#can i not just rebuild it on the small off-chance i actually return to that series? i already have the title playlist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

muiromem · 3 months

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Just... repeatedly rotating An Idea around in my head

(and yes it's still Tom/Harry/B'Elanna OT3 because I'm obsessed with them, but I also love Janeway's and Tom's weird friendship)

Basically, something Big and Insane and Sci-Fi happens, and somehow all of the known universe in time/space is just sort of.... gone. Or dying, or being destroyed. Stars are going out, everything is vanishing out of existence. Planets, galaxies, creatures and anomalies and time/space itself - all completely gone.

Of course, Voyager is in the eye of the storm (so to speak) of this catastrophe that happened around them, and therefore one of the few things that remains for now (much like Kirk and the crew still existed after McCoy accidentally changed the timeline in "The City on the Edge of Forever"). Obviously, they're trying to stop it - to fix whatever this catastrophe was that could unmake all of existence.

With the wonders of Science-Fiction, there is a theoretical way to fix things; a jump-start essentially, to reset everything to what it was before this catastrophe and repair the wound it created. But even with this theoretical plan, there's something missing: a blueprint, of sorts. If they set off this insane spatial-temporal reaction, everything would be reset, but there's no telling what state the universe would actually be in after it was done. It would be like setting off a Genesis device on a war-destroyed Earth and hoping it would magically return everything and everyone to how they once were. There was nothing to guide this theoretical process of rebirth - and literally everything was at stake.

Even the great minds of Tuvok, Seven, B'Elanna and everyone else are at a loss for what to do. Unless they had someone like Q, omnipotent as he was, how could they feed something into this reaction of theirs to tell it what to do? How could they ever have enough information to rebuild all of existence from scratch?

It's Tom, of all people, who comes up with the answer: let him go.

At first everyone just sort of looks at him like he's insane because, what? What could he possibly be talking about? But even though he can't really remember, Tom still has a theory: the Warp 10 flight.

For a brief time, he was literally everywhere in time and space, all at once. Existing throughout all of existence simultaneously. Could his body, his unconscious mind, have somehow remembered that time? Could it have imprinted something onto him? Perhaps his very cells? He figures if there was a chance, even a small one, that his theory was correct - they had to take it. Because if he was right, then technically he was a living, breathing blue-print of all the known and unknown universe... and their only chance at saving everything.

That's when the riot starts, a great uproar of arguments. Facts and theoretical probabilities from Seven and Tuvok, horror and concern from Harry, even more from B'Elanna and the Doctor. They're startled, angry, because even if that were true the process would almost certainly kill him. And then there's Janeway, putting a stop to all the noise with a hand and saying that if there was a chance this theory would work, if the Doctor or someone could find even a speck of evidence to support it, then she would do it. Because even if everyone else forgot, she'd passed the transwarp threshold too.

Tom tries to argue, Chakotay and the Doctor too, but Janeway insists. She sends Tom to be looked over by everyone for proof of his concept, but says that if the time comes, she'll be the one to do it. As Captain, it's her job to keep everyone safe, no matter what. No one can argue, but no one is happy. Even this one chance at survival feels like it will come at too great a cost.

Time passes, with everyone rushing to do what they can before Voyager is also consumed by the nothingness. But eventually the verdict comes - Tom's idea has merit. His very atoms are somehow encoded with cross-temporal chronotrons and other signs that the theory may work. Once he knows what to look for, the Doctor scans Janeway and sees that she has these markers too, though hers are... fainter, for lack of a better term. She theorizes that it's because she only went through the Warp 10 process once, while Tom did it twice. The Doctor admits that there is a possibility Tom's the better candidate for this mission, only because he has a stronger "imprint" so to speak. Janeway still insists, refusing to send one of her officers to die in her place.

When everyone finally gets this complex and theoretical "reset" device figured out and constructed in one of the cargo bays, Tom begs to come with Janeway. He says that after everything she's done for him, he wants to see her off one last time. She relents, and once B'Elanna has started the reaction up from the safety of Engineering, shining beyond the doors like an imploding star, the two make their way there.

The entire deck has been cordoned off to keep chroniton and other radiations from killing the crew before they can set this whole thing in motion. It's just the two of them there. Tom takes a moment - as the doors open and they're both hit with a wave of heat, energy, and the unknown - and he thanks Janeway properly. For giving him a second chance, for believing in him, and for everything that followed after; like meeting Harry and B'Elanna, and finding a home aboard Voyager. Then he says "get them home" and before Janeway can realize what's happening, briefly thrown by his intense sincerity, he's shoving her aside - hitting the mechanism to shut the cargo bay doors. Inside, Tom grabs some tool and smashes the console so the door won't open without a manual override. That would probably buy him enough time.

Inside the cargo bay, it's like being trapped with the birth of a star; plasma, light, and colors all swirling in strings and shapes and a great sphere of something. There's no special switch for Tom to flip, no complicated sequence he has to follow. The best Voyager's brightest minds could figure out was for him to simply... walk into the singularity and hope for the best. He thinks of his family on Voyager, he thinks of his father and so many things unsaid, he thinks of B'Elanna and Harry and hopes that they'll still take care of each other when he's gone. And to keep them safe, to preserve everything that ever was or ever would be.... he walks into the fires of rebirth.

Outside the cargo bay, Janeway is screaming - trying to get in, to override the doors. She gets them open, only in time to see a tall silhouette disappearing - almost disassembled before her eyes, like dust being scattered away on the wind. Then there's just light - so bright it feels like it somehow pierces through her skin and bones and the very atoms of her being. Then.......

She wakes up. There's no telling how long it's been; all Janeway knows is that she's on the cargo bay floor, ears still faintly ringing, and Chakotay is gently helping her sit up. All around her it's... quiet. The cargo bay looks untouched - no crumpled bulkheads, no scorch marks, nothing. Even the vast, cobbled together machinery for the reset is simple gone. Once her head finally clears, Chakotay asks if she's alright, if her plan worked - but Harry's comm. from the bridge interrupts the question. Excitedly, Harry announces with great relief that the nothingness, the catastrophe, seems to be gone. His scans, Voyager's databanks - everything seems to be showing up normal. As far as they can tell, the universe was back to how it should be.

Back, except for one thing: Tom Paris.

As far as Janeway can see, Tom isn't in the cargo bay. She asks the computer to locate him; the reply is that Lieutenant Paris is no longer aboard. This is announced just as B'Elanna is running in through the cargo bay door, no doubt to see the result of all her hard work. She comes to a halt, looking at Janeway - staring because she wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to... After only a fraction of a moment, the computer's announcement finally registers and suddenly B'Elanna is running at Janeway with fists flying, screaming about how could she let him do this? Where is he, dammit, where the hell is Tom?!

She gets a few good hits to Janeway's chest and shoulders before Chakotay holds her back, and Janeway just lets her do it. Because this is her fault - she should have known Tom would try to pull that stunt with the doors, should never have let him come to see her off. She barely registers that B'Elanna's fury soon devolves into angry, choked back tears which Chakotay tries to soothe. When Harry arrives soon after and sees her expression, probably sees Janeway's too, it's all too easy for him to put two and two together. He and B'Elanna end up clinging to each other in their grief. Though Chakotay comes to Janeway to try and comfort her too, to reassure her that she's not responsible, all she can do is look at the cargo bay and see the silhouette where Tom last was - lost now to the ether of the universe.

The next few days are... hard. Harry might as well have aged a decade, and instead of the righteous fury that Janeway had expected, B'Elanna's just gone quiet. When Janeway stops by Sickbay, even the Doctor has become subdued, staring wistfully into the distance at nothing when he'd normally be working on some experiment or other. She still asks him, and Seven, and anyone who might be of use, if there was anything that could be done. But as far as anyone can tell, Tom Paris is gone - he'd sacrificed himself to save everyone else.

But Janeway feels like something is still wrong, like Tom's ghost is... haunting her somehow. It's a figure of speech when she admits it to a concerned Chakotay, but one night, she startles awake from a dreamless sleep, and there he is - standing in her quarters. Tom looks confused, exhausted, and he's... well she can see right through him. He looks at her, seemingly just as startled as she is, and she swears she hears him whisper "Captain?" But then suddenly he's convulsing, curling in on himself with a cry of pain and Janeway is horrified as she watches him.... unmade. It's like he's nowhere and everywhere, born and dying, unraveled but stitched together all at the same time until he's once again vanished into nothingness.

Janeway's heart is racing and she doesn't understand what she just witnessed. A dream? Hallucination? Some alien interference? She goes to the Doctor at 0400 and demands he scan her for a virus, temporal misalignment, anything. She's terrified that this was nothing more than the aftermath of radiation from being so near their "universal reset" as it went off. But there's also a tiny sliver of the smallest, most fragile hope, that this is something else - that there's a chance Tom isn't really.

The Doctor does find something, a strange resonance of sorts, connected - or perhaps coming from - Janeway. He theorizes that it's an effect of being so close to the singularity during the reset. As far as he can tell, she's not suffering from radiation damage, but believes that her guilt over Tom must have caused the hallucination. He offers to devise a treatment, and Janeway begrudgingly agrees. For him to say that what she'd seen was a hallucination though... it felt wrong somehow.

For the next few days, she hardly sleeps, too busy pouring over anything she can find - old Federation logs, complex theories, and all the research and schematics for the device they'd created. All in the slim hope to understand what had actually happened to Tom. Was he simply dead? He couldn't have been wiped from existence or surely, no one would have even known he'd existed. But had he been scattered throughout existence itself, a fundamental building block of the universe now? Seven helps her eventually, though it takes a good deal of persuasion. Chakotay and even Tuvok (though he'd never admit it) become increasingly concerned that she's grasping at straws, just trying to absolve herself of the guilt she feels because Tom took her place - but she knows it's more than that.

And eventually, she's proven right. The so-called hallucination happens again - but this time she's not the only one there. Seven and the Doctor were working with her on some experimental simulations on the holodeck when there's suddenly a terrible noise; something between electro-static and the wails of a dying creature. The holo-grid starts sparking, a console blowing out completely, until suddenly they all watch Tom Paris form out of nothingness before them. Whatever process was involved in his... reassembly, is obviously painful. Just watching the strange tangle of unidentifiable mass contort itself until it could become Tom was sickening. And when he finally takes form, still only semi-opaque, he collapses to his knees, shaking.

Janeway runs to him immediately, unsure what to do but calling his name. Here's there, he's there - it wasn't just in her head. The Doctor and Seven follow shortly, taking tricorder scans in shocked fascination. They ask questions, trying to understand what happened, but Tom doesn't know any more than they do. He says it's like he's everywhere but nowhere - and yet something keeps pulling him back into reality, back onto Voyager. He thought he would die, had come to terms with it, and yet he's still coming back. Even if he'd been completely tangible he looks awful, like he's dying every minute he's there. Janeway tries to reassure him that they'll find him, that they won't just give up, and that manages to make Tom smile. He says knows she won't give up on him - but as he starts to shift out of phase again, face clenched with pain, he asks her to promise him something. Janeway doesn't want to, knows she won't like what he has to say, but she nods anyways. "If you have to - let me go," is what he pleads. "Don't risk Voyager or anyone else for me. Just promise me that."

Janeway can't even form a reply, doesn't know how to let go, how to admit defeat. She's never given up on a crewman before, how could she possibly now? Out of habit she reaches out to touch Tom's shoulder - and even as he's fritzing, starting to disintegrate before her very eyes, she is surprised to make contact. The sounds of tricorders going haywire are behind her, but all Janeway can focus on is the fact that despite Tom literally unraveling in her hands, for a moment, just one moment, she could feel him. Then he's gone.

Everything is different this time - there was proof now, witnesses. B'Elanna and Harry are no longer withdrawn, instead racing full-steam ahead to do anything they can to help. They ask her about Tom of course, about how he's looking, and whether or not she thinks that they can save him. Janeway doesn't know what to say, how to tell them that Tom's clearly in pain and that she has no idea what even happened, let alone how to fix it....

Unfortunately, she doesn't have to. During some experimentation, Tom reappears again - much more violently this time, just when Harry and B'Elanna are present. The very air around them seems to crackle with energy, the temperature changing from too hot, then too cold, and back again. The atmospheric readings are going haywire and when Tom reappears, somehow less corporeal than before, he crumples to the ground in a heap. Harry is openly crying as they run to him, begging him to open his eyes - but when he and B'Elanna try to touch Tom, somehow their hands go right through.

Janeway is completely flummoxed. She'd touched Tom before, she knows she did. But it seemed he was becoming less and less stable each time he returned to a corporeal form - perhaps that explained the change? As the Doctor and Seven are once again running complex scans, Janeway goes to Tom's side and slowly reaches out a hand. As it lands on his shoulder, as Tom tries to sit up, she does make contact. The tricorders instantly go haywire, and Harry and B'Elanna wonder in despair - Why now? Why her? Why can't they touch him? But all Janeway can think is that this is progress. It must mean something, especially since Tom he seems to regain consciousness as she maintains contact, becoming a bit less transparent - a bit more real. When Tom sees Harry and B'Elanna this time, his eyes begin to water too - and Janeway wonders how tears could form in whatever state of flux Tom has become entwined with. But when she removes her hand to give them some space, to ask Tom if he's alright, he starts to fade once more.

This time Tom tries to reach out, to touch Harry and B'Elanna - but is just as unable to make real contact. Instead he tells them he loves them, begs them to take care of each other, to let him go - and it's painful to watch as he's once again gripped by whatever agony has been tearing him into reality and back. Hoping it might do something, Janeway grabs Tom's hand and this time she makes a promise she's going to keep: to bring him home dammit, no matter how long it takes. Just her hold on him seems to stabilize him a bit, taking the floating sands of his dissolving form and pulling them together for just a moment longer... but then the temperature goes haywire, energy crackles around them and Tom is gone once more. With him goes every sound as even the beeping of tricorder scans finally cease. In the silence, Janeway can barely seem to breathe and knows that Harry and B'Elanna must feel infinitely worse. Even more terrifying, each time Tom appears, he seems to be getting weaker, losing whatever cohesion he's managed to retain. She has no real basis to understand anything that's been happening, but Janeway has the sinking feeling that if they don't do something soon, Tom will be lost to them for good.

But then the Doctor clears his throat and holds up his tricorder, and suddenly hope floods back. "I believe I know what's happening to Mister Paris," he says, with not an ounce of boastfulness for once. Instead, the Doctor is as grim-faced as the rest of them, but holographic eyes no longer seem so empty. "And I think there's a chance we can fix it."

The process is... complex. Even for a mind as scientifically adept as Janeway's. The only important part is that Janeway wasn't just imagining that there was something connecting her to Tom. In reality, it was the other way around. Tom wasn't just being pulled back to Voyager - he was specifically being pulled back to her. It was all down to the the second transwarp flight, which they'd taken together. Crossing the barrier had created a sort of tether between them - a connection point across the vastness of reality. When Tom had entered the singularity to "reset" all of existence, in a manner of speaking his very existence was used to rebuild what had been lost. The price for this was Tom himself - every atom and molecule destroyed like the fuel necessary to keep a fire burning. But Tom and Janeway had gone to Warp 10 once together - existing everywhere in time and space at the same time. Because of that, a part of Tom still existed in Janeway, safe from the "reset" aboard Voyager within the eye of the storm. Janeway had unknowingly become a sort of temporal anchor, pulling Tom back into existence where he belonged.

At the moment though, he was trapped - pulled between reality and the strange purgatory of nonexistence. But with the magic of incredibly complex Science-Fiction and Technobabble, the crew essentially find a way to use Janeway's own Warp 10 resonance as both a magnet and a waypoint - to pull Tom back, and then reintegrate him into their time and space with the help of B'Elanna's ingenuity and a lot of Borg-enhanced technology. Harry describes is as being "like a temporal transporter" and that's already enough to give Janeway a headache, so she doesn't try to ask for details. The main idea boils down to grabbing onto what's left of Tom's "pattern" of existence, which has been imprinted onto Janeway, and using their newly constructed technology to "rematerialize" him back into reality.

Once they've found the method a jurry-rigged some machinery, the Doctor is standing by, both for Tom and for Janeway should anything happen. The others are farther off, manning the various machines while Chakotay and Tuvok have evacuated various decks in case of any explosions. The risks are immense, and this time Janeway had actually assembled the crew - asking them if they thought it was worth it. They'd potentially be putting the ship and everyone onboard it in danger, in a last-ditch attempt to bring one lost crewman home. It had warmed her heart when not a single person balked at the danger; Tom Paris saved them, their homes, their families and futures. Why shouldn't they try to save him too?

When the process happens, Janeway feels a sense of déjà vu; the light, the swirling mass of indecipherable colors and shapes and feelings, all cascading before her. This time she's strapped up with various bits of technology, hoping against hope to become the lighthouse that guide's Tom's way. In the very same cargo bay, bulkheads rattle and crumple this time, machines start screaming their warnings, and Janeway can feel the heat and pain and dizziness as radiation tries to eat away at her. But she can't stop yet, she won't stop. Even as the Doctor is yelling that the radiation levels are reaching critical, even as she hears Harry calling out that there's a new singularity opening and it's becoming completely unstable, Janeway sees it - a silhouette. It's only just forming, scattering in and out like a dance of lightning and sand, but it's there.

This time she won't be thrown through a cargo bay door and left to rebuild in the aftermath. This time she listens to her gut, and runs forward. She'd been the only one able to hold onto to Tom before because of whatever this bio-temporal tether was that had connected them - she sure as hell wasn't going to let him go now.

So she runs and sees an outstretched hand, breaking and reforming and scattering like light through a prism, everywhere and nowhere all at once. She ignores the pain and the feeling like she herself might be consumed by the fires of the unknown.

Kathryn Janeway takes a leap of faith, she grabs that outstretched hand, and for the sake of every person on her ship, she pulls.

Watching from afar, all the others see is a gigantic explosion of light and colors and sound. The cargo bay had been nearly cleared out before this process, but every piece of newly-made machinery has been completely destroyed. Bits and pieces scatter the floor, bulkheads have been wrenched open, sparks are flying, and Harry and B'Elanna find their ears ringing as they choke on smoke. They'd erected a level 10 forcefield for protection before starting the procedure, but in the aftermath it's been completely torn away. Even as the environmental controls kick in and start clearing out the haze, they look up from where they'd been thrown to see a massive scorch mark, spread out like a starburst across the cargo bay deck.

At it's center, they see.... something. Dizzy, confused, and still trying to see through ash and debris, initially they can't make it out. Even the Doctor is nowhere to be found, his emitter lying on the floor. It's fritzing but, after a brief inspection, seems repairable. Whatever happened must have shorted out many different systems, as Harry's attempt to use his combadge goes unanswered. He and B'Elanna make their way instead towards the center of the scorched cargo bay floor and behold... Captain Janeway.

She's covered in ash, with burns on her skin and uniform, and as they watch she kneels to the floor. There's something in her hands and after a moment it becomes clear; she's draping an emergency blanket over a long, familiar form. One with a head of messy, tawny blonde hair.

Harry and B'Elanna are running then, falling to their knees as they reach Janeway's side and behold Tom Paris - naked save for the blanket Janeway has brought to preserve his modesty. He's overly pale and clearly unconscious, but he's there, he's alive.

Harry cradles Tom to his chest, rocking him gently and bawling like a baby. B'Elanna runs her hand over Tom's hair, his face, his bare shoulders - anything she can seem to reach. They don't even know if he's fine really, but at least he's breathing. They didn't blow up the ship and they didn't have to lose him. Janeway looks exhausted and it's obvious her burns are painful, but she just stars at her three crewman, clutching onto each other with such love, and she smiles.

It feels like she sits there for an eternity, just watching them, basking in their reunion and the knowledge that they did it. In reality, it must only be a few minutes before the cargo bay doors are being forced open and Chakotay, Tuvok, and Neelix come through, bringing medical supplies and asking if everyone is alright.

By then, Harry is finally wiping his eyes and asking B'Elanna if she can get the Doctor back online because they're probably going to need him. For once, she looks reluctant to work, clearly wanting to stay there with him and Tom. In the end she agrees, but not before pressing a kiss to Harry's knuckles and Tom's forehead before taking the holo-emitter and leaving.

