly in Storybrooke,” Emma explained.

“Because of magic?” Henry asked, still not quite able to believe it. “It’s all true then? Fairytale characters are real and a curse brought them here?”

“Yes. Crazy, right?” Emma said, smiling as she remembered the time when she had been the skeptical one.

“Neal said there are things from the past that we don’t remember. That our memories were erased and that we had met him before. That’s why you changed your mind about him?” he asked her. He didn’t think Neal could have come out with such an absurd explanation just to trick him, but he needed confirmation that his story and his mother’s matched.

“Yes. When we met him again, in the months you have forgotten, I discovered that there was a reason why he had left me alone. Not a great reason, but still better than him just wanting to run away with the money. He has been trying very hard to make it up to us, and he loves you very much,” Emma confirmed.

“I think he loves you as well. He gets emotional whenever he talks about you,” Henry said, curious at what his mother’s reaction would be.

“Maybe he does, but right now we don’t have time for that,” Emma brushed the matter off. “I’m more focused on getting your memory back and keeping you safe. We still don’t know what exactly that witch wants from all of us.”

Her attempt to change the subject was way too obvious to be missed. Henry wasn’t sure of what he thought of that, but he would surely keep a closer eye on his parents from now on. There was definitely a lot going on there.

**********

Ever since she had told the others that she was pregnant, Belle had hardly been left alone for a moment. There was always someone fussing over her, even more so than when she was ‘just’ grieving. She appreciated it, she truly did, but from time to time she felt the need to be alone with her thoughts, and the night was perfect for that. When she woke up from a nightmare - which was a common occurrence for her - she often saw no point in lying awake in the dark when there was no one to calm her and hold her as she fell back to sleep. So she got dressed and wandered through the castle, oftentimes ending up in the courtyard; she loved the flowers that grew there, and there was something bittersweet and soothing in looking up at the sky and wondering if Rumple was looking down at her from wherever he was.

That night, however, the courtyard wasn’t empty when she reached it. Regina was already sitting on one of the benches, and she turned around with a start when she heard Belle approaching.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Belle apologized immediately, already turning her back on the other woman to walk away. She didn’t feel like talking, especially not with Regina.

“No, wait, I actually wanted to talk to you,” Regina said after a second, as if she had been debating whether to speak or not.

Belle sighed, her back still turned to the queen. She could simply walk away; they weren’t friends by any means, after all, and she was tired. Yet being so rude really went against her nature, and she supposed she could just hear what this was about and leave if the whole thing got uncomfortable. She walked towards the bench, reminding herself that this wasn’t the same woman who had imprisoned her and erased her personality at least twice.

“What do you want, Regina?” she asked, her voice coming out just a tad more annoyed than she had meant it to. If Regina noticed, she didn’t let it show.

“I just want you to know that I’m sorry for all that you’re going through. I didn’t say it before, but I really mean it,” Regina said somewhat awkwardly. “Losing your True Love is terrible, and you didn’t deserve this. Probably nobody does.”

Belle could see the honesty in Regina’s eyes, and she really wished she could simply accept her condolences and walk away, but something about her choice of words really set her off. She had been building up tension, grief and anger for so long, and suddenly something inside of her snapped.

“Then why did you do your damnedest to put me and Rumplestiltskin through that kind of pain over and over again?” she asked, her voice already cracking with tears. “Why should I listen to you when your scheming took away so much of the limited time I had with Rumple? You’ve done nothing but mentally and physically torture me ever since we’ve known each other!”

Regina was taken aback by her outburst, but the quick flash of indignation in her eyes died straight away to be replaced by guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a beat of silence. “I truly am. I know I did horrible things to you, and you didn’t deserve them.”

She was a new person now, or at least she was trying to be, but it was so much harder in the Enchanted Forest, where everything and everyone seemed to remind her of her past.

“Thank you,” Belle deadpanned. “Look, I had to let this out sooner or later, but I really don’t want to fight. You’ve hurt me, and this apology was long overdue, but I’m willing to try and move past that now that you’re changing,” she added, her tone turning more conciliating.

“You know, in a way I actually admire you,” Regina blurted out, surprising even herself for having said it out loud. Belle looked quizzically at her, so she went on.

“I admire you because you have a strength I never had. You are willing to forgive people no matter how much they’ve hurt you, and despite everything that life - or I, for that matter - threw at you, you didn’t let it change you. Darkness is a slippery slope, and you’ve always managed to keep yourself away from it,” Regina explained.

