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phantom-ellie · 2 years

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The Art of (Smashing) Crockery Chapter 13: Good Cop, Bad Cop

Summary: Stede watches the beginnings of his self-worth unravel. We find out why Nigel and Chauncey are the way they are. Lucius gets a new opportunity.

Click here for CWs/Full Chapter List

The thing about homophobic bullies is that they are incredibly easy to deal with. When you’re straight, that is.

You can wake up every morning and face the monsters in your life who call you names, who hurl accusations, and while you feel a tinge of hurt, you can let it run off your back becauseit isn’t true. You aren’t gay. Their words are wasted on you. They always have been, always will be.

And you have evidence to back you up. You have your wife, your children. They’re there as a reminder every day, a sort of anchor in your life that allows you to stand tall and not bend under the weight of the insults, because as long as you have them, your monsters cannot hurt you. Their words are just that, words. They aren’t true.

And as long as you can prove that your monsters are wrong about this thing, you can tell yourself that they’re wrong about everything else, too. How can they be right about anything, when they can’t even see that you love a woman, that you’ve fathered children? So in some way, you’re able to hold your head above the crashing waves. It’s hard, and your lungs burn every second, but you can do it.

And that is how you have survived this long without wanting to hurl yourself off the top of the skyscraper where you work.

But you aren’t a complete idiot. You don’t take someone who is just your art instructor out trick-or-treating with your kids. An art instructor who you’ve failed to mention to your husband. To meet your children. This man is playing the role of father in your family, the family that you suffer for, the family that you rely on to keep the monsters at bay.

But if you acknowledge that it’s weird, that it isn’t right, that she is unfaithful to you, that you are being replaced, doesn’t that make your father right? You’re losing your family after all, after everything. It is happening just like he said it would.

And if he’s right about that, he could be right about anything. They could be right about everything. All along. Forever.

What on earth are you supposed to do with that?

---

Two boys hold hands under a porch.

It isn’t a great hiding place, but it’s the best they’ve got. They can hear the clatter and shattering of glass, objects being thrown, angry words. Reginald Badminton is a fierce man. A horrible man. A man blessed with twin sons who could have grown up to be great men, to love and be loved, to make a positive mark on the world. But Reginald will squander that potential. The love will never quite reach them. Nigel and Chauncey will live their years believing they have love, power, acceptance, and achievement, but they will never really know what that is. And it starts tonight, under the porch.

They had been playing cowboys. Every little boy wants to be a cowboy (or a ninja, or a pirate like the boy on the next estate over, the one whose family just moved in). But they’d been too loud. Too immature. They were children, the worst thing you could be in the Los Altos Hills. Children didn’t stand a chance there. Childhood didn’t last.

Nigel is crying. He hadn’t dodged all of the blows from his father, not this time. Usually one of them gets caught up in it before the other can pull them to safety. The twins have each other’s back. No one else does. Until…

The crashing stops, the fear dwindles a little. They creep out from under the porch, hoping to get lost in the trees at the border of their property. They like to play pretend there, to cling to the last crumbs of imagination and creativity before they are permanently wiped by experience, and hard heartedness, and self-protection.

There they sit in silence, backs to the fence, hearts hurting too much to pretend, and that’s when he first calls to them. The man.

“You two. Yes, you. Look at me.” He’s an angry-looking man, like their father, but with a round face and steel eyes. In one hand he holds a bloody cleaver. In the other, a pair of gloves.

If Nigel and Chauncey were a bit older or a bit younger, they would be scared shitless by this man, but they are at the perfect age where bloody cleavers were cool, where hunting and hurting animals make you a man, make you big and strong, like you can stop people from hurting you. Or hurting your brother.

So when Edward Bonnet calls the boys over, they come running. It feels nice to be wanted, by someone at least.

He shows them how to butcher geese. He offers ten dollars each for every goose they can butcher. He nods in approval as they follow his instructions to the letter. This is a man who is clear about what he wants. He doesn’t burst in a fit of rage over something innocuous, he isn’t unpredictable. He says what he wants and approves when he gets it. It’s easy, helping his man. It’s like breathing.

Over the next few days, then weeks, he sets them to completing tasks on his estate. They eagerly jump at every opportunity to get away from their own father, to pretend that Edward Bonnet is their father instead. He has a son, they know. The son is their age. They wonder to each other if they can be his friend, but whenever Edward catches sight of his own child he directs them away with a scowl. Are they not good enough? Is that it? They work harder to gain his approval.

Months later they arrive at the Bonnet estate uninvited. They beg Edward Bonnet for something to do, something he needs from them. And be god, he smiles at their request. Hesmiles. He turns and beckons to them and there he is, Stede Bonnet. He‘s a good 100 yards out, picking flowers. Innocent.

Nigel and Chauncey assume that they finally have permission to play with this boy, that they are finally worthy, but there’s a catch. Edward leans down to give his instructions.

The twins stand in wonder as they are informed that they are the perfect examples of what a boy should be, of what a future man should be. It isStede Bonnetwho is the failure. He is girly. He likes the wrong things, hates the wrong things. He needs to be taught. Someone has toteachhim.

Edward Bonnet tells them what to say. What to do. How to pressure this child to be someone he isn’t, how to goad him into being stronger. And the twins don’t question it. They would never, ever question this man who is a father to them, who gives them so much while demanding so little.

If there’s any thought that Stede is a victim of his father like the twins are victims of theirs, it’s stamped out quickly. If there is ever any pity towards him as he cries, as he curls up in a fetal position, as he runs and screams in terror, it doesn’t last. Because to take pity on him is to displease Edward Bonnet. To displease Edward Bonnet is to give up the only safe space the Badminton twins have ever had.

And decades later, as they laugh and chide and continue their lifetime of harassment, they will say It’s nothing personal, Bonnet, every time they see the look on his face. And they will mean it. Because it isn’t about him at all, it never has been. It’s what Stede deserves, after all, for having the father the Badmintons always dreamed of, and for being too stupid and pathetic to appreciate him.

---

“Any questions?” Stede asks from his desk, glasses sitting on his nose as he scans the, frankly, disjoined resumé.

Lucius looks back and forth nervously. “Yeah, uh… I really need this job, and I’m totally not complaining… but is that party thing, like, something that happens here often?” His voice rises in pitch in a way that contains a hit of bitchiness that Stede chooses to ignore.

“No, Lucius, that was an unmitigated disaster. But between you and me, if you take the job, you won’t be required to attend anything like that.”

Lucius looks at Stede suspiciously. “If I take the job? Does that mean you’re offering me the job? Even though I have, like, zero experience?”

Stede sighs and removes his glasses. “Yes, I am offering you the job. I need an assistant. More importantly, I need an assistant who isn’t a complete asshole.”

Lucius scoffs, “I mean, you don’t know me that well-”

“I can spot one a mile away, I promise.” Stede stands and offers Lucius his hand. “This isn’t the easiest environment to work in, but even if you’re here just a short while you can use it to find something better somewhere else.”

Lucius pretends to think for all of five seconds before shaking Stede’s hand.

“These shitfucks won’t know what hit them, boss.”

Chapter 14

#ofmd modern au #modern alternate universe #ellie modern au #cross posted on ao3 #ofmd fanfic #our flag means death fanfic #ellie aosc

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sofiaaaaaaaa03 · 3 years

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Comms

Title: Comms

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN! Teen reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: PG

Warning: Cursing, mention of wounds, blood, scared Mando.

Description: In an unexpected raid, Din finds himself unable to find his foundlings and searches for them.

Request: Hey! I love your stories and thought that I would submit a request myself. So this is about Din having a teen foundling/adopted child. They’ve known each other for a little over a year now and even if they don’t show it a lot they’ve grown attached to each other. So this particular story would be about the foundling nearly dying and Din being a scared Dad (I hope you get what I’m going for. Kind of a fluff/Angst story with comforting afterwards😅)

A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever to write, I've been travelling and my computer has been messing up so I have not had time to write at all. Anyways, here it is! I hope it's to your liking. It took me awhile for inspiration to hit but I am pretty happy with how it ended up. Enjoy!

....

“Okay kid, what do we do when we get in trouble?”

“Call for help and signal our location.”

Call for help and signal your location. That was all you were supposed to do, the one rule Din gave for you before he took you along with him anywhere outside of the safety of the Razor Crest. He considered himself lucky that you rarely wandered off without letting Din know where you were going, and that you always seemed to be able to handle most dangerous situations on your own. Maybe it was because you fretted to be too much of a bother for Din, seeing as he took you in almost a year ago when he could have easily left you. Din didn’t see it that way, if he was honest. You were valuable to the group, taking care of Grogu and the ship when Din could not, and he believed it his duty to protect all on the ship. Only once or twice did you call for him, and he was quick to come to your aid.

He did not think that today would be the day where his timing risked your life.

The Mandalorian found himself aiding a local trading village with a raider issue in exchange for information about a bounty he’d been pursuing. He’d led a group of men over to what they’d suspected to be the raider’s hideout and set up for an ambush. The Entrance of the cave’s dunes felt barren, and only after the mens’ legs grew sore from crouching and backs ached from huddling in the dark was it that Din began to suspect something was wrong. The quiet environment was abnormal behavior to the raiders he’d encountered before, no doubt this specific group would be any different.

“They’ll see you!”

Startling the men surrounding him, Din shot into the air and stalked the vicinity. The dunes’ walls stretched for meters long as he kept his piece raised, occasionally scanning weak spots for life forms or any piece of equipment. He paused, frowning a moment when his scanner detected nothing.

That was the first sign that things weren’t going as planned that day.

“...hiss…”

“...m..do... v.llage... here…”

There was the second.

Din raised his arm to speak into his comms.

“Y/N?” Nothing but static came back from the comms. Din fidgeted and smacked it a couple times before grunting in frustration.

Damn, comms were jammed.

Wait, they were jammed.

And in a moment of a horrible realization, Din was quick to grab the men and make their way back to the village. When they arrived they found the village in chaos- buildings were burning, villagers running, and materials and pieces and bodies strewn across the ground. For a moment, Din froze in fear and worried that you were on the ground as well, your comms still ringing static and Grogu taken from you, lost to the raiders, or worse, the Empire.

Din quickly made his way throughout the village, barely rounding the first corner when a group of raiders assaulted him. He threw punches at the first raider, using their momentum to kick them hard into another. After several dodges and shots from his blaster, most of them were dead aside from one that laid on the ground and clutched his blasted leg.

Din marched over and pressed his blaster against the wound. “Where are the hostages being held?”

As it turned out, the raiders had no plan of keeping hostages. When Din finally tracked the building where captives were supposedly held, he was unable to remain collected when he found that you and Grogu were nowhere to be found. Instead, he stood before raiders responsible for the attack, their blasters disturbingly put away as they argued amongst one another. Din didn’t bother listening, he looked around but saw no sign of his foundlings.

“Wrong door.” He said simply before taking out his blaster and shooting the raiders.

Pocketing his piece Din ran out of the stronghold and went outside, calling for you and Grogu. He thought about the worst possible scenarios that could have happened to you two as he took out the raiders pillaging the village, until all but one remained, the leader. He found him in the main courtyard of the village, his face hidden though his body seethed with labored breaths. He stood there for several moments before Din heard one last labored breath before the leader’s legs buckled beneath him and he slumped to the ground with a sickening crack of skull on stone. Hm? Din didn’t know what to make of this, and further stalked over, hand on blaster, examining the body. Upon closer look a blaster wound to the stomach was made more visible. So, someone got to the leader before Din could. That leaves the question… who?

A quick look around the area pointed out a trail of blood.

The Mandalorian followed this trail without any real reason behind it.

He found the remainder of the villagers at some point along the way. Sullen masses of faces mixed together, mourning the loss of their villages and lost ones but kept busy with treating the wounded. Women sat in huddles cooking with what food was salvaged and children sat quiet. One stood out apart from the rest in Din’s eyes, a large male leaning over a group of medics. Din recognized him as Cyrukee, the villager’s chief, who noticed the lone bounty hunter from the corner of his eye and stood up. In his arms was the most beautiful thing Din had seen all day, Grogu. The baby gurgled in joy as he walked up to the chief.

“There you are.” Din didn’t realize that he was holding his breath when he sighed in relief, taking Grogu into his arms.

“Sir.” Cryukee barely got a word out before Din turned to him.

“I’m looking for a youngling- my kid. Have you seen them?”

“Sir, please.”

“They’re this tall,” Din rears a hand near to your height, “they were with this little green baby. Your husband, he took them to the school. Where is he?” The Mandalorian made a full turn around to look for the red robed headman who was last responsible for your care. He reached for his comms and tried to reach you again. His voice rang back at him, and in a terrible moment of realization he realized that that was your comms.

“Where are they?”

“Sir, let me explain.” Cyrukee wore an exasperated expression and looked as though he was about to speak before one of the medics from the group he was with requested to speak with him. He spared a glance at Din as though he struggled whether or not to say something. And then, Din followed his arm towards the medics he was just with. Din didn’t know what to make of it, not able to recognize any of them. The Mandalorian took one last look at the chief, whose grave expression gave him reason to worry, and slowly walked towards the group of medics. He buzzed through the comms, trying to pinpoint your location. As he got closer he heard medics speak in soothing voices and their patient hyperventilating. Had it not been his own voice coming from the center of the personnel he would have moved on, instead he could not find the will to move. Grogu looked at him expectantly.

One medic in particular took notice of the beskar-armored man. He and some others quickly got up and pushed Din away before he could force his way through the medics to take a look at you.

“Hey, wait-wait-please.” Din grunted at the force and staggered several steps back. He took a moment to collect himself and Grogu sneezed in his arms. Dust must have gotten into his nose during the scuffle. “Please, my ward- my kid. That’s my kid.”

“Just a moment,” one of the bloodied nurses kept her hands on Din’s chestplate longer than he would have liked. He didn’t push her away though.

“I need to see my kid.” Din looked her in the eye, hoping that she could see his desperation through his helmet.

His kid. When Din looks back on this he would think about how he’s never referred to Y/N as his own before. He would have liked to think he said that so the nurses allowed him to pass easier. But deep down, he knew it was because of how much he cared for them.

“I understand but please let me explain. Sir, Sir!” Din retreated in defeat on his second attempt to get past her and the other nurses. She stared into his eyes and patted his shoulders, Din didn’t know whether she was trying to comfort him or control his movements. “They’re traumatized enough right now, and you moving around in that armor of yours will only make it worse.”

“What happened to them?”

“They had an encounter with Jetwal,” Din’s blood boiled at the recognition of the raider’s leader who’d died before him. “according to the children, your child was leading them to the outskirts when he found them. They killed him, he was threatening the children, and they shot him. Now, listen to me. They did get injured. Several blaster wounds to their limbs and upper torso- sir, listen please I cannot allow you to go to them just yet- they’re still panicking right now but I assure you their wounds are being treated right now. They’ll be fine, but disrupting our work will only inhibit us from treating them properly.”

She watched his gaze linger to the sound of your crying. “How much longer until I can see them?”

Din was not pleased to find that he was only allowed to see you when the nurse came for him herself. Reluctantly he walked a little farther away from the medics when asked to give them more space, and sat down with Grogu bouncing on his knee next to a young Twi’lek running their hands over their lekku to soothe themselves. Between glancing at the medics to keeping Grogu entertained, Din didn’t realize how much time had elapsed before noticing the nurse had come to his side to collect him.

She took a seat next to him. “They’re hurt very badly, but with time their injuries will heal. All they need to do is rest. You can see them now.”

Grogu giggled and played with the nurse’s finger that was threateningly wiggling on his little tummy. “Can you take him for a moment?”

Din stood up and gave Grogu a pat on his little head and rubbed his large ears out of habit. Something you used to do to calm the little green alien down after a terrible meltdown. Even under his helmet Din smiled at the alien before dredging towards you. You laid on a pile of fabrics that functioned as a makeshift cot, but you looked like you had a pile of fabrics on you with the amount of bandages that wrapped your body. You didn’t notice Din approaching you as you stared straight into the sky. Din wondered what you were thinking. What could you be thinking? From his knowledge, this was your first time dealing with major injuries from blasters. It must have made this whole ordeal so much more frightening to you.

Maybe Din was too light on his feet, recoiling instantly when you jolted at his touch and groaned in pain.

“It’s me, it’s me.” His voice was soothing, even more than normal which surprised him.

A sort of wheeze escaped your lips and you coughed. “Mando.”

“Hey kid.”

“I tried calling for you.” A gasp. “They jammed the frequencies.”

“Your message barely came through, kid. But it made us realize what was going on. We got here before more damage could be done because of you.”

Your form relaxed. “Good, good. Grogu?”

“With a nurse.” “The one with the sweet voice.”

“Yeah.”

“I liked her voice-” A cough. “Sounds like my mom’s. She was nice. She helped calm me down.” At this point Din had stared at you long enough to realize how puffy your eyes were from crying. He didn’t stop himself from reaching over to brush your H/C hair out of your face. You leaned into his touch.

“I’m pretty fucked up, huh?”

Your eyes were already locked onto his when he met your gaze. A tick passed, and Din’s eyes fell to the wounds you were referring to. He shook his head. “No, kid. That’s not what you are.”

“Feels like it.” Din scowled at your words.

“There are too many fucked up people in the galaxy, kid. You´re not one of them.” You look at him with a raised brow. “Y/N, you barely have any combat experience yet you took on Jetwal? What were you thinking?”

And you said something that surprised him.

“I was thinking of you.”

And Din couldn’t find any words. He cleared his throat and you continued, “We were alone and I had no idea when you’d come, I was scared something had happened to you because I couldn’t get a hold of you through the comms and that guy was coming at us and-” You inhaled sharply, wincing at what Din assumed was a jab in one of your wounds but he didn’t know how to help. You calmed a moment later, closing your eyes and furling your brows together. “I thought about what you would have done if you were there. You always looked like you knew what to do.”

To say that Din was proud of you would have been an understatement, he was beaming wonders underneath his helmet but realized that you couldn’t see through the beskar.

“I thought I’d lost you both.” Din admitted. “But I’m very proud of you. You saved lives, Y/N. That’s no easy feat for someone of your age.”

You grinned at him and laughed. “Did you do something like this when you were my age?”

“Yes, but I didn’t end up as fucked up as you did.” “Hey!” Din laughed and raised his forearm to block your playful hits.

A moment of silence falls between the two of you before you look at Din again. “Do you know how long we’ll be here for?”

“With your injuries, no clue. I’ll talk to the medics and Cyrukee to see what is to be done.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your fingers twitching involuntarily. Din’s hands find their way to your hair again. “Mando, I’m tired.”

“Rest. I’ll be here with you.” He watches you half-heartedly nod at his words and doze off in a matter of seconds. The injuries have taken a toll on your body, Din suspects, and he pulls a sheet over you. He sits with you, watching villagers talk amongst themselves, speaks with those who come by to thank him for his help, and accepts Grogu from the nurse when she comes over, thanking her for all she’d done for you. She told him that a thank you was not owed to her, and that if you were to need anything she was only a call away.

And when he was finally left alone, Mandalorian took one look to take account for his two foundlings. They slept soundly and with luck, heads full of dreams. Most importantly, they were safe in his care once again.

Din realized he’d been holding in a breath, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

.....

Taglist:

@kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek

#din djarin x teen!reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x y/n #din djarin is a dad #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #star wars x y/n #star wars requests #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfiction

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luminnara · 3 years

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Flying On Wings Made From Feathers and Wax | Ganondorf x Gerudo OC | Ch 1

Chapter one | Chapter two

Summary: 10,000 years before the events of Breath of the Wild, a little Gerudo vai moves to the desert and makes a new friend in the form of the young Gerudo prince, Ganondorf. The two grow up together, enjoying a worry-free life...but distant memories of a long-dead demon king and a sheikah prophecy nag at everyone's minds, and tensions between the Gerudo and Hylians are on the rise. As the years pass, it becomes clear that this little vai will play an important role in the shaping of Hyrule. Loyalty and love will be tested, empires will rise and fall, and at the center of it all is that mysterious godly power...

Warnings: eventual violence and smut

The sand is hot.

