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stubbychaos · 4 years

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Ori Kebiin and Saviin’ika

Chapter 8 of Saviin’ika

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Paz takes you to the covert after your long day, despite you not being accepted by everyone in the tribe yet. Though you are content to finally be away from a toxic environment, Paz wants his vengeance towards those who have hurt you.

Rating: M

Word Count: 13,000 (I kinda got carried away)

Warnings: Brief mentions of psychological abuse and manipulation, as well as the aftermath of the attempted sexual assault from last chapter. Again, there’s mentions of blood, but not nearly as graphic as the last chapter!

Translations will all be at the end since there’s so many this chapter. I separated the actual dialogue from the typical nicknames and such. The title, however, translates to “Big Blue and Little Violet” :)

You have no idea how you manage the strength to walk on your feet after the day you’ve had, but you think Paz’s hand firmly pressed to the small of your back gives you the motivation to be stronger.

Though the dread still lingers like a dark rain cloud over your frantic heart as Paz leads you to your home to grab a change of clothes, you’re certain that the Mandalorian would not let anything happen to you should your father be awake. His thumb moves in firm little circles against the thick material of his cape that’s shielding your body from any wandering eyes and even though you can’t get the memory of slaying the Trandoshan out of your mind, you feel slightly better now that your warrior had cleaned as much of the blood away from your skin as he possibly could.

Out of sight, but never out of mind, you resentfully realize as you slowly approach the worn down hut you’ve lived in for your entire life and find the thought of living anywhere else strange, but certainly not disheartening in the slightest. Paz gently urges you behind him as he leads you inside the building, his leather-clad fingers firmly wrapped around your wrist and you can’t help but to smile weakly at his diligence and insistence on keeping you safe from anymore danger.

Much to your relief, you hear your father’s snores from the other room, most likely blacked out on alcohol or his drug of choice and you hastily lead Paz into your tiny room, only letting go of his hand so you can sift through the wooden crate where you keep what little clothes and garments you own.

“Cyare,” Paz whispers the nickname, perhaps remembering that your abuser sleeps in the room down the hall; he makes sure to keep his voice down as he gathers some of your toiletries and carefully situates them in a small canvas bag, “Where we are going, it is deep underground--it is much colder--do you have anything warmer to wear?”

You blink and manage to find a large cable knit sweater that you haven’t worn in such a long time, along with a thicker pair of leggings and some clean undergarments; you freeze when the Mandalorian speaks again.

“And something to sleep in?”

Heat floods your cheeks and earlobes and you nervously move to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, growing even more embarrassed when you realize the strands are matted to your neck with blood, “Am I staying the night there?”

You find a thin-sleeved, satin night gown that falls a few inches above your knees and you slowly rise to turn and face Paz, noticing the tension in his shoulders as he stares at you through the safety of his visor. You’ve never once questioned his loyalty to the creed by asking what he looks like underneath the helmet, but you suddenly find yourself jealous that he is able to conceal his features upon feeling nervous or shy. He reaches out to gently stroke your jaw, helmet tilting to the side as you hold your clean clothes tightly to your chest; he is silent as he collects the fabric from your tight hold and places it in the canvas bag.

“You would not be turned away after the day you’ve had,” He reassures you, cupping his hand to the side of your neck, “I am hoping they will let you stay permanently once they meet you.”

Your heart swells and you nod a little, your heart pumping furiously in your chest at the thought of spending the night with him again, let alone the rest of your days.

“Thank you,” You fiddle nervously with your large sweater as he continues to stare at you, “I… I will change now.”

“Then I won’t look,” He hums, sounding slightly amused as he turns his back to you, “Unless you wish for me to see you, little nurse?”

An intense heat spreads throughout your face as you let his cape fall from your shoulders and you begin to remove your boots. You remember the way the Trandoshan’s grimy hands had found the hem of your dress and you drop your head in shame as you peel away your undergarments and replace them with fresh ones. You feel sick and ashamed that it had nearly gotten to the point where he had taken advantage of you and you want to tell Paz exactly what had happened, but the feeling of your attacker’s hands on your torso leaves you feeling raw and vulnerable.

You’re embarrassed.

“I fear you would not like what you would see.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet moves in a jolting gesture, though he makes sure not to completely turn his head towards you and your heart thrums frantically when you realize it must be out of respect for your own wishes. You’re hasty to cover your chest with a clean bralette and you feel as though your cheeks are on fire when you replace your shorts with fresh undergarments and thick leggings, all while keeping your eyes on the back of his helmet.

“You are beautiful, cyare,” Paz softly reminds you, his baritone as low and quiet as his modulator will allow him, “I don’t like seeing you bruised and hurt, but it does not take away from your beauty. I do not think I could go through all of your pain without any armor; it must be difficult to bare your scars for all to see.”

You think it to be the most heartfelt compliment he could give you--informing you that he believes your strength and endurance to be up to his standards--and you smile warmly at the back of his helmet.

“Okay,” You eventually murmur as you tug the large sweater over your head, the cozy fabric fitting you similarly to a short, loose dress, “I’m ready.”

The Mandalorian turns to face you just as you’re grabbing his cape that you had neatly placed on the foot of your bed; his helmet tilts to the side as he watches you hug the material close to your chest. Thinking he doesn’t need the warm fabric yet, you hold onto it tightly as you follow him out your room, tensing a little when you’re met with utter silence, rather than your father’s typical loud snores. Paz must notice it too, because you watch as his hand immediately moves to the blaster sheathed against his hip; your heart pounds wildly in your chest as the two of you make it up the two stairs leading out of the hut.

Before you even realize what’s going on, Paz immediately whips around and draws a blaster within a fraction of a second, carefully pushing you behind him; you’re confused, until you hear a familiar voice that you’re certain will forever haunt you, even if you never see him again.

“Where do you think you’re going, little one?” You tilt your head to the side so you can see your father staggering towards you and Paz, “You decide to fucking not show up to one of your shifts and thought I would be okay with it? Then you bring him here? After everything I told you? Are you really that fucking stupid or do I need to--?”

You snap before the Mandalorian does.

For the third time in the last twenty-four hours--you absolutely snap.

“I have had one of the longest, roughest days of my life, so don’t you dare make me feel bad for not showing up to work or bringing him here!” You step to the side and put yourself in front of Paz, though he still keeps his blaster pointed on the drunk man who poses no real threat to the warrior, “I have been working every day for you for the last decade and never once have you ever thanked me for the time I put in--for all that I have done for you and working for free! You never once thanked me for all the tears and blood I have shed for you at the expense of your own hands and I am exhausted.”

Your father--Maker, does he look stunned by your outburst--and you’re certain that if Paz wasn’t there, he would have struck you the moment you raised your voice, but his eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he regards you. You think of the Trandoshan and the bounty hunter and how both of them had caused you such rage, fear, and desperation and you suddenly find it easier to argue with your only living blood.

You don’t even notice the way Paz tenses behind you when your father staggers forward, nearly tripping over his own feet and you suddenly feel embarrassed for the kind of torment you have let this pathetic man inflict upon you. You’re shaking with the trauma from such a horrific day as you step a little closer to him, speaking through clenched teeth at the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember.

After killing the Trandoshan, you think you’re not fazed by anything, let alone your father’s clumsy anger.

“You have put me through so much pain and so much agony--so much torture--Maker, do you have a heart at all? Do you even realize what you’ve done to me? How much you’ve scarred my body and my mind?!” You force yourself not to cry, thinking he doesn’t deserve a single tear from you when he’s stolen so many in your life, “I am supposed to be your daughter, not your slave, and I won’t let you treat me as such anymore!”

Your chest is heaving wildly as he simply stares at you in shock, probably not even aware you were capable of storing such hatred and fury in your tender heart.