Afterwards it's all a long process of scanning, repairing, and treating everyone's wounds. Janeway tries to shoo Chakotay away once they bring her to sickbay, far too worried about Tom's condition, but he pulls out the big guns. Chakotay knows that she can't say no to Neelix when he gives her those big concerned eyes and tells her that "the crew needs their Captain to be taken care of too". So she ends up lying on a bio-bed for half an hour while the Talaxian carefully treats her burns and radiation poisoning as best he can. Unsurprisingly, B'Elanna gets the Doctor's program and holo-emitter working in record-breaking time, and they're all relieved when he checks over Tom and the prognosis is good; Tom's exhausted, dehydrated, and a bit worse for wear, but he'll be fully recovered in no time. Whatever madness they'd pulled of had worked.

Eventually, he wakes up, still very weak but every bit the Tom Paris they know and love. When he sees how distressed both Harry and B'Elanna are, he even jokes that they put an awful lot of effort in "just for him". B'Elanna looks like she wants to punch him for it, but instead throws her arms around him in a hug, and the three of them share a teary, heartfelt reunion. When the lovebirds have to split off so everyone can get some rest, and once the Doctor has given her a clean bill of health, Janeway goes over to Tom's biobed to see how he's doing.

He's obviously tired but he smiles up at her. However, the first thing she tells him is that she should court-martial him and throw him in the brig for the stunt he pulled in the cargo bay by taking her place. For a moment, Tom nearly believes her. But then Janeway smiles back and pats his hand with hers and says that he may be a reckless idiot, but she's proud to say he's one of her bravest officers. She also sincerely thanks him for what he did, to which Tom replies that she risked everything to get him back, so that probably that makes them even. Janeway doesn't bother trying to make him promise never to do something that risky again, since she knows he'd only break the promise anyways if the circumstances required it. Instead, she says that if he's going to continue doing insane, reckless stunts for the good of her ship, then she'll just have to keep doing insane reckless things to keep his sorry ass alive. She receives the patented "yes ma'am" for her troubles, and Tom says that after all, he learned from the best.

The last thing she does before telling him to get some rest though, is tease him - threatening that, even if she understands why he did it, if he ever tries that switcheroo he pulled with her again, she'll have to tell the gossip mill about all the places she hadn't realized he has freckles.

Janeway can see by his slowly-dawning expression that Tom does recall something about emerging from the nothingness, naked on the cargo bay floor. The last thing she hears as she walks, grinning, away from Sickbay is a sputtered yell of "You wouldn't actually... Captain? CAPTAIN!" before the automatic doors swish shut.

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popcornforone · 8 months

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Negotiations

A Din Djarin fan fic

Autumn collections

Ooooh I’m spoiling you aren’t I, my creative juices are flowing. It’s time for another autumn vibe fic this time with Din & Grogu & what life is like being in this clan. I have 3 vibes in draft & this one the second I asked people was obviously going to be the winner so here it is.

Synopsis:- while after a target on a Forrest planet Grogu gets up to mischief, but you & Din both know negotiating with him & each other doesn’t always go so smoothly.

Word count: 2700

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF TOU ARE UNDER 18! This is mainly fluff however there is mentions of blind folding & oral sex as well as piv sex. Angst, frustration, small amount of pain, mild bad language. Face isn’t revealed to reader. Yea all things considering for me this is rather tame. This is set in start wars not outside of it.

As always thanks for reading my loves. I hope you enjoy this. All feedback is always appreciated.

“Stop” but it’s too late. Grogu has leapt in a pile of autumn leaves 3 times the size as him. You are tempted to follow him in to get him out, but you don’t know what’s lurking in the bottom of this pile. It has also rained recently, so it’s muddy & damp too. You sigh as he emerges about 30 seconds later, covered in muck. He’s holding a small lizard creature he’s found.

“Patu”

You sigh.

“No Grogu, you know you can’t eat that, both me & your dad have told you that” he little face & ears drop. Sad & like a puppy. As he coos you carefully pick him up, trying not to get dirty yourself. I tell you what Grogu, let’s take this guy home with us” he turns his head towards you. He likes it when you bargain & negotiate. “We are on this planet for a little while, we can put him by the front door of our hut & see if he wants to stay” Grogu nods his head & makes a cute sound which makes you smile as he reluctantly puts the creature in your hand. You try not the be grossed out by it’s slippery texture, & it’s a good thing you only live 5minutes away. You carry both Grogu & the creature back to where you have made home.

The Forrest planet of Devaron is very dense, almost jungle like, it has seasons too. It’s been hard to track your collective target but you both know they are here. You are Dins mechanic when he’s in this sector of the galaxy & you also give him other benefits. There are different screws that are at your disposal. The three of you have found a three room hut, the recently rebuild & salvaged Razor Crest parked about a mile away, which still has most of your things in, a quick escape could be needed at any second. You & Grogu were actually on your way back from it as you needed a few texts to read to check which of the 5 new plants you had discovered were poisonous. That’s when he leapt into the leaves. Your wooden hut is small, a kitchen living areas, a bathroom & a double bedroom. Grogu had his little cot to sleep in so you could both easily just make sure he wouldn’t wake up when Din & you were servicing each others needs. Always in complete darkness, or you are blindfolded so he could take his helmet off to kiss you lips & skin. The only time your eyes have been open when he’s made love to you, has been when his head has been between your thighs, lapping up every drop, telling you how delicious you are as you fluttered away into his mouth, realising you could squirt.

“Mando?” You say when you arrive, you always call out each other’s nicknames when you return to the hut. You also both always make sure your blaster is ready incase someone try’s to ambush you. When the three of you enter together, you talk loudly to give anyone lurking a chance to escape. But today like most days, there is no one here, not even your Tin man. Grogu clung to you slightly afraid, as you checked each room before you put him down in the bathroom & put your blaster in the top of the cupboard. Even he had a little sigh. “We’re all good kid, now let’s get you cleaned up, Daddy is not going to like this if he comes home to you being all mucky”

“Patu” & he shakes his head.

“No it’s not up for discussion kid you smell, you’ve not had a wash in 3 weeks anyhow, we need to sort you out” you start to fill up the basin you’ve been washing him in, & you bring the liquid soap down from the top shelf. You then test the water to see that it’s not to hot for him then reach to add the liquid. It’s not there, Grogu has used the force & put it on the highest shelf in the bathroom, you can’t reach it. “Grogu?” You turn around & show him you’re not happy. “Please bring that back” you sit on the floor & start to undress him “otherwise it will just be in hot water & you won’t like that it… ouch” Grogu has used the force & has flung the shoes that are by the bathroom door at the back of your head & he’s having a giggle at it. “Grogu stop please, you didn’t even let me negotiate…” you duck you can see the bucket flying at you from the left & you grab it on its way back. You know it’s a game but you just wish one Bath time would be simple. You’re tempted to just trap him in the bucket, but you know it will cause issues with your relationship going forward.

“Grogu?” The modulated voice comes from behind you, your shiny tin man, dressed in his beskar. Din is home & both you & Grogus eyes light up. “What are you doing? We know we don’t do that to friends”

“Patu” he points at the soap & shakes his head. Din sighs.

“Guessing you didn’t even negotiate”

“Haven’t been able to get that far, think he’s still angry I wouldn’t let him eat that lizard looking thing outside”

“Kids eh, who’d have them?” You stare at Din for a few seconds. He choose to take Grogu on as his ward & train him as a Mandalorian. Yes you have joined there adventures since but one of the reasons you had never been with Din before properly was because he didn’t want to be apart of a family, he couldn’t see himself having kids or having a partner, it was non negotiable he said at the time. “Fair point I get you” you stand up & kiss the beskar helmet at the place that would be his forehead before your hands trial over those broad shoulders.

“So what do we do Din?”

“I’ll Bath him…”Grogu shakes his head at that too”… while you make cookies, I found some pumpkins about 3 miles away, you could make them into Grogus favourite” even though you can’t see it your pretty sure Din is raising an eyebrow at you.

“But if he’s not wanting a bath he can’t…” your face is then hit by his small beskar top that Grogu wears & he’s leaping towards the basin in nothing “See Grogu, all it took was Negotiating, we just hadn’t got that far yet” but your voice trails off as the gloves & some of Dins armour comes off. The waters of Mandalore are the only place your beskar should be wet, he’s promised to take you there one day. His hands are always so large & soft despite them doing terrible horrible things. They echo your lover perfectly.

“Just because I have a mask doesn’t mean I can’t see you blushing” Din says as Grogu uses the force to get him the soap.

“What can I say, I like your hands baby” you chuckle & you both softly sigh & Grogu starts to splash the water. “I’ll leave you two boys to it” & you head to the kitchen area.

The smell of warm pumpkin cookies fills your hut. You lean against the windowsill waiting for them to bake, as you sip your sunrise caf, you’d recently found some of this while scavenging though an abandoned mine. You’ve made one for Din too & warmed some blue milk for Grogu. It’s his favourite. He might be the worlds oldest child in his 60s but he still loves it to dip his cookies in.

Cooing comes from the bedroom as Din opens the door & carries Grogu in. He’s dressed in a clean robe & is holding a small orange Dahlia. He is placed on the counter & offers it to you & gargles.

“Grogu says he’s sorry” Din says. He’s left his helmet on but he has changed to a more comfortable outerwear, his blaster still in his belt though, always prepared for an unwelcome visitor. Grogu offers you the flower with a beaming smile. Those eyes are so big.

“Patu”

“Awww thanks Grogu, it’s okay I forgive you.” You take the flower & give him a small kiss on the forehead. You then look up at Din. “Where did you find Dahlias?”

“I have my secrets” a chuckle comes from underneath the helmet. He looms over you, towering & large. You’re not small but the size of the man is always so powerful & intimidating. What you would do to remove the helmet & look up his face, just once. The unspoken silence tells you both what you want to know.

“Patu! Patu!” Grogu bounces & points at the oven.

“Someone’s impatience, 2 minutes kid then they need to cool” as you say this Din has taken the flower from your hand & placed it behind your ear so it sticks out, your mousey hair flowing half way down your back. He smiling under all his layers.

“Suits you baby” Din says. He slowly lifts up the bottom of his helmet, his thin lips on display for you to see, as he sips at his drink. “Oooh that does taste good” it’s still odd hearing his voice not be modulated.

As you look at his lips you see the reflection of the world out the window. You turn back around. The sun is setting through the trees. Gusts blow between the branches, as leaves crackle & fall from the trees, a few concours & pine cones also tumbling to the dense Forrest floor. The orange from the sunset poking through at points. It reminds you of home & you return to watching out of the window. Dins large hands go over your shoulders making you shiver.

“Can I trust you?”

“Yes Din” & then you stop breathing. His helmet rests on the windowsill next to you. His face is uncovered.

“Eyes on the beautiful world my love nothing else” his bare hands link around your waist & he lowers his head so it’s on your shoulder. The temptation to turn your head & look at his face is huge, but you resist. You know you have to. Both your heart rates have increased & your hands now rest on top of his as he lets out a sigh. “Perfect, just perfect,” you close your eyes you know what comes next with that tone. He holds your chin & smiles when the sees your eyes are already closed. Such a soft kiss. For a man who does unspeakable horrors & has rules, he’s the softest & sweetest lover of them all. It makes you fall for him even more.

“Patu! Patu” Grogu bounces.

“Ahhh the cookies” you break the kiss eyes still shut, & Din automatically faces against the wall the other side from the oven so you can’t see his face. Grogu has seen his face before even before Din was his custodian so he can see his dads face, but you can’t. You rush to the oven & steam fills the room as you get the cookies out. “Hope you all like cookies that snap.” Grogu doesn’t care, he just likes your home made cookies.

“It will be better than the ships store cupboard” Din says knowing he’s now safe he returns to facing the window watching the sun dip lower. You then look at him. His hair from the back it’s curly & thick & chocolate brown & you sigh. You wonder if there is a stray curl at the front. Maybe he would like someone to kiss him & tease it. Maybe he would like more than just hands on his chin. But you won’t know, you never will.

3 mins of cooling later & you give into an impatient Grogu. The cookie is almost as big as his head but that doesn’t stop him from munching away. The happy little noises escape his mouth & you look down at him.

“Is that worth the wait & the Bath kid?” He nods & then points at his dad. You can see in the excitement in his face that Din doesn’t have his helmet on yet. He’s always very excited by that, clearly something happened in their past to do with his face when he originally showed it to him, that he has a core memory of.

“Would you like a cookie Din?” You ask making sure you don’t turn around.

“You’ve made them, of course I will.” A hand comes over your shoulder as you are leaning next to the counter, it picks up the sweet treat & it’s not soon before you hear him moan a little. “Delicious” he exclaims as Grogu takes a second.

“Don’t want you to ruin your appetite, don’t have too many” you snap a cookie & nibble on it. You’ve made better but this is nice.

“Was that aimed at me or the kid?” Din jokes.

“Both” you smile & so does he. He might not be able to see it this second but he knows which smile you are pulling. Din then grabs you under your arms & lifts you back to standing up. You’re blushing at his touch & him being so intimate despite you not seeing his face. It’s a deep sigh he makes. His lips are in line with your ear.

“Grogu?” Din speaks softly. The kid looks at you both.”do we look like a good couple?” He excitedly laughs before grabbing a third cookie.”then that settles it, the kid says so, so I will work out a way I can show my face to you.” Your hand is on his chin feeling the prickle of his beard hair.

“You’d be willing to do that Din?” Your eyes are watering wanting to turn around & look into the eyes you dream about before you intense make out starts.

“Your song isn’t written yet, & with a new season starting & new purpose In life, I’d like you to share it all with me.” He taps you 3 times on the shoulder & you close your eyes instantly. You know what that means. He turns you around. Your eyes scrunched tightly. He admires all of your features, trailing his index finger down your nose, watching intently as your lips slowly part, the warmth of your breath on his skin. “Mine” he whispers.

“Yours” you reply. It might only be seconds the kiss lasts but it feels like 5hours. The way you allow his tongue to explore each inch. You know his eyes will be closed as this deep passionate kiss takes him over too. The temptation to have a quick look at your man always crosses your mind. Would a 2 second glance ruin everything? You don’t want to risk it. You feel his hands on your hips as you continue the drawn out kiss. He’s pushed you to the window again. You quickly thrust your hands in his hair for a quick feel of those luscious locks. You know why he’s reverted back to here. As the hand leaves your side you both sigh. You slowly pull your lips away from his, waiting til he steps back too. Your eyes open 3 seconds later. His face except his lip are now covered by the helmet. A small smile escapes before he is completely masked again.

“Perfect” you say as you rest your head against his chest. He sighs as he turns you both so you’re watching the last few rays of the sun disappear. Grogu has eaten all the cookies while you made out with Din, as the day turned to night. He’s waddled his way across the counter & is now next to Din trying to look out the window. You scoop Grogu up in your arms so he can see the view as well. The lizard creature for earlier crawls along the windowsill & Din looks down at his misfit of a family that he never wanted but now can’t even think what life would be without either of you.

“Yes my love” he squeezes you & Grogu holds his thumb. “Life is just perfect” & the three of you watch the autumn night start.

#fanfic #pedro pascal #my fics #smutt #no minors #over18 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #fluff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #din djarin #mandalorian fanfic #mando fic #mando fanfiction #din fanfic #din djarin fanfiction

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violeteyebeams · 7 months

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The Rebuild of Scott Pilgrim

It's been ages since I used this page to give my wider thoughts on a thing, but I just finished Scott Pilgrim Takes Off and... hoo boy, holy shit, do I have Thoughts™ that I'm not sure where I can put elsewhere for now.

Spoiler free verdict tho? It's good. Damn good. Especially if you're aware of an enjoy the previous source material. It's got great character-writing, spectacular animation, and some very nice music, to name a few things.

And that's basically all I can talk about without dipping into spoilers, do without further ado...

The show starts off with a pretty faithful adaptation of the first issue of the original comic. We meet Scott, Wallace, Kim, Stephen, Knives, and everyone else and the story plays out as you might be familiar with. Although you do notice some slight differences from that original. Ramona working for Netflix instead of Amazon, an extended scene with the Evil Exes, and Scott talking about Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons during his first conversation with Ramona instead of Pac Man. Some changes you might see and go "Huh, neat" and then move on, simply thinking they were fun, if not inconsequential changes made during the adaptation.

But no. Those are just a small taster as to what's to come later.

As stated, the first episode adapts the first issue of the comic, right up until the fight with Matthew Patel. It goes as you expect, beat for beat almost, but then... Scott is seemingly killed off. Patel wins the fight, and not Scott.

As the title says, Scott Pilgrim has quite literally Taken Off. He is GONE for a majority of this series! Instead, the series chooses to focus on Ramona as the central protagonist.

And that's far from the only wild deviation the story takes too. If you're expecting a simple animated adaptation of the comic, this is very much not that. Bryan Lee O'Malley said that this was going to be a different take, and boy was he not kidding.

As Ramona tries to figure out what happened to her would-be suitor, we see her and the other characters in Scott's life take the spotlight, and even the Evil Exes get more of a shine this time around. Ramona getting a chance to talk with them and go deeper into their past and why she left them to begin with. They actually feel like characters and get actual characterization rather than simply being one-note (if not still entertaining) antagonists for Scott to beat and move on from. Not only that, characters like Kim, Neil, and even Knives get whole new story beats and arcs to explore. Even JULIE POWERS gets an interesting new wrinkle about her. The only downside there tho, due to the character/story reshuffling, is that folks like Envy Adams are relegated to the sidelines, unfortunately.

Not that Scott himself is left out entirely. He's still very much there. But they do something very interesting with him. Having him be the crux of a side plot surrounding the concept of age and what holding onto toxic feelings can do to us in the long term, even after the events of a happy ending, like the one he gained at the end of the original comic.

And if the post credits teaser at the end of the eighth episode is any indicator... we MIGHT be getting more of this? Maybe? We see a budding relationship between Gideon and Julie, with Julie seeming to have some more villainous intentions aside from just finding Scott to be an obnoxious loser. Especially as she seems to have aligned herself with Gideon for whatever reason.

All of this is of course, backed up by a fantastic performance from all of the returning movie actors and some killer animation from Science Saru. These have to be some of my favorite animated fight scenes in a good while. The one between Ramona and Roxy is an especially stellar standout I can see myself coming back to every now and then.

It's a wild series, I had one hell of a time with it, and I can't recommend it enough. Definitely give it a watch.

#Vee's Ramblings #Scott Pilgrim #Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

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samieree · 4 months

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Born in Flames || Game of Thrones

OC x ?😏

-> Chapter XX ''A necklace and a clasp''

Chapter XXI ''Gentle heart''

Robb thought nothing would surprise him in life anymore. He knew how twisted fate could be and how strange things could happen to you - it was mainly about that necklace out of nowhere. But he didn't expect to be so 'lucky' as to meet Stannis Baratheon, especially here, so close to the Wall, right after defending the castle.

It seems he doesn't deserve even a moment of peace.

He had never met Stannis in person before, but he tried to make a deal with him during the war, but he spurned his help, calling him a usurper.

He was not very pleased with this meeting, and especially didn't want to hear words of sympathy regarding the Red Wedding. Stannis only scratched his wounds and didn't gain his sympathy in any way.

Additionally, standing in front of him while he was sitting comfortably at his desk... He already felt judged and placed below him. He wanted to tell him to get to the point and stop spouting empty words of sympathy that he probably doesn't even mean.

"It's not too late." he finally said, it seemed as if Stannis was finally getting to the point. "Bemnd the knee, swear allegiance to me, and I will give you back the North."

His pride had not suffered enough to make him repent and fall to his knees. True, he would like to take the North back from the traitors who took it from him by deceit, he would like to rebuild the castle, to be able to live there again...

But his own inside was at odds with itself. On the one hand, something tells him that he doesn't deserve it, that he should step aside and let someone else deal with it... But his heart begs him to not give up so easily, to avenge the people who gave their lives so that he could be saved. It actually kept him on his toes and helped take his mind off the self-blame.

Maybe his heart will finally speak to that voice that this tragedy is in the past and he must move forward while he still can and try to make amends for his mistakes.

"It's not yours, you can't give it anyone." he replied without hesitation. Some might say it's not very intelligent to speak like that to someone who calls himself the King of the Seven Kingdoms and could easily demand your head, but if the Northmen haven't given up on him, he won't give up on them.

They named him King in the North and saved him, so he has to repay the debt. Maybe they'll give him a chance.

He must think first of all about his people, not himself.