The sun is unforgiving.

The desert is inhospitable, a dry, brutal place that tests and tries its inhabitants, a vast, sprawling land that will viciously take the life of anything unsuited to its harsh days and frigid nights. Few species manage to survive in such a place, a habitat ruled over by stern gods and haunted by restless spirits.

The Gerudo, though, lived proudly in the great desert, amongst the massive skeletons of ancient serpents and hidden by the raging sandstorms that kept much of the rest of the world away. In a land in which only the strongest survive, the Gerudo chose to become stronger, to thrive in a place other races like the Hylians and Rito hardly dared to venture to.

Gerudo women were powerful and proud, building a city and several outlying encampments for themselves. They preferred to remain reclusive, despite their generally peaceful relations with the Hylians and other races occupying the verdant spaces to the north of the desert, and as per a tradition created from centuries of hardships, no men of any race were permitted within the walls of Gerudo Town.

Save for one.

He was born beneath a harsh, burning sun, on the hottest day in a decade. Though his mother was no chief, the baby was royalty from the moment he drew his first breath and cried his first cry, and news of the new king traveled quickly. Only one male Gerudo was born every hundred years, always becoming king, as was the law, and on the day of his birth, the Gerudo celebrated. The bar was crowded, the people drinking and feasting while the new king was placed in a royal crib, a guard detail standing at the door. The current chief would continue to rule, until the boy came of age, at which time she would be expected to step down and relinquish the throne. There was almost never any resistance or arguing; this was an old Gerudo tradition, and it was always honored. The chief would take care of the tribe, as was expected of her, preparing the desert for the new king it was about to receive.

The infant was treated as a god. His mother was a warrior, tall and proud, and she claimed that his father was a hylian voe who was large for his kind. That didn’t matter much, though; Gerudo always produced Gerudo, and while a father’s genetics played some small part in determining how a child looked, they would never be anything but Gerudo.

This new baby, the prince of the Gerudo, was showered in gifts. Before he could stand, he was being dressed in the finest silks and most expensive jewelry, small gold bracelets and anklets adorning his chubby limbs. He was strong, his lungs capable of producing a loud, healthy cry, his small fists already packing quite the punch. The Gerudo saw this as a blessing, and surely, their prince was to grow into a capable king one day.

They did their best to focus on all of the good signs—that he would become strong, that he would be raised with respect and levelheadedness, that he would become a ruler worthy of the Gerudo throne. Surely, with so much adoration and positivity around him, their future king would stand tall and steady amongst the harsh sandstorms. He would not wither beneath the bright sun, nor would he be burned by the searing hot sands. His mother and the Royal guard would ensure that this rare Gerudo voe would know kindness and love, and they would do their best to always ignore any creeping feelings of dread.

“A prophecy? Bah!” His mother would say whenever the topic was breached. “There is no reason that it points specifically to this voe. It could refer to the next one. Or it could be complete nonsense, the paranoid ramblings of an old sheikah.”

“But in the ancient past—”

“In the ancient past what?” His mother would snap. “Evil will always exist in this world. There will always be a great demon to defeat, a fiend to cut down. Perhaps the next voe born into this tribe will become a monster...but not mine.”

And she would look down at the tiny face of her son, the baby sleeping peacefully in her arms, swaddled in silks, and she would find no malice there. How could she? He was innocent, an infant who was most concerned with napping until it was time to wake up and cry. There was no malice in this boy, and she would ensure that he grew up surrounded by love. There would be no chance for her son to become the demon king the sheikah spoke of. They were an ancient people, with impressive magic and wise elders...but to the Gerudo, they were just another race who turned a blind eye to the suffering of the desert dwellers.

The sheikah were no doubt watching for a male Gerudo, waiting for their prophecy from nearly a century earlier to play out, but the Gerudo were determined to hide their king. If the hylian royal family was alerted to the boy’s presence, there was a very strong possibility that they would demand his death--and that would surely spur on yet another war that no one wanted to fight. The Gerudo would defend their king until their dying breaths, loyal to the end, and perhaps to a fault...and they would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Amongst the harsh desert sands, they would do what they did best—remain strong and secluded, putting on a happy face for the rest of the world. Their king was sacred to them, and no one, not even the ancient sheikah, would meddle in their affairs.

On his first birthday, when it was clear that he would survive to see his childhood, the boy was finally given a name. In a great ceremony, the chief and his mother presented the baby to the rest of the tribe, and for the first time, they spoke his name:

Ganondorf.

A strong name for a strong boy, one destined to become a great king. His early years were spent toddling around the palace that would one day become his, occasionally being allowed outside into the blazing sun to see Gerudo Town and the people he would rule. As all children, he was high spirited and rambunctious, and as he grew, so did his energy. It became hard for his mother and the guards to keep him inside the palace, and eventually settled for keeping him within the town’s walls. He needed to remain safe...but they knew that he needed to have fun, too.

“Ganondorf!” His mother yelled one day as he tore down the steps of the palace, “slow down!”

But her words were ignored, the prince determined to have an adventure without his mother or his guards breathing down his neck. The downside to this freedom was that he would be alone; the other Gerudo children were nervous around him, afraid and in awe of the voe that would rule over them one day, and as such...he didn’t really have any friends. It was okay, and he managed on his own, but...he would really like to have just one.

“Mother,” a little red-haired vai groaned, plopping down in the sand.

“What is it, vehvi?” Her mother asked absentmindedly as she picked up a hydromelon.

“I’m bored.”

The Gerudo looked down at her daughter with a bemused expression. “Your first day in Gerudo Town, and you’re already bored? I thought you were excited to be moving here finally.”

The little girl sighed dramatically, flopping down onto her back. “I didn’t think it would be so boring!”

The melon vendor snorted in amusement. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Kiluki.”

“What does that mean, Uvira?” The girl’s mother asked in confusion.

The vendor shrugged. “It’s something the Hylians say.”

“...why do they say it?”

“When they mean to tell someone that their daughter acts the same way her mother does.” Uvira laughed. “But I agree with Ilula...Gerudo Town has plenty to offer. Perhaps she should go see it all.”

The girl sat up straight. “Yes!”

Her mother was less eager. “I don’t know…”

“Mom, come on!” Ilula rolled her eyes. “I’m almost eight. I’m practically a grown up.”

Uvira barked a laugh. “Certainly have the attitude of one!”

Kiluki shot the woman a glare. “Ilula, I just want you to stay safe. This isn’t Castle Town, things here are bigger…”

“And I’m small. I know.” The little Gerudo sighed. “But mom, look at all the guards!”

“No one gets in or out of town without them seeing,” Uvira shrugged. “I doubt even a little vai could go unnoticed.”

“See?”

Kiluki looked down at her runt of a daughter. “Ilula, I just don’t want you running off on your own until you get to know Gerudo Town better. I just want you to stay safe.”

“Well…” Ilula looked around the market square. “Maybe I can find a friend?”

“There are plenty of little vai running around these days,” Uvira agreed. “Let her stretch her legs, Kiluki. This is your home again, and there are so few travelers these days that it’s nearly only Gerudo in town. You know we take care of our own.”

“Well…” Kiluki seemed to be on the verge of giving in, and Ilula stood excitedly. “...alright. But don’t go far, and if you need something, come right back here, or ask a guard to help you, or—“

Ilula was already tearing away, her little bare feet kicking up sand. “Thanks, mom!”

As Kiluki watched her daughter run away, she felt her chest tighten. “Be careful!”

Uvira chuckled. “I don’t seem to recall you ever being particularly careful, sister. What’s changed?”

“I have something to worry about now,” Kiluki growled. “And she’s...so small…”

“That she is,” Uvira rubbed her chin in thought. “I could have sworn she was a few years younger, what with her height…”

Kiluki sighed. “The Hylian healers assured me that she’s perfectly healthy, but I’ve never seen such a small Gerudo. She’s hit all her milestones...except for the height ones.”

“So she’s a little thing,” Uvira shrugged. “Perhaps she’ll grow late.”

“Or never at all.”

“Would that matter much?”

“The world is a harsh place. I brought her here to be safe, with our people, but I fear now that the desert will be too much…”

“Kiluki, in the few hours you’ve been here, I have not once seen that vehvi show any signs of slowing down.” Uvira laughed. “You worry too much. Take her to one of our healers so they can reassure you.”

Her sister nodded. “I plan to.”

“I’m sure she’ll have no trouble making friends with the others.” Uvira smiled. “You’ll both have a fine life here, now that you’re back home where you belong.”

Kiluki tried to look like she agreed, but she was still worried. “You’re right. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

On the other side of the market, Ilula was approaching a group of children. They were playing a game with a small leather ball, kicking it around to each other, and it wasn’t unlike the sort of games the Hylian children in Castle Town played.

“Hey!” Ilula called, running towards them. “Can i join?”

The girls all stopped and looked at her. She was unfamiliar, but she was clearly Gerudo, though she was...small.

“This is a game for big kids,” one of the girls said, waving her away. “Go play with someone your own age.”

Ilula stopped just outside their circle. “I am a big kid!”

“Uh, no you’re not,” she scoffed. “How old are you? Five?”

“I’m almost eight!” Ilula stamped her foot in anger.

The girl paused in surprise. “What? No way. You’re so small!”

Ilula’s cheeks burned with rage. She wasn’t used to other kids commenting on her height; she was bigger than the Hylians her age, and back in Castle Town, they were the little kids compared to her. Here, though, she actually had to look up at the Gerudo kids, and as she did so, she began to frown.

“S-so?” She asked, stammering in her anger.

“So?” The bigger girl laughed. “So you can’t play with us!”

Ilula’s hands balled into fists. “Fine! I didn’t want to anyways!”

The other children all broke into laughter as she spun on her heel, cheeks hot, teeth clenched. She had never been treated like that, and she was experiencing her first real rage. All she wanted was to get as far away from them as possible now, and she made a beeline for the archway leading to a row of homes and bars off to the side of the market.

As she marched away, determined to ignore their shrill taunts as they called after her, her pace quickened, toes digging into the sand with such fervor that she didn’t notice where she was going.

“Too small? I’m not too small, I’ll show them too small—hey!” As she grumbled to herself, she suddenly made contact with something sturdy, and next thing she knew, she was landing on her butt. “Watch where you’re going!”

The something she had run into turned and looked down at her. “Oh, sorry!”

Ilula’s eyes widened as she took him in.

“I thought—I thought there weren’t any boys allowed here!” She blurted out.

The person in front of her was a shirtless boy, a small mane of fiery red hair framing his face. He wore white silk pants held up by a golden belt, matching bands fastened around his upper arms. His skin was tan, his eyes bright amber, a bejeweled circlet resting on his head. He looked regal, as he should...but Ilula didn’t notice that. All she noticed was that he was a boy, and he was in her way.

He laughed and offered his hand to help her up. “I’m allowed to be here.”

She took his offer and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Why?”

“Because I’m the prince,” he smirked, puffing his chest out a little.

Ilula rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

He visibly deflated, unused to anyone questioning or not believing him. In a town full of Gerudo who worshipped him, nobody ever rolled their eyes like that in his presence. “Huh?”

“If you’re a prince, why are you wandering around out here?” She shook her head. “And there’s never any boy Gerudo. You’re just making things up.”

He blinked at her in disbelief. “But I—I am! I’m gonna be king one day!”

“We don’t have a king, we have a chief!” Ilula laughed, but it wasn’t cruel or mocking; instead, it was genuine, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she looked up at the boy. “Mama told me all about the chief before we came here.”

“You just moved here?” He tilted his head curiously.

“Yep!”

“Where did you live before?”

“Castle Town,” She sighed. “It was nice, I guess. The castle is pretty.”

“Isn’t that where all the Hylians live?” He scoffed. “You shouldn’t be out there. You should be with your people.”

“Duh, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Her voice was full of attitude as she rolled her eyes at him a second time.

Ganondorf decided that he didn’t hate it.

“Why’d you live there in the first place?” He folded his arms over his chest.

“My daddy is a knight.” Ilula played with the hem of her shirt, rocking on her heels. “He works in the castle. But him and Mama had a fight, so she decided to move here.”

The boy made a thoughtful noise and nodded. “Well...I’m glad you’re here.”

“Why?” She tilted her head.

“Because now I have a friend!” He grinned, grabbing her hands and spinning her around.

Ilula shrieked with laughter, and he loved how it sounded.

“We’re friends?” She asked, giggling as she fell still again.

“Yeah! I mean...do you wanna be?”

“Yes!” She looked relieved.

“Whats your name?” He asked.

“Ilula.” She smiled.

“I’m Ganondorf. Future king of the Gerudo.” His grin widened.

“Yeah, very funny.” She said sarcastically. “You’re weird, but I’m glad I have a friend now. I tried to make friends before, but they just made fun of me…”

The boy frowned. “Who did?”

Ilula shrugged, nodding towards the archway she had come through. “A bunch of girls in the market. They wouldn’t play with me.”

His brow creased angrily. “Why?”

“They said I was too small. They thought I was five! I’m almost eight!”

“I’m already eight,” her new friend smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. They were mean.”

His frown was back. “Did they make fun of you?”

“Yes.” She grumbled, kicking the sand.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand again, pulling her towards the market.

“What are you doing?” She asked, short legs stumbling as she tried to keep up with the tall boy.

“Being a prince,” he growled.

Ilula scoffed. There he went again, pretending to be royalty. She didn’t have much of a choice than to follow him, though, and she let him drag her back to where the girls were playing.

“Hey!” He snapped, standing in front of them.

They all immediately froze and snapped to attention, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Y-yes?” One of them gulped.

“Were you being mean to her?” He yanked Ilula forward, holding her up by her wrist as if she weighed nothing at all. She dangled in his grip, toes barely brushing the sand, but she found that she didn’t hate it.

“N-no, Prince Ganondorf!” The girl who had bullied Ilula said quickly, taking a few steps back towards her friends.

“Then why wouldn’t you let her play with you?” He asked dangerously.

“Because—because she’s too small!” The girl stammered. “Sh-She wouldn’t be able to keep up!”

“Tell her you’re sorry,” he ordered, setting Ilula down.

“But—“

“Say you’re sorry!”

“W-we’re sorry!” She said. “P-please don’t tell my mom, she’ll be so mad at me…y-you can play whenever you want, you can be friends with us, I promise—“

“I don’t want to,” Ilula wrinkled her nose. “I have my own friend now.”

She turned away from them for the second time, spinning on her heel and marching away with her nose in the air. The girls stared after her in horror, looking back at the prince with wide eyes and gaping mouths. How could she turn her back on royalty and just walk away like that? She should be put to death for her rudeness!

He gave the girls one last glare before turning to join the little foreigner, catching up with her short stride quickly.

“That was awesome!” She exclaimed when they were out of earshot, stopping and turning to face him. “That was so cool, they were so scared of you! They—wait.” She paused as thoughts flew through her head. “They called you prince. Did you convince them like you tried to convince me? Wow, they’re dumb!”

He just stared at her before throwing his head back and laughing loudly.

“What?” She asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “Wanna go play?”

Ilula grinned and nodded and they were off, running through the market to have fun.

Ganondorf showed her the aqueducts that carried fresh water throughout the city, laughing as she splashed him. He took her to see the sand seals living in pens just next to the side gate, telling her that soon, he was going to learn how to shield surf with one. After that, they ran up and down the palace steps, seeing how many they could each jump. The guards at the top of the stairs shared a bemused smile behind their veils, eyes crinkling with laughter as they watched their prince play with someone his age finally.

“This place is huge!” Ilula said, sitting down on a step. The sun was low in the sky, some of its heat finally ebbing as the evening air cooled.

“Yeah, it is,” Ganondorf sat beside her, looking out over his city. “The desert is even bigger. It goes on and on forever.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Ilula sighed. “I can’t wait to see everything.”

“I’ll show you,” he promised. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I know everything about the desert.”

“Then maybe one day I can show you Castle Town!” She said excitedly. “Deal?”

He grinned. “Deal.”

“My prince,” one of the guards from the top of the steps approached them. “It is growing late. Your mother wishes you to accompany her for supper.”

Ilula stared at the tall Gerudo guard. Maybe the whole prince thing wasn’t just a joke amongst children, after all...

Ganondorf sighed. “Can we take Ilula home first?”

The guard looked down at the runt and gave a quick nod. “Who is your mother, vehvi?”

“Kiluki,” She said, her voice suddenly as small as she felt. “She was in the market talking to Aunt Uvira…”

The guard’s gaze softened at the sound of an old friend’s name. “Very well. Let us go find her together.”

Spear in hand, she led the children down the steps. The setting sun was casting long shadows across the square, Gerudo all waving goodbyes as they headed home or to the spa or bar. The market was much less crowded than it had been during the day, shopkeepers drawing down the flaps on their stalls as they closed up for the night.

“Ilula!” A voice called.

“Mama!” Ilula ran forward as she spotted her mother still talking to Uvira at her stand.

Kiluki caught her small daughter in an embrace, smiling as she picked her up and set her in her hip. “I see you’ve come back to me in one piece.”

“Of course,” the guard escorting the children said, coming to stand before Kiluki. “The prince and his friend were only playing on the palace steps today. I did not let them out of my sight.”

Kiluki’s eyes grew wide as Ganondorf stepped up next to the guard. “O-oh, my prince, forgive me—“

She tried to bow while holding Ilula, bending at the waist while her daughter clung to her arm for dear life. Ganondorf only laughed, enjoying the sight of such a close bond between the two, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched.

“Ilula and I are friends now,” he told her.

Kiluki looked at her daughter in shock. “...you befriended the prince?”

“I didn’t know he was the prince,” Ilula smiled sheepishly.

“She didn’t believe me when I kept telling her.” Ganondorf piped up.

“...were you rude to the prince?” Her mother asked.

“No!” Ilula protested. “I wasn’t! Besides, he’s not the prince, he’s my friend.”

Kiluki shook her head in disbelief as Uvira laughed behind them. “You never cease to amaze me, vehvi.”

Ilula grinned, then squirmed in her mother’s grip. The moment she was let down, she ran forward to hug Ganondorf, and the boy happily wrapped his arms around her. He picked her up and spun her around, one of his new favorite games, his face alight with laughter as the two quickly began making plans to play in the morning.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Kiluki said to the guard as she watched her daughter and the prince.

“Of course,” the guard dipped her head in a nod. “At the prince’s side is the safest place she could ever be.”

Kiluki nodded in agreement. She couldn’t believe how well everything had worked out. With a guard detail always keeping an eye on Ganondorf, Ilula would no doubt always be under their watch as well. Her daughter gained a friend, and Kiluki gained some peace of mind.

“Come, my prince,” the guard said after a few more minutes. “We must let Ilula and Kiluki get home, and we must not keep your mother waiting.”

Ganondorf sighed and gave Ilula one last smile before joining the guard. Ilula waved after him as he walked towards the palace, her mother taking her hand to lead her to Uvira.

“Well, how about that?” Ilula’s aunt chuckled. “Making friends on your very first day here!”

Ilula giggled. “He’s not just my friend. He’s the prince.”

#ganondorf #ganon #botw #botw x reader #rehydrated ganondorf #gerudo #ganondorf x reader #ganondorf x oc #ganon x reader #ganon x oc #gerudo ganondorf #gerudo oc #flying on wings made from feathers and wax

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mayans-sauce · 3 years

Text

Mama Bear

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Female Reader

Word Count: 700

Warnings: none

Request by anon which you can find HERE

Request by @leilani-writes which you can find HERE

A/N: hope it was alright that I combined these two! I also hope it turned out good because I struggled a lot with this one but enjoy <3

GROUP CHAT for updates!

Gif Credit: @pedropcl

Bishop and you were going to invite the whole club for a little get-together at the house. Food, drinks, and good company were on the menu. You hadn’t seen them for a while because of your pregnancy and the chaos that has been the club life the recent months. You were a few months pregnant now, and the boys haven’t seen how much your bump has grown.