"I have never hated anyone as much as I hate you," You seethe, speaking through clenched teeth as you watch the way your words sober him, his back straightening a little "I hope you feel a fraction of the same loneliness and pain you have made me feel after I leave this awful place; I hope it haunts you everyday until you finally die."

Your father’s eyes widen and you’re certain he is shocked at the courage you have somehow obtained within a single day, though it still does not stop him from continuing to berate you

“And what would you do when he grows tired of you?” He sneers, though you simply shake your head, remembering how your warrior had declared his love for you and you force yourself to remember the devotion in his deep baritone, “You think those monsters would actually take you in as one of their own? You think this savage could genuinely love someone like you? Someone so weak and useless? They’ll use you and simply throw you away, just like anyone else would.”

You hear Paz snarl behind you, no doubt shaking with rage and a desire for wrath against your father, but you offer your last living relative a weak smile and nod a little, thinking of everything your warrior has done for you in the last few months and the happiness he’s given you. Perhaps you’re not as naive as you once thought--now so used to the horrors of such a cruel planet--and you’re certain that if this huge warrior insists his love for you, he must not be lying.

“I am not weak nor useless and I now know that,” You insist fiercely, and even though your voice trembles, you feel the words deep down in your bones--in your soul--and you step closer to the man whose unfocused gaze is currently switching between you and Paz frantically, “I am far stronger than you have ever led me to believe and I will not let you tear down me, nor the only man who has ever built me up. Even if I am not accepted, I will find a way to make a life for myself because anywhere is better than this hell.”

His angry expression cracks as soon as he realizes he no longer has any control over your inhibitions or choices and you know what’s about to happen--the manipulative words he’s about to spew.

“Y-You can’t leave me!” He doesn’t sound angry, but more so frantic at the thought of no longer having control over you, and he pleadingly holds out his careless hands, “You are my only family I have left.”

Though you feel a twinge of pain in your heart at how distraught he suddenly sounds, you turn your head to peer at Paz over your shoulder, who now has his blaster lowered. His helmet tilts to the side a little when he sees the conflict etched on your features and you think he must be incredulous that you even have to think about this--choosing between him or your father--but he simply gives you a curt nod and you turn back to your father.

“You said it yourself--” You whisper, backing away from his stumbling form before he can reach you, “You have no daughter, nor do I have a father.”

As soon as you see the look of despair melt into something more intense, something you’re so acclimated with--that anger, that intense fury--you immediately know you’ve made the right choice. Feeling flustered and slightly overwhelmed, you hastily turn around and storm past the usually talkative Mandalorian that has grown deathly silent and still as his Beskar gaze follows your small form that’s still clutching his cape close to your chest.

“Don’t forget that promise, you useless bitch! I’ll make you both fucking suffer,” He spits, instantly making you freeze and though dread crawls up your spine, you slowly turn to find Paz charging towards the much smaller, more feeble man with great furiosity that you’ve never seen from him, “Fucking Manda--”

You watch with wide eyes as your warrior immediately wraps his fingers around your newly estranged father’s neck and you are quick to make your way towards the two men when Paz effortlessly shoves him up against the outside of the hut with enough force to crack the outside of the little building. Your father claws desperately at the hand that has him pinned to the building, his feet an inch or two off the ground and you freeze when you hear the anger and pain in Paz’s modulated voice.

“You are lucky the little nurse has a tender heart and doesn’t wish for me to end your sorry existence, because I would have gladly had your lifeless body at her feet the moment I first saw you mistreat her,” Paz easily inches him higher off the ground, not seeming all too worried about his comfort as he squeezes his hand tighter around the struggling man’s esophagus, “You have caused her enough pain to last a lifetime and I will not watch you hurt her anymore with your words or hands.”

Your father’s mouth is wide open as he gasps and flops wildly like a fish on land when Paz finally drops him and you can tell it’s taking everything out of him to not cause the older man further damage as he wheezes violently at the warrior’s feet. You think you should feel sorry for your father, but instead you feel embarrassed that you have let someone so pathetic and greedy push you around for such a long time.

“He’s going to get tired of you and leave, you ungrateful bitch!” The older man speaks through loud gasps for air, choking and heaving on his own spit, “Everyone always does, you know you’re nothing--”

You should stop Paz--you know you should stop him as he lifts his boot, only to send a mighty kick to your father’s ribs and you hear a loud crack that you are all too familiar with, though you don’t cringe or turn away from it.

You’re far too acquainted with the sound to be disgusted by it and you think it to be painfully ironic that he is now in a position that you’ve been in so many times because of him.

“Useless, huh? Have fun tending your own wounds without her help,” Paz scoffs, listening to the injured man wheeze frantically, biting back whimpers as he clutches his side, “You ever try anything with her or even think about coming for me, I’ll cut your hands off and let someone else in tribe deal with you, hu’tuun. They would not show you the same mercy that I have and I would not mind seeing what kind of pain they would show you.”

You watch with wide eyes as he slowly turns around, tight fists instantly unfurling as he sees your shocked expression, though he is quick to carefully grab your elbow and lead you away from the man who is still gasping for deep breaths of air. The bright glimmer of moonlight kissing his visor as he turns to peer down at you every now and then has you growing curious and slightly worried at the sharp, jittery motions.

“Paz, are you--?”

“I am sorry you had to see me like that,” He makes haste to apologize and you shake your head a little as he leads you further away from your broken home, “I do not want you to think of me as cruel, but the way he speaks to you and treats you… I wanted to kill him, cyare.”

“After today, I don’t think I could ever believe you to be cruel,” You whisper with a light shudder, feeling the way his fingertips immediately slide down the inside of your forearm before they’re weaving through the valleys of your fingers in a firm hold; you think of the Trandoshan and bounty hunter and shake your head again, “I… I have seen what cruel men are capable of and I would never think you to be like them.”

“When we get to the covert, will you tell me what happened to you today--what he did to you?” Paz sounds so restrained and full of anger and sadness as he thinks of someone he’s considered to be a brother hunting you down and hurting you so horrifically, “If it is too hard to speak of it, I won’t push you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and exhale deeply as he takes you further outside the village, “I do not know if I have the strength to talk about it yet.”

“Okay,” Paz nods sharply, even though you can tell that this is all killing him slowly and he so desperately wants to know what the hell happened, “Okay, cyare.”

You smile softly at him being so understanding of the delicate situation and tiredly press your cheek against his bicep as he leads you to the people that are supposedly excited for your arrival. You think Paz must be exaggerating about his tribe’s eagerness to meet you and there’s a sick feeling growing in your stomach as you think of their bounty hunter and how he was most likely one of the Mandalorians who didn’t want you at the covert.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a few minutes of silence as you both slowly trudge through the village, though you think he only walks slow for you and your injuries, “That couldn’t have been an easy thing for you to stand up to him like that.”

“I… I don’t really know how to feel,” You whisper, your fingers curling tightly around his as you try to gather your thoughts into one cohesive statement to sum up your feelings, “I am sad, but my chest feels lighter. I have never talked back to him like that, but I do not regret what I said.”

“That takes a lot of courage,” Paz consoles with a deep hum, giving your hand a gentle squeeze and as he tilts his helmet a little lower and to the side, you like to picture him smiling down at you--whatever his smile may look like, though you’re certain it must be a kind, warm one, “It takes strength to stand up to someone that has hurt and manipulated you that badly, cyare, and you should feel only pride for acting so bravely.”

You smile and nod a little, knowing that someday you will truly believe his words, but for now you simply remain silent and focus on the firm hold he has on your hand. You hesitate and tense up when he moves to lead you down a dark alleyway that seems to go on for a mile; it’s so dark that you can’t even see where it ends and you move to take a step backwards as you think of the Trandoshan.