“Is it truly a big deal if I’ve never even been tempted?” Belle asked, a small smile finally forming on her face. Try as she might, she had never truly seen the appeal of darkness. When things went south, she was prone to blaming herself, and that was something that no amount of dark magic could fix. “Maybe it’s people like you and Rumplestiltskin who deserve the most praise,” she went on “Those who were tempted and fell into the pit, and then fought tooth and nail to get out of it.”

Regina looked even more shocked by her understanding than she had been by her accusations, and flashed Belle a bittersweet smile.

“That child is very lucky to have you as its mother. Motherhood is Rumplestiltskin’s last gift to you, and believe me when I say it’s the best gift you’ll ever receive. It surely was for me,” Regina said, then she stood up and teleported away, vanishing into the night before Belle even had the time to wish her goodnight.

Belle sat on that bench for several more minutes, pondering the other woman’s words, one hand on her still flat belly. She hadn’t expected Regina to apologize, let alone to compliment her. If only she felt as strong as the other woman had said; as far as she could tell, Belle had merely been a spectator in her own life recently. From being used and tossed around as a pawn by everyone who wanted to get back at Rumple, to being literally frozen in place as her True Love died, to finally this pregnancy, which was wanted but definitely unplanned; she hadn’t chosen anything. That was the first thing she needed to fix if she wanted to give her child their best chance; she needed to be stronger, to stand up for herself like she had done today with Regina. She needed to do it, no matter how hard it was, because now it wasn’t just herself that she needed to protect.

**********

Neal was exhausted after the long drive from New York to Storybrooke, and he was glad that the situation in town was still calm enough to allow him to get some sleep. The peace, however, was short lived. When he woke up, Belle informed him that there had been strange sightings in the woods during the night.

“A cloaked figure was spotted by several people on patrol duty, and those that tried to get closer to it were either teleported away or thrown to the ground with magic,” she said over breakfast, pushing her food around her plate. “No one was seriously hurt, but everyone thinks that this is a sign that Zelena is moving. They are trying to find out who is under the cloak, but not even Ruby seems able to follow its trail.”

“Do you think it’s my father under the cloak?” Neal asked cautiously.

Belle sighed, setting her plate aside altogether. “I think it’s very likely. This cloaked figure isn’t even attacking us, it’s just going around ominously. I think it’s just a diversion, and what better diversion than to have us chase someone only to discover we can’t and won’t hurt him?”

“Have you told Snow about this?”

“Yes, I have, but she still thinks we ought to track it down, and I agree. If it’s not Rumple, maybe we can learn something more about the witch’s plan. If it’s him… at least we can know how he’s doing,” she said, twisting her napkin in her hands.

Under any other circumstances, she would have been out there looking for him herself. Zelena was controlling him through the dagger, but she already knew that her and Rumple’s love was stronger than his curse; if there was someone who could help him break free of the dagger’s hold, it was her. Maybe Neal could as well, but while she was sure that there was True Love between Rumple and his son, she also thought that their relationship was still too tentative to fight such powerful dark magic. Yet she couldn’t go trek in the woods this far along in her pregnancy, especially not when she knew that Zelena was coming after her baby.

“What really worries me isn’t that Snow and the others are tracking him down,” Belle added after a moment. “It’s that I don’t know what kind of orders that witch is giving him. What if she forces him to do something horrible, something he’ll have trouble forgiving himself for?”

Rumplestiltskin had been her prisoner for months now, and Belle only had the faintest idea of what she had been forcing him to do in that time. Every extra minute he spent under her control could be the one in which she made him cross the line, assuming she hadn’t already.

“Hey, he hasn’t had to cause any real harm so far, let’s focus on that. We will free him, I promise,” Neal reassured her.

“If only we had more time…” Belle murmured, caressing her large belly. Her son could be born any moment now, and Zelena would come for him. She had no idea of what would happen next, and she hoped she’d never find out.

“I know, and that’s why I’m going out to help Emma search the woods. I promise I’ll do anything to protect you and my little brother,” he said, smiling reassuringly at her.

He hugged her, then he left the pink mansion, stopping by his father’s shop to retrieve his old saber. Then he called Emma and they agreed to meet at the townline.

“Henry gave me hell this morning. He realized that something was wrong and kept insisting on coming with me. I left him with Granny, at least I know that someone is keeping an eye on him and he isn’t sneaking around and putting himself in harm’s way,” Emma told him as they started trekking through the woods.