Bishop wouldn’t let you move a muscle, so the only thing you were allowed to do was the shopping list, while he would be the one to buy everything in and set it all up. Everyone had their particular needs and flavors for what they liked, so the list grew with each member. Being the “mom” for them all, despite being younger than most, it was your job to keep track of what your precious children loved and wanted. Bishop was sitting at the table as you read up everything that would need to be bought.

“... beers for Ez, gummies for Letty, Steve likes strawberry ice cream, and of course, we can’t forget the chicken nuggets for Angel this time. He almost had my neck when I forgot last time.” You chuckled to yourself at the funny memory of Angel being a sad and pouty boy.

“That’s a lot of shit, sweetheart,” Bishop complained in a teasing manner. “Hey, you were the one that wanted to invite the kids over,” you hit his arm with the long list, “you know how grumpy they get when they don’t get their favorites.” “Yeah, let’s not relive the last get-together we had.” You both shudder at the memory of drama and crying.

The day of the house party had come, and you stood at the door as you greeted every one of them. Their faces lit up at the sight of your baby bump, highly visible. Words and kisses were left upon it by the men that would be there to protect and love the little joy that would be born in just a few short months. They could see how happy you and Bishop were, and that left a small print of light in their dark lives as part of the MC.

Everyone was out in the backyard enjoying themselves. The sun shone down, and the music from the stereo created a relaxed atmosphere. Bishop had just fired up the grill for the heaps of meat that was ready to be grilled and consumed by some hungry bikers. The drinks and snacks went faster than you could refill it.

Since it’s been forever since you saw everyone, you went around to catch up. They all felt safe and comfortable in your presence, so they became colossal blabber mouths when you approached them. Whether it was just a quick chat or asking for some much-needed advice, you were there for them. You were always like a fun, caring, and loving “mom” to the group. Always there for them whenever with whatever they needed. You took care of them and loved them when they hadn’t anyone else to go to.

Once the sun started to come down and everyone was packed with food in their bellies and sitting in groups having conversations, you approached your husband, who was sitting somewhere to the side just enjoying that for once, his brothers had a day with no worries in their minds. You sat down on the two-seater, legs draped over him as you took a moment to rest for a bit.

“Tired?” “Ugh, yes! You try playing mom with these children in men's bodies.” The comment made him laugh some. “It’s not easy being mom and dad,” he stated.

“Like, why did we decide to get pregnant when we already have like 10 of them.” “Sorry, sweetheart, but can I just quote you in saying: fuck Bishop, please finish inside me I need to feel you.” You threw a pillow at his shoulder, “shut up,” a smirk on your face in remembering how you ended up in this situation.

“Come here.” He opened his arms for you to get between. You shared a sweet kiss as you watched over your kids, all happy and content, while caressing the one that still wasn’t born.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thank you for reading❤️ If you liked it, a quick reblog and feedback would be so much appreciated❤️ Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist.

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

I’ve sent you an ask like this before but like. reverse au where nhs’ goal is wrh instead of jgy - imagining little nhs with his father’s blood on his saber unable to stop bawling but insisting that he has to go on trial for the murder of his father - being furious when he’s not pronounced guilty because it has to be someone’s fault - little nmj crying sympathy tears and trying to guard huaisang against whatever’s making him cry -

lxc only starts to let go of his jealousy of how frivolous sect leader nhs is allowed to be when wrh attacks nhs in the middle of a cultivation conference and is bravely defeated by now-jgy and lxc sees nhs first realize through his tears that wrh may have been the one to kill his father - he lets go of it entirely as he begins to suspect the decimation of the main branch of the wen clan took a lot more hard work than chance

oops, I went for something centered around the Nie brothers with this orz

It was just the three of them in that room when it happened, and though Mingjue is quite young, he is brought to testify at that trial his da-ge insists on having. When the elders ask, he explains that he had closed his eyes and didn't see much. He doesn’t tell them that his da-ge had just ordered him to close them. If it’s relevant, his da-ge will say something.

But Huaisang stays silent, except for some quiet sobbing.

“You didn’t see, but you heard,” one elder insists. “So what did you hear?”

“A-die was angry,” Mingjue replies, eyes darting toward his brother. “He was shouting at us.” He hesitates. “It’s words da-ge says I’m not allowed to know and if I use them around grown-ups I’ll be in trouble.”

The elders smile weakly at this well-behaved boy of seven.

“Just for today, you can say it. We need to understand, er-gongzi.”

Mingjue glances again at his brother. He only speaks again when his da-ge nods at him through his tears.

“A-die said that I was just the son of a whore and he was tired of me scheming against da-ge,” Mingjue recites, the accusation branded onto his mind. He can still hear the exact tone of his father’s voice, feel the power of his unrestrained aura oppressing him to the point he nearly fainted. “A-die also said that da-ge was a disgrace anyway and he was going to get rid of both of us and have real sons, instead of a Wen and a bastard. Then I heard blades hitting, and A-die shouted a-die couldn't hurt me, and there was a fight, and then everything was very quiet and da-ge said I needed to go get help.”

The elders nod solemnly. Huaisang sobs harder, his face awash with tears. He presses both hands against his mouth in an effort to keep quiet, so he won’t disturb the trial too much, but it’s not very efficient. Their cousin Zonghui, standing next to him, pats Huaisang’s shoulder to try to calm him.

“What did you see, before you left the room?” one elder asks.

Mingjue doesn’t answer right away. It’s fine to take time to remember, they told him early on, so he does that. In truth though, it’s not like he could ever forget the sight of his brother, usually so soft and funny, standing over the still twitching corpse of their father. He hasn’t forgotten that their father was breathing and even moaning when he left. He recalls, also, how different his da-ge had looked with his bloody sabre in hand, that hard look on his face.

When Mingjue had returned with help, his father had stopped breathing, and there was no hardness left to Huaisang who had dropped his sabre and was sobbing in a corner.

“There was a lot of blood,” Mingjue says, which isn’t a lie.

His eyes catch Huaisang’s. His da-ge, who doesn’t let anyone insult him for his mother, who told Mingjue many nice stories about her, since he never got to meet her. His da-ge who encourages him even when others say that the son of a servant shouldn’t be given the education of a young master, shouldn't dare to be better than children of higher birth. His da-ge, lazy and spoiled, but always putting in the effort when he feels Mingjue needs protecting.

It’s Mingjue’s turn to protect him now.

“I onlyremember the blood, and that I was scared,” he claims.

This time, it’s a lie.

But he can’t let them hurt his da-ge.

At the issue of that trial, it is decided that Huaisang acted out of self defence, and cannot be too harshly punished for the murder of his father. He has to offer sacrifices to the heavens and make public penance, but there won’t be lasting consequences, and he still gets to be sect leader.

Uncle Wen would not allow for anything else, Mingjue hears some of the elders whisper.

Uncle Wen went through a lot of trouble to make sure Qinghe Nie stopped bothering him, they also say. And now his sister’s child is ruling the only sect that used to stand up to him.

Huaisang laughs when Mingjue repeats this to him one night, while his da-ge puts him to bed for the night. Everything else has changed, but not this: Huaisang makes the time to take care of his didi, and Mingjue worries for his da-ge. Making time is harder than it used to be, the worries have become bigger than before, but fundamentally it’s still the same.

“Don’t listen to what those old farts say,” Huaisang advises as he tucks Mingjue under his blanket. “And don’t let them catch you listening, either. They’ll think you’re going to repeat things to me.”

“I do repeat things to you,” Mingjue points out. “And they shouldn’t be saying things like that. It’s not right to speak about people behind their back. A-die said people should speak their grievance in the light, or not at all.”

Huaisang smiles, and pets his hair.

“A-die was a good man,” he says. “Don’t let anyone make you forget that. A-die was the best man in the world. The way he was at the end, that wasn’t him. He was kind, and he loved you, and he was the best man any of us will ever meet… but this isn’t a world for good men.”

Mingjue frowns. His da-ge has always said odd things, but it has gotten worse lately.

“Da-ge is good too,” he mutters, unable to express the worry starting to form in his chest.

What he means is this: if good men are struck down by a cruel world, then his da-ge, who is good, might be at risk of dying. The thought terrifies him, and he would do anything to keep his da-ge alive. He lied for him at the trial, and he can do it again.

Huaisang laughs again.

“Don’t you worry about me!” he snickers, ruffling his brother’s hair. “I’m not good at all. Haven’t you heard people complain how little good I am?”

“You’re lazy not good, not bad not good,” Mingjue corrects. "Not like uncle."

Da-ge's good humour is shattered, replaced by a severe frown which makes him look too much like he did, that night their father died. Mingjue doesn't like it.

"MingMing, you remember the rule about uncle, right?"

"I don't say anything bad about uncle where others can hear," Mingjue meekly recites. "Only da-ge can say if it's safe to talk about uncle. Sorry. I know you didn't say."

"It's fine this time, but be more careful. Uncle is dangerous. He killed a-die, he'll kill us too if he realises we're not on his side. And we're not. Whose side are we on?"

"Each other," Mingjue dutifully replies.

He knows it's the right answer, but only if they're alone. If there are sect elders, Mingjue must claim loyalty to the sect. If they are in front of Wen Ruohan, he must say family. But the truest of truth is that he'd do anything for his da-ge, and da-ge has proven more than once he'd do anything for Mingjue.

"You're a good boy," da-ge said, ruffling his hair once more. "Don't think too much about these things. Da-ge will take care of all the problems for you."

"But I can help!"

"Yes you can," Huaisang agreed, pinching his cheek. "You can help by doing as you're told. Can you do that?"

Past events prove that Mingjue, on the whole, isn't good at doing what he's told, not when he thinks he's told to do something stupid. Sometimes, he makes a big argument about that. He's young, not stupid, and he doesn't want to do things just because grown-ups have ideas about how things should be.

But da-ge looks really tired tonight, and Mingjue doesn't want to become yet another problem on his brother's mind. So he nods dutifully.

It makes da-ge smile, so it was probably okay to lie.

#nie huaisang #nie mingjue #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #might continue it later but also might not #It's just that you know...#reversed nie bros my beloved #and also I'm trying to make a small dent in my prompts lol

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harrysgloves · 4 years

Text

Three’s Company (part 2)

Harry Styles x Reader x Florence Pugh

>>>PART ONE<<<

Story Summary: You deal with your breakup.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Language // Angst // Pretty sure I made the reader an alcoholic // oh and you know smut!! YEAH bet you didn’t think you were getting makeup sex but oh you are. (threesome so proceed with caution, thanks)

Authors Note: I got carried away... but don’t we all when it comes to them? Anyways, feedback is always wanted and deeply loved. Hope you you guys like it!! xx

>>>

"Is this color too moody?" You asked your neighbors cat that was lounging in your living room.

The midnight black ball of fur lazily blinked open his eyes long enough to croak out a "meow" before going back to sleep. Your head nodded in agreement as your 5th beer bottle of the day pressed against your lips.

"No, you're right. It's allowed to be moody." You agreed with the very large, very old, cat who always wandered over to your apartment. His owner, Ms. Thompson, gladly let you babysit him for a few days after she came to your door to find him the first night. Your blood shot, tear filled eyes when you answered the door, fully gave away the fact you'd been crying for the last few hours.

A bowl of Tupperware with hot chicken noodle soup laid on your doorstep the next morning along with the first gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

It had been four days since your break up with Harry and Florence. Four days of sleepless nights, alcohol filled days, and meaningless activities to keep your mind off how you were feeling.

Four vases of flowers that you couldn't bring yourself to throw away sat on your cluttered counter. The delicate petals were starting to turn brown around the edges from your lack of care. The notes on each one seemed to glare at you everytime you walked to your fridge to grab another drink.

Each one a variation of, "I'm so sorry. -H"

"When we broke up it was for totally different reasons. I wanted to raise the kids Jewish; you wanted to sleep with men." Debra Messings' voice and the horrible laugh track of 'Will and Grace' filled your lonely apartment. Your comfort show played on repeat. The same jokes, the same voices, the same fucking void in your heart.

It'd be four days and you felt like you were a second away from losing mind.

And sure, maybe, you could have called them. You could have said you overreacted and that you messed up so badly. Instant regret hit you as soon as you had walked out his door.

You'd get over it, get over them but it didn't seem to be as easy as you originally thought.

Everything reminded you of them.

"Love this one." Harry said the last time he'd spend the night with you. Your favorite record played softly in the background when he placed the needle down on it.

"Oh, this is one of my favorite episodes!" Flor cheered as she ran out of your kitchen to the living room at the sound of a 'Friends' episode starting.

"Got yeh this when I was out today." Harry handed you a dumb pen holder. A small Julius Caesar that had pens jetting out of his back.

"Take this before you freeze." Florence mumbled as she moved your blanket slightly off Harry and towards you while you all cuddled in your bed.

Everything that reminded you of them had been boxed off, separated, put away somewhere else until you could look at it again. You were left in an almost barren house that no longer felt like a home, with a cat, that wasn't even yours, sleeping on your coffee table that was littered with empty beer bottles. All while you drunkenly painted your walls at 2 in the afternoon.

How did shit get this bad?

The sound of a knock at your door called you out of your mind. An instant sinking feeling started in your chest as you walked across the floor. The wave of alcohol that ran through your system calmed some of the nerves but not all of them.

They wouldn't show up here, right?

You could feel the sweat starting on your hand as it rested on the doorknob. Another knock came from the other side of the door made you jump in your skin.

"You haven't answered your phone in four days! Open up!" One of your brothers yelled from the hallway as his fist pounded on your door. You rolled your eyes as you stood there debating if you could avoid him. Your plan to stay as quiet as possible quickly went to shit.

"Y/N, do not make me call dad." Your other brother, the one who's slightly fucking scary, voice boomed through your door like it wasn't even there.

You threw your door open to the absolute shit show that was your family. All four dumbass brothers stood outside of your apartment door. All four let out a simultaneous sigh of relief before walking into your very messy apartment.

"Jesus." Jason, the youngest, breathed out when the smell of alcohol hit him right in the face. His nose scrunched as his worried eyes flashed over the room.

"Did you drink an entire liquor store?" Tommy, the one you were closest to, asked as he scanned the damage done to your living room and what the hell you'd been doing to your liver the last four days.

"Shut up." You mumbled as you sat down on the floor, the couch was deemed unusable by you until further notice. Way, way, too many memories on that dumb thing.

Raphael's lips pursed as he studied the new living room color. He didn't even bother to hide the fact he was judging your meltdown as he turned to you.

You two were the closest in age. You were only 6 months older, and were both adopted at the same time. It definitely didn't make getting along as children necessarily easy. The both of you butted heads so much the other 3 acted more like referees than siblings. Which is why the room seemed to shift dramatically as he turned to you.

"So, you stonewall your way out of a relationship and then ignore everyone who checks on you?"

"Here we fucking go." Jack, the middle child and probably the most sensible brother groaned as he sat down cross-legged on the floor. His head rested in his hand as he stroked Marshmallow's black fur.

"Hey! We said we weren't going to bring you if you started a fight." Tommy snapped right before Jason interrupted.

"He has a point, Tomás."

"Like you haven't had your heartbroken."

"She's the one in the wrong!"

"No she isn't!"

"You can't defend her forever. She has to own up to her shit."

You groaned, your head laid back as you listened to them argue about you, right in front of you.

There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to deal with this.

"Get out." You said as you stood from your place on the floor, all eyes darted to you as you demanded for your own space.

"Wait, what?" Tommy asked as the rest of them looked at you like you had magically grown three heads.

"I said, get out. I'm not listening to this. You guys want to fight, go to dad's." You opened your front door, held it wide open for all of them to filter out. Each one gave a sad or sympathetic smile as they left.

"Y/N, I think you should really give them anoth-" Jack tried to reason with you before you shut the front door, hard. The slam echoed through your now quiet apartment as you stood there yet again, alone.

>>>

Your hooded eyes stared at the same spot on your ceiling. Your back rested on the cold hardwood floor of your wrecked living room. Your head swam with a fuzziness that only happens when you spend too many days on a bender.

You were fucked and your heart, your soul, hurt in a way you didn't think was possible.

You could feel the prick of tears starting again in your eyes as your mind ran over everything. The good times, the bad, the moment you wished you could take back.

Why did you leave that damn house? You could have at least let him explain.

You sighed as you sat up. The uncomfortable feeling of the room spinning only got worse as you shifted forward to grab the drink you'd poured earlier. The glass pressed against your dried out lips as the same laugh reel ran in the background.

Was this your life now? You wondered as you sat on that cold floor of your apartment. You used to be okay with nights like these. You used to be fine being alone.

Now, the silence felt like a stab to the gut.

Your phone that laid on the table vibrated non-stop. The worried texts of people who loved you flooded your phone, you were worried about you too but you couldn't admit it.

Why did this hurt so bad?

Was it because you'd never experienced a loss like this before?

Or was it because deep down, shut away in the corner of your mind you dared to never go to, you knew exactly how you felt about them? And it scared the shit out of you.

You gulped down the rest of your drink. Not wanting to begin the vicious cycle of why you were so quick to give up on them. Why you were so determined to leave before any explanation could be given.

Fucking hell, you needed therapy.

Your shaky legs walked over to the TV, turning off the reruns. Your glass placed on the edge of your coffee table as you made your way to your bathroom. A hot shower would always fix everything.

The stream of warm water pounded against your back as you sat in your bathtub. Your mind fluttered around the idea of taking a job that required you to permanently leave the country for a while. Maybe you could fall in love with a nice coast side in Italy or a small Cafe in France.

You didn't notice the sound of your front door opening or the footsteps in your apartment. Your eyes were already so heavy. The steam of the shower only made the low lullaby of sleeper louder in your mind.

Sleep and everything will be better.

>>>

You woke up the next morning in your bed. The bright sun burned your eyes as you blinked away the foggy feeling of sleep that still lingered around you. Your brain felt like a pile of mush as you reached for the bottle of water you kept on your side table.

How did you even get to bed?

The last few days had blurred together into a muddy picture. Everything jumbled together; drinks, painting, TV, organizing your kitchen, looking at apartments in foreign countries online.

"Morning!" Your brother chirped happily as he walked into your room.

You could have literally jumped out of your skin. You screamed, loudly, almost falling out of the bed.

"What the fuck!"

"I came back last night and you were asleep in the shower!" He said like you were the dumb one. "A thank you would be nice."

"Why are you in my apartment?" You asked, but only received the blankest of stares back. You knew why he was here. "I don't want to hear it."

"Too bad. Obviously, you need to hear it 'cause your apartment smells like a bar and you haven't talked to anyone in almost a week." He shrugged as he sat on the edge of your bed. The black ball of fur you'd eventually have to give back to your neighbor wasn't far behind him. Small black paws circled around you before he found a place to sleep comfortably.

"This sucks." You mumbled after a bit of silence. You could tell Jack didn't want to push you. Usually, this was a thing Tommy would handle but for some reason, the tribe had sacrificed Jack to be the emotional voice of reason this time.

"You know," he said as his hand ran through Marshmallow's fur. His teeth bit the inside of his lip as he debated what to say for a second before continuing. "you could just admit you were in the wrong and go apologize. I mean, you clearly fucking regret it."

"I don't." You answered so quickly even Marshmallow didn't believe you. His green eyes stared in lazy disbelief. "I mean I do but… I don't know, Jack. It's weird 'cause I'm so sad but… what if this never gets better? What if it's always like this? Like, we're always struggling to be a normal couple?"

"You're not a normal couple so why would you try to act like one?"

Your eyes shot to his at the words that poured out of his mouth so carefully. You'd never thought of it that way before. Your brows furrowed as you stared back at the bed.

Was there a chance for you to make this work with them?

"Look, Y/N, relationships are fucking hard no matter what but you can't just… walk out on people before they get a chance to hurt you."

"I didn't."

"You did. It's kind of your thing, you know?" He smiled softly to you. Not condescending or in a know it all way, in the way only a sibling could without getting smacked. "Not that it doesn't make sense but if they made you happy, maybe you should try to hear their side of it."

"When did you become the smart brother?" You teased with that wide smile across your face.

"Right after I came out of the closet."

"Shut up." You said through a laugh. The first one you'd had in days. That weight that laid on your chest seemed to have lifted a small amount.

Maybe, just maybe, you could talk this through with them.