“It’s okay,” Paz reassures you, seeming to notice and understand your tension, “It’s… It’s been a long day, I get it, but I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’ve got me, cyare--always.”

You tug your hand out of his and squeeze the crook of his elbow as he leads you into the darkness of the alleyway. Despite not being able to make out anything, you feel how unwavering and sure the warrior is as he easily strides down the alleyway and it’s not until he scoops a thick curtain to the side that he turns on the little flashlight attached to the side of his helmet. You’re surprised to find a small set of stairs that leads down into a dark tunnel and you let him guide the way, trusting him enough to know he’s taking you somewhere safe.

“Careful,” Paz says softly as you slowly make your way down the winding staircase that takes the two of you further underground, “I know how clumsy you can be--or what was it you said when I took you to the hot springs the first time? The only thing graceful about you are your hands?”

You huff and try to shrug off the flirty remark, shaking your head as you carefully trail behind him, "You are not as smooth as you think, Paz."

He turns his helmet to gaze at you, nearly blinding you with the flashlight, all while continuing to descend the staircase and you hear him chuckle, "You’re lucky I am wearing my gloves, I know how hot your ears and cheeks get when you get all shy around me, little nurse.”

“I am sunburned,” You inform him with a scoff as he turns to face forward upon meeting the bottom of the staircase; you unfurl his cape to wrap it around your shoulders as it begins to grow colder, “I think most of my skin is pretty warm right now.”

He hums and you think he’s tense as you wrap both hands around his bicep as you two venture further into the underground tunnels; you remember the heavy weight of the Trandoshan’s body draped over your weak one as the heat from harsh sun rays beat down on you for hours on end. He doesn’t know anything that’s happened to you in the last day and you’re not sure if you should tell him, somewhat fearing for the bounty hunter’s life at the thought of Paz’s anger upon finding out you had been forced to take a life.

That the Trandoshan had touched you--that he’d nearly taken off your dress.

You don’t even realize how hard you’re clinging onto Paz’s bicep, forcing yourself to remember that you hadn’t been violated in such an intense way and that you were currently safe with your Mandalorian.

“We are almost there,” Paz reassures you, though you think it only brings you more anxiety and fear as he calmly leads you to his tribe, not seeming fazed or nervous in the slightest, “You will be loved by them as a little sister, please do not worry. I will take care of the bounty hunter.”

You simply nod as you let him guide you through what feels like endless tunnels and turns and you wonder how he could possibly know his way through such an intense maze of dark stone. You think of all the times he’s made his way through the tunnels just to see you and your heart swells as you glance up at his scuffed up helmet with admiration, thinking that he must see something in you to make such a winding journey so many times.

“Stay behind me, please,” Paz gently orders, responding quietly to your wide-eyed expression after he nudges you behind his big frame, “Just for a minute.”

He turns a corner just as an unfamiliar voice speaks up and you instantly perk up at the sound of a small, innocent voice; they sound younger than you and you’re not sure why, but that brings you great comfort immediately.

“Norac bid nusujii, ori kebiin?” A high-pitched, feminine voice has you feeling curious and despite Paz’s words, you poke your head to gaze past his bicep. Instantly, a forest green helmet with that notorious t-shaped visor whips to the side to stare at you and the smaller Mandalorian is quick to stand up from where she had been perched on a stone ledge next to the large, round entrance leading into the covert. You blink at the scuffed up teal armor that the female Mandalorian dons and you think the sapphire color of her gauntlets to be beautiful and less intimidating compared to the bounty hunter’s armor.

“Cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu Paz?”

You think she must be asking Paz a question by the incline of her tone and he immediately turns to find you gazing intensely at the guard; letting out with a crackly sigh, Paz gives her a single sharp nod, “‘Lek.”

She lets an amused hum slip past her modulator and steps a little closer, “Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh.”

Paz turns a little to place a big hand on the small of your back, kindly urging you forward and you hear the colorful Mandalorian let out with a small chuckle when you speak quietly in a shy voice, “The colors of your armor are pretty--blue is one of my favorite colors.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.”

You immediately understand the meaning of her playful words when Paz offers her some sort of admonishment in his deep voice, speaking in his native tongue, “Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic.”

“Sorry, sorry,” The woman chuckles a little, helmet cocking to the side as she places a leather hand on her hip, “Thank you for the compliment, though I do not think I have ever heard someone refer to a Mandalorian as being pretty; most people would spit on us the first chance they got,”

She still sounds amused as she props her sharp Beskar staff up against the stone wall, holding out a hand for you to shake; you smile weakly at the greeting and grasp her hand lightly, noticing her firm grip right away. She stands a few inches taller than you and even though she is probably the least intimidating Mandalorian you’ve met so far, you don’t doubt her strength.

“I do not think that those who would choose to spit on you would last very long.”

“Ni guuror kaysh,” The colorful Mandalorian giggles, her head tilting to the side as she peers down at you, “Cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel?”

“Elek,” Paz huffs a little and nods, sounding proud as he quickly answers her question, “Yes, ever since the day I first saw her.”

Your cheeks burn at what they could possibly be saying about you, though you don’t wish to cause any disrespect and politely continue to firmly shake the colorful Mandalorian’s hand as she giggles a little louder at his answer.

“I am Imalia,” She finally introduces herself and you’re surprised to actually hear excitement in her smooth, modulated voice as she continues to shake your hand; you’re even more surprised that she would so willingly give you her name, “Everyone calls me Ima though; I am one of the guards that protects the entrance this late at night since we’ve been having more and more close calls with outsiders lately.”

You blink as her leather-clad palm slips from yours and you nervously wring your fingers together, not knowing what to do with your own hands, “My name is--”

“Oh, we all know who you are, vod’ika,” She interrupts with another giggle and confusion fills you when you hear Paz let out with an exasperated sigh; your heart warms when you remember that he had told you ‘vod’ika’ meant little sister, “Our heavy-infantry warrior hasn’t shut up about you since he first saw you--always rambling on about his ‘mesh’la saviin’ika’ and how pretty your flowers are and how kind you are and how he wants riduurok with you someday. We all thought he was making you up until he brought home your flowers one day.”

“Ori Kebiin bal Saviin’ika,” She tilts her head to the side, amused by her own words and you hear Paz groan from behind you, “How cute.”

You grow even shyer at her teasing voice, “What does... that mean? R-Riduurok?”

“Oh, y’know,” Ima says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, flippantly waving a gloved hand around, “When two people agree to--”

“It means Imalia is a teenager who likes to gossip too much and is far too nosy for her own good,” Paz quickly deflects, resting a large hand over the slope of your shoulder and you think he almost sounds stressed out and worried as the colorful Mandalorian shrugs halfheartedly, “Is the armorer at the forge, Mal?”

The way he seems so comfortable speaking with the younger warrior immediately makes you smile softly and you wonder if he’s this way with all the younger Mandalorians.

“I need to speak with her--it’s urgent.”

Imalia tilts her head to the side and you feel small underneath her intimidating gaze, despite the fact that she’s apparently younger than you; she must be inspecting you closely and you suddenly wish you had the opportunity to take a shower before leaving your house. You can still feel all the dried blood matted to your scalp and crusted into your hairline and you’re certain Ima must see it as well.

“Tion'jor an te tal?” Ima questions in a much quieter tone and you flinch severely when her hand moves to touch one of your braids, though she is quick to pull her hand away, turning sharply to gaze up at Paz instead; her voice sounds much graver and sadder when she speaks again, “Vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh? Cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?”

“It’s a long story,” He says in Basic, something you’re grateful for as the colorful Mandalorian, slowly takes her seat back on the stone ledge, grabbing her long spear once more as Paz continues, “It’s all Djarin’s fault. He came after her because of the vulptex.”

“That damn bounty hunter--no wonder why he was so tense when he came back earlier,” Ima sighs, shaking her head as though this is a common occurrence within the tribe and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach, “I’m surprised he’s even alive still; I’m starting to think he has only one brain cell left.”