"But it will be." he answered, but he didn't look upset yet. He was very confident, convinced of his victory, even if he had not achieved it yet. "As soon as I defeat the Boltons." exactly... 'as soon as' or rather 'if'. "And I will need the Warden of the North."

"How many men do you have?" Robb asked, instead of answering his unspoken demand.

"Six thousand."

"And how many will die along the way?" he asked, slightly raising an eyebrow. "How many sellswords will leave you when the winter becomes too harsh for them? You won't have enough left to take the castle, let alone the entire North."

"The Lords of the North will follow you." Robb refrained from sighing and looking away. He just demands all the time and has nothing to give in return. "You know this girl, Lyanna Mormont?" Stannis took out a rolled, small letter, which Robb immediately focused on.

"I knew her mother." he admitted.

Involuntarily his thoughts returned to the war. He knew Maege Mormont, for all he knew she had died fighting for him during the war. Stannis only confirmed these suspicions now...

"She's ten years old and the Lady of Bear Island. I asked her to support me and this is what she replied." he handed the letter to Stark to read it himself.

The letter said: "Bear Island knows no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark."

"It just proves that they won't bend the knee to you." he said, shrugging and handing the letter back to Stannis. "If I swear allegiance to you, they will despise me and feel betrayed. I'm sorry, but I respect my people more than you."

The last sentence shattered Stannis' proud, especially since he believed that Robb would be more cooperative in his current situation. But the boy had more spirit than he expected. Does he really need to start threatening him to make him understand that he is in no position to question his decisions?

"I could just hand you over to the Lannisters now and distract them from me, you know that, boy?"

"Don't call me a boy." throughout the entire conversation, Robb never once addressed Stannis by his title. In fact, Davos pointed this out to him at the beginning, but he deflected it with the words: 'He will be king when he sits on the Iron Throne. For now, he is only the rightful heir, which I fully agree with.' "You could have had the Iron Throne a long time ago if it weren't for your pride. But you chose to call me a usurper and despise my support when I still had an army behind me. We could destroy the Lannisters and you would have six kingdoms, instead you have none."

Stannis wished he could somehow respond well to these words and take Robb down a peg or two once and for all, but he had no counterargument to this statement.

* * *

Funny, she spends most of her time as Queen of Meereen in the audience hall, listening to people. Today she was wearing a light, white silk dress with long, wide sleeves and an open back - because of this she wore an equally snow-white cape, which was held in place by a clasp which origin she did not know.

It must have belonged to that boy. She decided not to throw it away or hide it somewhere at the bottom of her trunks, but to always keep it with her in some way so that she could give it back to its owner when she meet him.

Another man entered the room and up the stairs to the place to make his request. Missandei introduced her once again that day.

"Kirimvose syt ūndegon nyke, aōha dārōñe." he said, bowing. "Brōzio ñuha iksis Fennesz."

*"Thank you for agreeing to listen to me, Your Grace. My name is Fennesz."*

"Ziry iksos nēso naejot rhaenagon ao." she replied, smiling at him friendly.

*"Nice to meet you."*

"I can speak common tongue, if you wish."

She was surprised to hear him use common language. She expected that the conversation would be in high valyrian and that she would have to watch her accent, but she was so pleasantly surprised...

"You speak it very well." she admitted.

"And you speak Valyrian beautifully, my Queen. I didn't expect this from someone who came from across the Narrow Sea." she smiled even wider at Fennesz's words. She was always happy when someone appreciated her valyrian, especially since she had a hard time learning dothraki, mainly because of the pronunciation.

"What business do you have with me?" she asked, remembering that there were about fifty more people waiting to speak to her.

"Before you freed me, I belonged to Master Mighdal. I taught his children languages and history. I have told them many times about the history of your family. Calla is only seven years old, but she admires you very much, she would like to be like you." he told about himself.

She felt happy that a girl took her as a role model. It only meant that new generations could change this world and make it a better place.

"I hope I truly deserve her admiration. But... What do you expect from me? What can I do for you?"

"When you took over the city, the children begged me not to leave their house. But Master Mighdal and I agreed that I had to. So I lost my home. Now I live on the streets."

She didn't realize that someone could have a happy home and she took it away from him... But she couldn't show how much it affected her.

"I prepared outfitted mess halls and barracks for former slaves to provide them with food and shelter." she explained. When conquering the city, she thought that it would be difficult to change the system quickly enough so that people could find work and start earning money for themselves, so she organized these places so that by the time of this change, former slaves would not die of hunger in the streets.

So she didn't understand why this man was living on the streets.

"I don't mean to offend you, Your Grace..." he began, and her throat was already tightening. She knew there was no good news waiting for her. "I went to one of these places, but the young people prey on the old there. They take whatever they want and beat us if we oppose it."

What...? Why? Why do they not respect others who were their companions in misfortune? What did I do wrong?

"I will send the Unsullied to each of these places to keep order. You have my word that it will be safe there." she reacted the only way she could.

Soon she won't have enough Unsullied to patrol the pyramid she lives in if they are needed to keep order in every corner of the city.

"I believe you, Your Grace. But who will I be there? What will be my goal? I was a teacher with my former Master, I could pass on my knowledge. I had the love and respect of his children. I was treated well, they are not bad people."

He was right. And that was the worst for her, she can't provide all the people with what they need. In fact, she should consider each case separately, but this would take years. She had no idea how she could solve the problems faster, what laws she should introduce.

And things weren't any better in Westeros. There may have been no slavery there, but the situation was often just as terrible. If she ever manages to control and bring peace to Slaver's Bay, there will be another huge challenge waiting for her across the sea...

A challenge she feels she's not ready for yet.

"Would you like to go back there?" she asked, already knowing what Fennesz was getting at.

"Yes. I want to ask you to let me sell myself to Master Mighdal."

"Sell yourself?" she didn't expect such a choice of words... "Not to have any rights? Belong to someone again and be at his beck and call?"

She couldn't understand it. Perhaps if she hadn't suffered so much under Tywin Lannister's 'care', she wouldn't have wanted to change her life at all and wouldn't have seen anything wrong with slavery. After all, circumstances alter cases... And this man was apparently lucky enough to have a good man as his Master.

"I'm begging you, my Queen. The young will find their way in the world you are building for them, but we, the old, will not adapt to the changes. We want to live out the end of our lives in places we know, among people we know. Many who are waiting to be listened to want to ask you the same."

She couldn't turn a deaf ear to his request or to the requests of everyone else with the same problem. After all, she was here to help them, not force them into a life that would be a burden to them. They were free, they decided for themselves.

"Slavery doesn't exist in Meereen anymore, so I can't let you sell yourself to someone, it's against the law." the man's expression visibly softened, but she hadn't finished speaking yet. "But there is another solution. You can make a contract with your former Master. You will work under certain conditions, it may be as before. But you retain your rights, you will be able to quit your job at any time and go wherever you want. This is what freedom is all about. Come to Grey Worm tomorrow, I'll go with you to Mighdal and you can draw up an agreement."

"Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you, really." she clearly made him see purpose in his life again. He smiled, she even thought he had tears of joy in his eyes. He bowed and left.

Before the next resident of Meereen arrived, ser Barristan spoke to her:

"Masters will take advantage of this. They will have slaves again, but they only won't call them that."

"What can I do?" she turned to him and shrugged. "I have to let them work, I can't feed every former slave in the city for the rest of his days." she sighed. "There should be someone - no, not one person, at least several, who will control that no one breaks what is included in employment contracts."

"A new institution?" asked ser Arthur, standing on her other side.

"Yes, composed of people educated in... We should also have a law defining working conditions." she sighed again, placing her hand on her forehead for a moment and then gently combing her hair - so as not to damage her hairstyle. "Will you bring me tomorrow that man with whom I had such a good time talking about law? Azdahr...? I think that was his name."

"You can form a council, my Queen. There will be a representative from each state, making it easier for you to find out what your city needs." Barristan suggested. She liked this idea.

"We'll deal with it tomorrow, remind me." she replied, smiling at him. At the sound of footsteps at the entrance, she turned her gaze to the man who was holding a bundle in his hand. Her first thought was that the dragons had killed some herd again, so the smile fell from her face, but she motioned for him to come over. "You may approach, my friend."

He stopped on the stairs and looked between her and the others standing next to her with frightened eyes. He said something that reminded her again of high valyrian in pronunciation, but the words were different, so Missandei translated him Visenya's words.

Only when she assured him that he could approach her he did so, stopping at the designated place. He began to speak with tears in his eyes, clearly he had been holding them back for too long.

"I brought you..." Missandei started to translate, but the man stopped and did not finish the sentence. "He came from the sky. He was black. Winged shadow." Drogon... "He came from the sky and..." she wanted to tell her to stop. She already knew it wasn't about a herd of goats... The man knelt on the ground and unfolded the cloth, revealing the charred bones of the child. She took a sharp breath, drawing the attention of both Missandei and her knights. "My girl. My little girl."

Everyone was moved by the scene, but only Visenya felt like she couldn't stop the tears forming in her eyes. Missandei looked down, and so did ser Arthur and ser Barristan, although they kept glancing at Vis and how she was bearing the sight.

This was what she had been afraid of all along, that someone would show her the bones of someone killed by one of her dragons. She tried her best not to cry, just sit as a Queen should, without unnecessary emotions, solve the problem quickly and efficiently, and move on.

But this situation had no solution. She can't bring the child back to life.

She can't move on, she can't just block the sight of the charred bones of an innocent child from her mind.

She slowly stood up from her seat, surprising everyone. The man continued to cry as she approached him. Only when she crouched down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder he looked at her with his face flooded with tears, and that was enough for her to start crying too. She didn't care what everyone in this room thought of her at that moment.

Ser Arthur was right, she has a gentle, soft heart that doesn't allow her to look at people's suffering with indifference.

She wished she could tell this man how sorry she was, even though she knew something like that couldn't be forgiven or forgotten, even if it wasn't entirely her fault. No... It was her fault. She should have been the one to control her dragons, not anyone else. They are hers, so what they do is her responsibility. This girl lost her life because of her.

'I believe that nothing happens without a reason. I believe in you.' Now he believes in her too? When something like this happened because of her?

She started to say something, but then she remembered that the man wouldn't understand her, so instead she reached out with both of her arms and pulled him to her chest, hugging him and letting him cry into her white dress. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to calm him down, holding him to her chest and rocking him gently.

She doesn't know how long she sat there with him.

Hours later, she still couldn't quite get over it, but at least the tears weren't streaming down her face. She had to take a break to calm down before listening to the other people, but all the while she was only thinking about that child.

"What was her name?" Visenya asked Missandei. She and Gray Worm were with her in her private chambers. She told Missandei to take care of this man, talk to him and tell to give him everything he needed and more, even though she knew it would do nothing to ease his pain.

"Zala." replied her friend.

"How old was she?"

"Three."

"Three..." Vis repeated after her. "And she is gone forever before she could even discover the world." she turned and went down the stairs, slowly heading towards the exit of the chamber. "Iēdrosa daor udir nūmāzma Drōgon se Maelia? Daorys ūndan zirȳ?"

*"Still no news about Drogon and Maelia? Has anyone seen them?"*

"Loktysīs ūndan Drōgon sōvegon toliot se zōbrie clis hāre tubissa alāgo, ñuha dāria. Se syt Maelia, īles ūndegīon tōma tubissa alāgo, lēda Drōgon. Pār daor udr." Grey Worm replied. He watched her as she passed him on her way to the door.

*"Sailors saw Drogon fly over the Black Cliffs three days ago, my Queen. As for Maelia, she was seen five days ago, with Drogon. No news since then."*

"Rhaenagon nyke rȳ se bazādas." she replied dryly, although tears began to form in her eyes again.

*"Meet me in the catacombs."*

She didn't want to do what she had just decided to do, but she had no choice. It will break her heart just as much as the sight of those bones broke it. On the surface, it looked like it was an easy decision for her to go down into the catacombs to lock up Viserion and Rhaegal, whom she knew where were because they always stayed closer to her than Drogon and Maelia. They might not have done anything yet, but they were as unpredictable as the other two, and she wanted to do everything in her power to prevent another tragedy.

Two dead goats were thrown into the catacombs, successfully luring Rhaegal and Viserion.

"Stay here." she said to ser Arthur, seeing that he wanted to say something. She didn't want any advice at this point, in her eyes there was no better way out of the situation.

As the dragons quickly jumped down the stairs, she slowly followed them, unable to hold back the tears in her eyes. The two beasts got their paws on the meat and it was her moment to do what was right, what was necessary.

She must think first of all about her people, not herself.

No matter how much it hurts her.

She crouched on the ground, not caring that she would get her dress dirty, grabbed the first chain and moved it along the ground to Rhaegal's neck. Then she lifted it with considerable difficulty and fastened it. Tears blurred her vision as she took the other shackles and placed them around Viserion's neck. She couldn't sit there any longer, she didn't want to look at her own... Children, in chains. Because of her.

Walking towards the exit, she wiped her tears, but it didn't help, because when she heard that the dragons were losing interest in food and wanted to follow her, but they couldn't... What roars they were making... She couldn't keep up with wiping her tears.

But she didn't turn around, even when she left and Unsullied were closing the entrance with a huge boulder. She was about to head back to her chambers, but she saw Arthur hold out a handkerchief to her so she could wipe her tears.

She accepted it, but didn't say a word.

She suffered in silence.

-> Chapter XXII ''What the Seven Kingdoms need'' -> general masterlist -> Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon masterlist

#robb stark #stannis baratheon #game of thrones #game of thones fanfiction #dragons #gra o tron #asoiaf fanfic #song of ice and fire #robb slays stannis even with depression #visenya targaryen

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nevillehousegardendistrict · 2 years

Photo

Up Close & Personal with Beard and Lady Inn Founder Lacey Hendrix

As proprietor and curator of historic Neville House, I have an extra special love for art and antiquities, curated spaces where every element tells a story and off-the-beaten-path destinations, so when I had the chance to get to know Lacey and her husband Lance Hendrix, owners of Beard and Lady Inn in Chester, Arkansas, I was beyond thrilled to connect to these kindred ‘old house loving’ spirits. The entrepreneurial couple recently moved back to Arkansas to purchase and rebuild a historic inn (circa 1887), creating a truly one-of-a-kind bed and breakfast, event space and mercantile shop while preserving an important part of the small town’s history. The Inn features 11 themed rooms, a restaurant serving locally sourced native foods, a mercantile and apothecary and an event space.

Lacey (shown above in Writer’s Block Room No. 1) and I had a long discussion about what it’s like to return home after being away for so long, what we’ve found in the floorboards and attics of our old buildings and how poetic (and at times scary!) historic preservation can be.

Rebekah Lawrence (Neville House): You’re a hometown girl and Beard and Lady Inn marks your return to the town you grew up in after living away for many years. Having recently moved back to my hometown to open Neville House, I can relate. Can you talk a little bit about what it’s been like to come home after so much time away?

Lacey Hendrix (Beard and Lady Inn): To be honest, even though my husband and I have lived in many places—from Egypt, to England to North Carolina, I feel like I have been trying to be back here since the moment I left. My heart has always been for Arkansas. I grew up just a few miles north of the Inn, on 3,000 acres in the Ozark Valley. I had a magical, ideal childhood spent roaming around this land in creeks, waterfalls and caves. It has always been a dream of mine to bring my kids back to this. So, coming home has been an incredible opportunity and it feels like it was a calling to me.

RL: The property that Beard and Lady Inn occupies was a working hotel when you were growing up. Did you ever visit it when you were a kid?

LH: Yes! It was called The Chester Inn and I actually came here and stayed a couple of times growing up. I remember it very well. We knew the owners and when they put the Inn up for sale, we made an offer.

RL: What was the process of refurbishing this space like? You had a lot of work cut out for you.

LH: We left North Carolina, packed up our lives there and drove west to Arkansas to get to work in the spring of 2020. We lived in the building for the first couple of weeks, working round the clock to fix it up. It was in really rough condition when we first got there. I remember one of those nights we were eating dinner and a possum just came out and walked across the floor. We took a beehive out of the floorboards underneath the bed where my husband and I had been sleeping for months! Oh—and we found a few mummified cats in the walls of the Inn, which we now have on display in the Mercantile.

RL: The Inn has an incredible amount of woodwork and beautiful expert carpentry. Who helped you with all of that?

LH: My father is an incredible carpenter and he worked alongside me for 18 months helping to make this inn what it is today. People are blown away by the woodwork, and it was all him. All of his work has always been for other people, so it was really an amazing experience to work on a vision together, and to build something for us—and for our family to pour back into the community where we came from.

RL: The Beard and Lady name comes from your apothecary products, and your amazing lip balm was just featured in Harper’s Bazaar and awarded “Best Lip Balm 2021″. Can you talk a bit about the mercantile shop at the Inn and your products?

LH: Growing up, my mother had an interest in natural remedies found throughout this region, and I was always drawn to those ingredients. When my husband and I were living in Egypt I became very interested in the oils and spices I would find at markets there, and always wanted to merge the exotic ingredients I found abroad with the natural local ingredients of my childhood. I had the opportunity to make products like beard oil and the chocolate, cardamom and rose lip balm through my friends, the YouTube stars Rhett and Link from Good Mythical Morning. They are sort of famous for their hair and beard, so the beard product was a natural fit. And I had so much fun that I expanded the line. This connection really launched us into entrepreneurial pursuits and to be able to make these products. I didn’t want to stop with that, so it was important for the inn to have a mercantile shop where we sell these Beard and Lady products in a really cool, historic space.

RL: The apothecary + mercantile shop also has a stage. What are your plans for the stage area?

LH: Yes! We love to host live music there. We’ve had local musicians come through and play on Friday evenings, and it’s such a cool venue and space for them to play for a local audience! We hope to continue that all year.

RL: What other sort of events are happening at the Inn?

LH: Well, we also have the restaurant on the first floor of the Inn, Homegrown Native Foods, owned and operated by a local couple that makes truly locally sourced foods. Their menu really explores the native tastes of Arkansas. The restaurant itself has a spacious dining hall and outdoor patio space and can seat up to 75 guests. We can host parties there, and our guests can make reservations for a three-course meal there while they are staying with us.

We were so excited to recently host a lady’s retreat at the inn, and realized what a unique space this is for a group to come stay. We have 11 rooms, it has a very intimate feel. We have had some weddings here and many wedding parties will book the inn for a nice cozy place where they can stay during the wedding weekend.

RL: Your rooms are each decorated in such a unique and immersive way. What was the inspiration for your themed rooms?

LH: Each of the rooms is themed after a common fear. It’s so much fun! Room No. 1 is themed after a fear of writer’s block. I know as a creative person, I am constantly trying to push through some version of writer’s block so this is my favorite room. The room has very large windows, a beautiful view and perfect sunlight. It’s the best room for a thunderstorm, too! We have one room that is based on the fear of being alone, and we also have a room that gets a lot of attention, which is based on a fear of aging. We put a photo of my great great grandparents in their double coffins in the room. Funny story, they passed away within hours of each other, were buried in a double coffin and made national news!

RL: I have to ask, do you think the Inn is haunted? LH: The Inn does have a local reputation for being haunted, and hanging the photo of the double coffins definitely prompts people to ask me this question often. If the building is haunted, none of that has ever shown up for me. There is a quote that resonates with my soul. This quote was written on the mantel at The Old Pelican Inn in California, where my husband proposed to me. We actually wrote in the concrete here at the inn:

“Fear knocked at the door. Faith answered. And no one was there.”

RL: Wow, that quote really sums up everything you’ve done here pretty poetically. In fact, it feels in some ways like you have created a poem with this Inn.

LH: I am a poet in my actions. I try to be poetic with my spaces, and every single room in this inn has that intention to it.

Beard and Lady innkeeper and apothecary founder Lacey Hendrix.

If you want to know what it’s like to stay inside a poetic dream space, then book your room at Beard and Lady Inn! Follow along for glimpses of the Inn’s amazing spaces, community events and Lacey’s inspirations at @beardandladyinn and @beardandlady on Instagram.

Photos: Meredith Mashburn Photography

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probablyspooky · 2 years

Text

Arranged Marriage (King Desha x Fem!Reader) Part 6

Pairings: King Desha x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, language, violence

Last part Next Part First

At first the complaints and requests were simple, not enough land to grow enough crops to sell in town, or property disputes, occasionally you'd get a pair who claimed they both owned a certain item, Desha usually heard them out and their reasons, and made fair judgement or offered something in compensation. Fair prices to buy more land to grow crops, offering to send out someone to check property, and offering to purchase the item from people himself if they agreed to split the costs between them.