“Yes, he definitely has a talent for that. I guess he takes after both of us,” Neal said, preferring to focus on the comical aspect of the whole thing rather than dwell on how much danger their son was in.

“It must run in your family. After all, your father is the one who decided to break into your apartment when we came looking for you in New York,” Emma observed.

“Are you telling me I should get my baby brother some lock-picking tools already?” Neal asked, chuckling.

Emma laughed with him, but their hilarity was short-lived. A shadow moved amidst the trees to their right, and they immediately ran after it. The cloaked figure waved a hand; Emma was engulfed by purple smoke and disappeared. Neal looked at the spot where she had been until a moment before, paralyzed by fear.

She has just been poofed away, he told himself. She’s fine, probably on the other side of town, but unharmed. He turned back, anger making him bold.

“What did you do to her?” he screamed, then launched himself at the cloaked figure, determined to find out who it really was, and possibly get some answers.

He shouldn’t have bothered; his opponent, instead of trying to run away as he’d expected, slowly raised his arms to lower his hood. When Neal saw who he was fighting against, Neal stopped dead in his tracks, his stomach in knots.

Belle had been right. The mysterious figure was indeed Rumplestiltskin, but only in part. There was very little of his papa in the deranged eyes of the imp in front of him. There was no fondness in his gaze, no torment over being controlled, no sign that he even realized who he was fighting against. His skin was once again covered in scales, his eyes reptilian and inhuman, and Neal felt as though one of his nightmares had just come to life.

The imp giggled maniacally as a sword materialized in its hands, and Neal wiped his clammy hands on his trousers as he realized that he’d have to fight the worst incarnation of his father. He didn’t know what had happened to him; his hope was that Zelena was simply forcing him to be like this to upset her enemies, but a part of Neal couldn’t help but fear that, after being imprisoned for so long, his father had simply succumbed to the curse.

He was so lost in his own fear that he almost failed to block Rumplestiltskin’s first attack. His instinct kicked in at the last moment, and the fight began. Even without using magic, Rumplestiltskin proved himself a great swordsman, and Neal soon found himself struggling against him, fatigue starting to slow down his movements while his father seemed unaffected, the curse providing him an unfair advantage. The situation was made even more difficult by the fact that Neal just wasn’t thinking clearly. Seeing his father like this had brought him back to his fourteenth birthday, awakening a fear he had thought long gone, and that was making it hard to concentrate on the fight. He felt despair starting to creep in; he couldn’t win this fight, he couldn’t stop Rumplestiltskin, he couldn’t run away. He was alone and alone he’d die. He thought of Henry, who was just starting to let him in again, and who didn’t deserve to grow up without a father. He thought of Rumplestiltskin, who would never forgive himself for harming his son while he was under the dagger’s influence. He thought of Belle, who had already gone through so much, and who would be devastated at losing him. Lastly, he thought of Emma, and of how he would leave her alone again.

Rumplestiltskin attacked him, and the sheer force of his blow was enough to make the saber fly out of Neal’s hands. Disarmed and defeated, Neal took a step back, his back colliding with a tree. That was it then. He would be killed by his own father, by the man he had loved and feared the most. Rumplestiltskin roughly grabbed him by the neck, and Neal closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst.

It was in that moment that an anguished scream echoed through the forest.

“Papa NO!” Henry yelled, bursting out from behind the trees, Emma, Regina and Granny trailing right behind him.

Papa. Papa. Papa. The word kept bouncing around Rumplestiltskin’s brain, becoming louder and louder, drowning out the voices in his head. He doubled over, cradling his head in his own hands and letting Neal go.

Neal rushed to hug his son, both terrified and relieved to have him here.

“Rumplestiltskin teleported me back to the loft,” Emma explained. “Henry refused to let me come back alone, and I didn’t have time to argue. I called Regina and she poofed us back here.”

Neal nodded in understanding, then he turned around to look at his father again. Rumplestiltskin looked confused, even more deranged than before, but there was something human in his distress, something that hadn’t been there before. He had dropped his sword to the ground, and was eyeing them curiously. After a beat of silence, a single word escaped his lips.

“Bae.”

Neal stood paralyzed for a moment, almost not daring to believe it.

“Papa? You remember me?” Neal asked, taking a few tentative steps in his father’s direction.