“Not for much longer,” Paz huffs, fingers twitching against the thick fabric of your long sweater and you let him guide you through the large entrance into another tunnel, “The runt is dead the moment I see his sorry ass.”

The teenager doesn’t seem all the fazed by Paz’s foreboding words, watching as you two venture further into the enclave, “I don’t doubt it.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to catch one last glimpse at Ima’s beautiful green helmet, “It was nice meeting you, Ima.”

“You as well, saviin’ika,” You can hear the smile in her modulated voice, warm and syrupy sweet, and your heart melts at her next words, “I look forward to seeing more of you, rather than hearing it from ori kebiin’s annoying mouth.”

Despite the long day you’ve experienced and everything that’s happened with your father, you smile tiredly at her and face forward as Paz lets out with another annoyed sigh, grumbling something so low that you can’t make it out from underneath his helmet.

He continues straight down the dim tunnel that is barely lit and your eyes widen as he leads you through another rounded entrance that has some sort of huge insignia welded to the top; you think it almost resembles a Mandalorian helmet with horns coming out the side and you make a mental note to ask Paz about it later.

Paz hums thoughtfully as he inspects his surroundings, looking for something--or someone--in particular; you take in your surroundings curiously, detaching yourself from the distracted Mandalorian to make your way over to a little workbench that seems to have discarded scraps of metal. Not wanting to be rude by touching someone else’s belongings, you simply observe all the scuffed and rusted Beskar, though something in particular catches your attention.

You force yourself not to reach out to touch the little pendant that resembles the one welded above the entrance of the forge, though something about the faded purple horns intrigue you more than you’d like to admit

“I thought we agreed not to take in your nurse until we got our bounty hunter’s vote,” A smooth, demure voice instantly startles you and you quickly turn around to come face to face with a Mandalorian who is slowly and surely entering the armory, her gaze fixated on you in an intense manner, “It is not like you to go against my word, Paz. Do you understand that you have put the tribe at risk?”

You eye the thick furs draped along her shoulders, along with the beautiful glimmer of her golden helmet; you think the richness of the gold contrasting against the deep maroon of the rest of her armor is stunning and immediately, you think she must be the leader of the covert. Though she lacks in height, just like you, she makes up for it with a powerful aura of quiet strength and leadership and you immediately admire her.

Though you’re terribly nervous, you’ve never wanted to make such a good first impression with someone and you shakily speak up before Paz can, his helmet jolting to the side to gaze at you with what you’re certain is surprise.

It seems as though you’ve been doing that a lot lately--surprising everyone, including yourself.

“He wanted to wait as well,” You inform her, awkwardly skittering forward when she pulls out a chair for you to sit on, seeming to understand your exhaustion after a long day, “I… I was brought here because of the circumstances of today.”

“And what were the circumstances, little one?” She questions smoothly, her voice like rich velvet through her vocoder as she grabs a small metal mug from a shelf and a teapot that must already be filled with hot water; immediately, Paz starts to speak in an angered tone, but she is quick and calm to interrupt his hasty words as she pours hot water over a bundle of herbs, “I believe I asked your nurse, warrior, not you.”

“Thank you,” You whisper your gratitude when she makes her way back to you and kindly places a steaming mug filled with something that smells simultaneously sweet and spicy, “I haven’t had a warm drink in a while.”

“I know,” She informs you and your eyes widen in fear at the thought of Paz telling everyone in the covert about your father; anger fills you just for the tiniest moment before the armorer is squashing your worries like a bug beneath her boot, “I know only of what our heavy-infantry warrior has informed us about you, though he has spoken nothing of your personal life or family. It is unfortunate that you do not wear our helmet, little nurse, for it is quite easy to read the pain and suffering in your eyes. You may be younger than I, but you have lived a lifetime already, have you not?”

Your nostrils flare as you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat when you realize the wisdom this woman possesses, “I have felt enough pity for one lifetime as well, I do not wish to feel it anymore from myself or anyone else.”

She glances up at Paz, who has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you closely, before her gaze is once again fixated on you taking a tentative sip of the flavorful tea; she cocks her head to the side, as if intrigued, and you hope that you are making a decent impression, “Very well. Tell me of the circumstances that have led you here today, little one.”

So, you do.

Paz pulls up a tiny chair that creaks underneath his weight and sits off to the side as you reluctantly relay the story of you and the bounty hunter--how you had willingly taken that blaster shot to save your vulptex, how you had been forced to cauterize your wound, how many times you tried to mention Paz’s name, though the hunter refused to listen. You think it’s taking everything out of Paz to not immediately go searching for his fellow Mandalorian, but he remains seated, his visor fixed on you and his fingers curled into tight fists atop his armored thighs.

As soon as you mention the speeder and the barren lands, you see Paz straightening up, his breath hitching in his throat as you speak of the deal with the Trandoshan and how the bounty hunter hadn’t hesitated to trade you in for a pouch of credits.

How you had begged the hunter not to hand you over because the Trandoshan only held cruel intentions towards you.

Somehow, you manage not to cry the entire time, but as soon as you speak of the vibroblade Paz had given you--how you were barely able to keep a good grip on the handle because of how bloody your hand was--tears spring to your eyes. You squeeze the hot mug between your hands firmly, trying your hardest to take comfort in the warmth it brings your cold body.

Against your better judgment, you decide to leave the Trandoshan’s intentions as far away from the story as you possibly can, not wanting to inform Paz of how close he’d been to slipping his hands underneath your dress.

You know that would be the one detail of your story that would leave him completely unhinged.

You squeeze your eyes shut just as you maneuver around the painful topic, “Throat wounds are usually the most deadly and I… I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off of me and I had to take his life. I cannot stop thinking of the noises he made when I--and he was choking on his own blood and it got all over me and I never had to--”

“Ner cyare,” Paz’s voice sounds thick with emotion as you stare down at your lap in shame, not noticing the way the armorer is still gazing intensely at you, “I didn’t know you had to... Maker, that’s where all the blood came from?”

“You did what you must to survive in such a cruel place,” The armorer seems to have better words to say than Paz and you think he must be caught in an intense war of anger towards his brother or sadness because you had lost a piece of yourself, “Though I can only imagine the turmoil one so innocent would be going through after experiencing something so traumatic. Please, continue if you can.”

You’re not sure how you manage to speak with how shaky you’ve become, but surrounded by two powerful warriors, you want to be stronger, “I-I immediately went into shock because there was so much blood--Maker, there was so much blood--and I just froze and he fell forward on top of me. I was too weak at the moment to push him off and I passed out in the sun. When I woke up hours later, my skin was burning but I was able to get the Trandoshan off of me finally.”

You find it difficult to look at either one of them, so your gaze flickers up to the little horns on the armorer’s helmet as you take another sip of tea before continuing, “I… I passed out again; I don’t know why I was so tired, but when I woke up again, it was night time and the bounty hunter had come back for me and was taking Paz’s blade from my hand. He asked me who I got the weapon from and as soon as I said Paz, I could tell he regretted everything.”

The armorer speaks after Paz lets out an infuriated growl, standing up to his most intimidating size, though the female Mandalorian feels no sort of fear as she speaks only to you, “And do you truly feel as though our bounty hunter felt sorry for what he did to you?”

You sit up a little straighter and stare right into her visor, thinking hard about your response before answering out loud, though you can tell Paz is seething and vibrating with rage.