You just happily sat on his lap, it wasn't too comfortable with Desha waving his arms around, laughing his adorable laugh. Sometimes between people, he would pet your head and look at you lovingly, asking if you needed anything, a snack, a drink or if this was too boring for you. You always just shook your head no, you were fine where you were, just happy to spend time with him.

Eventually the line began to die down, and the last couple of people were a family hoping to settle in the Underworld to make a life for themselves, they had traveled very far, and the father was very sick.

They pleaded with Desha to please take them in at citizens. Desha twirled his scepter around, rubbing his chin, as if making a very difficult decision.

"I hear your request, and I am willing to grant it, however what can you bring to my kingdom in exchange for a place to call home," Desha asked, pointing it at them

"Well, uhm" the mother mumbled "I was a teacher in our village, I could work for a school here.."

Desha looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his chin yet again. Waved his hand over at Ingrid, who was currently staring at you with a blank stare.

"Ingrid..." Desha started, snapping her attention, "The children's school on the Eastern side...didn't it burn down..."

"Yes King Desha...We could rebuild the school within the next month or so, but having only one teacher would probably cause some issues."

"What happened to the teachers who worked there?"

"Died in the fire sir"

"Oh", Desha grumbled, leaning back in his throne, looking at you on his lap, he smiled and sat up

"I will grant your requests for citizenship, and the school job is yours, however you will need to find help for yourself to open the school, if not..." he smiled, "I will have to have you move elsewhere "

The family thanked Desha over and over again, collecting their family, they turned to leave before the mother gave a smile to you, as if you influenced his decision, you returned with a small wave. And with that the doors closed behind them, Desha took off his crown, putting it down.

"Such a long day..." he sighed,

"I think you did very well today lord" Ingrid said, walking infront of the throne, "now about the school"

They began to discuss lumber, and resources to build the school. To you it was really boring, just a bunch of boring money talk, but then they started to talk about if the mother could actually find other people to work at the school.

"I don't think she can," grumbled Desha, putting his fingers to his temple, "I can rebuild the school anyway, I can find my own staff, I just gave her the chance to find her own so they can settle down, if she actually managed to find staffing, I was gonna let her stay anyway"

"I understand lord Desha, but this is our youth of our kingdom, what if say...your children went to this school? Wouldn't you want the best of the best"

Desha nervously chuckled at the thought of having children. The topic never came up before, and he wasn't going to have this discussion now.

"Sure...." he said

"I could work there..." you stated, "I could learn the material and teach there aswell."

Desha looked at you with a smile.

"Alright, if this is what you want, I'll send a scroll stating you're going to be working with this woman at the school"

"Um sir! Is that really necessary, do you really want her...to help teach our youth?" Ingrid stammered

"What do you mean by that Ingrid?" Desha glared at her, "What are you implying about (y/n)"

Right then and there you wanted to tell Desha about the past few days, how Ingrid had insulted you, how you ate, your status, and your relationship with Desha, but that began to unfold around you as Ingrid dug herself into an even deeper hole.

"Shes not even a princess! You're just throwing the crown at some random cattle who showed up unannounced to your ball! I can't just let yo-"

"Silence!" Desha shouted, leaning forward looking down at Ingrid, "I have let you slide in the past Ingrid, your horrible treatment to my staff, to my men! I kept giving you chances because of when you came to this kingdom! But I will not have you stand there and question my decision, especially about my relationship with (y/n)! I am giving you one, one final chance to redeem yourself, walk away and pretend this conversation did not happen! Do I make myself clear!"

Desha's hand rested on yours, with every word, his grip around your hand began to tighten, not super tight, just tight enough that you could feel his emotions with every word. He truly loved you.

Ingrid just stood there, red in the face, her eyes full of panic, darting between your face and Desha, with a huff, she stomped out of the throne room towards her chambers.

Desha sighed, leaning back in his throne, fingers rubbing his temples. You leaned towards his face and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Are you alright?," he asked, rubbing your back

"Yes...But I have a question,"

"Go ahead"

"How long have you known Ingrid?"

With a grumble, Desha sat up in his chair, placing his hand on your head, stroking your hair.

"Your hair is very soft" he smiled

"Don't avoid the question" you smiled at him, taking his hand off your head and holding it with both of yours.

"Well" he sighed. "When I was younger, my mother , my brother and I, were in the garden, we'd do anything to be away from our father. I began to wander away far from the castle. I'm not sure how long I had wandered till it was night time. I found myself lost just a little ways into the wastelands, where a girl, a bit older than me, I was...hmm.. about 7 or 8 at the time, so she had to be aeast 12. She asked me where I had come from, and I told her well I'm the from the castle. She took my hand and led me back home, I didn't realize at the time, but she was apart of the large population that had been affected by my father's harsh rule, and his stupid quest for immortality. When I got back home, my family, besides my father of course greeted me back with open arms. Ingrid however lost her family, so I begged my mother to please let her stay in the castle. She worked as a maid until my brother's and I defeated our father, where I had her promoted to royal advisor"

With that Desha took you off his lap, and stood you up, holding your hand.

"Looking back on it, maybe I was a little too soft with her, she was always kinda mean, even when we were children" he chuckled.

"She was mean to me too..." you groaned

"What?", he looked at you, "why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't love me then...I didn't want to make a big deal about it"

"(Y/n)" he started," Were getting married tomorrow, I would have done something about it had you told me"

"Well I now that now" you giggled, pulling him down into a kiss, cupping his cheek,"I'll tell you if someone or something bothering me from now on okay?"

"Alright then, would you like to go get some tea, and then we can go look at the ballroom decorations for tomorrow"

With a laugh you agreed, Desha leading the way to the garden, telling his men along the way to kindly find Rosa, Mara and Sinna, and ask them to prepare some tea and snack for you two.

The two of you arrived, tea being poured into cups as soon as you sat down. A fresh bowl of fruit plucked that day was there aswell. Desha began to cup up some of then to give to you, but you fed them to him instead.

After tea, Desha placed his hands over your eyes, and began to lead you to the ballroom.

"Is this really necessary?" You asked, trying to peak over his large hands.

"I want this to be the first surprise of many, please"

"Fine,"

You couldn't see anything, and kinda felt like he was leading you into a trap, your steps were smaller than usual, as you were afraid of where you were going. Eventually the sound of a door opening peaked your interest, and with a few more steps, Desha stopped leading you.

"Are you ready?" He asked

"Of course! Let me see"

Desha took his hands off to reveal to you the decor.

Purple tapestries, beautiful stalks of lavender were hung up from the ceiling, at the end of the room, were large stainedglass windows, and infront of them were 4 chairs. The largest for Desha, the one next to it was covered in roses, most likely for you, the one on the other side of Desha was identical to the one next to you, both had a shall shield on them, signifying their ties with the kingdom and with Desha, they were for Despa and Ouken....

Desha noticed your eyes on the chairs, sighing.

"I know he's out there, and I will get my brother back, but I felt off not including him in our wedding. I'm sure whenever, he turns back to him, he would be happy we didn't give up on him."

Your heart was on fire, all of this for your wedding, it was like a dream come true. You spun around, hugging Desha tightly.

"Do you like it" he asked sheepishly

"Desha this is amazing! Everything is so lovely, the flowers, the tables, the chairs, especially the lavender, this is all so wonderful!"

"I'm glad you like it," he said, placing a kiss on your forehead, "There is however...one more thing we need to do today"

"What is it?"

The next thing you know, you found yourself, with Desha and Despa, in the Mines just south of the castle. You were really confused, Despa was more excited than you, and Desha was busy talking to the man in charge.

Soon the man Desha had spoken to you, brought over a wheel barrel of large stones, pouring them onto the ground, all of them much larger than your head.

"Pick one!" Despa blurted out excitedly

"Uhm.." you were confused, looking at Desha, and looking at the rocks, you began to scan the rocks with your pointer finger, nothing was catching your eye because you had no idea what to look for, until you noticed a funky looking rock under the pile, kneeling down, you began to dig through it, causing coal dust and gravel to get on your hands. You pulled out the large rock, and held it up to Desha, who happily took it from your hands. Despa quickly rushed over to you with a handkerchief, and cleaned off your hands.

Next, Desha and Despa took you to a clearing, Desha placing the rock in the center of the open field, then Despa grabbed your hand and holding you close, you were confused for a moment, until Desha lifted his hand, small sparks emanating from his hands as dark clouds began to hover, with a quick lift of his arm, Desha sent multiple lightning strike into the small rock, dust began to fill up the surrounding air, you could barely see Desha for a bit, the dust cloud was too dense.

After a bit the dust began to settle, you could see the form of Desha bend down and pick something up, him turning around and walking towards you, something clenched within his hands.

You looked up at him, and back at his hand confused, he began to open his palm, it was super dirty, but in the center was a small gemstone. Desha had you chose a rock, so he could lightning strike it into a gemstone.

"If you like it, we can put it into your wedding band." Desha said

Before you could answer Despa cried out.

"Oh brother! Who knew someone like you could make such a perfect gemstone, oh my (y/n) surely is a lucky girl to have you!"

You placed your hands onto his, pushing Desha down, and placed a quick peck on his lips, taking the gem in your hands.

"I love it, it's beautiful like you Desha," you smiled.

Desha smiled back, and proceeded to pick you up and hug you, spinning you around in the field. Despa happily clapping along.

In a short time, it was dinnertime, Despa stayed the castle considering he was coming to the wedding tomorrow, you did your usual routine of eating, bathing and getting dressed in your nightgown, but before bed, Desha had to go bring your gemstone to the forge to have it placed in a band.

You were too excited for tomorrow to sit in the room alone. You quietly put on a robe, and left your chambers, walking toward the ballroom.

You just wanted a peak of it one more time before your big day tomorrow. When you opened the door, you heard something metal fall, it sounded as if it fell behind the chairs. Quickly shutting the door behind you, you made your way over to the chairs on the otherwise of the room.

Before you could peer over the table infront of the chairs, Ingrid popped up.

"Oh! Uhm! Good evening Miss (y/n), w-whate are you doing here?" She stammered

"I could ask you the same thing..."you replied

"Just some last minute touch ups...I felt horrible for what I said this morning...and came here to make sure nothing went wrong on your big day..."

"Thats...nice Ingrid..."

"I am terribly sorry Miss (y/n), I was caught up in my own status and feelings to notice how I was affecting you and Lord Desha...could you ever forgive me" she cried out, reaching out to your hand, bringing it to her forehead

"Uhm..." you said, a little uncomfortable "S-sure Ingrid, I forgive you..."

"Oh thank you! Thank you! You won't regret it!" She said, quickly walking around the table and leading you back to the door, quickly pushing you out the room.

"Just some finishing touches Miss (y/n) you should rest up for your big day!"

Before you could object, she shut the door in your face, quickly locking it so she wouldn't be interuppted again. She walked back to the chairs, and bent down behind yours, reaching for a metal file, the cause of the sound you had heard before.

Picking it up, she began to file at the back two legs of your chair, not breaking them, but weakening them. When she had finished with that, she looked up at the ceiling, above the chairs was a chandelier, golden, and heavy, it had 10 candles on it, each within its own cup, and at the bottom of those cups were sharpened spikes.

Returning to your room, you found Desha, already snoozing away, you quietly closed the door behind you, taking off your robe you climbed into bed with him, scooting close to him you placed a kiss on his head, snuggling into his arms, you began to drift off into sleep.

You were getting married tomorrow.

#king desha #the ranking of kings #king desha x reader #ousama ranking

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Delight in Misery

- Chapter 10 (ao3) -

tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 (interlude), part 9

In Lan Wangji’s view, the best part about the upcoming visit by Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen wasn’t the excuse to drag a tetchy and reluctant Jiang Cheng night-hunting, nor the chance to meet such interesting and swiftly famous cultivators, or even the vanishingly rare opportunity to learn more about Wei Wuxian by exploring his heritage on his mother’s side.

No – it was definitely the way the mere concept transformed Jiang Cheng into a stuttering teenaged admirer about to see their revered idol for the first time.

“You remember that they are both nearly ten years your junior?” he asked as Jiang Cheng fussed around, alternating between worrying himself sick for not being prepared to receive guests (for all that the Jiang sect had been receiving honored guests for years at this point) and bragging about the exploits of their soon-arriving guests to the fascinated flock of children dogging his heels.

“No more than seven or eight at most,” Jiang Cheng objected, and Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Anyway, that’s not the point. Look at how accomplished they both are! When I was that age, I hadn’t done anything!”

Lan Wangji didn’t think that was entirely right. When Jiang Cheng had been the age Xiao Xingcheng and Song Zichen were now, he’d endured the loss of his sect and rebuilt it from nothing, acting more or less singlehandedly while still finding time to fight the Wen sect shoulder-to-shoulder with the other Great Sects and also search for the missing Wei Wuxian with Lan Wangji.

He opted not to mention it.

Let Jiang Cheng keep his illusions and ignore the steady encroachment of time.

“You’re calling me old in your head,” Jiang Cheng said accusingly, and Lan Wangji pasted an innocent expression on his face as confirmation. “You are, you bastard! You know you’re older than me, right?”

Lan Wangji could get a great deal of out of an admission like that.

“That’s not what I meant! We’re peers, you…!” Jiang Cheng huffed. “Listen, you’d better be on your best behavior around our guests, all right? I don’t want them to be scared off just because it looks like you’re glowering whenever you think –”

“I’ll follow your example, then, and simply not think at all.”

“Go jump off a pier!”

The children all giggled.

“You’re all going to be on best behavior too,” Jiang Cheng told them, fierce as a hissing domestic cat and just as adorably toothless. “You hear me? All of you! A-Yuan, A-Ling, that means you’re going to be cute but not spoiled, while A-Yu can – actually, just do the same as them in an age-appropriate way, you’re cute enough –”

Mo Xuanyu beamed.

“Still, we don’t know what they’re like. Start by being a little reserved – not too loud –”

Lan Sizhui waved for attention as if they were in a classroom.

“…yes?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking vaguely resigned and grumpy in a way that was clearly meant to conceal how unbearably charming he found the gesture.

“Can I be called Sizhui this time?” Lan Sizhui asked eagerly. “I’m old enough!”

Jiang Cheng frowned a bit, and Lan Wangji understood. The Jiang sect generally didn’t use courtesy names until the child in question had mastered a full sword routine, usually age eight or nine, and close family almost never made the switch in full; from what Lan Wangji knew, Jiang Yanli had called Jiang Cheng ‘A-Cheng’ right up until the end of her life, not to mention referring routinely to Wei Wuxian, who she’d only met when he was already old enough to use his courtesy name, as ‘A-Xian’. The Lan sect, in contrast, started using courtesy names almost exclusively once a child was old enough to leave his parents, typically age three or four – Lan Wangji had been calling Lan Sizhui by name for years already, and had been needling Jiang Cheng to pick it up as well without success.

“I’ll introduce you,” Lan Wangji offered, saving Jiang Cheng the awkwardness of having to explain or decline or, worst of all for someone like Jiang Cheng, accidentally slip up and say something sappy like you’ll always be A-Yuan to me.

Lan Sizhui nodded, satisfied, and next to him, Jin Ling frowned. “What about me?” he asked. “Am I going to be Rulan?”

“The Jin sect is the last of the Great Sects in using courtesy names,” Jiang Cheng said, finally on more solid ground. “Not until you get your sword, and that’s not until you’re eleven. Or twelve!”

“But I already have a sword…”

“The age you would be if you were getting your own,” Lan Wangji interjected. “To make it fair to all the rest.”

That seemed to reassure Jin Ling, who nodded. “Good,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna be Rulan, anyway…jiujiu, when did you say these guests would be arriving?”

That, of course, sent Jiang Cheng back into a flurry of activity, and Lan Wangji shook his head, long-suffering. “You’ve hosted entire discussion conferences,” he pointed out to Jiang Cheng. “There are only two cultivators this time. It is far easier.”

“Is it?” Jiang Cheng shot back. “Is it really?”

In contrast to the expectation and build up leading up to it, the actual arrival of Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen was rather unremarkable. They arrived just as the sun was setting, two young men, one beautiful and the other handsome, both valiant heroes with faces that shone with kindness and righteousness. Xiao Xingchen’s face was curved in a gentle smile, Song Zichen set in a neutral expression. Both seemed sincere and respectful when they bowed deeply in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure and honor to host such heroes,” Jiang Cheng said, nodding his head regally in return. He really had at some point learned how to fake being a competent and confident sect leader, and it might have even had the effect he was going for if it wasn’t for the small gaggle of children very eagerly stealing peeks from next to him – but Lan Wangji wasn’t going to be the one to tell on them. “I’ve heard many stories of your adventures, and I have long looked forward to meeting you in person. My Lotus Pier is open to you for as long as you require.”

“Sect Leader Jiang is upright and straightforward, well known for his righteousness,” Xiao Xingchen said, and perhaps only Lan Wangji knew precisely why Jiang Cheng flushed with such pleasure at a compliment more commonly applied to Nie Mingjue. “We are happy to be here as your guests.”

Jiang Cheng nodded a second time, still a little stiff and wooden. “You have traveled quite a distance. Are you tired or hungry..?”

They shook their heads in refusal.

Jiang Cheng darted a glance at Lan Wangji, then turned back to them, finally relaxing out of the excess formality that suited Jin Guangshan far more than it did Jian Cheng. “In that case,” he said, his voice a little dry. “Upon the suggestion of certain of my advisors, would you prefer to cut the boring small talk and go out on a night-hunt instead?”

Xiao Xingchen’s face split into a genuine smile, and even Song Zichen’s severity seemed a little eased.

“What an excellent idea, Sect Leader Jiang,” Xiao Xingchen said warmly. “We’d be happy to. I was just telling Song Zichen not long ago that it seemed as though we hadn’t been on a proper hunt in far too long.”

“You think you have problems, try being a sect leader,” Jiang Cheng replied impulsively, then turned red when he realized how rude he’d just been. “That is, I mean – well, there’s not nearly as much free time, that’s all.”

Xiao Xingchen laughed. It gave Lan Wangji a good impression of him: light-hearted and lively, his demeanor kind and good-humored. Despite the lack of blood relation, Lan Wangji was reminded of Wei Wuxian – although perhaps that was just his wistful thinking.

“Well, there’s a reason Zichen and I haven’t started our own just yet,” he said mischievously. “There’s time for that later, after all. Youth is when you make a name for yourself! And speaking of which, I’ve heard plenty about your own prowess, Sandu Shengshou. I admit I’m looking forward to seeing Zidian in action.”

Jiang Cheng looked unbearably pleased at the compliment, clearly sincerely meant, and something in Lan Wangji’s heart that he hadn’t even known was tense finally eased.

He hadn’t realized that he himself was nervous about this meeting – less for his own sake, although he burned with curiosity to learn everything he could about Wei Wuxian, than for Jiang Cheng, who had longed for this meeting so much, cared so much. Lan Wangji found to his bemusement that he had even been a little afraid: afraid that the two strangers would be cold or arrogant, afraid that they’d reject Jiang Cheng tentative overtures of friendship – that Jiang Cheng would be disappointed.

Lan Wangji might enjoy teasing Jiang Cheng into a frenzy, but that was his prerogative. In fact, one could argue that it was only what he was due for having lived with and put up with the man for so long. He’d been the one who’d been there all this time, the one who’d put in so much effort to help rebuild him back into the man he could be rather than the wreck he had been; he’d earned the right to mock him.

No one else was entitled to so much as touch the hem of his robes.

“I have heard much of your matchless skill as well, Hanguang-jun,” Song Zichen said, his voice unexpectedly deep, and Lan Wangji’s attention came back to him as he returned the man’s salute. They both had reputations for being closed-mouthed ice-blocks, and it seemed to Lan Wangji that Song Zichen was probably just reserved, like him, rather than truly standoffish.

“You’re in for a treat, then,” Jiang Cheng said with a faint smirk. “Whether in sword or music, few can match Hanguang-jun’s talents, and he never stints on displaying them.”

To the untried ear, perhaps Jiang Cheng sounded bitter or jealous, and given his competitive mania he probably was, a little, but to Lan Wangji he sounded more smug than anything else, as proud as if he were the one being praised.