>>>

You stood on the same doorstep you angrily stormed across not even a week ago. The pink door that you used to love, suddenly felt like a door to the electric chair.

Maybe you couldn't do this.

You sighed, your eyes darting back to the old Camero you loved just a little too much. Arms crossed over your chest to keep you warm as you stood in your place. You knew you couldn't go back to your apartment this quickly without getting asked questions.

Raphael, Jack, Tomás, and Jason were all waiting for your post-breakup meltdown if this didn't go well. Each one said they'd stay with you on rotation shifts until you felt better if you needed it.

Which was sweet, but you kind of wanted to rot in silence and alcohol if this went as badly as you thought it was going to.

Your tongue grew thick as your stomach churned. Your eyes closed as you sighed heavily, your ass plopped down on his front steps, head rested in your hands.

You didn't know where to even start when it came to talking to them. Your feelings were hurt but you shouldn't have walked out without giving them a chance to explain. You didn't want to feel like the odd man out but didn't want to broadcast your relationship.

The whole thing was messy and complicated. You wished so hard that it'd be easy. That talking about what you felt would be easy.

But you knew it wasn't, it never was, at least not for you. You shoved all your emotions down and kept chugging along your whole life. You pretended everything was fine, even when it wasn't. Which was exactly what ended you up here in the first place.

If you would have told them sooner they would have ended the PR shit.

"Hi." The thick accent from behind you startled your thoughts for a second but you didn't turn around. Your fingers messed with the edge of the rip in your jeans as your eyes focused on the crack in his sidewalk.

"Hi." You said quietly after what felt like a full minute of silence. You heard him let out a small sigh, his feet shuffled forward until he sat down quietly beside you.

You tried to not look at him, knowing if you did you'd burst out into tears. So you stayed focused on the ground, the dead leaves that floated along the road, the grass that was getting crunchy from the cold weather.

"Y/N, 'M-" he started but you waved your hand to get him to stop. Your head rested against his shoulder that tensed up from your touch.

You didn't want to talk for a second, just a second. You breathed in the familiar smell of him, the cologne he always wore was faint on his skin. The sleep shirt he wore was your favorite, you realized. The blue sweatshirt always made his eyes look so beautiful.

"I missed you." You said into his shoulder. Your lips brushed against the soft fabric as you spoke.

"'M missed yeh too." His voice cracked as he rested his cheek against the top of your head. His fingers laced through yours as you moved closer into the warmth of him. "Flor's inside if y'wanna talk."

You sighed, you knew you needed to talk, knew you had to talk about it. You just didn't want to. The feel of him being close to you again, the intoxicating smell of him near.

Your head lifted from his sweatshirt, only to see how rough he'd been doing himself the last few days. His bloodshot green eyes had large bags under them. His scruff on his face, messy brown curls. He'd done just as bad as you.

You only caught sight of his lips for a second before saying fuck it. Talking could happen later, you'd missed him so much.

Your lips pressed against his with a force that knocked him backwards for a second but you didn't care. No, this was the most "at home" you'd felt in days.

He felt like home.

His lips molded to yours so perfectly, once he got a hold of himself. His hand slipped to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him.

Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest as your lips parted, welcoming him back.

He pulled you up with him. His hands around your waist, lips still connected with yours as he walked the pair of you inside.

You wished you could slow down the moment. The way he was holding you tightly to him, like he never wanted to let you go again. The fleeting feelings ran through your mind but they all ended the same way.

You fucking loved him, so much.

All your energy was going into not crying from your surge of emotions. The rush of adrenaline was intoxicating, your shaky hands danced in the messy tangle of his unkempt brown curls as you tried to hold onto that shred of sanity you had left.

"I missed you." You breathed out when you came up for air. His forehead pressed against yours, his body crowded yours to the wall. "God, I fucking missed you."

He chuckled, a slight smile on his now swollen lips but you couldn't help it. It was the only thing your brain could come up with besides how sorry you were for not giving him a chance to explain.

"Miss me any?" Her voice made you look around Harry. Her arms crossed over her chest but that hint of a smile smoothed across her lips as she leaned on the doorway that led to the entry.

"Wanna see how much I missed you both?"

>>>

Maybe this wasn't necessarily the healthiest way to deal with your problems as a couple. But at this moment you could have cared less what a therapist would say about your tendency to avoid things that were important.

You laid on your back, your legs wide open, toes digging into the mattress as Florence's tongue pressed a wide thick lick through your folds. Circling around your bundle of nerves before slipping into you.

You would have moaned out loud, if it wasn't for the dick rammed down your throat. Your head laid off the side of the bed, your vision upside down as Harry's pulsating member slid down your open and waiting mouth. His hand around your neck, squeezing himself.

"Missed fuckin' yeh throat, pup." He groaned out as his hips snapped against your spit soaked face. He backed out long enough for you to catch your breath before shoving his way back in. Your abused throat would hate you for this in the morning but right now you didn't care.

"Feel good, baby?" Flor asked as her finger curved inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that always made your eyes roll back. She didn't have to ask if it felt good, she knew it did, she just wanted the bragging rights of who gave you the better orgasm of the night.

Harry's member pulled out of your throat. You tried your best to catch your breath as he crouched down to your level. His hands doing the best they could to wipe away all the saliva that ran down your cheeks. Playful green eyes met yours.

"Gonna cum, sweetheart?" He asked even though he really didn't need to. The sound of your moans alone was enough to tell you were close.

"Mhm." Was all you managed to get out, your hands threaded through Florence hair as her mouth joined her fingers. Your eyes closed as you got closer to your high, your skin raised in goosebumps as she did that fucking flicking, swirl, of her tongue that always did you in.

"Good, 'm gonna make you cum harder than that." Harry's words faded in your mind as that crashing sensation washed you away.

Florence scoffed as her head lifted from between your legs. The back of her hand wiped your juices away as she rolled her eyes at Harry.

"Good fucking luck trying to top that one."

"Guys," you groaned, your hand over your eyes. "Supposed to be makeup sex, not a competition."

"Can be both." Harry mumbled under his breath, quietly, but you still caught it. Your eyes glared at him as you turned around on the bed.

"Shut up." You mumbled as you reached forward, your hands around his neck as you brought him up to your level. Your mouth enveloped his quickly to stop the argument.

You pulled him onto the bed with you two. His knees hitting the edge before climbing up the rest of the way as your tongue took control of this kiss. It didn't happen often but when it did you ran with the opportunity. His mouth following your lead until you pulled away slightly, your teeth catching his bottom lip softly causing him to moan.

"Fuck," he cursed as you pulled away that sweet smile on your face like you didn't know that he loved that.

Florence came behind the pair of you, her lips pressed against your shoulder, up your neck, small love bites left here and there before she took the chance to kiss you when Harry pulled away. Her hands pulled on your waist, tugging you down to the bed to lay on your back.

"Ready?" She asked as Harry stroked himself, the nod of your head was all he needed to hoist your legs up. His pulsing tip ran through your folds as you reached for Florence, your arms wrapped around her thighs as you pulled her down on your mouth.

Harry continued to tease your opening. His tip slipping in and out of you easily as your tongue ran rapid through Florence's pussy. Her wetness was almost to the point of dripping down your face. You groaned as you pulled her by her thighs down harder onto you as your tongue circled into her hole. Fuck, you missed her taste.

You heard the sounds of their kissing, her moans, before he finally pushed his way into you. Your walls clinging around him immediately, pulling him closer into you, making him hiss lowly.

"Jesus, she always so fuckin' tight." His hands embedded themselves into your thighs as he held you open for him. His fingers pulled back the lips of your pussy briefly before you felt Florence shift forward, her core off your mouth as her tongue circled your clit.

Your loud, unabashed moans filled the room. Your mind clouded with nothing but desire and lust, barely functioning at all. Thoughts weren't making sense, you were going based on instinct when your fingers slipped into her cunt that was inches in front of your face.

Harry's grunt and groans as he fucked into your tight cave halted for a moment, his erection pulled out of you briefly. The unmistakable sounds of your girlfriend choking on your boyfriends cock filled the room.

You moaned at the sound, your core clenched as your fingers finally twisted into the right angle. Her velvet walls pulled you in as she tried her best to keep breathing around Harry's thick member.

"Fuck, keep doing that." He panted, accent thick, voice deep with pleasure as you hit that spot in her again. A flood of her arousal coated your fingers as she let out another loud moan, her body slacked on top of you as Harry pulled out of her throat.

You weren't prepared for when he thrusted himself back into you. Your moan cracked as you gripped tightly onto Florence's thighs.

"Told yeh I was gonna make you cum harder." He mumbled as Florence let out a laugh. She rolled over to lay beside you, her lips lazily kissing yours the best they could through Harry's rough thrusts into you.

"Make her cum harder than I did and you can cuddle her tonight." Florence smirked, her hands ran over your hair as you pouted.

"Deal."

"Hey! I wanted to cuddle both of you." Your head shot off the bed as you glared at the both of them, who were both very very clearly taking their competition too far.

Leave them alone for four days and you come back to them acting like children.

"Tomorrow night, sweetheart. I got somethin' prove." Harry smiled as he leaned down to you, his lips capturing yours before you could protest, a roll of his hips had you moaning.

Maybe this bet wasn't that bad.

"Yeah, proving I'm better." Florence scoffed again, adding fuel to the fire as her hand leisurely traveled between her legs. A soft moan passed through her lips as Harry basically growled at her through his teeth.

You rolled your eyes at her as she gave you a shrug and a smile. His length pulled out of you again as he lifted you up, switching you over to be on top of him.

He was pushed back into you in less than a second, his hands grasping the round flesh of your ass tightly as he leaned you forward into his chest. His legs pushed himself upwards, hitting your sweet spot every single time.

You were thankful he pulled you into his chest. Your moans rolled easily as his hands dug deeper into your skin, you were teetering on the edge with in minutes. His gruff groans as his sensitive pulsating member pushed into you only added fuel to the fire.

"Come 'ere, baby." He said as he slowed down his punishing pace his hand left your bum, fingers slipped into Florence's mouth for only a few seconds before finding their way back to you.

The pressure from his finger prodding into your back hole had your eyes rolling in the back of your head. The deep, low, sound that resonated in the bottom of your chest had a smug grin on Harry's face.

He knew he'd won.

His finger and along with his cock fucked into you until you could hardly register your own name. You could feel your heart beating in your core, your nipples so sensitive you could barely stand to have them brush against his own chest.

Harry hummed as you seemed to lose yourself in the feeling of your mounting high. Florence's hand between her legs, stroking herself faster as her lips pressed to Harry's.

You felt a pressure in your stomach you'd never felt before, building and building, ready to bust any second. You didn't even have time to warn him when you felt the dam release. Your head floated in the clouds as your juices ran down him, soaking the bed.

"Well, fuck, I've never made her do that." Florence mumbled after Harry's final thrust into you. His gloating laugh filled the room as you laid limp.

"Told yeh so." He cooed as his hand ran down your back in soothing circles. Florence kissed softly on your shoulder, your arm, wherever until your eyes finally focused on her.

"You okay?" She asked as she brushed away the hair that was stuck to your face.

"Mhm, wanna sleep." You whined, your head pressed into Harry's shoulder tightly as you felt him soften inside of you. Your hips shifted to move off him but his hand quickly pressed your ass down again.

"Go to sleep, darlin'." He kissed the top of your head before he nuzzled into your. Florence arm wrapped around the both of you as Harry opened one arm for her to cuddle into his side.

>>>

"Mornin', sweetheart." Harry hummed as he rounded the corner to his kitchen. A quick kiss placed on Florence's lips before he picked up the cup of tea she already had made for him.

"Morning." She mumbled into her cup. Her legs pulled up beside her as she sat on the counter.

"Wot's wrong?" He paused before taking a sip, his eyes studying her as she sighed.

"It's just…" she stared at the coffee pot that hadn't been used in a week. The steaming brown liquid dripped into the vessel below it. She sighed, shaking her head. "I woke up this morning and the first thing I did was make sure she didn't leave again."

Harry's eyes softened, his hand ran through her hair, lips pressed to her forehead. Trying his best to comfort her which is what he tried, and usually failed, at doing all week long.

"We'll talk to her, okay?"

Flor nodded her head, her lips pressed to his one last time as they heard the door to the bedroom creak open. A shirt you'd taken out of Harry's closet hit your knees as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

"Morning." You said as you gave both of them a kiss, your eyes more trained to the pot of delicious coffee than either one of their faces.

"Y/N?" Florence asked as you poured your first cup, the smell wafting into your senses had your knees almost buckling.

"Yeah, baby?" You asked without turning around. The glass pressed to your swollen lips from all of last nights kissing, the warm mug felt like a relief to them.

"Can, uhm," she started, you finally turned around to see her looking uncomfortable. Her tongue wet her lips, eyes glanced to Harry before she continued. "can we talk, you know… about everything now?"

"Right, yeah of course, we should… just-" You could feel the nerves pit in your stomach growing as you nodded towards the table. The three of you sat in your usual chairs, your usual mugs in your hands, but it wasn't an usual morning.

No, now you actually had to talk about what was bothering you.

"Right." Harry said, hoping to get the conversation started with already but the room was dead silent.

"Right." You repeated mostly to fill the awkward silence that was growing thicker in the room by the second. You could feel your ears rushing, the room was so quiet. No TV to drown out the weird atmosphere, no music to cover up the fact you had to talk about what happened.

"So, I guess 'm gonna start." Harry said after he glanced at the both of you two, seeing he was going to have to get the ball rolling on this whole thing.

"Yeh know 'm really, really, sorry 'bout the Gemma stuff. I was gonna tell her the next week after the last interview but she decided to come in early and surprise me." Your lips rolled in your mouth as you listened to him. You knew the whole time you sat in your apartment, drunk, that a version of this was what happened. "And I didn't want yeh to get hurt and 'm so sorry it seemed like I was hiding yeh away from people."

You could feel the start of tears in your eyes. You sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down from a blubbering meltdown that was about to happen. Which you might have been able to avoid if his hand didn't wrap itself around yours from across the table.

"Just," you sighed, your hand squeezed his as you tried to wipe away the tears that rolled down your cheek. "Just, I should have said it was bothering me before it got to that point and I'm sorry I didn't and I blew up then walked out."

"It's okay." Florence said softly, her other hand laced through your free one. "But… maybe, we should agree to talk about stuff a bit more."

"Yeah, think that would probably be good." Harry agreed as he scooted forward in his chair, his hand wiped away the rest of your tears. "So, yeh gonna stay, right?"

You smiled up to him, your hand laced tighter through Florence's fingers as you nodded your head.

Yeah, you think you'd stay with them.

431 notes · View notes

liberty-barnes · 4 years

Text

The Swear Jar

Part 1 of The Jar Series

Mob Boss!Tom Holland x Single Mom!Reader

Prompt: “I've never said a single fucking swear word in my whole damn life”

Warnings: swearing obviously, Tom’s a mob boss so there’s that, there’s like, one sexual innuendo but also ??? not really??? idk

Word Count: 4k (i really need to learn to write short things)

Estimated Reading Time: 16 minutes

A/N: It’s the pic guys, I can’t help it.

Edit: Wow, you guys actually liked this! So since many of you asked, a part will be coming out soon, maybe more, we’ll see. So if you wanna be added to my “The Swear Jar” Taglist, just ask me or add yourself directly through the link in my bio!

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

The bell above the door to the diner chimed and you perked up, smiling brightly at the young teenage couple.

“Gracie! Stella! It’s so good to see you again!”

The girls greeted you with the same amount of enthusiasm and proceeded to order their usual meal.

“Your hair’s really pretty Stella! You look like a mermaid now!”

“Thanks, Millie! I took your advice and went with blue instead of purple.”

The young girl smiled and captured the couple’s attention by showcasing her current work in progress.

Millicent Rose (Y/l/n) was your five-year-old daughter. She had brown hair, falling on her shoulders in nice large curls, and big (y/e/c) eyes, a perfect match to yours. She loved drawing (the diner walls were crawling with her masterpieces) and pretty hair, especially if it was soft.

Her bubbly and fearless personality sometimes frightened you, but you mostly came to terms with the fact that your daughter was a social butterfly and took full advantage of the small diner to interact with as many people as she could.

You watched with a fond smile as Millie explained what she had been drawing to the girls, mentioning every little detail while they praised her good work. The young brunette had a gift to make anyone love her.

Soon enough, their large milkshake to share was finished and Lou, the owner and cook, was all done with the food so the girls sat down at a booth and Millie went back to drawing, little feet dangling off the chair and little brows furrowed in concentration.

As you were refiling Mr and Mrs Lee’s drinks, the bell chimed once more and four men walked in dressed in stylish suits, much too fancy for this place. They sat down at a booth and started talking while you took a deep calming breath.

Oh, fuck me.

You took your notepad and walked over to them, a much too fake smile on your face.

“Good morning gentlemen, what can I get you?”

The table quieted down and you made eye contact with who you knew to be the leader.

“I’ll have a burger with fries and a strawberry milkshake.”

One of the twins said.

“I’ll have the same but with a chocolate milkshake instead.”

The other one added.

“Vegi burger and a coke, please.”

At least the blonde one had some manners.

Your eyes lifted from the notepad to the leader once again.

“And for you?”

You did your best to ignore the slight tremble in your voice.

“Bacon cheeseburger, fries and a coke, darling.”

“Right away.”

You got out of there as soon as possible, sparing a glance at your daughter to make sure she was still sitting at the counter before entering the kitchen with a panicked expression on your face.

“Lou…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’ve got an order… for the Hollands…”

“Well, shit.”

The Holland family was the oldest and most successful mob in London, extremely rich, dangerous, and seemingly untouchable.

Harry and Sam Holland, the twins, were rumoured to have been behind the Burtons’ death, another famous family known for drug trafficking and other crimes.

Harrison Osterfield, the second in command, was a close family friend, accused of drug trafficking, illegal weapons selling, and other such crimes, though the charges all dropped before the first hearing even took place.

And finally, Thomas Holland, the leader. Arrested for multiple murders, arson, extortion, and a long list of other felonies, but never convicted.

Everyone was scared of them, and the fact that they were eating here was not good for business.

You ignored the tightness in your chest in favour of helping Lou prepare their food, hoping to do it as fast as possible so the group could leave.

Meanwhile, at the booth, Tom was rolling his eyes at his brothers and friend’s stupidity.

“Okay, we get it, she’s hot, but you don’t have to talk about it all the fucking time.”

Millie turned her head in their direction and scowled. She stretched a bit to the other side of the counter to take the transparent jar and got down from her chair, making her way to their booth, stomping a bit, which made her Sketchers light up.

The diner watched with curious (and slightly frightened, for the Lees) eyes as the little girl climbed onto the booth next to Harrison, one leg after the other, and kneeled next to the blonde, setting her elbow on the table and stretching so the transparent jar was now sitting in front of Tom.

He looked at it: a lid-less mason jar with a pink bow and right in the front, in a child’s handwriting and pink glittery letters were the words 'Swear Jar’.

“You owe a pound.”

He lifted his head to look at the girl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When someone says a bad word they have to put a pound in the jar. You said a bad word so you owe a pound.”

“I’ve never said a single fucking swear word in my whole damn life!”

“That’s two more so you have to put three pounds in.”

“Yeah, Tom, put the money in.”

Harrison had his arms around the girl and a smug smile on his face, evidently taking a liking to the young brunette.

“Shut the fuck up Haz, you curse more than I do!”

“Four.”

“Shit.”

That one was not on purpose.

“Five.”

“Okay, okay, jeez, hold on.”

He took out his wallet and took his only five-dollar bill amid all the hundreds.

“Just gonna put the money in this stupid jar.”

“Six.”

“Wha- stupid’s not a swear word!”

“I’m not allowed to say it so yes, it is.”

Tom rummaged around his wallet for a stray pound, reluctantly putting a hundred in after finding nothing.

“Does that mean I’m allowed to say ninety-nine swear words?”

“No paying in advance, everything that’s not the money you owe is a donation.”

“To what foundation?”