“I think he felt sorry for hurting someone who was precious to Paz, but not that I was protecting something I considered dear to me,” You inform her in an earnest, hushed tone, making her cock her helmet to the side a little, “I think he was just a man doing his job as a bounty hunter, but he was also cruel to me. When I tried to tell him that I knew Paz, he would make me be quiet and told me that whatever I had to say did not matter.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly brush away the tears at your lashes as you continue, “He almost made me believe the stories that my parents used to tell me of Mandalorians, but I know Paz enough to know the stories aren’t true. I’ve only known Imalia--Ima--for a few minutes, but she treated me kindly and I do not wish to believe that everyone in your tribe could be so cruel, especially when you and her have shown me respect.”

“And how have I shown you respect when all I’ve done is given you the opportunity to tell me your story, little one?”

“I think that is one of the kindest ways you can treat another--to allow them to speak up for themselves without judging them,” Warmth spreads through your cheeks and ears as you take another sip of your sweet, spicy tea and you gaze shyly at the armorer, “I know my voice shakes when I am scared or angry and that I cry more than I probably should, but you and Paz and even Ima have shown me more respect than anyone else I’ve met in the last decade. Even if I was not accepted, I am grateful to see that love and kindness has lived underneath this cruel village for so long.”

The armorer stares at you in an unwavering manner and you fear the worst when she slowly turns her helmet to gaze up at Paz, who’s still staring intently at you, and she almost sounds amused as she turns to you once again, “It seems as though our heavy-infantry warrior was correct when he informed us all that it is impossible to dislike you.”

“I only wish to treat others the same way I would like to be treated,” You smile at the thought of your grouchy Mandalorian giving you such high praise about you to his family and you curl your fingers against your knees, “I apologize that this is the way I was introduced to you--all bloody and still shaken up.”

Her head tilts to the side in a curious manner, “Our tribe’s bounty hunter was careless and hurt you, yet you are the one apologizing?”

“It was my fault for--”

“Do not feel sorry or at fault for this, cyare,” Paz insists and you finally look up at him as he speaks through clenched teeth, “Where is Djarin, ner alor? I will have him begging for forgiveness at her feet the second I see him--I want him to suffer for what he did to her!”

The armorer lets out with a tired sigh and she shakes her helmet a little as you timidly finish off your tea, watching the altercation take place over the rim of your mug, “Our bounty hunter is currently asleep in his quarters, just as you two should be.”

Paz refuses to back down and you fear that he’s actually going to kill his fellow Mandalorian as his deep baritone grows louder and more infuriated, “I want to kill him, I don’t care that he is currently resting. He is a coward and--”

“Your little healer is exhausted and afraid,” The armorer reminds him firmly, standing up to her full height and you realize her true power when Paz recoils a little, “She is in a new place, surrounded by people she has never met and it has been a long day for her. Would you be so cruel and selfish to deny her relaxation after witnessing such trauma? The nurse is about to fall out of her chair, and yet you only wish to seek violence when she has already seen too much of it in her lifetime.”

“I didn’t--” Paz’s helmet jolts a little as he gazes intensely at you, though you offer him a weak, tired smile, “I am sorry, ner cyare, I was not thinking properly.”

“It’s okay,” You shake your head a little as you slowly stand, your hand traveling to the cauterized wound at your hip; and Paz is instantly at your side when you keel over a little bit in pain, “Although it would be nice to um, to maybe get all of this blood out of my hair?”

“Negotiations for the nurse’s future with the tribe will continue tomorrow,” The armorer stands tall, somehow exuding more power and grace than your blue warrior, “In the meantime, she will recover and rest for as long as she requires.”

“Th-Thank you,” Paz gently presses his hand to the small of your back as you offer your gratitude to the tribe’s matriarch, “For everything.”

She simply offers you a curt nod and watches as Paz dutifully takes you to his private quarters.

The enclave is a lot quieter than you would have expected and you think they must have some sort of system when it comes to training and sleeping; you have so many questions, but you don’t want to sound too nosy, so you remain silent during the small journey. Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy as he quietly guides you and you pray the Mandalorian doesn’t think too differently after hearing your story--that he doesn’t see you to be any less of yourself for being forced to steal someone’s life.

He’s still tense as he wraps an arm around your waist to help you descend another staircase leading even deeper into the enclave and you hate that you are a part of the reason why he’s so angry and upset. You hate his moody silence, knowing that he’s normally so talkative with you and could probably carry a conversation with himself if it meant you had his full interest.

Tiredly, you make it your own little mission to distract him from his inner turmoil and gently grab his yellow gauntlet once the two of you make it to the bottom of the staircase. His helmet jolts to the side to gaze down at you as you hold his forearm to your stomach, your fingers barely grazing the slim barrel attached to the top of his gauntlet.

You smile up at his visor, whispering out a meek little, ‘I love you.’

Instantly, he stops walking to lean down to press his forehead against yours and warmth settles over your heart similarly to the way his cape around your cold frame brings you comfort and security.

Immediately, he relaxes his tense muscles and lets out a deep sigh, “I love you too, cyare.”

You observe your dark surroundings closely as he leads you past what seems to be several different alcoves that you assume must be the living quarters for other Mandalorians, the entrances to them covered by thick black fabric. You’re surprised when he guides you past them and around a corner where there’s a stone door straight at the end of the corridor; you wonder if he has a bigger room than everyone else because of his status or ranking within the tribe, though you think it rude to ask and simply follow him into his dimly lit quarters.

You’re surprised to find that it’s far bigger than your little hut and you take in all the new surroundings with curiosity.

You keep your hands clasped tightly together, feeling awkward as you watch the warrior calmly make his way to a huge chest on the floor at the foot of his massive bed, seeming utterly relaxed as he begins to remove his big gauntlets and black gloves. placing them inside the large chest. You almost think he’s forgotten about you until he stands up again and purposely wanders back to you, immediately intertwining his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle tug.

“You must be dying for a shower,” He sighs softly, leading you further into his private quarters and through a small alcove protected by black drapes; your cheeks burn hotter than coals when you think of how easy it would be for him to easily invade your privacy, though you know him to be a respectful man, “The water doesn’t always get the warmest, but I’m sure it will be nicer than whatever you had at your home.”

You perk up when you see the big shower and dozens of little holes in the ceiling where the water must fall from, “We had a sonic shower at the infirmary. I’ve never used a real one with actual water.”

The blue warrior stares at you for a few moments before shaking his head a little; he digs through your small canvas bag, pulling out the jars that contain your hair products, as well as your bar of soap. You watch with curiosity as he opens the glass door the shower and places your stuff on a small shelf next to his own belongings and it finally hits you that you are actually at his covert with him and not your measly little hut with a man who hates you.

Paz twists a metal knob a few times around, causing a soft whirring noise, followed by fat droplets of water to fall from the holes in the ceiling and your eyes widen a little at the sight.

“Take as long as you want,” He gently orders in a cool rasp, stroking your bruised cheek with the utmost care and immediately, you turn your head to kiss his palm, earning you a little sigh from him, “I’ll go get some food for you while you shower.”

He turns to leave you alone, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you awkwardly speak up in his native tongue, “Ori kebiin--”

Immediately, the Mandalorian freezes, his back facing you as you speak the strange words that the guard had spoken earlier, “That’s what Ima said, right? I know you told me that saviin’ika means violet and I heard her say that, but what does ori kebiin mean? Is it your title in the tribe?”

“I--It’s just--” Paz seems to hesitate for a few moments before you hear him let out with a frustrated groan, “It is what many of the younger ones in the tribe refer to me as; it means big blue. When I told you that saviin’ika only meant violet, I lied to you, cyare. Saviin means violet, but ‘ika means little.”

“Big blue and little violet?” You murmur, cheeks burning more intensely than any severe sunburn could possibly inflict on you as the warmth spreads to the tip of your ears, “That’s what she was so--”

“It’s nothing,” He huffs a little and rolls his head a little, the joints in his neck cracking from the tension that comes with a long day, "The younger ones in the tribe keep teasing me about you because they know they can get away with it."