With everything settled, they headed off at once.

The subject of the night-hunt was nothing terribly exciting – a troop of fierce corpses ravaging the countryside that someone had finally managed to divine the location of, with the only interesting aspect about them being that they were unusually fast-moving – so there was plenty of time for them to talk as they followed the trail.

Lan Wangji expected Jiang Cheng to start asking questions about the immortal mountain and Wei Wuxian’s mother at once – Jiang Cheng might be prideful and thin-faced, prone to shame and overthinking, but he’d been raised along Wei Wuxian, who was second to none in shamelessness, and Lan Wangji was well aware of how much he hungered for that knowledge.

Of course, probably as a direct result of Lan Wangji’s expectations, Jiang Cheng went for a completely different target.

“It’s said that we live in an age of young heroes,” he remarked, seemingly casual. “Of course, for most of us, that was simply the inevitable result of war – crisis demands the best from people, regardless of age. Without such necessity to spur us onwards, most of us probably would’ve been still kicking our heels even now, whereas you two became heroes as soon as you arrived…how old are you now, again?”

“We are both twenty-one,” Song Zichen said, and Lan Wangji used the moment to glare over at Jiang Cheng when he mouthed six years at him – was this really the time to quibble over something as pointless as the exact age gap between them, which he’d clearly inquired about for no other purpose than to prove Lan Wangji’s earlier assumption wrong? This was Wei Wuxian’s martial uncle here! They should be getting all the information out of him that they could!

(Lan Wangji had long ago decided that when it came to feuding over minor matters with Jiang Cheng, he would be as gracious in defeat as his opponent…which was to say, not at all.)

Jiang Cheng smirked at him, knowing what he was thinking, but then – finally – turned the subject onto the immortal mountain, or more specifically its former disciples.

This time it was Song Zichen’s turn to relax minutely, Lan Wangji noticed. A moment’s thought revealed the reason: they’d probably feared cultivators asking questions that were far more pointed than what they were getting from them – cultivators greedy for the secrets of immortality. No wonder they so assiduously avoided being hosted by the Great Sects, and had done so even before Lanling Jin had gotten in the way of their heroism.

Well, luckily for them, the interest Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji had was a little more…down to earth.

“Cangse Sanren was a talent to shake the ages,” Xiao Xingchen said, his eyes bright and expression enthusiastic. “It was as if anything she turned her mind to, she excelled at, and she turned her mind to all sorts of things without discrimination – painting, poetry, swordsmanship…” He paused, then firmed his shoulders. “I heard that her son was much the same..?”

Lan Wangji felt a smile want to come up to his lips.

It seemed that Xiao Xingchen was just as interested in finding out more about his martial nephew as they were in finding out more about Wei Wuxian’s martial uncle.

Jiang Cheng glanced over at Lan Wangji, who nodded very shallowly, indicating his approval. In his judgment, both of them seemed safe enough: trustworthy, and not like people who would spread gossip.

They could talk about Wei Wuxian.

Talk truly about him, praising his good points and speaking fondly of his faults…these two, Lan Wangji thought, wouldn’t judge them harshly for failing to condemn him, and they wouldn’t tell anyone else, either.

Later, after they’d finished dispatching the ghouls – and the Wei Wuxian portion of the conversation, for which Jiang Cheng had taken the lead and which a listening Lan Wangji had enjoyed tremendously, largely on account of Xiao Xingchen’s genuine enthusiasm for learning everything he could about the martial nephew he had only just barely missed meeting, fearsome Yiling Patriarch or not – Jiang Cheng finally and regretfully brought them back to the original subject.

“I heard that you two are collecting allies to go after Xue Yang,” he said, and pretended (just as Lan Wangji did) to ignore the way Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen suddenly glanced at each other. “I’ll support that, of course. From everything I’ve heard, he’s become a mad dog, trying to bite anyone he sees. Hasn’t he been launching all sorts of raids on sects left and right these past few years?”

They nodded.

“Rather pointless ones,” Song Zichen said, a deep frown on his face. “He runs in and causes chaos, then flees into the night – he barely even stops to kill people, and almost never steals treasures. At most he goes to make trouble by defacing the walls of some of the ancestral tombs…we can see no sense in it. The only explanation is that his demonic cultivation has in fact driven him mad.”

Demonic cultivation didn’t necessarily drive a person mad. That was something Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng had painfully learned over the years, much to Jiang Cheng’s distress. However, it certainly didn’t help maintain calmness or peace of mind; there was every chance that a delinquent like Xue Yang had had his temperament worsened by demonic cultivation, leading to his present circumstances.

“Indeed,” Jiang Cheng said noncommittally. “I really have only question for you, then.”

Knowing where this was going, Lan Wangji turned his gaze on their guests’ expression.

“Haven’t you been chasing him on your own for all these years now, trying to get him to go to trial for his crimes, refusing any offers of help?” Jiang Cheng asked, his voice suddenly pointed. “Why the sudden change in favor of asking for help now?”

Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen shared another long look between them.

Finally, Xiao Xingchen cleared his throat. “In truth,” he said, “we spread that rumor as a smokescreen. We’re not looking for allies, generally speaking…we really only wanted a reason to ask for your help.”

Jiang Cheng stopped and stared, visibly surprised. Lan Wangji kept his expression more neutral, but privately he was just as taken aback; when they’d discussed this earlier, planning out this conversation in advance, that wasn’t even remotely one of the possibilities they’d considered.

“My help?” Jiang Cheng asked cautiously. “Or…?”

“Yours and Hanguang-jun,” Song Zichen said. “We weren’t sure who else to turn to.”

“What’s the issue?” Jiang Cheng asked, waving a hand to halt their forward progress. A good idea, in Lan Wangji’s view: it was the middle of the night, and they were in the middle of the forest in the back hills near the Lotus Pier, with no one around for a good distance except for trusted Jiang sect disciples – if there needed to be privacy for this discussion, this was the best place for it.

Another shared glance.

Lan Wangji slanted a glance of his own to Jiang Cheng, who returned it: they’d been right, there really was something unusual with this visit.

They stood in silence for a while.

Finally, Xiao Xingchen yielded. “Very well,” he said, and met Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “Sect Leader Jiang…can you tell us what you know about the Ghost General?”

Jiang Cheng stiffened, his fists clenching.

Lan Wangji’s heart felt just as stiff. He stepped forward.

“There are many people who can tell you about Wen Ning,” he said neutrally, watching them carefully. “Assuming that what you wish to know is how he fought or his transformation into a conscious fierce corpse. Is your concern that Xue Yang has replicated the technique and created his own ghost general?”

He didn’t think it would be that. As he’d said, everyone knew what Wen Ning had done once he’d become the Ghost General – the Jin sect would know far better than either of them how fearsome he was, since it was at Jinlin Tower that he had erupted in his final massacre. If they wanted to know about fierce corpses in general, they could go there.

To come here, to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji – the only two people who were known to have gone up to the Yiling Burial Mounds while Wei Wuxian lived there with Wen Ning at his side, the only living people who knew what the Ghost General was like when he wasn’t being a weapon, to know what Wen Ning was like as a person – suggested something different.

Something impossible.

Xiao Xingchen met his eyes. “It is not.”

“Wen Ning was destroyed,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice tight and unsteady. “He murdered my brother-in-law, my nephew’s father, and when Lanling Jin demanded his head as retribution, he and his sister went to them under pretense of surrender and murdered even more of them before they were taken down. He was destroyed.”

They said nothing.

“The former Sect Leader Jin was very interested in demonic cultivation,” Lan Wangji said slowly. “While Wei Wuxian lived, he sought to claim the Stygian Tiger Seal. When he died…”

He glanced at Jiang Cheng a second time. They had not discussed the subject of the Siege of the Burial Mounds in any detail, as it inevitably put Jiang Cheng into a terrible frame of mind, and Lan Wangji remembered with a shudder the state they had both been in at that fateful meeting – he didn’t want to remember it himself, much less bring back bad memories for Jiang Cheng.

They certainly hadn’t discussed the subject of spoils. The only thing that had ever brought it to mind was the silent presence of Chenqing lying in place of pride in the Jiang sect’s memorial hall as the substitute for the memorial tablet they could not afford to raise for Wei Wuxian.

It hadn’t seemed relevant.

It was now.

“Sect Leader Jin took it,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, his voice shaking a little. “The Stygian Tiger Seal was broken in two, and Wei Wuxian destroyed one of the halves – the Jin sect claimed the other, saying that they were going to destroy it. I think they took more than that, too…I know they took Suibian, but they also took all the papers that’d been left in the cave. I always suspected that that was why they were so protective of Xue Yang, who was a demonic cultivator himself – that Jin Guangshan wanted to squeeze him for information, or maybe even use him to figure out some of Wei Wuxian’s notes…”

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head furiously.

“Wen Ning was destroyed,” he insisted. “The Jin sect scattered his ashes! They – they…”

“They lied,” Song Zichen said.

Lan Wangji pressed his lips together. He had no particularly warm feelings towards Wen Ning, who had been Wei Wuxian’s shadow in that last year or so of life when Wei Wuxian had turned his back on the world – a position Lan Wangji would have given his left arm to have, and over which he had had all sorts of inappropriate feelings of envy and stifled, unjustified possessiveness – but Jiang Cheng took the man’s existence far more personally.

In Jiang Cheng’s view, it had been for Wen Ning that Wei Wuxian had stolen the Wen sect remnants, for Wen Ning that Wei Wuxian had abjured his relationship with the Jiang sect and Jiang Cheng himself, for Wen Ning that Wei Wuxian had given up everything, and yet simultaneously it had also been Wen Ning that had pushed him to the very brink and over. Wen Ning who had murdered Jin Zixuan – Wen Ning who Wei Wuxian had so brutally avenged in the massacre at the Nightless City, at which Jiang Yanli had died.

Wen Ning, who they thought had been destroyed.

“We believe that the former Sect Leader Jin hid Wen Ning away instead of destroying him, then gave Xue Yang access to him, just as he did with the Tiger Seal and Wei Wuxian’s notes,” Xiao Xingchen said, his face solemn. “We also believe that Xue Yang took Wen Ning away with him when he escaped Jinlin Tower once the former sect leader died and the current sect leader took over. We believe that he has been controlling him through demonic cultivation, using him as something of an – accomplice, or something of the sort.”

“Controlling him how?” Jiang Cheng asked. They paused, and he continued, “I’m not stupid. You’re very sure that Wen Ning’s not gone, which means you located him and saw something that made you think so. What was it?”

Lan Wangji nodded shallowly, approving of Jiang Cheng’s deduction – and of the self-mastery he was demonstrating in not exploding in rage on the spot.

“He had nails in his head,” Xiao Xingchen said. “He…the Ghost General was mindless and unthinking, but strong. Very strong. He…”

He trailed off, and shook his head, seeming a bit sad.

“What help do you require from us?” Lan Wangji said, suddenly sick of the tension, and he saw Jiang Cheng throw him a look full of relief for having raised the question.

“Hanguang-jun is right,” Jiang Cheng said, backing him up at once. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you need us for? You two are heroes, and half the cultivation world would sell their firstborn child for a chance to bring down the Ghost General to increase their fame – there’s no way you came here just to get our help in bringing him down. If that’s what you wanted, it wouldn’t have needed to be us, and there wouldn’t have needed to be a smokescreen. What do you want?”

“We want to heal him,” Xiao Xingchen said solemnly. “To bring back his consciousness and return his sanity. But we don’t know what he was like, before Xue Yang. The only ones that do are the two of you.”

“You do remember that he killed my brother-in-law?” Jiang Cheng asked, his voice sharp.

“At Wei Wuxian’s order,” Song Zichen responded, equally sharp. “You do not blame the sword for the men it kills.”

Lan Wangji closed his eyes briefly, in pain at the reminder. He took a breath, steadying himself, and then another.

He opened his eyes.

“We will help,” he said, and ignored the betrayed look Jiang Cheng shot his way. They would talk about it later, and he would help Jiang Cheng see that this was what they had to do, no matter how painful. “And we will not betray the secret of his existence.”

“Thank you,” Xiao Xingchen said, and saluted deeply; Song Zichen did as well. “And yet, we have more we would ask of you.”

“Spit it out, then,” Jiang Cheng growled.

“Finding Wen Ning had shown us that Xue Yang’s actions have gone truly beyond the pale, beyond redemption,” Song Zichen said, and his voice was fierce. That wasn’t surprising: it had been his childhood home, his master and fellow disciples, that Xue Yang had attacked. “He is, as you said, a mad dog, biting all that he can – I believe that Wen Ning was his only companion as he fled, chased by the whole cultivation world these past few years. I fear what Xue Yang will do now that his last connection to humanity is gone. He is capable of anything.”

“We must find him,” Xiao Xingchen agreed. “We must find Xue Yang, and we must stop him from doing – whatever it is that he will do next. I cannot even begin to imagine the atrocities he might perpetrate. And so we must ask…”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng said, and they both looked at him, surprised. “We’ll help you heal Wen Ning, and we’ll even help you hunt down Xue Yang. But this time, no excuses, no dragging your feet, no waiting for a proper trial, nothing like that. He dies, you hear me? Xue Yang is to be killed on sight!”

“I agree,” Lan Wangji said, folding his hands together behind his back. He had helped Jiang Cheng in pursuing and judging demonic cultivators before – there were those that could be granted mercy, and those for whom the only just answer was death; time and too many second chances had made inescapably clear that Xue Yang was the latter. “Each time you have sought to bring him to trial, he has taken advantage of your devotion to justice to escape.”

Xiao Xingchen looked at Song Zichen, who nodded firmly; a moment later, Xiao Xingchen sighed and nodded himself. “Agreed,” he said. “You will help us?”

“We will,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, and Lan Wangji nodded in full support. “It would be a pleasure to wipe that trash off the face of this earth.”

The town was full of mist and fog, choking the throat and making it hard to breathe or see; the feng shui of the entire valley was as bad as could be, and there was more miasma than there was air.

“You there, drunkard, what are you doing!” someone shouted at a figure lying halfway in the door of a house that was filled to the brim with coffins. “Don’t mock our livelihood! Just because it’s a coffin house doesn’t make it a good place to play dead!”

The figure stirred.

But I’m not playing dead, he thought, rubbing his aching head with one hand, noticing that he seemed to be missing his little finger. I actually was dead, wasn’t I?

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes.

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #xiao xingchen #song lan #my fic #my fics #delight in misery

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chilly-me-softly · 3 years

Note

Hi 🦊

What about A blurb about the reader having a daughter and she fells in love with Mason but she’s kinda worried about how he could react knowing she already has a child. Instead, it turns out he immediately loves the baby and he absolutely want to be a daddy.

You didn't plan it, it just happened. You fell in love with Mason when you were convinced you couldn't live up to it after the last disappointment; you fell in love day after day with the little things, the wrinkles that form around his eyes as he laughs, the way he tells a story, his touch, his kisses...

You realised too late that by now you were completely madly in love with that boy, by now you thought of him in all the things you did in your everyday life and couldn't wait to hear from him or meet him. But your biggest secret was always there to haunt you. Your two year old daughter now sleeping snuggled against you with her fist wrapped around your shirt and her dummy in her mouth had made you turn down a call from him, a quick text by making up an excuse as a replacement.

You sigh looking at her profile deciding it's best to put her in her cot so you can do some chores around the house. She was born out of your previous relationship, the one that had left you with a broken heart and a life to rebuild.

You had spent almost three years of your life thinking only of her and the realisation that you had made room in your heart for another person suddenly hit you hard. You knew what it all meant. That was the moment of truth, inside or out. To take the next step in your relationship you had to be honest with Mase and tell him the truth, finish telling him your story.

You were scared of all that thinking. You were worried about how he would react to knowing that you already had a child, you were scared of suffering again. You knew you could not go on like this, yet you would have preferred to be swallowed up by a black hole.

You torture another fingernail waiting for the doorbell to ring. The night before you were in bed and couldn't sleep, and by chance you had seen that Mason was online. You'd been ignoring him for days, your daughter had a fever and you hadn't felt like walking away from her but in doing so you'd had to make excuses with the boy. Holding your breath, you had written to him leaving your address to clear things up. And now you were there waiting.

You jump out of your seat as soon as you hear the doorbell, a quick glance at the monitor before heading for the door. You greet him softly as soon as he appears before your eyes, trying to flash a smile, a big breath before stepping aside to let him in.

He looks around, and you know his brain has already started working on the various photos and toys scattered around the house, which are certainly not yours. He only returns to looking at you when you clear your throat.

"I want to apologize first of all for avoiding you these days, but there's a reason and I want to tell you no matter what" he nods sitting down on the couch, you can see he's already understood but he'd rather you take your time to tell him in your own words.

"I have a daughter, Mason" a huge weight lifts off your stomach only to be replaced by an equally heavy one, "I never even mentioned it to you before because I don't know I guess I didn't think you could become this important to me"

"Oh - you hear Mason murmur - can I meet her? No it's probably too soon..." he blurts out to the point that you struggle to keep up with him and look at him with an indecipherable face to the point that when he manages to get his thoughts under control, Mason's expression changes to one of confusion and concern.

"(Y/N)?" he calls you, moving closer and kneeling down in front of you, his hands in yours actually making you focus on his face there in front of you.

"I know I rushed too much I'm sorry" but you shake your head, your reaction is only due to your own stupid beliefs and you're still a little incredulous to be honest.

"You want to meet her?"

"Yeah" Mason nods smiling, "only if you want to and you think it's the right thing to do right now. I can understand why you've kept her hidden away, tried to protect her, but you're important to me too and so is your daughter" your lips are on the boy's a moment later, your hands on his cheeks pulling him to you as much as you can.

"You're the most special person I've ever met Mase, but you don't have to feel obligated in any way if-"

"What did I just say? I'm dying to meet the mini version of you, and no one is holding a gun to my head" you leave another kiss on his lips before getting up from the couch glancing at the monitor and seeing movement.

"I'll be right back"

"I'll wait for you here" you smile at him one last time before disappearing down the hallway, filling the little one with kisses filling your heart and ears with her giggle. And when you walk back into the living room you're happy to see that you weren't hallucinating and that Mason is still there, slightly nervous now that he sees you coming but still with a smile on his face.

"Here we are. Can you say hi to Mason?" the little one is resting against your chest, one hand scratching one of her eyes still sleepy, she continues to suck on her dummy but her eyes are immediately on her host's and damn if they aren't similar to yours.

"Hi. Oh you're an absolute beauty" he murmurs breathlessly unsure how far he can go, he has nieces and nephews but it's different.

"She's got a bit of a fever, that's why I've been absent these days" you admit stroking the little girl's hair which relaxes even more under your touch making Mason smile.

"Oh no I'm sorry" the little one drops the dummy and Mason is ready to pick it up, seeing that the little one is just waiting for him to give it back.

"You want it don't you? But it's dirty, wait" he leaves you speechless once again as he heads into the kitchen to rinse the dummy under the sink.

"Here you go" he hands her the item then leaving her a caress on one cheek and the little one seems to lean towards his hand.

"You seem to have quite cold hands... do you want to take her?"

"May I?" Mason's eyes widen as he imperceptibly shifts back to sit up better, waiting for you to hand him the baby. A small sigh escapes her lips as soon as one of his hands tentatively rests on her forehead, her small body relaxing even more against his chest.

"What?" he murmurs in embarrassment when his gaze settles on you, who are looking at him or rather at them dreamily. You shake your head, "I'm glad I told you"

"I'm glad you told me"

"Oh wait till she's better"

"I can't wait" and locking your eyes with his you know you're giving him your all in that moment, you're trusting someone other than yourself again and as scary as it is it's worth it.

#thank you #mason mount #mason mount blurb

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hobidreams · 4 years

Text

march 1867.

she is beautiful in ways you could never be.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama, angst words: 1.3k contains: longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 18. start from the beginning?

Her name is Beom-su.

Her carriage arrives just as the sun reaches its highest peak in the sky, two measly days after Yoongi becomes king. The sole, precious daughter of the Minister of Taxation, as you will learn that evening from Jin-young over a dinner that is tasteless on your tongue. And because fate seems to have it out for you, you are witness to Beom-su’s welcoming procession. Castle ladies and eunuchs alike bow to her as she is helped out of her opulent gama by the servants that carried her all the way here. You hate the twisting in your stomach when you realize for the first time that she is beautiful, and then you can’t seem to stop.