“The ‘get Millie new glitter pens’ foundation”

She answered with a smirk and everyone -bar Tom- was pretty much crying at seeing their boss be told what to do by a five-year-old.

“Man, you are so screwed!”

“That’s one pound for you, Mister!”

“Oh shit, right!”

“Two…”

Harry took out his wallet (still laughing his arse off, mind you) and didn’t even try to look for the two pounds, simply putting in a hundred.

Millie’s eyes were focused solely on Tom’s hair. She climbed on top of Harrison, her pink tulle skirt flying behind her and stood on the seat next to the brunette, her hands immediately flying to his hair.

“You have very pretty hair. It’s really soft.”

“Thank you, darling.”

She hummed and kept playing with the soft strands.

“My name’s Tom, and these are my twin brothers Harry and Sam, and my best friend, Haz.”

She looked around for a while, not answering, seemingly lost in thought until she looked back at him and her sparkling (y/e/c) eyes focused on his brown ones.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy. I’m Millie.”

“T-Tommy?”

Sam stuttered out between peels of laughter.

“I don’t like Tom, Tommy’s better. Why are you so shocked Twin Nice?”

Harry looked appalled.

“Why's he Twin Nice?”

“Because you said a bad word and he didn’t, so he’s Twin Nice and you’re Twin Naughty.”

Sam did a little victory dance, bragging about his new nickname to his twin.

The little girl sat down on Tom’s lap and started to play with the black ring on his finger.

“What am I, then?”

She looked up to Harrison from in between Tom’s fingers, still playing with the thick band.

“You’re Thor cause you have pretty eyes and you look really strong.”

To say that the blonde was pleased would be an understatement.

“You, little lady, are my new best friend. We need to come here more often.”

Millie smiled and went back to observing the ring.

“Does this mean you’re married?”

Tom chuckled and shook his head slightly.

“No, it means that I’m a part of the Holland family, like them.”

Everyone around the table showed theirs, a symbol of their high status in the mob.

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Do you live with your mommy?”

“No, I live with these dumbasses in a big house.”

She pushed the swear jar towards him and gave him what could only be described as the 'Disappointed Mom’ look.

“Do you like it?”

“Kind of, sometimes they get on my nerves and I wish they’d rot in Hell, but yeah, it’s not too bad.”

She slapped his hand in reprimand and he internally cursed himself.

“Don’t you miss your mommy?”

“A little, but I see my parents every Sunday for family dinner.”

He answered after placing yet another bill in the jar.

“Parents?”

“Yeah, my mum and dad.”

She hummed.

“I wish I had a dad.”

The boys all stiffened.

Well, that escalated quickly.

Tom cleared his throat, measuring his words before speaking, for once in his life.

“Do you know what happened to your dad?”

“Mommy says he left cause he wasn’t good like her. She says it’s okay, though, cause we only need each other but my friend Lilly has a mommy and a daddy and she told me that sometimes when her mommy’s sad or tired he’ll do all the grown-up stuff like cook and read her a story while her mommy rests and she’s happier that way. I want my mommy to be happy like that too.”

For Tom, it felt like his cold, dead heart was starting to beat again. This little angel sitting on his lap was asking for something most children already had, not for herself, but for her mother.

“You’re a really good person, Millie.”

“If you stopped saying so many bad words you’d be one too, Tommy.”

The boys laughed yet again and they continued talking for a little while, refraining from any work-related issues for the sake of their newest addition, choosing instead to discuss sports and fighting over who’d be on cleaning duty that Sunday. Three more bills made their way to the jar during that particular discussion, one from each boy (bar Sam because he was on cooking duty, as always), and for once they allowed themselves to relax and simply be, instead of always worrying.

You got out of the kitchen with the men’s orders ready and looked at the end of the counter, planning to check on Millie before walking over to the mobsters’ table. Your brows furrowed when you didn’t find her and you immediately looked towards the girls’ table or the Lees’, finding she wasn’t there either.

“Mommy, over here!”

You followed your child’s voice and your eyes widened once you saw her sitting on the leader’s lap. The smiling leader’s lap.

You quickly made your way to their booth, placing their orders in front of them without even taking your eyes off your daughter.

“Millicent Rose! What have I told you about bothering people when they’re in their booths?”

She looked guilty for half a second but immediately perked up again, ready to defend herself.

“Not to, but Mommy, he said a bad word so I had to take the swear jar to him.”

“And why, pray tell, are you sitting in the gentleman’s lap?”

“His name’s Tommy and he said he didn’t mind and this way I can talk to Thor, Twin Nice and Twin Naughty better.”

Tommy, Thor, Twin Nice, and Twin Naughty?

“Oh, fuck me.”

Millie’s jaw dropped open. She’d never heard you swear before.

“You owe a pound, Mommy.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

You pulled a pound from your pocket and put it in, eyes widening at the amount of money in the jar.

“How in the world?”

“I didn’t have singles so I just put hundreds in. Apparently, it’s a donation to the 'Get Millie new glitter pens’ foundation.”

You set the jar down and shook your head in disbelief.

“I am never letting Harley babysit you ever again.”

She pouted and slumped down, arms crossed adorably in front of her.

“Now come on, let the gentlemen eat their lunch in peace and come get yours.”

She cuddled up to Tom more than before, burying her head in his chest and fisting his shirt, and shaking her head in protest.

“Millie, come on, let’s go. I’m so sorry for the bother sir.”

“It’s no problem, she’s welcome to say for however long she wants.”

The brunette smiled at your daughter and then at you, before the man on his right interrupted.

“Besides, she’s very entertaining. It’s nice to see someone else call Tom out on his bullshit.”

You and Millie threw the blonde matching glares while Tom just pushed the jar towards him.

“You owe a pound, Haz”

“Excuse you Tommy, my name’s Thor.”

He then turned to you with a smug smile and attitude.

“Cause I have pretty eyes like him and look very strong. Don’t you agree with your daughter… (Y/n)?”

He read your name tag and smiled charmingly while you pursed your lips, looking him up and down. You then looked at your little girl.

“You sure?”

“Well, who else has pretty blue eyes?”

“Captain America.”

She light up right away and straightened herself.

“Right! And he looks like Captain America when he was tiny! Thanks, Mommy!”

She then turned to Harrison with a gigantic smile on her face.

“You’re Tiny America now.”

The whole table -bar Haz- laughed and you had to bite your lip not to laugh too, instead linking your hands and looking at the clock.

“Come on Millie, it’s time to eat.”

“Can I eat here with Tommy, please?”

“If you eat here with Tommy I won’t be able to make sure you eat your veggies.”

The man’s heart stuttered when you used his nickname, a strange sense of happiness overcoming him.

“Tommy can check.”

“Mm… I’m not sure if he can check you ate them. He’s not used to your sneakiness.”

“What if I pinky promise to eat my veggies and eat a banana for dessert instead of ice cream?”

It was a struggle to get her to eat fruits and veggies. You usually had to settle for one or the other, so when she spontaneously decided to eat both, you jumped at the opportunity, mob be damned.

“Deal! But no annoying the boys.”

She smiled and nodded, settling comfortably on Tom’s lap, waiting for her food. You took out her plate of chicken nuggets, fries, and green beans, chocolate milkshake to wash it down.

You tried not to let the butterflies in your stomach distract you from your job but the way Tom smiled at your daughter and praised her when she ate all her veggies in a row, wanting to get it over with, made your heart ache, the longing for someone still very much present.

“Have a nice meal.”

You made eye contact with the brunette and blushed at the smile he sent you before waving goodbye at the Lees. The teenage couple had left a bit earlier so the mobsters were now your last customers of the day.

You wiped the kitchen counters and said goodbye to Lou, assuring him that you’d close up by yourself. As soon as he left, you took a deep breath and sighed, unable to stop your smile when you heard your daughter’s laugh carrying through the wall separating you from the group.

“Mommy, we’re done!”

You straightened up and schooled your features before walking over to them, taking away their plates while asking if Millie behaved and if they wanted dessert. The answer to both questions was a yes and so you came back a little while later with chocolate pudding for the twins, caramel ice cream for Harrison, a banana split for Tom, and a miniature one for Millie.

“Since you behaved so nicely you get a little sweetness with your banana.”

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled brightly at you.

“You’re the best mommy ever! I love you!”

“Love you too, baby.”

You turned around, ready to leave, when a voice stopped you.

“Why don’t you sit down with us for a bit? I’m pretty sure that if you wipe that table down one more time you’ll remove the paint.”

You blushed but complied, sitting down next to Harrison and watching as your daughter ate her dessert quickly and quietly, wincing from time to time because of brain freezes. As soon as she was done, she reached for Tom’s right hand. He switched the hand that held the spoon, eating with his left so that Millie could play with the ring on his finger.

Unfortunately for him, he had a bit of trouble eating with his non-dominant hand while holding a child on his lap, leading to a bit of ice cream falling on his shirt.

“Ah, fu-”

You shot him a glare that made him change courses immediately.

“-dge. Fudge.”

Millie clapped and gave him a big, approving smile.

“See, Mommy? He’s making progress!”

“Indeed he is, darling.”

“Oh, this is fucking hilarious!”

The young girl gasped, mouth open comically wide and utter betrayal swimming in her eyes.

“I thought you were nice.”

Sam realized his mistake as soon as she spoke, covering his mouth with his hand as if to stop any more of the offending words from leaving it.

“You owe five pounds.”

“What? Why? I only said one swear word!”

She shook her head in disapproval, arms crossed in front of her chest, and pushed the jar towards him.

“You made me believe you were nice so your trickster-y will cost you four extra pounds.”

You shook your head, smile firmly plastered on your face as you watched Sam pull out a hundred dollar bill with a pout on his lips. It was quite endearing, really.

“So, (Y/n), tell us about you.”

You locked eyes with the brunette once again, piercing gaze seemingly looking through you.

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell, Mr Holland. I’m not a very interesting person.”

Your voice was soft, your words calculated. You knew that these men could kill you in the blink of an eye.

“No uninteresting person could have raised such a perfect little angel.”

He smirked and Millie looked at you with a smug smile.

“See, he said I was an angel.”

Life be damned, it’s not worth living if your daughter has an ego the size of Russia. That would most definitely come back to bite you in the ass.

“Yeah, that’s cause he hasn’t had to deal with you in all your nightly glory.”

She put her tongue out and snuggled deeper into Tom’s chest.

“Well, for one, how did you find yourself working here?”

He got the conversation back on you and you felt slightly intimidated with the whole table’s eyes on little old you.

“Customers are nice, I earn enough money for us to get by, owner’s nice, the school’s at the end of the street, and Millie gets to stay with me when she’s not there.”

Even though he was focused on you, you noticed the way he held your daughter close to his chest, his bigger frame completely enveloping her smaller one. She still hadn’t let go of his hand and kept playing with the ring on his finger. Seeing how calm and caring he was being with your daughter calmed you down and the more questions you answered, the more comfortable you became.

“How can you work at a dinner and not like vanilla milkshakes?”

Sam looked horrified at that, and you just shrugged dismissively.

“I never really liked when vanilla was too present. Like, if you used it to just enhance everything else you know, make it taste better, then sure, but just vanilla isn’t really my style.”

Tom took a sharp breath in and tried to stop his mind from wandering at the possible double meaning of your words. Instead, he chose to focus on the little girl on his lap.

Until he noticed she was asleep, that is.

He smiled a little and shifted her so she was resting more comfortably on his lap. Unfortunately for him, that caught your attention.

“Oh my, is she asleep? I’m really sorry.”

“No worries, though we should probably get her to bed so she doesn’t wake up with a stiff neck.”

For the umpteenth time, you pushed down the butterflies upon hearing him say 'we’ and being so careful with your daughter.

You took the remaining dishes and went to the kitchen, putting them in the wash and turning on the machine, leaving it to run so tomorrow morning you’d be able to put everything away. You went back in to clean the booth and Tom practically shoved a hundred dollar bill in your hand, ignoring your protests.

He waited for you by the door while you finished closing up, and you extended your arms towards him when you finished.

“Thank you for everything today, but you must be getting tired, I can take her from here.”

He gently pushed your arms down.

“Let me take you home, please, I don’t like the idea of you having to carry her all on your own.”

You hesitantly nodded and he guided you to his car. It’s only then that you noticed the other three had left. You settled on the passenger side of his black Audi and he handed you Millie, closing the door softly as to not startle her. He then entered the driver’s side and started the car. You gave him directions to your apartment building and within five minutes, he parked the car right out front.

Ever the gentleman, he insisted on carrying the little girl. Knowing by now that there wasn’t much you could do to protest, you agreed and led him up the four flights of stairs to your door.

“Sorry 'bout the mess.”

“It’s no problem, darling, I quite like it.”

You turned your head for a brief second, as if asking him to elaborate while still leading him to your daughter’s room.

“The fact that it’s messy means that someone lives here, that this isn’t just some house, it’s a home. My house is always pristine but that’s because no one’s ever there to actually use it as something other than a glorified B&B.”

He laid Millie down on the bed and you pulled the covers over her. You both stood side to side for a little while, just watching her breathe.

“That sounds really lonely.”

“Yeah…”

Another minute passed by with no words coming from either of you.

“You raised an amazing daughter, (Y/n).”

“You’re a good man, Tom.”

Hearing those unfamiliar words coming out of your mouth almost brought tears to his eyes. He was always used to being called a ruthless mobster, cold-blooded killer, or many other names that all meant the same thing: monster. But you called him a good man, and the sincerity in your voice was almost overwhelming.

He cleared his throat and straightened up, making you turn towards him.

“I should probably go… You should get some rest as well.”

You nodded and walked him to the door. In a split-second decision, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, locking eyes with him afterwards.

“If you ever need an escape, or just wanna hang out somewhere different, our door’s always open.”

That made a smile take over his face and he kissed your forehead.

“Thank you, darling.”

And as you watched him round the corner, only your back visible to you, you couldn’t help but feel like this wouldn’t be the last time you ever saw Tom Holland.

i have mixed feelings concerning this story but at least i have ideas for a part two (if i ever decide to make one)

don’t forget to reblog, comment or like if you feel like it <3

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sweetestpopcorn · 2 years

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People just really love trying to make Rhaenyra out to be someone who is completely evil and heartless. I've seen so many people say that she would have been a horrible ruler based on how she was when she sat the Iron Throne during the dance, but nobody seems willing to consider the fact that for all we know, if she'd been allowed to become Queen when she was supposed to, she would have been a decent enough ruler?

Hi there Anon 🤗

The hatred Rhaenyra gets from a lot of the fandom's "neutrals" and "intellectuals" happens for several reasons. Let's break those down.

First of, Rhaenyra has a vag:na and not a pen:s. That alone already makes her a lot more evil than anyone with a pen:s, by default. Adding to her vag:na, instead of her being meek and obedient like any woman should be because #feminism Rhaenyra was her own person. She did what she wanted, had sex with men she loved (i.e., Daemon and Harwin) and not the man her father tried to force down her throat (i.e., Laenor) and who didn't want her.

How dare she not do her duty?! Who TF did she think she was to revolt against her arranged marriage?! The audacity!

Rhaenyra also did not act as a crying victim. She was resilient and kept going no matter how much sh:t piled itself around her - a very traumatic birth of her stillborn daughter and losing 4 sons included - Not even as she was about to be eaten by Sunfyre did she cry or beg.

Now do we like a woman who's unafraid in the face of death, and doesn't just lie there and take it when terrible things happen? Absolutely not, f:ck you, Rhaenyra. How dare you?!

Then of course, adding to her having a vag:na, not being a poor victim, having autonomy of her own body, we also have the fact that she was a Targaryen and looked like a Targaryen. AND adding to this, she loved and procreated with her own uncle.

How 👏🏻 Dare 👏🏻 She 👏🏻

Doesn’t she know she had to keep apologising for being a Targaryen until she died?! And procreate with someone who helped to cleanse her from incest sin?????? But what did she do? She f:cked her uncle.

Hate this chick.

Then we also have no critical thinking abilities and so we take every little thing written about her at face value or we cherry pick to make her even worse because this is #feminism. While we choose to say that 15 year old Lyanna was r@ped and abused by Rhaegar and had no choice we look the other way when Rhaenyra was seduced by 31 year old Daemon, countless times more experience than she was and more powerful as well and instead we also believe she tried to seduce poor innocent Criston Cole of 30 years of age 🤡 twice because Rhaenyra had some sort of mental deficiency. Also despite the fact it was Daemon she loved all her life as seen by her actions, we say she only married him by political advantages or… I don’t know she was an evil terrible b$tch who knows what she wanted?

Will no one think of the grown men?!!! Save them from this wicked teenager. Someone call Humbert he has experience with wicked teenagers! #worserhanlolita

So 7 (age difference between Lyanna and Rhaegar) clearly > than 15/16. This is math everyone I know it trust me.

Lyanna: had no choice was abused.

Rhaenyra: evil teenage seductress.

This is science everyone trust me. We are choosing as it fits our narrative. Ok?

Then another terrible example of what a monster she was was when she chose to spare Alicent and Helaena. Wow there! WOW. F_CKING. THERE! Even Hitler was kind compared to this!

And - AND - while Alicent wanted her four year old son’s eye pulled out because #justice #killthetoddler she wanted Aemond questioned sharply. Poor Alicent! Look at how evil Rhaenyra was! Cruelty towards children!!!!!! From Rhaenyra! Not Alicent, poor woman! Let me just... wipe away a few tears.

Finally, as more proof of how evil she was and equal to Aegon in her cruelty, it did not even cross her mind he would kill her. She only thought she would be thrown into prison.

See how this psychopath's mind works?!! Wow! Just wow!!! Move over Ted Bundy! Rhaenyra is here!

So clearly just an evil EVIL woman mad Queen who couldn’t do anything right. We should hate her so much. SOOOOO MUCCCHHHHHH.

See the truth Anon!

#rhaenyra targaryen #the realm's delight #horrible human being #evil teenager seductress #it is known #by neutrals #and "intellectuals #intellectuals will intellect #trust them they know what's what #worse than hitler and staline combined #if anyone needs clarification I am being ironic #popcorn answers

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ooc-but-stylish · 3 years

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freezedive:

I think I said it in one of your other beautiful posts, but I thought I’d mention it again. All of the ridiculous cutscenes did give us a golden nugget of information on Luna that most of us who are brutally critical of her (like you and me), suspected all along: Luna openly admits to Gentiana that she doesn’t think she has anything to offer Noctis outside of being an oracle. And Gentiana makes it worse by speaking in fancy words by saying some bullshit about her being the oracle is her being human or something and that she is fulfilling her true calling and that is what Noctis needs? Idk but it reeked of emotional manipulation.

I hold little to no regard for Ravus because there’s evidence Luna was being brutally beaten right under his own nose while he was busy being the Emperor’s lapdog thinking it could maybe give him the power to save his sister? The man should have opened his eyes and defended her against the men that kept them jailed

I happened on this reply to roxainn’s post while trying to recapitulate all my other FFXV critical posts and reblogs on the way to making new ones.

Crawling back to find anything about this point, I find that it was posted 3 years ago. But at least I reblogged the reply to it.... and missed that it was literally @ ME. Goddamn did I slack.

But here’s my reply, 3 years late, which should elaborate on where I stand on this.

Yes, the flashback that gets triggered by a random creepy little girl in Tenebrae is about Luna and Gentiana. Somehow the little girl knew about that conversation even though she wasn’t there to witness it first-hand? Or maybe Noctis was imagining what the conversation would be like between Gentiana and Luna off of the vague suggestion from the girl, and it’s just him telling on himself that his imagination of Luna says all that? Otherwise the not-altogether-tinfoil-hat theory says it’s Gentiana in the form of a little girl, telling Noctis something that IMO should piss him off but just makes him sad and guilty because Luna loved him so much, don’t you see. She loved him so much that after wrapping her entire life around him, she’d just want to keep that going for the rest of their lives!

Gentiana opens the conversation with, “At first, the father had mourned the fate of his chosen son. Yet in Tenebrae, the two found solace. It was not the Oracle who assuaged their fears. But the girl…she holds…the true power.”