You nod and quietly ask him one last question before he can leave, "Where is my vulptex? You said she was here, right?"

Paz chuckles a little as you frantically voice your concerns aloud, now that the two of you are safe and alone, "She is most likely in the nursery with the little ones. She has been fed and taken care of all day, cyare, please do not worry about anyone other than yourself right now. I’ll be out there if you need anything, just call if you need help."

You smile and give him one last 'thank you’ as he leaves you to wash yourself. Slowly and tiredly, you peel your clothes from your bruised and bloodied body and excitedly make your way into the shower.

A gasp nearly leaves you upon feeling the warm water gently pelt against your skin and you smile a little as you tilt your head backwards and let the water loosen the dried blood from your hair. A content sigh escapes you as you remove your metal cuffs from the tails of your braids and you place them on a little stone shelf next to yours’ and Paz's toiletries before getting to work on gently washing your mane, taking your time to make sure all the blood is removed.

You do everything in your power to not pay attention to the pink swirl of water that runs around the big drain in daunting circles.

Instead, you focus on the scent of your comforting floral shampoo or the spicy, woodsy scent of your warrior’s toiletries as you curiously bring the bar of soap to your nose to smell it.

You're not sure how long you're under the warm spray of water, your eyelids threatening to slip shut, but eventually, you're finally clean and ridden of any proof that you've stolen a life. Reluctantly, you shut the water off and step out onto a furry mat, grabbing a towel that's neatly folded next to your canvas bag. As you dry yourself, making sure not to jostle your injured hip too much, you realize just how much better you already feel now that you're clean.

It’s only once you’ve put on your nightgown that you risk a glance at the little mirror that hangs above the sink and immediately freeze. You look exhausted, you realize as you stare at your wide-eyed expression with sadness and defeat, your eyes filled with the same kind of intense emotion that would be in a young warrior’s eyes upon coming back from war. Hastily, you turn your attention to your hair, carefully combing out all the knots with the comb that Paz had dutifully tucked into the canvas bag for you.

When you brush through your hair for what must be the hundredth time, you realize you’re only delaying the inevitable--him seeing your arms and the rest of your body so exposed in your nightgown, along with all the scars and welts displayed across parts of your arms and shoulders that he’s never seen before.

‘He is a warrior,’ You remind yourself fiercely, nervously tucking a wet lock of hair behind the curve of your ear as you muster up the courage to sweep the thick curtain to the side, ‘He is used to scars and he’s told you countless times that he doesn’t mind them.’

Your nerves are at an all time high as you spot your Mandalorian in the tiny kitchenette in his private quarters, setting a wooden bowl down onto the table and you tiredly smile as he places a small spoon next to it.

“Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

Paz turns around and freezes upon meeting your gaze with his black visor; you can feel water dripping onto the thin satin material of your dress, as well as down your neck and you blink with curiosity as he remains glued to his spot in front of the little table that you realize is next to a stone furnace. He’s holding a bowl with steam dancing along the surface and your mouth instinctively waters when you catch a whiff of all the spices and unfamiliar scents of the savory meal. Behind him, you see a small piece of bread and another bowl filled with vibrant fresh fruit and you feel your heart clench at the mere thought of eating something sweet.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything,” He kindly informs you, pulling out a chair as an invitation to sit down as he sets the bowl on the table, “It is... nice to see you looking more like your normal self already.”

You smile warmly at him and take a seat as the Mandalorian begins to disarm his heavy weapons and equipment, placing them in a safe spot near his massive bed where they are readily accessible, should danger dare threaten him. You nervously fiddle with the wet ends of your clean hair as your knee bounces frantically, watching him as he begins to slowly remove his armor, starting with his pauldrons as he carefully places them in that large chest at the foot of his bed.

His helmet turns and he immediately notices your hesitation to eat the food he’s laid out for you, “You... You can help yourself, cyare. I have already eaten and I can tell you’re hungry.”

You politely murmur a quiet ‘thank you’, not noticing the way his shoulders drop a little as you finally pick up the spoon to eat, your stomach growling more intensely than a rabid beast. Tucking a leg underneath yourself, you tentatively blow on the steaming spoonful of delicious looking stew before bringing it to your mouth and before you can fully register all the different spices, your taste buds explode.

Paz nearly chuckles upon watching your eyes slowly close as you experience all the different flavors for the first time, “I’m going to shower while you eat.”

“Mhm,” You simply hum, barely aware of him shaking his head in an amused manner as you practically ignore him, focusing only on the well-seasoned stew as he makes his way to the refresher.

You’re slightly sad when your spoon inevitably scrapes the bottom of the wooden dish, but excitement fills you when you remember the bowl of fruit that had been left for you. The berry you pick up is a deep shade of purple and covered in white streaks and you slowly let it slip between your lips, your shoulders falling when you bite into the berry, causing tart juice to explode in your mouth.

You’re not sure how long you must be savoring the fruit for, but eventually, your Mandalorian exits the refresher, completely ridden of all the padding and armor and his visor instantly seeks you out; you’re in the process of licking juice off your finger when your eyes dart upwards to find him standing only a few feet away from you.

Immediately you freeze, eyes wide as he walks around with his scarred torso completely bared to you, his black sleep pants slung low on his hips and you find it nearly impossible to look away from the rich brown skin that he’s choosing to expose to you for the first time. The muscles of his shoulders and arms are more defined than his soft chest and stomach and you think he must carry most of his strength in those powerful arms, what with being his tribe’s heavy-infantry warrior.

You’re grateful that he’s not touching your cheeks or ears, that way he can’t truly tell how flustered you are. Instead, he dutifully retrieves an extra fur that’s folded in one of the drawers off to the side, only turning to meet your gaze once he’s done covering his mattress in the warm material.

He must take your wide-eyed expression the wrong way, because he almost sounds afraid when he quietly speaks up, “What? You do not wish to see me like this? Are you uncomfortable?”

Immediately, you abandon your fruit and stand up to approach him, “I think you are beautiful, Paz.”

He scoffs a little, but accepts a warm embrace from you as you rest your cheek against his sternum and hook your arms underneath his armpits so you can lay your hands atop his defined shoulder blades. Instantly, his arms are wrapped tightly around your own shoulders and he holds you close to his warm chest where you can feel his heart thumping against your ear like a beacon of power and strength.

“That is my line,” He murmurs, and your lips stretch into a tired smile against his soft skin, the dark curls loosely splayed along his chest are coarse as they tickle your cheek, though you don’t mind at all, “Besides, I thought you once said you would not dare to feed my ego anymore than you already have.”

You close your eyes, taking comfort in the deep rumbling of his chest and voice as you feel his heart thrum powerfully and frantically against your eardrum, “Something makes me think your ego is not as massive as I once thought it to be.”

He scoffs, but simply holds you close to him and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt such comforting skin on skin contact like this; his huge arms simultaneously acting as a heater and a shield. He hums when you let out a relieved sigh, your warm breath fanning across his sternum as he shivers a little and brings a hand up to gently rub the back of your head, not caring that your hair is still dripping wet and getting onto his own chest.

“Sweetheart,” His chest rumbles as he speaks and your eyes flicker up to meet his visor, “We are both exhausted, it is time for us to rest, I think. Besides, I would much rather hold you like this in my bed.”

You smile and nod a little, watching as he stands tall and moves to turn off all the lights in the dim room. Hesitantly, you make your way underneath the thick furs that are draped on top of the mattress and as you let your head rest on top of a soft pillow, you fear that you will simply sink right through it, as you’ve never rested on something so pliable. Once it’s pitch black in the room and you feel the weight of his warm body dipping in the mattress next to you, you turn over onto your side to face him, despite not being able to see him in the slightest.