She is beautiful in the corridors, practically gliding down them in her elaborate skirt with steps kept delicate and elegant, befitting her high status.

She is beautiful when she smiles at you whenever you happen to pass by each other, acknowledging you with a polite “su-uinyeo-nim” that makes you feel ugly and small when you can only muster a meager, fake grin in return.

But she is perhaps the most beautiful on certain afternoons when, with her makeup carefully done and perfect, she is escorted to the royal tea room to meet the king, her betrothed for a proper, private break. There is always an entire throng of excited maids who accompany her there, chatting merrily about the prepared menu and tea selection of the day. You are horribly aware that it is a far cry from the brief pockets of time you stole with the prince before he became too far for even your greedy reach.

You haven’t seen the king since his coronation. That is to be expected, of course. It’s not like you had much time with him before the ceremony either; the frenzy following his father’s death in early January had swept Yoongi up in its wake. A royal death so soon after the French invasion threatened to create mass panic among the people, and a strong leadership had to be presented to quell the fears. Thankfully, Queen Jeonghui was able to help with that front, standing strong beside her son with her ever-steady smile, giving him advice on the decisions now left up to him. And with news of the royal marriage to take place mid-May, things have settled even more, which perhaps had been the late king’s intentions when he arranged the match.

Wonderful. Just… wonderful.

You miss him.

You have no right to miss him, especially now since he is promised to another in a match that will do so much for the country, but you do.

You don’t want to admit how many times you’ve gone to the private library at your usual time and found it locked, empty. The hidden key hasn’t been moved from its hiding spot though, meaning you are still the sole other person to have free access to this space, whenever you please. You take that fact and all the hope it swirls up in you, and hold it somewhere near your heart. (He just hasn’t had the time to move it yet, says some irritating part of your mind that won’t shut up, especially at night when you’re trying to sleep.) The most pathetic thing is that even though you can, you haven’t mustered the courage to actually step inside the library in a long time, afraid the loneliness might really overwhelm you if you do. Afraid you won’t read and absorb a single word, and instead just wait for him to push open the door even though you know better. Or at least you should know better.

(You think he might even be purposefully avoiding you, which is the only conclusion you can extrapolate from the three separate times he meets your eyes by chance on the palace grounds only to snatch his gaze away and take the longer way around.)

But today, you have decided you are stronger than this. Today, you manage to enter the sunlit room and leave without much hesitation with The Myth of Flowers hugged close to your chest. The well-worn book’s weight is familiar and comforting, and you already foresee a late night poring over the words you have half memorized, perhaps with some yakgwa cookies and a cup of hot tea. The thought pulls a small smile on your face. After all, you cannot spend your entire life pining after a man who has never been, and could never have been, yours. It’s time you take care of yourself, even if that is more easily thought than done. Even if you are already feeling the absence of the bracelet you hesitantly left behind today, tucked inside a drawer with mother’s gifts of hairpins.

Caught in these thoughts, you should have been paying more attention to reality.

“Oh!”

A flash of scarlet robes. Too close, you leap back and your eyes swing up to see who you almost just bumped into so you can apologize and—

The king.

Your king.

Yoongi.

These last thoughts, you banish from your head as soon as they come.

“Jeonha!” You voice is surprised, but automatically too warm and too fond. Thinking back on it later, you will smack your forehead and sorely regret how palpable your delight at seeing him was. “I am very sorry. I almost hurt you.”

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, his hand slipping up to the back of his neck briefly before he lets it drop to his side. “It is of no consequence. Nothing happened.” He sounds formal, so detached it makes a discomfort rear its head in your stomach.

“Su-uinyeo-nim. Good afternoon,” comes a voice from beside him, and you realize that he is not alone. Beom-su smiles at you, her hands gathered politely in front of her skirt. You see that Eunuch Kim trails behind them too, though a little way off as is his habit.

“Good afternoon.” You force yourself to bow, and not quiver all the way through. “Please enjoy your walk.” You have to leave here. “Please excuse me.” You cannot let yourself be trapped in this conversation when nothing good can come of it.

You’ve taken maybe five steps past them when the king says something that sounds a lot like the first syllable of your name before he cuts himself off. “Su-uinyeo-nim,” he says instead, and you grit your teeth before slowly turning around.

“Yes, jeonha?”

Be strong. Be strong.

Wordlessly, his stare holds yours and you think that you can see something in his eyes so reminiscent of that day he came to you in the infirmary, confused and heavy with a loss he had yet to admit. The day he let a few more walls crumble down, only to rebuild them all mere days after.

“… Never mind. Good day.”

You swallow disappointment and nod, bowing deeply so that he can’t see your face as you hear him turn. Still, despite yourself, damned by your curiosity or maybe just stupidity, you can’t help but see them off when you come back upright. They walk side by side, pace matched down the length of the garden, soon to disappear among the lush trees.

The worst thing is, you know too well the expression on Beom-su’s face as she looks at him. It’s the one you’re certain you’ve mirrored for so many years, right down to the nervous smile and the subtle tucking of hair behind your ear because you want to look perfect for the man you’ve fallen for.

She does lovestruck better than you.

She has the privilege to give him those soft, longing glances. You can only stare at his back as he walks further and further away.

#ficswithluv #yoongi angst #bts angst #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #historical au #bts scenarios #rain writes #moonlit throne #desire is a fickle thing #and so is chance #you can never hold the position she does... can you?

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ascalonianpicnic · 2 years

Photo

Illiaur - “Look, I’m just here for that paperwork I need, not to answer invasive personal questions, so can we like move this along or something?”

Sylvari Warrior - male, he/him - gay, thanks for asking

Two decades ago, roughly, Liaur emerged from his pod shortly after his twin sister, Auri. He was the hot to her cold, and the calm and rational to her boisterous and impulsive nature. They were close, full on inseperable, so much so that Auri refused the call of her wyld hunt because it didn’t include him. Then the Nightmare Court caught them.

One night, during a warden raid on the camp they were being kept at, Liaur offered to act as a distraction so the warden would have enough time to get his sister to safety. It worked. The warden got Auri out, but despite her begging, no one had a chance to go back for Liaur, and he was left behind. He was recaptured and moved to a different camp, where his torture continued until the day a special guest visited. The Duke of Burning Frost had a bit of a reputation for tearing apart and absorbing smaller, harsher court encampments, and they had set their eyes on the count who was torturing and killing rather than converting a number of prisoners. This wouldn’t stand, it wouldn’t help the court grow at all, so the duke stepped in, and they tore the count apart, absorbing this camp into their own.

As a prisoner, Liaur was given medical treatment and a special visit from the duke. The two hit it off surprisingly well, and it didn’t take long for the duke to convince Liaur to actually convert. Once recovered, he joined the duke in their personal camp, joining the Frostflame Court and quickly working his way up to the position of knight. At the same time, his duke quickly pulled him from friendly courtier to partner, and the two started an unhealthy relationship fueled far too strongly by passion and strong emotions and lack of thought or care. Looking back now, Liaur understands how toxic it was, and how much the relationship affected him as a person, but still says it was mutually unhealthy and he caused just as much harm to his former duke. Neither realized in the moment though, too blinded by love to care. And they stayed together for a long while.

During his time serving as a knight, Liaur developed a Dark Hunt, calling him to the Maguuma Jungle. He followed, aided personally by his duke and a carefully selected group of other courtiers to find what he believed may be another Tree, untouched by the Dream. The expedition, and his Hunt, were successful, but the timing was unfortunate. While gathered around this Tree, meeting sylvari who were truly independent, Mordremoth awoke. What followed was months of Liaur hiding among the many hollows of this Blighting Tree, trying to resist the call and avoid his own corrupted lover seeking him out. Eventually, he was cornered and forced to face down his own duke, killing them in a desperate fight shortly before being saved by a ragtag group of Pact survivors. Liaur stayed in the jungle, aiding the survivors for a while until he could safely go home, returning to the Frostflame court and helping it rebuild after the loss of its duke and the grand duchess. The court that rebuilt after, in the corpse of what Faolain had created, granted Liaur the title of Duke of Freezing Fire, and elected him to a small council of the more powerful members who wanted to keep the court the same. He stayed and played nicely enough with the other dukes and duchesses, feeling more and more trapped in what the court was becoming again. He tried to lead the Frostflame Court well, fair and steady, but still far gentler than anyone would expect a duke to be. And when the opportunity presented itself, he left someone he trusted in charge, faked his death, and left the court behind.

He works now as a secretary in the Order of Whispers, for one of the more notorious agents. He’s also slowly reconnecting with his sister, who’s glad to have him back in her life after so long. She’s maybe too forgiving, but there’s nothing that says either of the twins have to be good people. Just lawful ones, when certain authorities are watching.

...There are, of course, universes where he never leaves. Where he gets pulled deeper into the politics and dangers of the Court, and where he seeks not escape but to drag his sister into it with him. But in his main universe, he’s offered a way out before its too late by @mystery-salad‘s Kvold, and he leaves that life behind, becoming someone new with the help of his sister and his new best friend. It’s sweet and bright and full of a lot of laughter and a lot of love and a lot of people waiting for him to realize he’s in love with Kvold.

Liaur is a berserker, fighting wreathed in flames with either dual swords or a sword and a torch. A notably feature to him is his blood is highly flammable. Even the smallest cut in battle will erupt into brilliant blue and white flames. The longer he fights, the hotter and faster he gets, becoming a bright blur across the battlefield. He likes to go shopping or browsing a lot, enjoys taking any excuse to dress up, and always looks forward to game night with his sister and her weird man eating roommate. He’s also always ready to meet up at the water cooler to gossip when at work, delighting in wasting time and sharing drama with the other desk workers for the Order. OoW rumors are incredibly juicy after all.

(end notes: as I said in auri’s bio, she came first and liaur came shortly after. I originally used the masc body for him but it didn’t look or feel right, or similar enough, and I wanted to shorten his name to be more readable. So I remade him a week later lmao. On my original laptop, he looked way more pink then he actually is, the twins were supposed to be pink and blue, but I like the sort of lavender and teal colors they got, and the fact that they both wear a color from the other, its cute~ Additional fun secret fact, they were originally one in the Dream, but the dream thought “hey maybe this kid is a little too extremely powerful and dangerous” and chopped em in half. That’s why they’re both under 5 feet tall, and why they both have very opposite and very volatile magic. The fire and the ice were supposed to temper each other. The names are also intended to be a slight play on the names of Lyssa’s two halves, Lyss and Ilya, I went hard on the two complementary halves thing for these kids lmao)

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #my characters #liaur #the cast list #i've had the picture ready to go for months i just didn't want to right his bio oops #oh! also! he's a non-dysphoric trans man #thats very important to me

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daevastanner · 3 years

Text

Elucien: 20 lashes pt I

Elain finds herself more drawn to Lucien, so when she finds out about his past with Tamlin… unexpected consequences occur

There are negotiations to be made in the Spring Court with Tamlin. He needs aid in rebuilding his Court.

Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, and Azriel are about to depart when Elain hears the High Lord say: Lucien will meet us there.

Elain doesn’t know why, but she speaks up, makes her presence known, and asks to tag along.

Nesta is a bit apprehensive to allow Elain anywhere near the unruly High Lord of Spring, but Feyre agrees before anyone can protest.

Elain wants to come (and Feyre ships Elucien) and that’s good enough for Feyre.

Rhysand respects her choice to join and is happy to allow her a chance to not be “coddled.”

It’s settled. She’s joining them. If only to get away from home for a bit. To get some air and see more of Prythian.

And if she’s being honest… to see Lucien.

She doesn’t know why she suddenly is feeling this pull to be near him but she is.

They arrive in the Spring Court, Tamlin’s manor is in shambles but there’s clearly been some effort to clean up. Likely to show that he is serious about turning things around.

As they approach the manor, Elain sees Lucien standing just outside the door, leaning lazily against the side of the house.

Her heart thunders and she can feel him. She can hear him. Hear them.

His eyes scan over the approaching Night Court and finally land on Elain. He stiffens and Elain feels something taut between them. A phantom thread.

But there’s a strange pinching in her chest and she could swear that there’s a glimmer of something like hope in his eyes.

Pleasantries are exchanged and everyone heads inside.

Tamlin, Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian and Azriel retreat into the study to meet. Nesta makes herself busy in Tamlin’s tarnished library leaving Lucien and Elain in the corridor.

Elain can’t tell if Nesta has done this on purpose, noting her sister’s recent interest in Lucien.

Lucien is examining his nails, again leaning against the wall. Elain can still feel that phantom thread between them, loose but still there.

She speaks first. “He has a garden, does he not?”

Lucien doesn’t meet her eyes, his tone is casual but the edge of his lip tilts up. “I think the word ‘garden’ is generous. Unless you consider weeds and brambles to be greenery.”

The small smile she wears is involuntary. It’s another moment before she speaks again.

“Would you show me?”

Lucien is silent, still not looking at her. For a moment she thinks that he’s ignoring her, but then he says: “Certainly.”

Elain follows Lucien and for the first time she finds herself observing him closely. His confidence and the sort of lazy grace with which he holds himself.

Lucien leads her outside and into an area that is spilling with weeds, overgrown shrubs, untamed bushes. It’s a mess.

“It’s beautiful,” Elain murmurs, her fingers brushing the emerald leaves of a misshaped hedge. “In a wild sort of way.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is actually ‘hopeless,’” Lucien snorts.

But Elain shakes her head. “No. No, nothing is really hopeless. There’s always… potential.”

That thread between them goes taut again, and this time Elain can see that he feels it too. He finally looks at her, brows furrowed but eyes soft.

The silence is thick, but not in a bad way.

Lucien clears his throat. “I’d always assumed you were an optimist.”

“Oh?”

Lucien nods and Elain is… flattered.

Lucien had seen her at her lowest. Lower than her lowest… and had still assumed the best of her.

She swallows the lump in her throat. “And what of you? Are you an optimist?”

Lucien laughs and Elain thinks to herself that he sounds like sunshine. She didn’t know males could sound like that. Could sound so warm and full of light.

“No,” he says, interrupting her thoughts. “I am a realist.” His eyes grow distant. “I suppose I once was an optimist, but… certain events transpired and my… perspective naturally changed.”

Elain fights off a frown. Lucien does not want her pity. She knows that.

He continues, “I admire that about you, if I may be so bold. You… you don’t seem to have lost your way. After everything.”

Her chest pinches again and that thickness in her throat returns.

Because no one has ever recognized that about her. No one has recognized that in spite of everything she’s been through and everything she became after the confrontation with Hybern, she’s emerged intact.

She has remained kind and optimistic. She’s even trying to better herself. To speak up. To not lie down and accept everyone’s sheltering.

And Lucien acknowledges that. Sees it.

Even though they hardly know one another.

“Well,” Elain says, trying to keep her voice even, “I’ve not been through half as much as you.”

“I’ve got quite a few years on you,” Lucien says mildly. But then he grins at her, “You’ve got plenty of time to catch up and become just pessimistic as me.”

Elain laughs, a quiet sound. “I thought you were a realist.”

“Semantics.”

And she laughs again.

The conversation continues in an easy manner. Lucien asks her to distinguish what is a plant and what is a weed and she explains how she might improve Tamlin’s garden were it hers.

“What’s that?” he says, pointing to a set of tall green leaves, a brown cylinder capping each one.

Elain peers at it curiously. “It’s a lake plant actually. Cat of nine tails.”

And Lucien flinches.

The thread goes taut, but in a bad way. A nervous way.

The word spills out of her before she can stop herself: “What?”

Lucien shakes his head. “Nothing.” He gestures to the distance. “There is a lake nearby. Could that be why it grows here?”

But Elain remembers Feyre’s story from Under the Mountain.

Lucien had helped Feyre.

And had received twenty lashes for it.

Elain’s hand raises and brushes Lucien’s arm.

He goes still, only turning his head to look at her.

Elain tries not to appear too sympathetic and only says, “I’m sorry.” Then let’s her hand fall.

Lucien glances at the spot where her fingers had touched him, then meets her eyes.

“You needn’t be,” he says with a wry smile. “It’s in the past. I long ago healed and have long since forgiven Tamlin.”

Elain blinks. “Forgiven Tamlin?”

Lucien inclines his head, lowering his voice, “Tamlin convinced Amarantha to spare my life, but instead he had to bestow me with twenty lashes.”

Elain’s eyes widen in surprise. Tamlin had whipped him?

Noting her expression, Lucien shakes his head, “It’s in the past.”

Elain feels a surge of anger—no, fury, wash over her.

Tamlin had whipped him.

He had whipped Lucien.

And she cared.

She more than cared.

Because Tamlin had whipped him.

Her mate.

Her hands ball into fist, nails biting into her flesh and creating smalls crescents in her palms.

Lucien studies her expression and there’s a look on his face she can’t quite define.

It’s surprise and fear and perhaps a bit of… gratitude?

But that’s secondary, what he feels.

Because Elain is mad.

“Excuse me.”

She turns on her heel, marching for the manor.

Lucien calls her name, but all she hears is the blood roaring in her ears.

Tamlin had whipped Lucien. Had harmed him. Had harmed her mate.

She didn’t care if it had saved his life. She didn’t care if Lucien had forgiven Tamlin.

He had still harmed her mate.

And in all her life, Elain has never been so furious.

She heads to the study, distantly aware of Lucien on her heels, but unwilling to answer his calls or protests that she come back.

Elain arrives at the study doors and flings them both open, storming into the room.

All conversation quiets, the doors bang against the walls.

Standing behind Rhys and Feyre, Azriel and Cassian become alert.

“Elain, what’s wrong?” asks the High Lady.

Elain can see Rhysand’s face out of the corner of her eye… can see his lips twitch just barely.

But she’s got her sights set on Tamlin who sits behind a worn desk in a weathered arm chair.

He gives her an imperious look, taking in her pink cheeks, the flat line of her lips, the way her fists are balled up, her flaring nostrils.

Tamlin’s eyes flick from her to Lucien who is frozen in the doorway, then back to her.

He angles his head. “You’re interrupting.”

“he had to bestow me with twenty lashes.”

The words echo in her ears and her whole body shakes.

That thread between her and Lucien is thick and electrified.

Tamlin exhales heavily as she glowers at him. “What?”

Elain has no idea what she’s doing, but she rears back her fist and hits Tamlin in his jaw.

Gasps and murmurs echo, she can hear Feyre say her name.

Tamlin rubs his jaw, looking at her incredulously.

Elain’s knuckles sing. She has never thrown a punch and she probably did it wrong, but damn did it feel good.

“Elain…” Lucien says, his tone both bewildered and concerned.

The High Lord of Spring rises from his chair and behind her Elain can here both Cassian and Lucien shuffle.

But she looks up at Tamlin unafraid, unwavering and says, “I owe you nineteen more.”

He opens his mouth to speak and then Elain does something very “un-Elain.”

She spits at his feet.

And then she shoves Tamlin’s chest.

The male staggers back just barely, his expression nonplussed.

But he looks at Lucien again and he seems to connect the dots.

Lucien starts, “I didn’t—“

Tamlin only lifts a dismissive hand, then slumps back into his chair. “Where were we?”

The complete disregard for her ire infuriates Elain further and despite the pain in her fingers…

Elain punches him again, this time in the shoulder.

He growls at her.

But Elain only says, “Eighteen.”

Then she turns away from him, walks past the slack jawed Cassian and Azriel, and exits the study, not bothering to shut the doors behind her.

She doesn’t look back but hears them close and Lucien murmur an apology.

Then he’s at her side again. “That… that wasn’t necessary, my lady.”

Elain halts in her tracks and fixes him with an unfaltering look. “It was.” Her brown eyes are fervent. “You deserve better.”

And she finds that she means it. She truly does.

Lucien’s expression is awestruck, but before he can say anything else she takes her leave.

The sunlight streaming in through the windows, catching on the pearl earrings she wears.

Link to part II here

#elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #elain and lucien #acotar #acotar headcanons

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Intrinsic: Jameson in Therapy

Prompt from Anon: If you're still taking prompts... "Have you tried NOT doing that?"

CW: Noncon survivor discussing future consensual spice, Jameson’s masochism, frank references to noncon and pet whump, brief internal victim-blaming, world-building detail about WRU

Dr. Berger tucks a bit of graying hair behind one ear, smiling slightly at Jameson from her place in the soft armchair she uses during appointments. “Well,” She says, thoughtful, “have you tried not doing that?”