That word again. Papa. Images flashed before Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, making the present more confusing but the past more clear. The tiny hand of a newborn touching his nose. A thin, fragile kid asking him why his mother wasn’t coming home. A boy screaming at him that he was a coward. A grown man hugging him and telling him he was nothing like Peter Pan. And above all, that word repeated over and over again: Papa. Rumplestiltskin staggered forward, towards the man he had been fighting until a few moments ago. He didn’t want to hurt him anymore. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

But you have to, another voice resonated in his head, a vicious whisper that made his skin crawl. Fight him, scare him, be his nightmare, the voice went on, and Rumplestiltskin watched in horror as his hands moved against his own volition, working magic he didn’t want to perform. Everyone but Neal was paralyzed, and Rumplestiltskin grabbed his sword again, as Neal hurried to retrieve his saber. This time, however, there was no fear in Neal’s eyes.

“I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. I don’t want to hurt you,” Neal said as his father attacked him again. Rumplestiltskin’s movements were slower now, his hands trembling; Neal hoped it was a sign that he was trying to stop himself.

“I know you’re being forced to do this. I know you’d never try to hurt me, as I know you’re not the monster I once feared you were turning into. I’m not scared of you anymore, I’m not scared of the darkness anymore,” Neal insisted, as his father walked backwards, blocking his attacks with increasing difficulty.

Rumplestiltskin looked relieved when his sword finally slipped from his grip, falling to the ground. He looked at his son, struggling to quiet all the voices in his mind, to clear the fog just long enough to say something. He knew there was something important he needed to tell him, many important things actually, but he couldn’t for his life make out what those were.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to murmur in the end. Then he vanished in a puff of smoke, Neal’s saber disappearing with him. Emma and the others were freed from his spell, and Neal rushed to their side.

“I was so scared for you,” Henry screamed, all but jumping in his arms.

“It’s okay, I’m alright,” Neal reassured him. “I don’t like the idea of you running around and putting yourself in harm’s way, but I have to admit that I probably wouldn’t have made it without you. Hearing you call me ‘Papa’ gave me strength.”

“Hey, I think I showed you on our way here that we work better as a team; plus I just found you, I’m not going to let some crazy monster take you away right now,” Henry said, almost embarrassed by his own display of affection. Just yesterday he had barely tolerated Neal’s presence, and now here he was, already calling him Papa. True, they had spent several hours just saving each other over and over again, but there was more to it. He knew that they had met during the months that he couldn’t remember, and he was sure that some part of those memories had been preserved; nothing else could explain the deep, visceral trust that he now felt towards his father, together with a great sense of belonging. He might not remember the time they’d spent together, but that didn’t make it any less real, and some part of him knew it.

Neal’s emotional rollercoaster wasn’t over yet. He had been utterly terrified, then conquered one of his greatest fears, and now his son was beaming up at him in pride, and he felt almost giddy with happiness. He leaned down to press a kiss on Henry’s forehead, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping, just desperate to let his son know how much he meant to him.

That’s when a burst of magic rippled from his lips, sweeping over the town in the form of a rainbow. The curse was broken, and Neal looked flabbergasted at his son while Henry staggered under the flood of memories.

“Papa!” he screamed again, wrapping his arms tighter around Neal. “I remember everything!”

Then he spotted Regina looking almost disbelievingly at him.

“Mom!” he said, running over to her.

Regina felt as though her heart had finally started beating again. She wrapped Henry in her arms, immediately noticing how much taller he had grown during the past nine months. Tears welled up in her eyes, but for once she didn’t mind; she had her son back, and for a moment Zelena didn’t look like much of a threat. So long as Henry was by her side, she felt she could do anything.

**********

Rumplestiltskin poofed back into the cabin, his head still swirling in confusion as his aspect turned human again.

“You did a great job,” Zelena complimented him as he staggered back into his cage, shying away from the dagger that she held against him. “I got everything I wanted, and even more.”

She had sent Rumplestiltskin out to collect a token of Neal’s courage, and the saber with which he defeated his greatest fear fit the description perfectly. What she hadn’t expected was a clue on how to get Rumplestiltskin out of his madness.

“Soon enough you’ll be fully sane again, and then you’ll see how wrong you were all those years ago. I want to see the despair in your face when you realize you should have chosen me,” she hissed at him, watching with satisfaction as fear glimmered in his eyes.

Zelena cackled as she walked away: like everyone else, Rumplestiltskin had just no idea of how much worse things were going to get.

#Rumbelle #Swanfire #Rumbelle fic #Ouat AU #Rumbelle AU #A Tale of Magic #Sara writes #Sara talks

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