Immediately, your mind goes into overdrive as you think of what you’re supposed to do--what he expects from you--and you nearly jump when you feel the gentle weight of his palm carefully resting on top of your sunburnt cheek, his thumb tenderly stroking the tail of your brow. You’re not sure if you should move closer to him or what you should do with your hands as he moves the tiniest bit closer to you. Thinking of the Trandoshan and how you'd been pinned underneath his lifeless body for so long, you suddenly crave to feel his heartbeat and you scoot closer to the man that feels more like a furnace.

He doesn't say a word as he moves so he's on his back and lifts a big arm above his head, patiently waiting as you find a comfortable position to rest your head. Finally, after a few awkward seconds of the two of you fumbling around in the dark, your head finds its home on his chest, your cheek pressed against a thick, raised scar and you close your eyes with a soft smile. His arm comes down from above his head to hold you closer to him, his other hand moving to continue its previous ministrations on your cheeks and lips as you rest your palm above his heart.

You’re half asleep when you feel a crooked finger press up against the underside of your jaw, guiding your head upwards slightly and you gasp when you feel something warm and plush kiss the top of your hair.

You’re utterly unfamiliar with the sensation of being kissed, but when you feel the same pressure against your forehead, followed by an unmodulated sigh and warm breath fanning across your face, you realize the warrior has broken part of his sacred code.

He took his helmet off for you.

“P-Paz, you--” Your voice trembles and you feel his lips quirk into a smile against the brow he’s currently kissing before he moves to the bridge of your nose, “Your helmet!”

“What about it, sweetheart?”

You feel at a loss for words at the sound of his unfiltered voice and he lets out with a small chuckle at your intense reaction, humming softly against your skin as he squeezes you a little tighter.

“Can you see my face?” He questions softly against the apple of your cheek, and you shiver at the sound of his smooth baritone in the raw; when you answer him with a weak little ‘no’, he continues with amusement evident in his unfiltered voice, “Then I have not brought dishonor to my tribe or you.”

“Are you sure?”

He huffs out a small chuckle against the tip of your nose and you smile at how different his laughter sounds without his helmet--much lighter and less crackly--and you cling onto his warm voice as he firmly rubs the stress away from your shoulders and cradles your jaw with his other hand. After being handled so roughly and grossly by the Trandoshan, his tender hands fill your aching heart with love and relief; your eyelids slowly slip shut when you feel him move his torso a little off the bed so he can kiss your chin.

“I am positive, sweet nurse.”

Shyly, you lift your hand from his chest and rest it on the side of his neck as he lightly nuzzles his nose into the damp hair that’s just a little above the tip of your ear, seeming to feel no shame as he inhales the scent of your shampoo and conditioner.

You shiver when he presses another kiss into your hair and you speak up as your hand slowly inches up his neck, feeling all the little scars and veins that are prominent, along with the way his Adam’s apple shifts up and down when you graze past it, “Am I allowed to touch your face?”

He hums and moves his head to kiss all the areas on your face that he previously missed--the corners of your eyes, the spot between your brows, as well as the sides of your nose--but he ultimately decides to venture to the corner of your lips, “You may do whatever you wish to me.”

Your face grows hot as he captures your earlobe between his thumb and index finger, a large grin spreading across his lips when he feels the intense warmth on the pad of his fingers, and you shyly continue your ascent up to his face. The first thing you feel is a coarse beard and you nearly jump away from him when the wiry hair tickles and scratches against your sensitive palms; it feels neatly trimmed, cropped just a few inches underneath his smooth cheekbones and you think he must take great care to not slack with his daily hygiene or grooming.

Before you can make it to his nose, the massive warrior sighs against the corner of your lips and speaks in the most wistful tone you think you’ve ever heard--

“May I kiss you properly now, cyare?”

You freeze, completely caught off guard by his words as you hesitantly lift your head from his chest, aiming your gaze in the direction where you think his eyes must be as he reluctantly drops his head back against the pillow. His fingers tense along your sore shoulder blade and you fear that he must feel that he’s done something wrong because of your hesitation, but as you manage to turn and move until your chest is pressed against his, you shyly explore his plump lips with your fingertips.

Curiosity gets the better of you at the thought of exploring his lips with yours and you lower your head and use your hands to guide your lips to his in the darkness of his room.

Immediately, you soften against him, your palms cradling his scratchy cheeks as you shyly kiss him and you're surprised at how warm and soft his lips are against yours.

You can’t help but to grin a little at the deep groan he lets out when he seems to realize that you’re actually kissing him.

Tilting your head a little to the side, you find it easier to kiss him the way you wish and you feel Paz completely relax underneath the tiny weight of your body as you fully press your lips against his, the side of your nose lightly bumping against his. You can smell the minty scent of his own shampoo mixed with the woodsiness of his body wash and you think it intoxicates you as he reaches up to cup the back of your head to keep you from straying too far from his tender lips.

A small whimper escapes you when his teeth graze your bottom lip and you feel lighter and bereft of all thought when you reluctantly pull away from each other, feeling like a night sky without her moon and you can’t stop yourself from stealing another kiss, earning another soft noise from the surprised man.

Your heart pounds a little faster when you feel his hand dip down to your waist to carefully hike you further up his body so he doesn’t have to lift his head as much and you smile as you bring your hands up to cup his scruffy cheeks; as your thumbs graze his cheekbones, you’re delighted to find that they are just as warm as your own. You’re practically laying on top of him, though he doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your body in the slightest as he holds you close to him.

Paz makes a small humming noise as he gently rubs a large hand up and down your back, continuing to kiss the corners of your lips and cheeks with fervor even when you pull away for air; you close your eyes in bliss, unfamiliar with the affection, but also basking in his warmth--his love.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

He whispers the unfamiliar words several times against your warm skin and you think he must be telling you the sweetest words, what with how quiet and soft he’s grown underneath you and your curiosity immediately gets the better of you.

“What does that mean?”

“In Mando’a, it means ‘I hold you in my heart forever’,” He explains, teeth grazing your sensitive jawline before moving upwards to steal another kiss from your grinning lips, “It is our way of telling another that we love them.”

You think it sounds far more beautiful than those other simple three words but you let the warrior kiss your lips as many times as he wishes, thinking that perhaps he’s never been this intimate with another. Also because you’ve never been showered with such affection and you think receiving it from Paz is one of the most beautiful phenomenons you’ve ever experienced.

"Your lips still taste like fruit," He informs you as his lips graze your jawline before moving to your ear, "I wonder if the rest of you tastes so sweet."

The gruffness of his tone combined with the way his teeth gently nip at your lobe has you feeling as though you're going to pass out or spontaneously combust. Shyly, you tuck your head firmly underneath his chin, your sunburned cheeks feeling even hotter as the warrior's chest rumbles with a deep laugh.

“I think you only wished to have me here so you can torment me,” You whisper against his bare neck, earning another chuckle from your Mandalorian as he continues to rub your spine in a comforting manner, “I don’t think I mind this kind of torment though. I would not mind having this every night, if you and your people were so kind to allow it.”

“They will,” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to him, “Please, cyare, rest your eyes. You have had a long day, but you are safe with me now.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and contentment as your eyelids slowly slip shut, exhaustion overtaking your body as he continues to gently press tender kisses to your cheeks and brows until you fall into a strange sleep where you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. You have nightmares of the Trandoshan’s body pinned against yours, as well as sweet dreams of spending the rest of your days underneath such tender care of your Mandalorian.

You’re in a strange limbo of intense nightmares and delightful dreams, but Paz seems to wake up whenever you whimper or let out with a small cry, reminding you in a hushed whisper that you are somewhere safe with him, rather than the infirmary or your hut. It’s not until you feel him stroking the tail of your brow that you fully fall into a peaceful sleep with visions of blue Beskar and strong arms.