Then Luna replies, “I have little to offer a king, other than the voice afforded the Oracle. Nevertheless…” She turns to look at the wedding dress. “And—I’m afraid he might find this foolish… But…to be together with Noctis again, even if only for a short while… It…would mean the world to me. I do not seek to guide him, merely to stand beside him.”

The exchange is all types of fucky.

First off, she was twelve. What comfort could she have offered Regis and Noctis? What comfort was she capable of when Sylva was right there, an adult with experience of an Oracle and a personality thanks to a presumable full life not hampered by grooming of the gods?

Second, every other scene of Luna as a child is of her telling Noctis his duty, and that it was her duty to see it through. Did that assuage his fears-- the fears he didn’t have at the time since he never knew the entire meaning of his fate and was being told a saccharine, embellished version of it by Luna right there? Did that comfort Regis, knowing a little girl would also die to protect his son if the gods wanted it, but that she wouldn’t have the will to avert their fates whatsoever?

Third, even she thinks Noctis would think her desire to be with him is foolish. So... was she expecting that Noctis himself didn’t have feelings for her or want to spend time with her of his own volition for reasons outside of her job? She was looking forward to a marriage with no emotional security, where her desires are one-sided and unreciprocated, and the man she cares for think she’s worthless outside of her powers? She would’ve been willing to put herself through that, given a choice?

We know what we know and think what we think, but the fact that this was placed right in the vanilla game and no one thought that was wrong, and instead they doubled down on it in patches, is pathetic on their part.

Moreover, what does The Girl have, that was separate from The Princess and The Oracle? Every facet of her being wrapped around Noctis since age 4. She was nothing but her duty by the time Noctis met her; they had no scenes where they acted as children would. Even supplemental/promotional art for other XV media and related locales cement that. Little Luna serves Little Noctis pastries, she’s not seen eating with him. Luna teaches Noctis how to play piano, she’s not playing with him. Dawn of the Future came out with its own art, and Noctis is afforded the liberty to sit in a chair, and his son(?) sits on his lap, while Luna and her spitting image child(?) are both on their knees, looking up at the dudes.

In most of their art together, Luna and Noctis are either not meeting each other's gazes, she's bending or kneeling to him, or he's supposed to be holding her close but he hover-hands her, or there’s that one time where they took a selfie and the picture was of their Pocket Edition versions. They’re still not looking at each other in that one. And it’s not canon.

Anyway yeah, any conversation Gentiana has with Luna about Noctis is emotional manipulation on Gentiana’s part, but the writers manage just enough to make everyone involved seem creepy and reprehensible in their own way.

In DOTF, Luna has a death soliloquy that confirms she sunk into the water at the end of the game’s Chapter 9, but the soliloquy is about how she was prepared to die even at the age of 12, and she put on a smile and resolved to be strong for Noctis’s sake, so that he wouldn’t remember her having a look of despair. There’s a line there about how she would cry herself to sleep but Gentiana would wipe her tears. Gentiana does nothing else except allow her to cry and wipe her tears afterward, and makes no effort to save her from her fate or at least take her out of terrible situations so that she would cry fewer tears. But there is cut dialogue from the game, and used in the novel, where Gentiana revealed herself as Shiva when Luna was <16 (probably still 12 at the time), when she thought she was being held back from forming the covenants, so there’s that. And Luna still somehow ignored that this meant Shiva allowed Sylva to die, and thanked this useless goddess for her nonexistent generosity.

For whatever reason they had to add a passage where Luna superimposes the image of an eight-year-old Noctis onto the adult version-- quote, "the image of him as a child, burned into my eyelids, overlaps with his now-grown face"-- even though Noctis has canonically sent her photos of him as a teenager (15-16, around the time he met Prompto in high school, see: Brotherhood). Granted, that's a translation from Luna's voice actress reading an excerpt as if it were first person POV. The English version says she sees the child image first, then the adult version is superimposed. Then not much after that there's a passage where Noctis smiles as his child self and it was "that smile she loved that had been in her heart all these years, giving her strength, always and forever".

So she was groomed and turned into a shell since age 4, believes she has no value outside of her job and turned her grooming on a similarly vulnerable child, and her strongest image of him, the one she fell in love with and kept in her heart, is of the helpless boy that promised her the world without knowing the cost. The smile of the carefree boy that didn't know his journey would end with his soul annihilated. It couldn’t have been that hard to have her see an image of him as the 30 year old True King of Light that he would become. At least she'd sound a little less like a weirdo who continually places herself (and is placed by the narrative) as below him, unworthy of him, etc. but also has strong feelings and memories toward a goddamn child.

Re: Ravus: you already got a reply to that, but for real? Ravus was also shafted by the plot and beaten down by terrible, amateur writing. The narrative shits on him as if it’s written by a high schooler or otherwise emotionally arrested adult trying to push a Mary Sue Protagonist. The modus operandi for those stories is that everyone who disagrees with the protagonist in any way has to suffer tremendous humiliation including but not limited to death, because the Protagonist Is Just So Good And Perfect And Always Right.

Nothing Ravus does justifies his treatment in-game or in-fandom like he’s a one-note out-and-out villain who wanted nothing but to kill Noctis and disrespect his sister, to the point where his corpse is defiled multiple times in Chapter 13 and he’s twisted into a perversion of himself that begs to die.

Chapter 13 has Noctis land next to Ravus’s corpse and all his letters to Luna, and Noctis has piss all to say about it, either out loud or to anyone. He looks at the Sword of the Father, glances at Ravus, and without a word takes the Royal Arm and lets the Magitek arm-- still dripping, still gross-- fall onto Ravus’s body and doesn’t even move it.

He had no way of knowing beforehand that Ignis and Gladio knew of Ravus being killed. WE didn't even know they saw security footage until Ch13V2 was added in. Noctis happening on his late fiancée's dead bro sounds, I don’t fucking know, like something you’d want to tell everyone else about later. Along with the letters he wrote evidencing that he intended to return the Sword of the Father to Noctis!

An aside: The Letters from Ravus are just weird to behold; it isn't 100% clear whether Luna ever received all of those letters. She had to have received the first one, at least. But the idea that Ardyn intercepted even one other letter so that Luna never heard from her brother between Tenebrae and Altissia is farfetched. He shouldn’t be able to intercept those messages as if they were delivered conventionally. Luna has a pair of magic space-bending Shiba Inu that send letters instantly across continents. If she’s sparing their use to send Noctis one-liners and stickers but can’t afford that for Ravus to send her discrete updates on Noctis’s status, she’s a piece of shit.

They do meet in Tenebrae as Ravus wanted her to, and they have the conversation where he gets on her case about her “throwing [her] life away” for Noctis. So chances are higher that Ardyn only got a hold of all three letters after Luna received them and no sooner, but then he shouldn’t be tossing letters from Ravus at the dude’s body when it makes more sense for him to toss down letters to Ravus, since the writers wanted to make a point of Ardyn having a vicious streak. It makes way more sense for Ardyn to deprive Ravus of Luna’s writing, then insult him with them post-mortem, unless Ravus’s notes were really all he could acquire, meaning Luna never once wrote back to her brother.

The Doylist explanation is that the writing team sucks and couldn't be assed to think of anything for Luna to say because they didn't think of her at all. The Watsonian explanation is that Luna’s a piece of shit and that tracks with her in Kingsglaive watching her brother burn alive in response to the Ring, but ignoring him and running to Regis’s aid instead, but then the rest of the plot presents her as morally pure through her white clothing and “unconditional, self-abnegating love” for Noctis.

Back to the topic: I don’t know, maybe I’m being old fashioned, but Noctis should’ve given more of a shit that his dropping the Magitek Arm on Ravus’s body was probably what turned him into a mutated abomination begging to die, and he thought so little of Ravus that the dude isn’t even in the glimpse of "people who helped me get this far" in the Beyond. Ravus doesn’t even get a spot to wish Noctis and Luna well on their afterlife wedding, not that it makes any sense for any of them to have words to say since Noctis is already dead, no one was there with them, and none of the bros expressed any sign that they knew that Noctis was bound to get married after his sacrifice (he sure doesn’t mention it in the final campfire scene and that’d be a better place than any). But anyway, Regis is in the Beyond at Noctis’s side even though he never told Noctis a damn thing and still never spoke to him from within the Ring, but Ravus? Nah, he’s the real asshole somehow and doesn’t deserve any recognition whatsoever.

The only other characters I know of that have a remotely similar dynamic to Noctis, Luna, and Ravus (lovers, but the girl has a straight-edge protective brother working for the bad guys) is Nero, Kyrie, and Credo (see: Devil May Cry), but as much as I think the writing in that series is hokey as fuck, at least the writer(s) for DMCs 4 and 5 had enough sense to make the love story simple and based it from a line from Amagasaki City-- “I love you, so I love the city that you love.”-- and opted against portraying Credo as an outright villain because if Nero killed him, Kyrie would resent him for it even though she knew Credo was working for the same Order that threatened her life.

Shouldn’t Noctis care about the shit Luna cares about even if he has no personal investment in it or it’s inconvenient to him? Shouldn’t he care about Tenebrae and its prosperity? or about Ravus? Nah, it’s okay, Noctis doesn’t have to respect Luna’s love for her brother or her kingdom because for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t care for Ravus or for Tenebrae as much as she loves Noctis. Her love for Noctis and her looking forward to the wedding is what matters here.

The yaaaas queen vicious clapback from Kingsglaive!Luna about how Ravus is the Empire’s dog is especially rich coming from her when she’s fellating the gods all through the game even though Eos’s equivalent of The Holy Bible says the Hexatheon’s Revelations destroy cities and that undoubtedly means people are killed by the gods, and their summoner is complicit, because there’s no such thing as a perfect evacuation. See: "Revelations left great devastation in their wake, with entire cities being laid to ruin," noted in the Cosmogony long before the True King even exists.

Luna herself didn’t see a problem with this and helped in the effort, with no regard to the collateral damage she would cause with the summoning: bonus points for the part where Leviathan is hostile to humanity and threatens to eat every living being if Noctis fails! She had even less regard to the damage Niflheim would cause in their attempt to kill the gods even though she was first-hand witness to them sacking Insomnia. Waking and defeating Titan deprived Lestallum of the meteor they derived power from. Waking Leviathan destroyed Altissia. Luna’s refusal to leave Insomnia when told to by Regis led to her being used as bait and taking the whole of the Kingsglaive out of Insomnia in time for their Face Heel Turn and Insomnia being destroyed. Everything else leads to the eventual World of Ruin where people also die.

All because she killed herself prematurely from the covenants and didn’t hold back the longer nights as she promised to the public’s face and on her honor as Oracle she would do. Her dying words in Chapter 9 were her being completely satisfied with her fate because “[her] prayers were answered, [her] calling fulfilled”, even though the calling requires that she dies and she should’ve known better than anyone that her death, even if it was for Noctis’s ascension, would endanger the rest of the world for 10 years and helped the Starscourge spread. But instead of fighting for her own life to stem the plague for as long as possible, she let herself die under the belief that "Noct can handle this" to give him the chance to be the revered King of Light. She also didn’t make a single appearance on the world of the living in her spirit form during those ten years until Noctis needed help with a piddly imitation of the Magic Wall, only then does she come down in her ghost form with seemingly all of her power intact, and summons five of The Six as if Noctis can’t easily do it himself.

But Ravus is the lapdog? Luna’s the one with her “ends justify the means” behavior and what looks like general neglect for actual human beings.

Anyway, Ravus stabs Caligo in the back and kills him, and that move only makes sense in light of the idea that Caligo was manhandling Luna as seen in the Dawn trailer. Ravus was 16 when Tenebrae was overrun, and there’s no reason to believe he was magically immune to institutional abuse, so there’s a high chance that he was abused by the Empire too, held resentment of that, and waited for the time he’d be able to retaliate with no repercussions. Gentiana as a goddess is 1000000% more on the hook about letting Luna be beaten than Ravus is, since he saw his mother die in front of him while Regis ran away. Regis had the power of the Ring and could have used elemancy to put out that fire, or void magic to banish Glauca and his MT army, didn’t do that, but he totally spares enough magic during the treaty signing to toss around Thunder spells straight from his hand, cast barriers, and summon some Royal Arms straight at Iedolas, and that’s bad enough. Gentiana who’s been the Fleuret family attendant since Luna was born and also is Shiva who can freeze people with her fingertip had even less excuse to let that fire rage, to let Sylva die protecting her son, and to stand by and allow her ward(s) to get thrown around by some random Imperial soldier.

#freezedive #ffxv critical #ffxv criticism #lunafreya critical #gentiana critical #regis critical #lunafreya nox fleuret #ravus nox fleuret #regis lucis caelum #ravus deserved better #long read

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

Hello love! How about some somft? How about some bards, napping hand in hand in the shade under a willow tree, and they get to see something wonderful and unexpexted up in the tree crown? And maybe handkisses?

Somfte hurt/comfort and pining, a sprinkle of angst... oops.

________

Time is a cruel mistress, that is a well known fact. Nothing can escape the passage of time. Seasons come and seasons go. Years, decades, centuries all fall away into the dust and eventually even the sorceresses of Aretuza fall into the afterlife.

That is just a fact.

Jaskier had come to terms with this and even grown fond of the poetic potential that time afforded him. The falling leaves of autumn, the frosted chill of winter, and the rebirth of spring. If time was a cruel mistress, then love was a fucking tyrant, and when time and love joined force, they left only death and destruction in their wake.

Jaskier sighed, his fingers squeezing the hand in his. If he were in a better mood then he would have written that down, but instead he preferred to sulk.

“Jaskier, my dear,” Dandelion said with a soft musical laugh, “do try and cheer up. There’s no death sentence awaiting us.”

Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes. There was a lump in his throat but he was an expert at holding back tears. The Viscount de Lettenhove did not cry. That was what his father had always told him.

“Oh honestly, darling, have a little faith in Yennefer. She’s saved both my life and Geralt’s on more than one occasion, and don’t even try to tell me that hasn’t done the same for you and your witcher.” Dandelion’s sharp tone surprised Jaskier. He was one again reminded that despite their similarities, their lives were so very different. Dandelion was older, and Jaskier knew that there were things the poet had hidden from him.

But Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder how Yennefer had gained his loyalty after all the troubles they’d had over the years of their acquaintance.

“She’ll figure out the portal, my dear Jaskier,” Dandelion cooed almost wistfully, digging a knife deep into Jaskier’s heart. “And I’ll be able to go home.”

Jaskier sniffed and tried to pull his hand away from the poet’s. He didn’t want Dandelion to go home. He loved his newest friend, and he loved him deeply, in spite of everything. And yet, Dandelion was eager to leave, to return to his Geralt and his world. The stolen kisses under the dark cloak of night meant nothing to Dandelion. They meant the world to Jaskier. He didn’t have a Geralt to fall back to. His witcher had made it quite clear that they weren’t even friends. It was a miracle that Yennefer was helping at all. It was probably some ploy to gain power, bragging rights that she could make portals in between worlds.

“Don’t be like that, Jaskier,” Dandelion whined, gripping his hand tighter and pressing a kiss to his cheek, blond curls tickling against Jaskier’s skin. “We always knew this was a finite affair, but we can still love every second we have. Come now, bard, nature is truly magnificent tonight, ethereal, magical. Melitele is doing her best to give us the very best send off, a beautiful night under the stars, in the shadow of a great willow tree.”

Jaskier pouted and turned his face to bury his nose in Dandelion’s neck. The soft scent of lavender would forever remind him of the poet. An irreversible mark that Dandelion had left on his life, just like all of Jaskier’s lovers in one way or another. “But I love you.”

Dandelion sighed and pulled Jaskier into a tender kiss, slow and lazy as their tongues brushed together. Jaskier moaned softly as he threaded his hands into Dandelion’s hair, the curls tangling around his fingers. When they broke apart, Dandelion bumped their noses together, their lips barely separating as he spoke “And I will hold you in my heart until I die, sweet buttercup.”

“Dramatic sap,” Jaskier mumbled before capturing Dandelion’s lips in another kiss. The poet was right, they had limited time and Jaskier intended to make the most of every second.

“I am a poet, Jaskier. You of all people should know that.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The night was quiet as they became lost in each other, hands roaming, lips never parting for more than a breath, and there were only the soft sounds of whispered words and promises made to be broken. The two men almost missed the melodic giggles of the fae above them in the trees, until Dandelion gasped and looked up with wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“Oh darling, look,” he breathed almost silently.

Jaskier glanced up to see the sky alight with fireflies. A dozen glowing blue eyes were watching them, from the branches. Jaskier wondered whether he should be afraid, but these creatures were children, just children curious about a world they didn’t yet know. He looked back down at Dandelion, who was now trapped underneath him, lying back on the ground with his curls fanned out around his head like a halo.

“It’s beautiful,” Dandelion sighed wistfully, the softest smile on his face, peaceful and divine.

Jaskier couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man who would soon be ripped away from him forever. He had to commit every detail of Dandelion’s face to memory. He never wanted to forget the poet’s beauty. Oh the ballads he would sing, a tribute to this extraordinary event that had allowed the two of them to meet.

“Beautiful, yeah,” he murmured, cupping Dandelion’s cheek and pressing their lips together once more.

#the witcher #jaskilion #jaskier x dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier pankratz #dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Blood, Freely Given

CW: Blood, vampirism, referenced dissoci@ted identities, vague referenced severe childhood trauma, brief noncon refs, brief torture references

The automatic double-doors slide open, and their bare feet move over the scratchy mat just inside, smearing mud across the black nylon.

Water drips down from their hair, running in rivulets over the line of their throat, dipping beneath their soaked-through tank top, dripping with a soft pat pat pat pat onto the tile. They move as if floating past the welcome desk at the hospital.

Shadows, thick and velvet, swallow them whole. The shadows feel like arms holding them tight, like the grasp of a lover, like being loved.

When the admin assistant working the welcome desk looks up, light glinting off his nametag, to see who has come in through the door, he blinks as the lights flicker overhead, and for just a second he sees a flash of green hair stained reddish-brown and caked with drying dirt, a haunted blank face and empty glowing eyes… and then there’s no one there.

“Weird,” He mutters, staring as the doors slowly slide closed again. “Fucking weird.”

Outside, lightning flashes and thunder booms right on its heels, a deafening roar of sound that seems to rattle even the solidity of the hospital. The admin swallows, hard, staring out into the total blackness of the storm raging outside the safety of the brick and stone walls that surround them.

He’s already forgotten the half-second of sight, and thinks now only about the thunder and lightning. Water drips along the floor as they walk, ignoring him.

He doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but finding Ryan.

The shadows move around them, twist and dance around their feet like spirits, like animals, like children who never leave them. People look at the water on the floor and wonder why it hasn’t dried, find themselves baffled at the sight of mud dissolving into the puddles, but they don’t see the feet that make the puddles, they don’t see the drip of water from green hair, off of wrinkled fingertips.

They don’t see Ora Collins, because Ora Collins does not want to be seen.

Their cheekbones are pronounced, gaunt in their face. Hazel eyes glow, set into the lines of their face. Their hair hasn’t grown since the last day in the farmhouse, since the moment Ryan’s teeth pierced their skin. A broken fingernail has never regrown. A cut on one leg doesn’t heal, but it doesn’t hurt, either.

There’s a bruise that is now a permanent fixture on their left arm, a memory that might as well be a tattoo.

Dead and not-dead, they follow a heartbeat that pulses in perfect rhythm with their own. He’s upstairs, they know that. Waiting for them, knowing they’re coming. He feels them as strongly as they feel him.

We feel our own. We always feel our own.

Ora’s eyes flutter shut, and they see through his, the sight of the redheaded man covered in bandages and on the bed, the way blue eyes stare with emptiness into nothing, accepting the pain the way someone else has always stepped up when it became too much to bear.

Ora swallows, their throat moving, seeing on Danny’s body now the ghostly marks of times he has cried in the night.

They see, in that breath, that it began as a child used to feed his own mother, a little boy bled to sickness and then allowed to heal and then bled again. They see the fracture in him, how he hid from the reality in order to forget it, not to know. They see how he lost nights and days and no one believed him when he wondered why.