He looks up at her from where he sits curled up on the long sofa, knees to his chest, picking absently at loose threads across the knee of his baggy blue jeans. As always, she is careful not to let her eyes move to the places where hair is slowly growing back in over bald spots where the straps of a leather muzzle had rubbed, careful not to look at the scars he wears on every inch of exposed skin - she’d made the mistake of being caught looking, however briefly, and had discovered that the newest of her clients was deeply insecure about the visible evidence of his captivity.

She’d apologized, but it had taken time to develop enough trust to come back from her initial mistake. She would not jeopardize that now, after they’ve made so much progress and she’s begun to see a shift in how he talks about and relates to his new life, his world.

He even told her the name he chose for himself, and that he’s been telling the others in the house, one by one. Accepting that it won’t be taken from him like his original name was - that it belongs to him, and is his to share or not.

She would never, ever admit it, but... Jameson is one of her favorite clients to work with. He’s working so hard, every week that they meet he trusts more and more that the path he’s on is one that will move him forward.

“What?”

His voice is slightly rough - someone who has screamed enough to have permanent vocal chord damage, she thinks. She makes a note to speak to Jake Stanton about having a physician check on the potential for nodes or other issues that might pop up later. She’s not a medical doctor, but… well. She’s had a lot of clients with vocal chord damage in the sixteen years she’s been working in the pet lib movement, and you start to pick up on the little signs and symptoms they don’t necessarily declare out loud.

“My question is really just me being a little facetious, I won’t lie, but I do want to talk through the spirit of the question. When you mention feeling guilty that you are having a physical response to your housemate, that you are attracted to them and have been struggling with... well. I’d like to really dig in to where that guilt comes from. Now, I am aware that adjustment houses tend to discourage relationships between household members during their time in residence to cut down on the chance for conflict, but that’s not where your guilt lies, is it?”

He goes back to picking at the hole slowly wearing through his jeans. Dr. Berger waits, giving him the silence and time he needs to think his way through the question and the possible answers. After a long time, he says softly, “No. It’s not. I don’t give a fuck if Stanton wants me to hold somebody’s stupid hand or not.”

She has to force her smile not to widen, wondering if Jameson is aware of just how like Jakob Stanton he really is. No wonder they don’t always get along. “Okay. So can you talk to me about just what you sense of guilt, this worry you feel, is rooted in?”

She watches with some small surprise as the angry, defiant recovering Box Boy who has spoken frankly and openly to her about being maimed, injured, treated as an object, referred to as an animal... blushes.

“I want-... It’s not the, um, the response. That I hate.” He won’t look at her now, and he’s one who loves to stare her down whenever he thinks she’ll be shocked or disgusted by what he has to tell her. But this… this, he’s ashamed or embarrassed to say. “They’re fucking gorgeous, that’s... anybody would like them. It’s… it’s what I want from them that... scares me.”

“You are accustomed to a certain level of unwanted physical attention, it’s not at all uncommon in Romantic rescues to continue to feel sexual attraction and desire after freedom-”

“No. It’s. It’s not that I-... I know that’s normal. It’s… I want…” He shifts, uneasily. “I want… I want Allyn to hurt me.”

The last sentence is whispered. It’s not sharing a thought, it’s confessing what he feels is some kind of sin he is committing or intending to commit. Dr. Berger sometimes feels like a priest in a confessional booth, although she’s never been one to suggest atonement - no, fear of oneself is where the core of most of her clients’ pain lies, in her experience. Instead, she works on reconstructing the impulse or fear from its foundations, breaking apart the horror of its weight and reconfiguring it so it’s easier to understand.

To take control of, to direct.

She helps them to own themselves, not to fear the prospect but to see in it freedom they have always deserved.

Fear is the absolute last thing any of her clients should ever have to feel again. They have been taught to devalue and debase themselves, to fear what their bodies can be made to do. If she does nothing else, Dr. Berger hopes she is able to help them be just a little less afraid of the bodies they live in.

“You want your housemate to hurt you?” She asks, gently. “Do you mean in the sense of a serious injury, or…”

“No. Um. No, I fucking… I think about them, um. Hurting-... like… like they used to do. Biting me, or... or scratching... I th-think sometimes about Allyn h-holding a... never mind. Just. Hurting me. I’m-... made to be hurt.”

“You are made only to be yourself,” Dr. Berger reminds him, her voice low and without any hint of judgement. “We’ve talked about your captors before and how you were held. You believe that you were made into a masochist as part of your training, and so you’re frightened that your mind is thinking about your housemate in ways similar to how you were once forced to think about your captors.”

His nose wrinkles - he’s more dismissive than most of the language she uses, and early on delighted in insisting on using words like owner, handler, master. Things he thought might shock her. But Dr. Berger has heard nearly everything she thinks there might be to hear, by now. She only smiles slightly at his expression, jotting quickly down on her notepad a few notations.

Finally, he offers hesitantly, “I-I guess. Allyn is… good. They’re soft, and nice, and they’d never-... but I want them to. And it’s-... it would make-... them be like Robert, or… wouldn’t it? It’d be… treating them like… I don’t ever want to be what I was again, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it?”

He is so rarely vulnerable. Dr. Berger doesn’t take for granted the gift he gives her by letting her see past the wall of anger and derision he has built to keep himself safe. In many ways, he reminds her of when she saw Jake Stanton after his own brush with WRU’s handlers and their methods. Bristling, defensive, and with wounds that cannot be bandaged. They instead need to be exposed to the light.

“Intrusive thoughts that contain elements of your captivity are absolutely normal. You are still in the early stages of making progress, and progress is never linear, Jameson. There is no starting line, no ribbon at the end of the race. There is only moving forward, bit by bit, even if sometimes we move back.”

“You mean I move back,” He says, sullen now. “You don’t do shit. You’re already fine.”

“Mmmn, that’s not… quite accurate. I actually see someone myself, you know.” Dr. Berger smiles at his obvious, visible surprise. “My mentor once told me he never trusted a provider of therapy who did not themselves seek it out. I have my own progress to work towards, just as you have yours.”

“Problems are probably real fucking different, though.”

“Well, that’s true.” She allows herself a warm laugh - and is rewarded when he doesn’t bristle or assume mockery like he used to, but relaxes and even gives her a very small smile in return. “But I would advise you not to compare yourself to others. Your situation, while not unique in some ways, is still unique to you. You’ve been through a kind of horror that no one else has - even if others have experienced some similarities, the traumatic events they experienced will never be entirely like yours.”

He nods.

“But-” She holds up one finger “That doesn’t mean we can’t use what we know as a framework, a foundation you can build your own way on. Think of an ancient Roman road paved into a highway in modern Italy, for instance. The foundation was there, a path laid by people who came through before. But you can take what you need and use it to find your own way. I know that you’re scared of your thoughts, I know that you are frightened of wanting to find gratification or satisfaction in pain because you think it means a return to how you were treated before, or that you are inherently changed in damaging ways by your captivity, but…”

When she trails off, he leans slightly forward “But?”

She chooses her words carefully. “Jameson, would you be willing to consider something that may make you a little uncomfortable?”

He looks at her, depths of feelings in his brown eyes, and slowly nods. “Why not? I’m already fucking uncomfortable. All the time.”

His thin shoulders under the oversized band shirt he wears make angles under the fabric as he shrugs, although in the time she’s been seeing them those sharp edges have already begun to round out, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones are softening.

She’s seen it over and over again, the physical changes reflecting the rebuilding of an entire life. It never ceases to amaze her, how hard each and every one of them works.

“Okay. This may be hard to hear at first but I think it will help you.”

Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” He half-rasps. “Yeah, okay. Just say it. Everything… everything else you’ve said has helped. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, what I would like you to consider… perhaps what you see as an enforced flaw, a crack that was put into you, a danger you present to your housemate due to your conditioning and mistreatment… it might be in fact an intrinsic part of your sexual expression, and simply an aspect of your attraction to them, and the wish you stated to me to perhaps escalate your current relationship.”

He swallows. The color drains from his face, except for two spots of bright red high along his cheekbones. “What?” His lips barely move.

“Jameson…” Her tone dips, reassuring and soothing. “I know what you were told. I know you were likely given a series of half-truths and whole lies designed to engender dependence and teach you to loathe yourself and therefore disconnect from your body. But… that body? It’s very real, and it’s entirely yours. I think that we need to look into the possibility that you already had certain tendencies that were exploited and twisted. Those tendencies are not inherently unhealthy or damaging if you learn to pursue them in a safe environment.”

He blinks, once, twice, his eyes glittering.

She’s made a misstep and she knows it immediately, clear as the tears Jameson never allows to fall. She didn’t time it quite right. They should have spent more time working up to it…

“Are you saying I’m just-... like this?”

“Not the way you are suggesting,” Dr. Berger says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself clearly enough. Please let me elaborate a little.”

“I fucking hope you d-didn’t mean that I’m-... that I’m just fucked up,” He says, looking away from her, down at the floor. She pretends she doesn’t see one hand go up to curve around the side of his neck, recreating some of the weight of the collar they are so often taught to rely on for a sense of safety.

“I absolutely did not mean that. One thing WRU excels at - one of the reasons they have been so successful - is that they utilize very effective techniques that encourage a sense of complicity and responsibility in the people they abuse and violate. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were told that you chose what happened to you.”

“I signed up for this,” Jameson whispers automatically, rote and robotic, without hesitation. At least, Dr. Berger thinks, she’s been doing this job long enough that hearing that no longer gets to her like it used to. “I wanted to be some rich asshole’s-”

“Yes. That. One way I think they are able to convince so many individuals so thoroughly isn’t only because of the standard methods of sleep and nutritional deprivation, the repetition, memorizing, the mistreatment… no, I think one thing WRU does is find in each of its victims a core truth they can exploit and cause you to fear in yourself, making you more vulnerable to the idea that this company is somehow saving or helping you by ‘making use’ of it. They find your weak point and use it to shatter you, but what WRU never realizes is that the very weakness they exploit is also often the same piece of you we can recover, that we can reclaim. In your case… Jameson, have you ever heard of consensual masochism?”

He’s hooked, she thinks, on this line of logic. On the lifeline she’s thrown him, something to grab onto. A way to begin to believe, in some small way, that he isn’t ruined. They all think they’ve been ruined, by the time she meets them.

None of them is.

“No, I-I haven’t. Does this mean… there are people like me who aren’t, you know, fucktoys-”

“Recovering Romantics,” She corrects, gently. “And yes. Masochism is a not-uncommon mode of expression that many people engage in consensually in the context of healthy sexual expression.”

He swallows, hard. She watches his throat move. Sees the look in his eyes, the minute changes in his expression. The hand pushing against the side of his neck slowly drops. She can see the gears turning within him, a shifting point of view maybe. She can see what he doesn’t want to speak out loud.

There’s another silence. This one is more comfortable, and as always she gives him all the time he needs.

“How-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly again. His knees slowly uncurl and his feet, clad in old hand-me-down sneakers, find their way to flat on the floor. Without his ever-present scowl, he looks years younger. Terrified.

Hopeful.

“How can I-... how do I-...” He takes a deep breath. “If it’s just… part of me… how do I make it safe?”

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

#whump #recovery whump #referenced pet whump #recovering whumpee #wru #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #masochism tw #condtioning #deconditioning #jameson bb #dr. berger #trauma recovery #noncon survivor navigating consensual spice #referenced consensual spice #referenced noncon #internalized victim-blaming #whumpees in therapy

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romioneficfest · 3 years

Text

Saying the Words

Title: Saying The Words Prompt/Day: The Burrow's Living Room (Day 03) Tumblr name: Rating: PG-13 Brief summary: Ron works up the courage to tell Hermione something important. Then he has to do it again. Any possible triggering/warning tags: Curse words

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

Exhaustion had left them nearly dead on their feet, the adrenaline rush of battle long gone, leaving two weary teenagers in its wake. Hand-in-hand, Ron and Hermione shuffled up the stairs and collapsed into his bed in Gryffindor tower, unwilling to separate even for a moment.

His arm wrapped around her protectively, her head rested on his chest, tucked perfectly under his chin as they escaped into a cocoon of safety. They had lived. They had a future, hopefully together.

Ron stared up at the ceiling of his four poster, building up his courage while cradling her small body to him. Suddenly energized, he couldn't contain himself any longer and the words started spilling out of him at a breathless pace. Words he'd wanted to say to her for years. How much she meant to him, how much he admired her, and how long he'd held back from revealing his true feelings.

How much he loved her.

Never in his life had he been so eloquent and passionate, his voice low in the empty room. He'd practiced the speech in his head a thousand times, but it came out even better than expected. His maturity and the growth he'd made were on full display, spurred on by wanting to be better. Both for himself and for her.

He finally stopped, his chest pounding. He felt as light as feather, the burden of years of hidden feelings finally off his chest. He awaited her response, but all that came was a snore.

She clearly hadn't heard a word and must have fallen asleep almost instantly, surrounded by his warmth. They had been through a lot, after all.

"Bloody buggering fuck," he whispered under his breath.

He silently cursed a few more times and closed his eyes, groaning despondently under his breath as the deep tiredness and disappointment claimed him.

He'd have to confess his feelings one more time—when she was actually awake to hear them.

~*~

The next morning, everything changed. The somber mood around the castle put a hold on any romance, the weight of everything that had happened, the mourning and loss, took priority.

The next few days were split between Hogwarts and The Burrow. Everyone was suffering, not only from Fred's death, but those of their friends and schoolmates. They threw themselves into work in both locales, the only viable way they had not to sink into their collective sadness.

Mrs. Weasley insisted that the usual sleeping arrangements remained, and no one was in the mood to challenge the grieving mother, no matter how old-fashioned it seemed. They all accepted it, even Ron, who was aching to spend more time with Hermione so they could support each other through this difficult time.

Despite that, there were rare moments where they had a minute or two alone. Just as Ron was about to break into his speech again and tell Hermione everything he felt, they would get interrupted.

First it just seemed like bad luck, but every time it happened, Ron's frustrations increased. Whether it was Neville or McGonagall asking for their help with another task, or one of his siblings barging in at the exact wrong moment, it seemed like fate was working against him. Ron knew Hermione would want to retrieve her parents soon, and he needed to tell her before then. He desperately wanted to go with her, knowing she'd need his support.

After missing yet another a chance to tell her, when Ginny unceremoniously burst through the door of his Dad's shed to let them know breakfast was ready—stopping only to waggle her eyebrows at him as she dragged Hermione away to help her set the table—Ron's frustrations reached its peak. He would have to deal with his nosy family first.

~*~

With another long day of rebuilding Hogwarts over, the family Flooed into The Burrow's living room late in the evening, one-by-one dropping into whatever seating was available. Arthur and Molly bade their children good night and went straight upstairs.

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny asked as she flopped her head onto Harry's shoulder, stifling a yawn.

"She's still helping Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing." Ron replied. "You can go to sleep if you want, Ginny. I'm sure she'll be back late, so I'll wait up for her."

"Can't sleep without a good night kiss?" George teased innocently, causing his siblings to snigger, easing the tension of the long, tough day.

Ron rounded on his family. "I haven't had a second of privacy with her, thanks to all of you." He stopped to run a hand through his hair. "Are you purposely trying to mess this up for me?"

"No, but it is rather funny. Besides, we know why you want some private time," Charlie responded, making a kissing face.

Ron sputtered, his ears turning red with fury, his frustrations from the morning returning and boiling over. "It isn't like that."

Percy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "It's perfectly fine, Ron. We were all young once."

Ron clenched his fists. "IT. IS. NOT. LIKE. THAT."

"Then what is it?" Ginny asked.

"I WANT TO TELL HERMIONE I'M IN LOVE WITH HER!"

He hadn't heard the whoosh of the Floo behind him during his outburst, but Hermione's squeaked gasp was unmistakable in the dead silent room.

Ron was a statue, unwilling to turn around and make things even more awkward, certain that he'd said far too much. That he'd ruined things with his effing feelings. His siblings stared at him sympathetically, as if they weren't to blame for the whole debacle.

Arthur suddenly cleared his throat from the landing of the stairs. "Upstairs to bed, you lot. Give your brother some privacy."

Fleur stopped to give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, before grabbing Bill's hand. Harry gave him a shrug and Ginny had a huge grin on her face as Ron watched them all ascend, leaving him and Hermione alone.

Ron took a deep breath and steeled himself, before turning around to face her. Even though she looked completely knackered, she was the most beautiful girl in the world to him.

"Hi."

"Hi," she replied.

"So, er, you heard that."

"Yes." Hermione's eyes searched his, her voice low. "Did you mean it?"

He stared back, trying to get any kind of indication of what she was thinking or feeling. She seemed frozen, but her eyes betrayed her vulnerability as they teared up. He just wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let go.

"I, um, yeah. I did mean it. That wasn't how I wanted to tell you, but I meant it. I had a whole speech prepared and everything."

"You did?"

He nodded slowly, still unsure of her reaction to such a big step. "I said it the night after the battle, but you fell asleep and didn't hear a word of it."

Before he could react, Hermione was in his arms, kissing every inch of his face.

"I love you, Ron. I love you," she kept repeating. So caught up in their embrace, they failed to register the shouts and catcalls from the now packed landing.

She gripped him fiercely as he hugged her to him, his face buried in her bushy hair as he sported a giant smile on his face.

"Alright, show's over."

Bill steered the family back up the stairs, leaving them in silence.

Ron couldn't help but whisper in Hermione's ear. "Do you think I'll ever get to snog you without an audience?"

"Now seems as good a time as any."

#hpfic #romione ficfest 2021 #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #rated PG-13 #cw:#cw: language #Ace Safe #Rating because of one particular word #Queue up for the Dragon

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

Prompts 1, 9, 17, and 49. Huntsman Has been visiting Sandy for a few weeks now and Moe has made it clear he does not trust the spider. One day, while Sandy's busy Huntsman decides he's had enough of this cat and goes into a rant which then turns into him venting some stuff. Therapy cats are for more then just pets apparently. (Bonus points if it's from Moe's POV) - Pixel Anon

Apparently I am bad at figuring out how to write from a cat’s POV, but this was the PERFECT prompt for me to continue Second Chances Over Tea! This is where stuff really starts to... deviate.

Do not give me that look/How long have you been standing there?/I can’t do this even though everyone says I can./That cute act is all just a lie.

Where time had gone Huntsman had no idea. There was both no time and too much time. Syntax had everything he needed to rebuild and reprogram the spider bots and he’d been doing everything he could to try to replicate the venom with little to no success, much to the increased frustration of the Spider Queen.

She wasn't upset at him, not really. Huntsman knew she was just taking out her frustration at the situation on the poor scientist. Had it been in the weeks before Huntsman would have brushed it off and told him to deal with it.

But now... he felt bad for him. He could tell Syntax was trying his best. The human turned demon wasn’t quite as harsh and clinical as he had pin pointed him as, that much had become clear when he had noticed Huntsman’s odd behavior. His behavior since he has started sneaking out to visit Sandy. He never pushed, never pried, but did make a point to remind him to charge his communicator and to message him on the nights he was out.

Huntsman wasn’t stupid. He knew that Syntax knew he was lying. There was no need to go out and search for materials or do more recon now, the scientist knew that. But he never pushed, never yelled at him to stay and help (though that was probably because he knew that this stuff was not Huntsman’s line of specialty), never prodded about exactly where he went.

Though he had to know by now.

He’d pointed out the smell of motor oil and tea clinging to his clothes once, when they were alone. The cat fur and nip that has stuck to the edges of his undershirt another day. The saltwater that made his hair stick awkwardly to his face and lingered in the air yet another. Huntsman realized over a week into his nightly visits that there was a GPS built into in his communicator.

Syntax wasn’t stupid either. He knew Huntsman was visiting Sandy. He had to have. Huntsman did not trust him to not have turned on that GPS remotely on that first night to learn where he was.

So why stay quiet?

And why was Huntsman thinking these things, things he wouldn’t have thought weeks ago had he been doing something similar in other circumstances?

... he knew why... and it had to do with where he was. And who had been slowly starting to make him look at others with a more critical eye outside the hunt.

He let these thoughts roll around in his head, thoughts he has pushed down and down and farther down until over the course of the last 18 days, 2 and a half weeks and nearly a month since he stole the Crimson Jimsonweed petal from Sandy and the other reached out a hand in kind, until this moment.

It was just past 2:30 in the morning. Huntsman was laying on Sandy’s couch, only the third time he had stayed since that first late night, the other having gone to bed himself. And that blue cat with the matching mohawk was sitting on his chest.

“Get off me,” he hissed, only to be met with a low hiss from the feline. Not a warning or a threat, more a rebuttal to his own. Mo, he knew his name was, and he was the favored cat of Sandy. Always with him, on his shoulder or somewhere nearby. A smart and feisty little thing. He simply stared at the spider demon, moving to sit more firmly on his chest with a thump of his tail and a low purr. “Do not give me that look, cat. Or the purr. That cute act is all just a lie, I know you don’t like me being here.”

Mo did not reply, as he was simply a cat. But he blinked slowly at Huntsman, something Sandy told him cats only did with people they trusted not to hurt them, and he narrowed his gaze at the cat in suspicion.

“I’m getting mixed signals here,” he said, sighing as he sat up in defeat knowing he would not be resting any time soon with his racing thoughts. Instinctively, as he’d done this many times before with the other cats on the ship, he wrapped his arms around his stomach and let Mo slide into being held to his chest. The cat seemed to smirk in victory, as if getting him up and messing with him was his plan all along. “You’re weird. But then again so am I. So is everything about this... whatever this is.”

He reaches up, scratching behind the oddly colored cat’s ears and earned no reaction aside from the continued stare of the cat.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you watch me every time I come over,” he continued, stopping his scratching before roughly picking him up and holding him out across from him to glare at the cat. “How you always sit where you can watch me, are constantly glaring at me and growling when I get too close to your owner. How you just don’t trust me even though I haven’t done anything to you or him since that time on the mountain. But why would you trust me anyway, I just showed up one day in your house after we attacked you on New Years so... I can’t really blame you...”

He frowned, putting the cat down far more gently than he had held him up. He rubbed his face, looking down at the communicator that he wore with a sigh.

“... everything we did on the Lunar New Year was a mistake,” he muttered to himself, grazing the communicator with a claw. “I never asked any questions. Just went along with what my Queen asked of me. If I had asked something, anything, maybe she wouldn’t have accepted that spirit’s help with her plan. I was her advisor until Syntax came along, I should have said something! I’m supposed to be a hunter but I couldn’t even realize we were the ones being hunted until it was too late!”

This seemed to catch Mo’s attention. The smirk on the cat’s face faded into something of confusion, if that was possible for a cat, and he took a step forward and placed a paw on Huntsman’s leg and mewed up at him.

The spider demon barely reacted, not pushing Mo away like he normally would.

“If I had said anything Syntax would probably still be human, I’d still be advisor, and we wouldn’t be scrambling like headless chickens trying to figure out what she’s planning on using us for! Or Syntax wouldn’t because for some reason I’m here, on this couch, instead of in our lair! I’m here running away from the problem, giving them the barest scraps of tech I weasel out of your owner with nice conversation and company for tea because... because what!?”

He growled, curling in on himself a bit as he bit down on one of his fingers in frustration. But the words kept coming, maybe it was because he hadn’t slept since the night before or maybe it was just a long time coming. Maybe being constantly somewhere he finally felt safe when he hadn’t realized how unsafe he felt in the lair over the last few months broke down his walls that he spent so long building up. Maybe the talking he’d done with Sandy did it.

Or maybe there was no reason aside from him feeling safe ranting at a cat.

“I came for help at first but I didn’t need to keep coming. But I have every day and I know why but I just-I can’t! I can’t keep coming here every day like this, we’re running out of time! But I don’t want to go back, not with her there. But I have to, my Queen and Goliath and Syntax the smarmy bastard are there without me and I just... I can’t do this even though Sandy says I can. I’m...”

“Scared,” Sandy’s voice came from the nearby doorway, startling the spider demon from his ranting and making him realize that at some point Mo had actually crawled into his lap and was pawing at his hand.

“How long have you been standing there?” Huntsman asked in horror, not knowing how he could have possibly managed to miss the large form of the blue demon just. Standing there.

“Long enough,” he said softly, coming over and grabbing Huntsman’s wrist with the gentlest grip he could manage and pulling it away to inspect the bite he had inflicted on himself. “Huntsman, you-”

A soft bing rang through the air, the text notification from his communicator, breaking the tension between the two as Huntsman pulled his arm back to check it quickly.

‘Huntsman, Spider Queen is demanding your presence. She is getting angry. If you are awake you must return at once. Immediately, if possible.’

Another one came in, typed so fast he could barely finish reading the first.

‘Goliath is getting worried about her. Scared. She’s angrier than I’ve seen her since the festival and won’t listen to us. We need you here.’

And another.

‘I need you back here. Please come back. Please.’

Please...

In all the time Huntsman had known Syntax the other had never said that word without being condescending... but something about these texts... and the timing...

“Something’s wrong,” he said to Sandy, standing quickly and dropping Mo onto the couch gently. “I have to go.”

“Home?” Sandy asked, reaching to grab Huntsman’s coat without another question.

“Yes,” he replied, realizing that... oddly, that felt like the wrong answer to him. Somehow. “Synta-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Sandy interrupted, pushing a small parcel into Huntsman’s hands. “Not if it slows you down. Go, it’s the piece you said your friend needed.”

“... thank you,” Huntsman said, after a short pause, feeling like he should have done more as he rushed out the door and into the warm dark of night.

He thought he heard Sandy’s phone ring as he left but couldn’t be certain.

“You keep going,” Huntsman said after a short pause, turning back in the direction they came. “Just in case. But I have something I want to check.”

“Uh, be careful!” Goliath yelled back as Huntsman broke out his mechanical legs and sprinted back toward where they left the mech.

He may not know the Monkie Kid well, but Sandy had told him enough about MK that he thought that maybe... maybe...

Maybe if he came clean to Spider Queen...

He thought he heard a distant yelp that almost sounded like Syntax.

When he had returned Huntsman had found that Syntax was telling the truth. Their Queen was working in a near frenzy, trying to rush through the building of their mech. Syntax was trying to explain to her that there was not enough time to complete it at the rate she was requesting without the venom, that even with the extra materials the bots had gathered with the tech Huntsman himself had proffered they weren’t fast enough.

Then the Monkie Kid had literally fallen into their lair.

Huntsman didn’t know why he was there. He knew that Sandy couldn’t have told him what they were doing, he knew the other wouldn’t do something like that now after all the time they had spent together. His only guess was that one of the things that the bots had grabbed for the mech had belonged to the young man.

He heard the sound of fighting, his Queen and the Monkie Kid yelling, and somewhere distantly... he thought he heard Goliath yell too.

He almost turned around, almost went back, but something kept him going.

Until he burst into their little hideaway in the lair, a flash of golden light and the Monkie Kid standing over his Queen laying on the ground with the mech head destroyed behind him. They didn’t see him, but he could hear them clearly.

“Haven’t you figured that out yet?” His Queen argued. “There’s no running from what she is!”

Whispers on the wind followed and in flash of more brilliant, powerful light, there she was.

“Spider Queen’s right,” the Lady Bone Demon, the Lady White Bone, The White Bone Spirit, agreed as she stood tall and imposing and terrifying above them all. “Destiny will always catch up.”

Huntsman didn’t know what she did. Something, clearly, as the Monkie Kid held his head in clear confusion and agony and backed away from her in fear as Spider Queen stepped between the two of them. And without thinking he rushed forward, moving to stand behind MK and glower at the possessed girl before the three of them.

“Ah,” LBD breathed with a smile, tilting her head playfully as she looked at Huntsman and drew the other’s attention to him. “I was wondering where the final unnecessary piece ran off to. No matter, captured or not you’re only an extra in this little game anyway.”

“You!” Spider Queen snapped, turning her attention back to LBD once her surprise at seeing Huntsman had worn off.”I should have taken you out the second you walked into my lair!” She turned to MK and Huntsman with a look the elder demon knew to be full of disguised fear of her own. “Both of you! RUN!”

It happened so fast. Lady Bone Demon did something and... and Syntax was there. And Goliath. But they weren’t, it wasn’t them, not as they were. Blue and white and cold and ghostly instead. His Queen lunged at them and LBD and his own survival instincts took over as he grabbed MK’s arm and RAN. He barely registered when the young man pulled away from him and golden light flashed and suddenly they were going up.

There was something gripping his shoulder, sharp and small and he realized that somehow, some way, MK had turned into a bird and was flying out of the sewers with Huntsman and a sign of some kind in either claw.

There was more blue, a brilliant flash from that shot up into the sky, and the two of them plus the sign crash landed onto a roof.

A roof with a pig demon, a young girl with green streaks in her hair, an oddly well dressed for bed attire man who looked at him with more recognition than the other two... and Sandy.

Sandy, who looked down at him and MK with a mixture of confusion and slowly dawning horror at where MK must have gone and what them being together must mean.

As the Spider Demon stood, slow and clumsy in his lack of sleep and the shakiness of adrenaline, he looked back to the young man who had pulled him out of harm’s way without a single question.

“We have some explaining to do, kid.”

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #ship fic #gen fic #silktea #huntsman #sandy #mk #qi xiaotian #spider queen #lady bone demon #white bone spirit #second changes over tea #prompt fill

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tuiccim · 3 years

Text

Terrigenisis (Part 8)

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Bucky Barnes X Inhuman!Reader

Words: 2247

Summary: After undergoing terrigenisis unwillingly your life is turned upside down when you are deemed too dangerous to return to life as a civilian. You are put with the Avengers team to train and rebuild. As you hone your powers and skills, you must also decide if you can find home and love again. Or is your curse to be a lonely wanderer forever?

Warnings: Fluff and SMUT (18+, NSFW)

Terrigenisis Series Masterlist Divider by @firefly-graphics

Two weeks later, the three of you wake in Bucky’s bed, where you end up most often. Steve looks at the clock and groans, “I gotta head back to my room.”

"No, stay." You murmur, pulling him closer.

"I gotta change for our run, Doll." Steve chuckles.

"No run today. Just bed." You whine.

"You say that everyday." Bucky laughs sleepily.

"I mean it everyday." You grumble.

Steve kisses you, "I'll see you in a little bit."

"We need to build a secret passageway between our rooms." You say.

"Actually, I was thinking…" Steve pauses.

"What were you thinking, punk? Don't leave us in suspense." Bucky says.

"I was thinking once all this is out we could combine our three rooms. Turn it into an apartment with a living room and a small kitchen."

"And a bigger bathroom." You add.

"Exactly. What do you think?"

"Sold." You grin.

"Same." Bucky says.

“I love you.” Steve says.

“Love you.” You and Bucky say in unison.

You start to get up as Steve leaves but Bucky hauls you back against him. "Where ya going, Doll?"

"I should go change for our run, too." You chuckle and snuggle against him.

"I know. Just wanted a few extra minutes." Bucky nuzzles his face into your neck.

"Mmmmm… Bucky. We have a-" you're interrupted by a kiss, "mission briefing-" another kiss, "at nine." You give up talking for a moment and just give in to Bucky's need for attention. However, when Bucky's hand begins to drift south of the border, you stop him. "We have to train. Let's go, love." Rolling away from him quickly, you bounce out of the bed. At the door, you blow him a kiss before heading to your own room to change.

You go on your run with your guys and Dizzy then train, shower, and go to the mission briefing. The mission is a simple turn and burn. The entire team goes and returns in less than 14 hours but somewhere towards the end of the mission you notice a change in Steve’s demeanor. You had recovered a good bit of Chitauri weapons and energy cells from the base you had invaded. You wonder if it brought back memories of the Battle of New York for him.

After a quick shower, you head to Steve’s room. He answers your knock and you slip into his room.

“I was about to head to Bucky’s room. What are you doing?”

“I wanted to check on you. Something triggered you on this mission. I could see it.” You see him warring with himself.

“Chitauri stuff always brings back New York.” He says quietly. He moves to his desk and pulls a small card out of his drawer. It’s a vintage Captain America card stained dark brown around the edges. Dried blood.

“Coulson.” You say without thinking.

“You know about Coulson?” Steve says, surprised.

Realizing your blunder, you recover quickly to say, “My last team told me about him.”

“You never did tell me about your team from before. You’ve never spoken about them.”

“It’s classified, Steve. I can’t. I’m sorry.” Your eyes beg him to understand.

“I have level 8 clearance. Your clearance is only level 6. You can tell me.”

“It’s codeword classified. Please understand, love, I would tell you if I could,” you look at him pleadingly.

“I understand. I didn’t mean to push you.” Steve wraps his arms around you in a hug.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask. Steve nods and tells you the story of meeting Phil Coulson and his death before fighting the battle of New York. You hold Steve the entire time he speaks. “I’m so sorry you lost him. It sounds like he was a good man who you respected.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, doll. I know you’ve lost a lot of people too. I shouldn’t let it affect me so much.”

“Don’t ever apologize for telling me how you feel.” You say as a knock sounds on the door and Bucky enters.

“Hey. Everything okay?” Bucky looks between the two of you.

“Yeah. I was telling her about Coulson.” Steve says quietly and takes the card from your hand. He looks at it, sighs heavily, and places it back in the drawer. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve from behind and Steve’s head drops down as he covers Bucky’s hands with his own.

“It wasn’t your fault, baby.” Bucky says quietly.

You move to them and wrap your arms around them from the side. Part of you still feels like you are an intruder in their relationship at times. A larger part of you right now felt incredibly guilty that you couldn’t tell him that Phil Coulson was alive and well and Director of the Inhuman division of Shield. There is a chance you can, you realize. Once the three of you separate, you agree to meet in Bucky’s room as usual. You hurry to your room and grab your phone. Dialing the special line Hill had provided, you wait for an operator to come on the line.

“SHIELD.”

“Codeword: Tahiti. Protocol: Delta. Team: Avengers.” You say.

A brief pause and then a single word, “Denied.”

“Codeword: Tahiti. Protocol: Delta. Individual: Steve Rogers.”

“Denied.”

“Direct line. Fury.”

“Denied.”

“Direct line. Maria Hill.”

“Approved.”

You hold on the line as it rings through to Hill. “Maria Hill.”

“Hill, I need to talk to Fury.” You say emphatically.

“He’s not going to clear the team to know about Tahiti.” Hill says curtly.

“I can’t keep lying to them, Maria.”

“You aren’t lying. You just aren’t telling them everything.”

“It’s not right.”

“But it’s what has to be. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy but the less people that know about the Inhuman Division the better right now.”

“Right. A bunch of Enhanceds shouldn’t know about a bunch of Gifteds even though one of them is among them.” You reply sarcastically.

“I’m sorry. Good luck.” Hill says, hanging up.

You resist the urge to throw your phone at the wall. After taking a few minutes to calm yourself, you change into a nightgown and make your way to Bucky’s room. You find Steve and Bucky already curled up together in the bed. Steve is laying on his side with Bucky curled around his back. You slide into the bed, facing Steve and wrap your arms around the two of them.

“Hey Doll.” Steve whispers.

“Hey Baby. Are you okay?” You ask.

“Yeah. I’m okay. I think I’m in your spot though.” He chuckles lightly.

“I think you’re right where you need to be. Wrapped up in the arms of the two people who love you most. Right, Bucky?” You say.

“Absolutely. We’ve got you.” Bucky whispers and kisses Steve’s shoulder.

“I love you both, too.” Steve says as he puts his hand to your neck and pulls you to him for a kiss. His lips move over yours firmly and his tongue slips into your mouth. You moan as you press more firmly against him. Steve’s hands become more demanding as he lifts your nightshirt up to grab a handful of your bare ass. He presses his forehead to yours and says urgently, “I need you. I need both of you.”

“You have us, Baby. Whatever you need.” Bucky’s hands rove over both of you. He helps Steve slide his pants off and Steve’s hands pull your nightshirt off. Bucky gently strokes Steve while Steve explores your folds. He traces over them lightly pulling breathy moans from you as he thrusts into Bucky’s hand slowly. When he presses a finger inside you gasp at the pleasure that rolls through you. He works you quickly building your passion until you’re thoroughly wet and then pulls your leg over his hip. His hard length slides along your wetness until he finally presses home. You kiss him as he sheaths himself inside you and you feel Bucky’s hand trail over your body until he rests it on the small of your back encouraging each thrust.

“Bucky, need you.” Steve groans as you clench around him.

“I’m right here, baby. What do you want?” Bucky whispers.

“Need you inside me, Buck. Please.” Steve says.

Bucky prepares himself and Steve slows his thrusts into you as Bucky presses into him gently. You reach around Steve, opening him for Bucky. This is the first time they’ve shared this intimacy with you. You were always the one in between them and their focus was more on you than each other, but tonight Steve needed to feel you both. To feel the love you have for each other envelope him. Bucky readied Steve and then slowly pressed into him. Steve’s body tensed and relaxed at the intrusion.

“Fuck, Stevie. You’re so tight around me. Been too long since I felt you. God, I love you.” Bucky groans as he begins to gently thrust into Steve. Steve’s face twisted in passion and he moaned as you clenched around him and Bucky thrust into him.

“Oh, God. It’s so good. Feeling both you.” Steve grabbed you around the waist and pulled you down on his cock hard causing you to cry out in surprise. “Shit, did I hurt you, Doll?”

“No! Don’t stop, baby. Give it to me. However you need it. However you want. Give it to me. Now.” You say staring into his eyes. The intensity in his face turns you on even more and you stare into each other as he repeats the action over and over again. The three of you move in rhythm, moaning your pleasure, and giving into each other’s needs. Your orgasm builds with each thrust into you, each grunt as Bucky works into Steve, and each moan Steve releases as he feels his two loves surrounding him.

“I’m close.” Steve grits out as he slams into you again.

“Me, too,” you and Bucky say nearly in unison.

“Fuck. I want this forever. It’s…” Steve falters as the pleasure washes over him.

“Perfect.” Bucky groans as he loses himself to the sensations. You hold tightly to your two men as your orgasm overtakes you. Each of you release long moans as you cum together and even after your bodies rock together as you come down from the high.

The next morning as Bucky showers, Steve is sitting against the headboard as you wake up.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Mmm, good morning.” You say as you stretch. You look up at him with a smile but his expression is troubled. “Hey. What’s the matter?” You ask as you sit up.

“Are you… happy?” He asks.

“Steve.” You pull yourself up on your knees next to him, “Yes, I am. Very happy. Why would you ask me that?”

“I just… were you okay with what happened last night?” He asks looking down at his hands.

“Baby.” You cup Steve’s cheek as you move to straddle him, “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I be okay with last night? We made love. It was wonderful.” Steve looks into your eyes searchingly and suddenly it dawns on you what he’s alluding to. “Stevie, did you think I’d be upset that Bucky was inside you?”

“It’s not that I want you less or, or, or anything like that. I just needed-”

“Shhhh,” you put your fingers over Steve’s lips. “Don’t ever feel like you need to justify your love for Bucky, emotional or physically. To anyone. You and Bucky were together before I came into the picture and you told me your relationship was physical. Why would you think I’d ever have a problem with you two making love in any way you wanted to?”

“There’s still just a stigma to it, I guess. We haven’t done that before with you and I don’t know. I guess a part of me still felt like because you were here we shouldn’t anymore.”

Your heart hurts at that confession. Despite everything, he was still holding back from you. Scared that you would judge him for loving Bucky so completely. A tear falls from your eye and you swipe at it quickly but he sees.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Steve’s voice cracks a little.

“I want you to love Bucky as completely as you love me and vice versa. In every way you see fit. Please don’t hold back part of your relationship just because of me. I want to be with you both. In every way. In any combination of ways.” You give a little laugh through your tears. “Love us. Love us all the way. With everything you want to give us. I promise you, I will never judge your love for Bucky. Love me enough not to hold part of yourself back.”

Steve’s chest heaves as he puts his forehead to yours, “I love you. God, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Stevie.”

“Can I join in on this love fest?” Bucky’s voice breaks in.

“Just the man we were talking about.” You sass.

Bucky sits next to Steve and puts his arm around him. “In our time, Doll, our love, our relationship would never be accepted.”

“I know. And even now the three of us being in a relationship will be hard for people to accept, but I would walk through fire for you two. A few nasty comments definitely won’t change my mind.”

“Mine either.” Bucky says.

“I’m with you.” Steve says.

“Til the end of the line.” You smile at them.

Part 9

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