They see a shimmer of him where he lays in the bed, three sets of fingers, three pairs of wide blue eyes, three reasons to scream. They see how he is only alive because Abraham Denner didn’t know until later that he had someone who would step forward to take the worst of it so the others could survive.

Funny, how much more you know when you’re dead.

Ora rolls their head around, small cracks in their spine releasing tension that will build again, and again, and again. Their mouth waters. This place is full of life, and it is their way now to take it.

Nothing matters but blood.

The shadows move, as a woman heavy in her pregnancy walks past them - stops, and turns to look at the presence she just felt nearby - and sees nothing.

Nothing but the flicker of lights overhead, and a spot of red in a droplet of water on a white tile floor.

The woman shudders against instinctive unease and keeps walking, heading for the double-doors, for the storm that pounds rain into pavement, the dim headlights barely visible through a curtain of rain.

Ora can smell the woman’s blood, and knows in an instant that she is seven months pregnant, and her husband is here for a problem with his kidneys, and she will go home to three other children and cry, that the oldest child will hold her and they will tell each other it’ll be okay and neither one will believe it.

They know also that the husband will recover, and come home, and then the future is murkier, more uncertain. But Ora can see the happy day he sleeps in his own bed again.

They pause, and turn, watching the woman’s back as she walks.

They mouth the words, you’ll be okay, and the baby will be fine. He will come home to you. They make no sound, and yet something in the woman’s shoulders relaxes, and she opens her umbrella and steps out into the night with a new confidence that, however terrifying the moment, everything will be alright in the end.

They might be dead, but they can soothe the restless fear of life as easily as they can feed them. They don’t have to be wicked, they don’t have to be evil, they don’t-

They don’t have to be Ashley.

They will not kill like Ashley did, they will not take captives, they will not delight in torture and fear and they will not feed on screaming.

They don’t have to be Ashley.

That is all that matters.

Ora turns back to look ahead of themself, the soft neon lights of the food court on their right, conference rooms and offices on the left.

Ahead, the elevators.

A man waiting for the elevator is suddenly distracted by feeling like a gust of wind hit his back. He drops his coffee cup, spilling it all over the floor. Lights above him flicker as he drops to a crouch, cursing, pulling out napkins to wipe up the spill. While he’s distracted, the elevator doors open, water drops inside in a soft pitter-patter, and they close again.

He looks up in time to see a flash of glowing eyes and green hair, a torn and mud-stained tank top and shorts, spots dried reddish-brown that can’t be anything but blood. He sees a hint of mud-covered bare feet.

He stares, and Ora looks back at him.

He doesn’t matter.

“Look away,” They say in a croaking voice, cracked from disuse. “Look away.”

The man looks down and forgets about everything but his coffee and his sense that something is very, very wrong.

They press the button for the sixth floor and the elevator lurches into motion, shakily. Lights flicker and power drops and jumps back up around them. They don’t care.

Ryan is waiting.

The elevator doors slide open on the sixth floor and three people sitting in a small lobby look up to see an empty box, with a puddle of water on the floor. The doors slide shut again, and the elevator heads back to the first floor.

A bit of rainwater runs down Ora’s cheek like the tears they no longer cry.

Dead people don’t cry.

Nothing matters enough to be worth weeping over.

Ora thinks of Danny’s eyes in the bed, water gathering over the empty places, running down to pool in the shell of his ear and dampen his dirty unwashed hair. They think of Ryan sobbing next to his bed in the first days when a tube down Danny’s throat breathed so he didn’t have to breathe for himself. They think of Nathaniel Vandrum’s hand silently laid on his back as he leaned over, and the two men meeting in the middle, dropping as always their loathing of each other for their love for a man who has had to make the choice to live too many times.

A doctor walking past brushes against Ora’s shoulder and they shiver at the beat of her heart, her pulse, the hint of her blood they can taste in the air.

A nurse comes too close and Ora’s teeth are sharp, begging to bury in soft skin, pull out the life inside, and hand it over to the darkness that made them. Ora moves with the shadows, and the shadows bay for blood.

But this nurse has done nothing but try her best to save the lives of people who don’t know her, who she will never truly know, and Ora turns away.

They will not be Ashley Denner.

That is what matters.

They find the room without hurrying, taking each step slowly. The tile floor is cold, they know this, but they don’t feel it.

Ryan has life beating in his blood alongside the death. He is made of green hills and murder in the darkness. He is made of eyes open to delight in flowers and of eyes slowly closing from a wasting disease that can’t be explained.

Ora doesn’t have the life, anymore.

They wasted theirs, anyway.

All they are is death.

Is this a second chance? Could they start again? They haven’t thought about it. They walked to Tennessee - walked and rode in the back of trucks and cars, shredding the people who tried to hurt them thinking they were weak and leaving the kind ones unharmed, and drove until the car ran out of gas and then found another ride again - and then returned.

The cold silver-colored door handle turns easily under their hand, and when they step into the room Nate Vandrum is asleep on a sort of couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, the light of the machines in the room lining his face.

Lightning flashes through the closed blinds, and thunder rolls.

Ora is a creature made of rainy seasons, lurking in stagnant pools of water, waiting for their chance to slip underneath protective nets and clothes and glide around candles. They are a heavy death, a slow death, but-

They don’t have to cause death at all.

They will not.

Daniel Michaelson, laid out on the hospital bed, flickers his eyes open and turns to look at them. They see what he sees, eyes that glow in the darkness, a pounding hunger that must be satisfied.

“Mom,” He whispers, voice trembling, and Ora tilts their head, wet hair sticking to their cheekbones, mouth watering at the beat of his heart, the hint of his blood. “Mom, no, please-... God, no-”

“It’s alright, Dan. They’re not Mom,” Ryan says, standing in the open doorway to the small bathroom attached to this private hospital room. He’s just come from a shower and heat mists off his skin, his black curls hang over his forehead and stick to the nape of his neck. His eyes glow, a soft gleaming yellow in the shadows, match Ora’s hazel for strength and more. All their heartbeats led them back to him. “And that won’t happen to you again. I promise. I’ll never, ever let anyone take from you again.”

“Ryan-” Danny’s eyes are impossibly wide, as always, and the darkness deepens the scars on his face until they are canyons cut into a plateau, the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, the lines of glaciers tearing up earth and turning flatlands into valleys. His voice is weak, and Nate Vandrum stirs, on the couch, called close to waking by the fear in Danny. “Help me, please, Mom’s h-hungry-”

“It’s okay, Danny,” Ryan says, soft and loving. He moves to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, to tuck a bit of hair behind one ear. “Go back to sleep. They’re not here for you.” His eyes stay on Ora’s as he says, with a shiver of something running underneath him, utterly inhuman and his birthright and hidden from him for too many years, “Calm, if you are living.”

Danny’s eyes flutter shut, and his breathing settles, deep and even. A machine over his shoulder beeps slowly as he settles. Nate, on the couch, breathes out in a long slow sigh, and Ora watches his right hand, curled into a painful fist, relax.

“Can I do that?” They ask, hoarsely.

“No,” Ryan says, with a hint of warmth, watching his brother’s eyes move under his eyelids. “That’s from my father, not my mother.”

“Oh.”

Ryan looks back at Ora, relaxing now that his brother is soothed. “You walked a long way. Is she at rest?”

“Ashley? I ate her heart.” Their voice is flat, decayed, like the taste of Ashley’s black heart on their tongue.

“No… your girlfriend. From before.”

Ora looks down at their hands, the dirt pressed into the lines until it seems like they will never be clean. “I buried Penny like she deserved,” They say, voice low, twining around the sound of the machines. Only Ryan can hear them.

“Good. That’s the last thing they took from us, then, made right.” Ora moves closer to him, and he watches them move. They watch him swallow, the movement of his throat. “Are you hungry?”

He’s beautiful, always. He’s so beautiful, even at his worst. Even tied to Bram’s bed he was beautiful, even screaming for mercy he was beautiful, even now, a predator set free, he is so beautiful.

He tilts his head to the side, and Ora hitches in breath they don’t need at the way the thin light from the machines moves over his skin. The flutter of his pulse.

Their only heartbeat is his.

They want it.

“Yes,” They breathe. “I’m so hungry, Ryan.”

Ryan smiles at them, in the darkness, and reaches out. They take his hand and he pulls them close, sliding his other hand up into their hair, uncaring about it being wet, about the water that soaks him as well when he pulls them close. He pressed the back of their head to move them forward until their lips touch the heat of his neck. He’s so warm.

He’s so warm, and they’re so-

“If you’re hungry,” He whispers, “Then feed. I made you - I owe this, and more, for helping me save my brother.”

Ora buries their teeth in his throat and takes the blood like a sacrament. Blood, freely given and offered, blood that won’t kill, blood that won’t cause harm. Blood that won’t take a life and leave the grieving behind. Blood that won’t run from wrists or backs or legs.

Blood, given to them openly and with love.

They will not be Ashley Denner.

That’s all that matters.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary, @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes| @wildfaewhump

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

Text

The Way Back {Faramir x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3057 Summary: Love can be found in the unlikeliest of places, such as in a war-torn city after a win.

You took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out. It felt like you hadn’t had the time to breathe in days. It had been battle, after battle, after battle against Sauron and his forces, ending up in this, the grand battle outside of Gondor. But the enemy had finally been defeated, the last of the orcs crying back to Mordor. You removed your helmet and let your hair fly free in the breeze as the world seemed to catch it’s own breath back. There was still plenty to do, such as tend to the wounded, burn the bodies of the deceased, and begin plans to rebuild the city. There were many fallen on both sides, even though the battle had been won by yourself, and by Gondor. By Minas Tirith. You looked about you, savoring the moment of peace, before plunging yourself into even more work.

You regretted that you did not attend the last battle at Mordor, but you had a much more pressing issue of helping with Gondor. There was so much here that had to be done, and you put your faith in your three companions. Legolas, your younger brother, who looked so much like you with delicate elfin features, but was a killer with a bow. Gimli, the dwarf that you came to see as a friend and an annoyance in your life, almost like a grumpy old pet, but one who could swing an axe like it was no ones business. And Aragorn, your best friend, a fellow Ranger, who had returned from Mordor and would soon be crowned King. But for now, he left you to care for Eowyn, a woman that he had introduced you to, who had been hurt in the battle. As two female warriors, the two of you struck up a quick kinship. It had been you who had given her a horse to ride among the riders, before you went with your fellowship to hold the dead to their oaths. Your horse, one of the fastest in the world, and the envy of many of the riders, including her brother.

You sat with her in the healing wing, dabbing her forehead gently with a damp cloth.

“I’m barely moving enough to sweat, y/n, there’s no need for this,” She said, trying to wave you away with her injured hand. You shushed her, and put it back down to her side. She looked more fragile than you were used to seeing her. Before, you had seen it in her eyes that she was always ready for a fight, the inner beast in her wanting to come out and growl at the world. A true dragon in pretty colors.

“Would you rather me go and get one of the healers to do it for you? I feel they would not be as good company as I though...” You threatened, and she sighed and allowed you to go on with your blotting. You were not a healer, though you knew a couple of things. Like to constantly check your friend for fever, for the wounds that she had sustained were nasty. She may have stabbed the witch King in the face, but she paid the price for that.

“I don’t like feeling helpless like this. I want to help the healers - it is only a couple of wounds. But no, all they let me do is go for one walk a day among the garden, like I’m some sort of...”

“Woman?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Let us go on our walk then. Let them dare to stop us while we are together. They can try to bully one warrior, but two? I do not think them so foolish.” You took hold of Eowyn’s better hand, and helped her onto her feet. She was eager to be up, and there was a flounce to her step, almost girlish. Sometimes she lamented being a woman, but there was still some femininity to her.

Together you walked out of the healing wing, and out into the open air of Gondor. A lot had been ruined during the war, and was being rebuilt. There were footsoldiers still around, and were helping to guide the reconstruction process. Everyone was helping out - even children, who were spreading the mortar over the walls with their little hands. “Are you going to return to Rohan as soon as you are healed?” You asked Eowyn as you strolled arm in arm, avoiding the places where the most damage had been done.

“After Aragorn’s coronation,” She answered. “I see no sense in returning, just to turn around and come back in a couple of weeks. And with my brother constantly off with the Riders of Rohan, they are going to need a new leader.”

“I see,” You said, nodding. “I’m so sorry to hear about your Uncle, Eowyn. He was a great man, as as I’m sure you knew. And he taught you well, you’ll take his place fantastically.”

“What about you? I remember your father wanted you to return to Mirkwood-”

You shook your head vehemently. “I too will be staying until the coronation. Legolas may be returning but I’m not so quick to leave the scene of one of the greatest battles that Middle Earth has ever known. I’m reluctant to go back...”

“Why?”

“I’m his heir, and he is getting older. I know that he wants me to take up the throne, but I am not Queen material, Eowyn. I belong on the battlefield. That’s where I feel the most comfortable! Not among the rich dresses and the gossip of elfen society,” You opened up to Eowyn, knowing that her, above anyone else, would understand how you feel. “Legolas is better suited as King than I ever would be as Queen. Were it I were born second rather than first...”

“Either way, it would be nice to have someone who is more sympathetic to humans on the throne,” Eowyn said, coming to a halt. You looked at her confused. “There he is - that is Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor.”

You followed her eyeline to see a man, leaning over one of the walls, looking out at the wreckage of the grounds that had been the battlefield. His hair was to his shoulders, a messy light brown - it was a look that many of the human men wore. Aragorn. Boromir -

Of course! This had been the brother that Boromir had mentioned to you during the nights when you two had watch together. But with some more burns upon him than Boromir had ever seen. You had heard of what had happened to him. His own father had tried to kill him.

“Shall we introduce ourselves?” You asked. Eowyn, who was far from timid even while she was wearing a gown rather than armor, nodded her approval.

You approached him together, which did not seem to intimidate him, for he gave you a surprising smile when you reached him. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your thoughts,” You said, pleasantly.

“Not at all,” He inisisted. “I always have time for two of our heroes.”

You beamed down at Eowyn, seeing the little flush on her cheeks. It was amazing seeing her talent be recognized. You were about to praise her even more, just to see if she could go as red as a rose, when one of the healers came running up, interrupting the mood. “You should be resting Lady Eowyn!” She chided.

“But...” Eowyn started, but then gave in rather easily. “Excuse me. I hurt my hand while killing the Witch King. I hope you understand my quick departure.”

You couldn’t stop grinning at her little amount of bragging. She deserved that much. Faramir bowed his head respectfully as the healer took Eowyn away, who was still complaining that she was fine. “Did you receive an injury while doing something important like killing a Witch King?” He asked.

“I stubbed my toe while taking down an Oliphaunt,” You shrugged, making him grin. You realized while he was doing so that he was actually pretty handsome .. for a human. He had a softer face than both Aragorn and Boromir, the only two humans that you could claim had been your friends. Or still were, in Aragorn’s case. He wasn’t as bristly. And he had very kind eyes. The race of men really was starting to grown on you.

Your father had come to Aragorn’s coronation. You had not expected him to. He very rarely left Mirkwood. Not since the Battle of the Five Armies had he ventured anywhere near this far. But the King returning to his throne was a grand deal, so you supposed it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. You stood beside your brother in welcoming your dear friend to the throne, and had managed to position yourself in a way that let you look at the Steward. He stood with Eowyn, who had become as wonderful a friend to him as she had to you. A sister to the both of you, though she needed no more siblings - not with a gruff one like Eomer about.

“When are you going to tell father?” Legolas whispered after Aragorn had passed.

“Tell him what?” You hissed.

“About how you are in love with a human,” He said, smiling widely. You nudged him and he nearly fell into Gimli, but his elf-like reflexes stopped him from doing so. “He can’t take his eyes off of you. Is that why you dressed up today? It is so weird to see you in a gown.”

“Can you please be quiet and enjoy our friend’s special day?” You asked in Elvish. Legolas did quiet down but you kept sneaking peeks over at Faramir. The two of you had gotten rather close in the last couple of months. And you might even think that you had given your heart over to the man, though it was very painful to think about. You would continue to remain youthful for many, many years, barely gaining a wrinkle while this man would grow old, wither, die. Life was cruel that way. Unbelievably cruel.

You saw eyes looking at you behind Faramir, and caught your father’s stern gaze. Your eyes widened, and like a child caught doing something bad, you immediately looked anywhere but your father, pretending to be distracted by the leaves, or the sweet little hobbits.

After the ceremony was a lovely party, which Aragorn did not attend because he went straight into his duties. You could say a lot of things about Aragorn, but not that he wasn’t dedicated to his work. You walked through the party, surprising a great number of people by wearing an intricate Elven gown for the occasion. Most of these people had only seen you in your fighting garb, which looked a great deal like Legolas’s. In fact, on more than one occasion, you had been mistaken for one another. Definitely not on this day, though.

You wandered, before Faramir’s hand lightly brushed against your arm, pulling you into conversation. “You look...” He said, gazing at you up and down, trying to find the words. You decided rather than waste time, you would finish his sentence for him.

“-like a beautiful Elven lady?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Faramir said with a grin. He looked bashful, an expression that became him. He could be the most cold, hardened warrior, but around you, he seemed to be a bit more of a bashful mess. It was a very endearing trait. And it was something that brought the warmth right out of you.

“Yes, my daughter is a very beautiful Elven lady,” Your father’s familiar voice said from you behind you. Your eyes said ‘Uh-oh’ faster than your mouth could, and you turned to see him standing there. The blonde hair that the whole family had was gleaming brightly in the sun light. “I’m stealing her for a moment from you, Steward.”

“Of course,” Faramir said with a nod. He walked away with his hands behind his back, having recovered very well from his injuries. You watched as he walked towards Eowyn, and they struck up a friendly conversation. Your two favorite humans - and yet it gave you a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you did not like. You were wary of them being close. You were fond of both of them and you would not be surprised if they became overly fond of one another.

“Is that him?” Your father asked, following your line of sight. You stopped staring, and turned back towards him to give him the respect that he both deserved and demanded.

“Is that whom?” You questioned, your eyebrow arching upwards.

“The human that has stolen your heart?” Your father’s steely gaze cut through you like a knife. So he knew. You looked behind him for Legolas, and once you had caught his eye, you gave him a glare. “Do not blame your brother like you are some sort of child. He didn’t tell me a thing. It is entirely obvious.”

“Do you think that he knows?” You asked, swallowing any denial that you might have had bubbling.

“Since he is an inferior human, I would suppose not.” Your father said, chin held high. “I was going to ask you to come back with me. Take your place as the ruler of Mirkwood. There is a lot of work to be done.”

The happiness that you had felt for Aragorn, and then the slight giddiness that you had around Faramir had dissipated entirely. You were back to the way that the elves usually were. Hard-browed. No emotion showing.

“I’m sure that there is,” You said, not excited at all about the prospect of returning to your home. “And you are sure that you want me to be doing it?”

“As the oldest, it is your duty. Female or not,” Your father said. But he wasn’t catching your eye - he continued to glance over at Faramir. “You have caught his attention most ardently. He will not stop looking in your direction. It almost reminds me of your mother.”

Your heart started to beat in your chest, but your expression did not change. Still, there was a little bit of hope shining through. You tried to catch your father’s eye, but he kept looking away, which was unusual. Usually, he enjoyed looking right into the eyes of the person that he was talking to. It was a power play. And now you were the one who was trying to be the one in power.

“Is there any way that we can postpone it, father?” You asked, trying to make yourself taller so that he could not avoid looking at you. “Just for a few decades? Hardly any time at all - and all of that work will still be waiting for me.”

“A couple of decades? So you can come back after your human lover dies, and take out your grief in your work like I had?” Thranduil asked, tutting. You have never heard him tut before. But you also knew that he had a point. You remembered how he had thrown himself into his duties as King when your mother had died. He hadn’t given himself the proper time to grieve, and his leadership was lack for that. “We’d better give it a century or two. I might be able to finish my own tasks in time for that.”

“Surely - you’re joking? This is the first joke that you make and you decide for it to be this?” You questioned, unable to take your father seriously at this moment. His expression had not changed at all. In fact, now, it looked a little bit angry.

“I do not joke.” He said, glaring at you. “I am trying to give you the opportunity to love.”

You tried to search for any sign of deceit in his eyes, but could find none. He even looked a little ... flustered? Uncomfortable at the idea of talking about love with his daughter? Either way, you weren’t going to pass this opportunity up. You clasped your hands in front of yourself and gave him a bow which he then returned, before sweeping himself away to talk to Legolas, which was always much less about emotions.

You walked back over to Faramir and Eowyn, and put your hand on Faramir’s arm like he had to you just moments before. “May I speak with you for a moment?” You asked him, looking over at Eowyn. The blonde woman gave you a knowing smile, and walked off to speak with Merry, whom she had grown fond of over the war. The Steward of Gondor looked at you, still with that soft grin that you enjoyed looking at so much.

“What is it?” He asked, the grin faltering slightly. You’ve never asked him to talk privately before, and he wondered if something was wrong. But you took that away from him with your own lips, which you softly pressed against his once you were sure you had a little bit of privacy. “My lady?” He questioned, after returning it.

“It is unconventional, but it appears that I’ve fallen for you, Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

“You have?” He asked, bewildered, but then seemed to regain his senses rather quickly. “I thought you never would. I’ve already resigned myself to growing old by myself.”

“You don’t have to,” You said, taking hold of his rough and calloused hands, giving them a squeeze. “If you will have me, I’d like to be by your side as you grow into a handsome old man.”

“While you stay the same?” He asked, his voice going softer.

“Yes,” You said with a nod. There was no point in beating around the bush - he would grow old and you would stay exactly as you were. It would be quite some time before you started to look older than you already were.

“My beautiful wife,” Faramir said, leaning in for another kiss. You granted it happily.

#Faramir #Faramir x reader #Faramir oneshot #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #lotr #lotr oneshot #request

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klaineharmony · 3 years

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300x3

I wrote 556 words this morning of rough - very rough; I need references - historical notes about the chunk of writing from yesterday, and then turned around and wrote Sarah & Kath, in a scene that will come before Kath talks with David. That scene is under the cut - 799 words.

Sarah woke abruptly. Sun was pouring in the windows, and obviously she had slept far later than she would have done on a weekday - and for the first time all week her body felt rested - but something wasn’t right.

It was quiet, so it was still early enough that the rest of her family hadn’t stirred from their bedrooms.

She sat up, realizing as she did that the other half of the double bed was empty. Katherine was at the far end of the living room, looking out the window, sitting on the footstool. Sarah couldn’t see her face, but she could hear the occasional soft sniffle, and her heart gave a pang.

She got up, throwing a shawl over her shoulders and padding across the room on almost silent feet. She threw a glance at Les as she passed the loveseat; he was still sound asleep, and was thankfully unlikely to wake until someone actually shook him.

She approached Katherine and laid a careful hand on her shoulder. Katherine reached up and covered her fingers, clasping her hand around Sarah’s and holding tightly.

“Katherine, sweetheart,” Sarah murmured, leaning down and wrapping her other arm around Kath’s shoulders. “What on earth is wrong?”

Katherine sighed, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologized. “Or to cry. I didn’t sleep well again last night, and my thoughts are just in knots.”

“Dearest,” Sarah said in concern, pressing her cheek to Kath’s, “don’t ever apologize for crying. Talk to me. What has you so anxious and upset?”

Katherine took a long breath, still clinging to Sarah’s hand. “Do you remember, yesterday morning, when I said that I had been worrying? And the other night when - when I said that I wanted to talk to David about -”

Katherine didn’t finish the sentence, but Sarah did remember. “About waiting to have children?” she prompted gently.

“Yes,” Katherine said shakily. “And I do want to talk to him about it, but the truth is, Sarah, I’m - scared.”

“Oh, Kath. Why?” Sarah asked softly. She knelt on the floor beside the footstool, bringing one arm around Katherine’s waist and taking her hand with the other.

Kath made a sound that was half hiccup, half laugh, and she looked down at Sarah with a little shake of her head.

“What I have with David - what we have is so - precious to me,” she whispered. “You’ve grown up with family members who love you, Sarah. Who respect you. And I know I’ve said before that until you and David, and Jack and Denton, no one in my life ever treated me with that kind of consideration. I didn’t imagine, when I first met David, that he would become my best friend - I couldn’t have fathomed that we would get married. I suppose . . . I keep expecting to reach his limits, whatever those may be. And that’s not at all fair to him, I know,” she added hastily. “He’s never been anything other than wonderful to me. But I keep worrying that . . . at some point I will be too much, or not enough, not be what he needs or expects. I’m not what most men want in a wife.”

“But you’re what David wants,” Sarah said, reaching up and stroking her fingers through Kath’s hair. “Do you think your relationship isn’t just as precious to him? Kath, I have never seen my brother be so at ease with anyone outside our family, as he is with you. He is usually quiet, and awkward, and seems standoffish, because it takes him a long time to warm up to people. And with you there was none of that - from the moment the two of you met, you understood each other. I think it was partly because you didn’t want him to be anything else - you liked David for himself. Even with family, expectations can be hard, and David’s always tried to meet them. You allow him to just be. And he loves you because you are you - because you are different, and brilliant, and so good at your job, and want so badly to change things. He isn’t going to demand that you act like every other wife - he wouldn’t love you if you did.”

Kath smiled shakily. “But he is still my fiancé,” she whispered. “He’s still part of a community that will expect us to have children. He might still expect it. I - don’t want to disappoint him - but I’m not ready yet, Sarah, there’s so much more I want to do - and I don’t want this to be the thing that breaks us, when we’re only just beginning.”

Her face crumpled again, and she reached out helplessly for Sarah; Sarah stood and immediately pulled Katherine into her arms, holding her tightly.

#300x3 #Newsies #Newsies 1992 #Defend #Klaineharmony writes

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undercoverwizardfanfiction · 3 years

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Mud is Thicker Than Blood:

Sick Day

Summary: I said i’d put all the little shorts I have about the Mud Dogs and Donnie in one story, so here it is!

Gift for: @void-inked-pen birthday a while back. They are a amazing friend and a source of inspiration for me

Characters: Donatello, Loathsome Leonard, Mickey, Dastardly Danny, Myra, April O’Neil

Pairings: You’re in luck! all the pairings for this fic are just past this door [gestures to wall that has a badly painted door under it and the laundry basket above it that’s suppose to be some sort of trap]

“What is this supposed to be?”

Even though Len had been using as polite of a tone as possible, Danny still gives him a heated glare. He uses his spatula to scrape the blackened flat pastry off his frying pan and onto Len’s plate with the consistency of a dried brick. ”They’re called crespelle’s. My Dads used to make them for me and my siblings all the time.”

“Are they supposed to be…” Mickey pokes it with his flipper, “rocks?”

Danny lets out another angry huff. “I couldn’t remember the ingredients, alright??” he says, flipping another burnt disc onto a plate. Len uses his chopstick to poke at the burnt food. For someone who had known the sting of hunger many times and learned to not be picky, he finds himself wondering if he can sneak out back and compare the taste of the burnt disk to dirt.

The sounds of footsteps tells him the last member of their little family was coming down to join them. “Morning,” Danny calls. ”I got a nice big breakfast for my only grateful family member with taste!” Danny says as he starts stacking another plate.

Donnie is pulling on his hooded cardigan as he reaches the bottom step, eyeing the breakfast with a concerned eye. “Doooo I want to know?” he asks before looking to Len with a look that clearly says ‘remember how I never forget ‘best parents day’? you owe me’. It takes more than a little willpower to keep from laughing but manages to duck his head to hide his grin before turning to Danny.

“How about we spare my kid this time? He’ll never hit his height goals if he eats this.”

Danny unties his apron and stomps over and pours himself a cup of coffee all while grumbling about ‘uncultured swine.’ This time Len can't stop the snort that escapes him this time but when Donnie takes his spot at the table his smile falters as Donnie pours himself a cup of hot coffee. Leaning over the mug with a sigh, his normally dark jade complexion feels a shade lighter than usual and more than Len’s comfortable with. “You feeling ok?” he asks, moving his chair to Don’s side of the table. He puts an arm around Don's shoulders and without waiting for an answer he presses the back of his hand to Don’s cheek. The teen squirms at the contact but was unable to pull out of his grip.

“Dad, Dad, I'm fine I just didn’t sleep well. I had a bad dream again.”

“Why didn’t you come get me? You could have slept in my bed.”

“You got home late last night, I didn’t want to wake you,” Don says, still trying to twist his head away from Len’s hand.

“I’m the Dad here, Donnie. I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around.” But when he’s unable to find anything close to a fever he pulls away. He looks to Danny hoping he’d see something Len missed but the rat shrugs at him.

“Is it still ok to go tutor April today? Please? I’ve been cooped up here all winter.”

Len wants to say no, but sighs at the pleading look Donnie gives him. It had been a longer winter then usual, he didn’t blame his son for needing some space. He was no longer a five year old but he still had a hard time telling him no for no good reason. “Yeah, but if you start feeling sick you come home ok? Or ask Myra to help you home.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” As Donnie downs his last bit of coffee he stands back up. Len had turned to poke at his breakfast again when he feels Don's arms wrap around his collar bone and rest his cheek on Len’s head. “I love you Dad. Thanks for being obnoxious and worried.”

“Aw. Love you too, silly gecko.” Len pats his arm in reciprocated affection. Donnie grabs his shoulder back and hurries out the front door. “Have fun!” Len calls after him. Only then did he look back to Danny. “He looked pale right?”

“Yeah but honestly it could have been the breakfast,” Mickey says, picking up a disc, “I even felt sick when I saw it.”

“First of all screw you,” Danny points at Mickey with his spatula, “Second of all, if he’s not feeling well he’ll come home. And third of all, next time you all can make your own crespelles.” Danny drops his last disk onto a plate when the shattering of ceramic fills the air. The three thieves blink at each other for a sec before Danny raises up the food slowly to show the plate underneath had been cracked in half from the sheer force of the crepe. With a defeated sigh, Danny drops his spatula. “Ok whose all for throwing these at trees and seeing if they shatter??”

Len and Mickey both raise their hands with a grin.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“Donnie?”

Despite the softness of April’s voice Don jumps so hard his elbow hits the stack of April’s school books. It’s only by his reflexes that they don’t join the rest of April’s dirty clothes on the floor. It takes him a few moments to regather his scattered thoughts before looking to April. ”Did you say something?”

“Yeah, your name, like five times.” His oldest friend peers at him from over her glasses. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

Donnie would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t painfully aware of the migraine that would return if he did. Unfortunately, it had been haunting him ever since he woke up that morning. “For the last time yes. Uncle Danny made breakfast and it's just hurting my stomach. Now, the compound would be 23.6% more effective if you set the witch fire to exactly 129 degrees cinder.” He scribbles on the paper for a few moments before sliding it over to her. April casts him a suspicious look before looking over the paper again.

“If you ever convince your Dad to let you go to school, my Alchemy teacher would cry tears of joy. Again.” She pauses “They cry a lot.”

Don tries to smile but his aching head only allows him a half grin. As April starts adding his notes to hers he reaches for his yunomi of tea, not thirsty so much as needing the warmth for a subtle cold that clings to his skin.

There’s the sound of a door opening downstairs followed by the sound of a woman shrieking and dozens of items hitting the ground. ”A-April dear!!! I could use some help!” calls the unmistakable voice of the Mayor of witch town.

April was already out of her seat. “Coming Mom!” she calls hurrying for the door. “Don’t do my homework Dee!” she calls behind him.

“I would never!” Donnie says [even though he had already been reaching for her note book]. A few years ago he had the brilliant business idea, in lieu of being able to go to school himself, to do students' homework for them for a small [not so small] fee.

Of course before he could even launch his venture his Dad had found out and outright forbade it.

This time he’s unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The effect is instantaneous as the lights in the room become painfully saturated. He tries to cover his eyes but his world is already spinning.

It’s the last thing he feels before he blacks out

(#)#(#)

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed,” Len says in a tone that can only come from nine years of parenting experience. It does its job on Mickey who’s shoulders bunch up to the sides of his head, and even though Danny is trying to pull off ‘I don’t know how you think you can guilt trip me’ by leaning back in his seat. But it's hard to look innocent when the two of them are covered in mud.

“IT WAS DANNY’S FAULT!!” Mickey shrieks pointing at the rat. “After we knocked over a tree with one of his crepy things he told me that he knew alchemy that would make mud into chocolate and-and-“

Danny’s ‘calm bad boy’ dis option went out the window (which was also broken because of a wayward flying crepelle). “Who the hell raised you to be a snitch?!” the rat hisses.

“You did!! I learned it from watching you!”

The rat opens his mouth to argue before thinking. “Ok fine but I always taught you to get paid first.”

Len slaps a hand down his face. Normally he and Danny have reversed roles but he should have recognized that wild look in the rats eyes when Mickey was using one of the leftover crepelles as a tool sharpener. But Len, forgetting they were not in fact grown men but children pretending to be adults, had left them to their own devices.

There is a knocking on the door that makes Len sigh again. ”I have a fourteen year old and he has more common sense than you two.” He says in a way that is probably supposed to make them feel ashamed, but Mickey snorts loudly with his flippers over his mouth.

He opens the door to a flash of light that forces him to cover his eyes for a moment before his eyes adjust to the familiar form of the mayor of Witch Town. “Myrah?” He rubs at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to come get Doniel, he has a fever and passed out while tutoring April.”

Len felt as though a cold chill had passed through his body, it was the only reason he hesitated. “Y-yeah just give me a sec.” He ducks back into the house, where Danny is already waiting.

”Len what’s-“

“Donnie passed out, I need you to come with me,” already the air of lighthearted teasing and jabs went out the window. Len is back down the stairs with a quilt from Donnie’s bed as Danny is grabbing his coat and tossing Len his. He almost feels bad for Mickey who can only watch on as the two exit. Myra waves her wand, the bright light from earlier returns, creating a portal in front of them. Len barely waits for the portal to form before stepping through. A moment later he is standing in the familiar oversized living room. He had been to the witch family house many times and each time was always surprised how disproportionate all the furniture was, (which made sense considering how tall Amaranth was).

The child in question was lying on the bright pink sofa under a thick blanket. There was a washcloth hovering over his head, every few seconds wiping at his brow. April looks at them when they enter with panic in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened Lenny, I went to help mom with groceries and-and when I came back-“

“Its ok April, it's not your fault.” Len takes her place by Donnie. His son's brow is furrowed underneath a layer of perspiration. Even though he already knows the answer, he presses the back of his hand on Don’s brow. His already racing heart is now beating so fast it almost hurts in his chest. He replaces the blanket Myra had given him with the one he had brought, wrapping him up in it before scooping him up into his arms.

“I’m sorry Len, if Amaranth had been here she could help but...” her fingers tap together anxiously as she watches the child in his arms. Len was always touched by how much Myra and Amaranth cared for Donnie. He never felt the need to have a partner (though he and Donnie both made enough ‘mom’ jokes about Danny to last a lifetime) it warmed his heart to know someone outside his family loved Donnie almost as much as he did.

“I know, thank you.” He moves past the mayor to where the portal was and in another flash he's back in front of his house where Danny is waiting. The rat reaches out and takes him around the shoulders and herds him inside. “He’s burning up Danny, I-I don’t know what happened, I felt his forehead his morning and he was fine, you saw me do it.”

“I know, I know.” Even though Danny claimed that he didn’t remember any of his medical training he’s already looking over Donnie. Trained eyes looking for anything that could tell him what was wrong. After a few moments Danny says to Len, “Get him into bed I’ll be there in a sec-“

“Ah-shouldn’t we put in him some ice?”

“No, the last time we tried that he almost went into shock before I stepped in. He’s a turtle, he can’t handle it.”

“I-I know.” Len unconsciously cradles Donnie closer to his chest protectively. He could still remember the terror of the time when Donnie got the Fall Flu and had a fever that burned his hand. They had gotten so desolate they had put him in a tub of ice to combat it. They had thought it was working until Don had fallen into a deathlike stillness. It was only then Danny had realized Donnie was going into shock and pulled him out so quickly they had knocked over their makeshift tub.

Now Len couldn’t tell if the shivers he was feeling were from Donnie’s sleeping form or from his own fear. Not until Danny put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look into his eyes. “Can you get him to bed please? I’m going to mix together some medicine that Amaranth taught me and I’ll be right there, ok?”

Len nods “Ok, ok.” He lowers his cheek onto Don’s scalp as he carries him upstairs. It's only when the parent and child are out of sight does Danny let out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his scalp under his hat and forcing himself to calm down. He had never realized how much he depended on Len keeping a calm head. He hadn’t realized just how much he depended on that til they brought Donnie in. During missions Len had an eerie calm about him that he thrived off of. But it was moments when anything threatened the health or happiness of his child that threw Len in the deep end and forced Danny to step in.

“Mickey,” he says without looking behind him, knowing the poor eel was fluttering around not knowing what to do. “Will you please go upstairs and keep Len calm? Help him how you can til I get there.”

“Y-yeah ok.” The eel hurried to do as he was told. In that moment Danny allowed himself one more sigh before reaching under the cabinet and pulling up an old beaten box, filled with herbs and remedies he had swiped from houses over the years. He pulls out a notebook he had filled with some of Amaranth's recipients and pulls out a mortar bowl and pestle. Picking through a few jars of tiny shards and grinding them together before taking out an empty incense holder and pouring it inside. He made sure to secure the lid and take up the glass bottle under his arm before hurrying up the stairs.

A part of him had been scared that Len’s own fears would drive him to ignore his warning about the ice, but he entered Don's room just as Len was pulling a blanket over him. “Good job.” Danny moves past him to kneel by the bed, turning and handing the incense to Mickey. “Can you light this please? It’ll help clear the bacteria out of his lungs.” As he was twisting open the glass bottle he heard Mickey spark behind him before the smell of lavender filled the air (he ignored Mickey gagging behind him). He tips the tip of the bottle to test how much liquid was inside. Luckily, they still had enough for Donnie (he’d have to steal more later). He dabs his thumb with the light pink liquid before running it across Don’s burning forehead. ”There.”

“Is he ok?”

Danny had to commend Len on not asking him a million questions. He reaches back and pats his old friend on the knee. “The Willow Extract should help take his fever down, but if It doesn’t help in a few hours we’ll go to witch town.” He doesn’t get a response, but when he turns to look at him, he sees Len staring at his son. His dark eyes full of concern and fear that only a father could have. Danny stands up and steps back. “Len why don’t you sit with him for a bit, and I’ll make you some tea.” He makes eye contact with Mickey and jerks his head towards the door. After taking a moment to pat Len on the shoulder he follows him out the door.

Len finally lets his face drop into his hands with a shaky breath before the sound of a weak cough reaches him. When he looks up again he was filled with relief to be looking into Donnie’s feverish dark pink eyes. “Hey,” says a weak voice.

“Hey baby boy,” Len sits up on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tried to kill me with one of Uncle Danny’s devil pancakes.” He barely has enough wind to finish his sentence before he has to gasp for air. “Will you sit with me please?”

Len can't help but smile, holding the side of Don’s face with his hand for a moment before climbing over him and laying on his other side. Don turns his head and tucks his head underneath Lens chin. “I’m s’rry,” Don mumbles, “I-I didn’t know I was sick.”

“I know you didn’t, you’re not a good liar remember?” Len lowers his cheek onto his scalp. “You get that from your Uncle Mickey.”

“And you?”

“Nah, I’m a great liar,” he smirks down at Donnie, “I’m not going to teach you how to lie though until you turn eighteen,” he pauses, “Hundred.”

Donnie lets out a laugh that sounds more like a raspy balloon, but Len can tell he’s trying not to fall asleep again. He rubs Don’s arm over his blanket. “Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” The teen gives a nod of acknowledgement before rolling towards him. A few moments later he's fast asleep again, breathing easier than he had been a few minutes ago.

#rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #donnie #rottmnt fantasy au #fantasy au #family #loathsome leonard #malicious mickey #dastardly danny #len dad #mud is thicker then blood #sick #compilations #father and son

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