You barely wake up with a quiet whimper hours later when you feel him lightly shuffling your body off of his before speaking in a soft, raspy whisper, “I must leave now for negotiations, cyare. You stay here and rest, okay? I shouldn’t be too long.”

“M’kay,” You blearily hum, nuzzling your face into the pillow that smells like Paz and you’re only slightly aware of the way he gives you one last kiss against your brow before he leaves you to put his armor and helmet on and begin his duties for the day.

You don’t sleep for too much longer, finding that Paz has taken all the warmth with him, even with the plush, thick fur that covers your body. You stare up at the ceiling for a few until you hear the covert slowly come alive, metal scraping against metal and loud shouts in an alien language followed by ringing laughter. Feeling slightly lazy and useless, you decisively get out of the comfortable, massive bed and make your way into the refresher, preparing yourself for what you think might be a long, strange day.

It feels bizarre seeing your hair without its flowers and a part of you wonders if Paz still has the flowers you gave him; perhaps you would still be able to plant them and grow some more, you ponder hopefully.

After you finish your typical morning routine, choosing to leave your hair without your usual braids, you throw on your leggings and sweater before cautiously poking your head out the door. You’re surprised to find the corridor empty and slowly leave Paz’s quarters, despite his insistence on you resting.

Curiosity has you nervously wringing your hands together as you make it to the staircase that Paz had led you down the previous night, and you jump a little upon hearing loud cheering and the shrill sound of metal clanging and scraping against each other. After finally making it up the stairs, you tentatively head in the direction that the ruckus is coming from.

It’s not until you hear Paz’s infuriated baritone of a voice that you make haste to the armory, barely remembering how to get there. Eventually, you round a corner and nearly freeze upon seeing several armored Mandalorians surrounding what appears to be some sort of altercation in front of the forge and you immediately sigh when you see a blue helmet right in the center of it.

You spot Ima, who seems to stand out from the others with her bright armor and you perk up a little as you approach her.

“Ima,” You say her name just loud enough for her to hear over the a loud shriek of metal being scraped, successfully gaining her attention as she turns to face you, “What’s going on?”

“See for yourself,” She sounds slightly amused and you allow her to place a hand on your shoulder, urging you between her and another huge Mandalorian that barely cocks his helmet to look down at you, “Your ori kebiin verd is fighting for your honor, though I don’t think Djarin is putting up much of a fight.”

You gasp upon seeing the bounty hunter from the previous day crumbled to the ground on his knees, Paz’s hand curled into the thick material of his cowl to hold him up properly.

“How many credits did you deem her life worthy of?!” Paz roars and you instantly freeze, thinking you’ve never heard him this infuriated, even towards your father, “Tell me you fucking hu’tuun! Tell me how many credits you were given in exchange for an innocent, precious life!”

“Five hundred,” The bounty hunter rasps, sounding weak and terribly injured underneath all the Beskar and your instincts have you stepping forward, though Ima is quick to ground you in place with a hand on your shoulder; she simply shakes her head when you peer up at her.

“Five--you gave her away for five hundred credits?!” You feel frozen as Paz forces him to his feet and drags him over to the forge that is now activated, “You only did it because you thought she would be an easy target, didn’t you, Djarin?”

The bounty hunter grunts when Paz forcefully pushes him backwards, slamming his head against the outer rim of the forge before wrapping his fingers around the injured man’s neck and holding his shiny helmet close to the intense flames.

You immediately voice your fears to Ima, who seems unfazed, as though this is a common occurrence, “Is Paz going to actually kill him?”

“Nah, this happens all the--” She stops mid sentence upon hearing the bounty hunter’s grunts and groans from the intense, suffocating heat that’s trapped underneath his helmet, though Paz makes no move to let him go, “Actually, he might go through with it this time. If not, Djarin’s definitely going to wish he was dead.”

“What?” Paz scoffs when the bounty hunter begins to thrash a little harder against the warrior’s unwavering grip, the heat most likely becoming more unbearable, “Can’t handle a little heat, vod? I’m sure you’re crying under that damn helmet more than she cried when you forced her to cauterize her own fucking wound.”

“I didn’t--” The bounty hunter sounds like he’s trying to disguise his excruciating pain and you feel your shoulders tense up to your earlobes, hating that you feel sympathy for the man who attempted to trade your life away for such a small price.

“Do you know how many times she tried to tell you?” Paz’s voice drops to a terrifying growl, the noise crackly and you wonder what’s currently going through his mind, “Do you know what she already had to deal with every damn day and you--” Tears fill your eyes at the pain in his next words, “You know what she means to me and you made her too scared to even look at me, hu’tuun. I almost lost her because of my own brother!”

You fear that the bounty hunter has passed out when he doesn’t respond, his body growing limp underneath Paz’s grip, but the warrior continues, “Why don’t I help you with that heat problem, Djarin? Bet you could use a little fresh air.”

You gasp when a large hand moves to the chin of the bounty hunter’s shiny helmet, his fingers curling underneath the lip and you immediately understand what he wants to do.

“You’re going to look her in eyes when you beg for forgiveness at her feet, Din Djarin.”

Translations *this is for all the dialogue between Imalia and Paz*

norac bid Nusujii, ori kebiin=back so soon, big blue?

cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu?=is this your tiny medic, uncle?

Elek=yes (Lek is more casual, like ‘yeah’)

Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh=I want to see her

Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic=You can't tease her like this

Ni guuror kaysh=i like her

cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel=Is your tiny medic always this soft?

tion'jor an te tal?=why all the blood?

vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh?=where is the flower you were excited to give her?

cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?= is the medic injured?

ner alor=my leader

Then there’s the usual words for nicknames and such:

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Cyare=Beloved, loved, popular

Hu’tuun=Coward

Verd=Warrior

Author’s note: Thank you all so much for the kind, supportive words on the last chapter!! Like, literally everyone has been so sweet and so supportive despite me being more inactive than usual and it seriously means the world to me?? Like I said before, I’m so excited to have more time to be active on here and interact with you all much more!! I love you all so much, hope you’re having a wonderful day, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it <33

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @honestlystop @cryptkeepersoul @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithawinchester *As always, if I missed anyone, please let me know ASAP!!

#paz vizsla x reader #Paz vizsla x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizsla #ngl #Paz is just an angry boi #saviin is like #bitch u left our warm bed to kick Din's butt??

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davids-cartoon-corkboard · 3 years

Text

Here’s the final part of the “Raph is a system” theory compilation post! It’s the last of what I can scrape up from canon; while I still have ideas on how it might loop back into character interactions and plot and so on, they’re much more speculative in nature. (Part 1 is here) (Part 2 is here) (You’re reading Part 3)

---

"Red” is the alter with the least screen time, so it took a while for me to connect the dots on when and why he formed.

His shadowed face, the dramatic background music when he speaks, and his seriousness are reminiscent of the “brooding on rooftops in the rain while gloomily staring off into the distance” thing that Raphs throughout the franchise will do sometimes. That’s easy to poke fun at on a superficial level because most of us look back on our edgy phases with self-deprecation, but it’s a lot less funny in the context of the life he lives. Being a normal human teenager in normal human society is a fucking nightmare; being a mutant teenager who has no idea what to expect in terms of development or lifespan, only five people he can safely interact with ever, and a very limited future hiding from everyone else for as long as he lives has got to be just awful.

RR’s few lines in “Pizza Puffs” tell us a lot. “It’s the only way they’ll learn” and “this is for their own good” suggest that he formed when the turtles started exploring more of the sewers and going aboveground, and Being The Leader became more of a responsibility. A thousand new ways for them to get in trouble meant a thousand new ways Raph would have to bail them out, and that got old fast- especially since they didn’t have April’s knowledge to help them in the beginning. I doubt they met her the very first time they left the sewers. The wiki says April knew the boys for five years as of “Mystic Mayhem”, so they would have been nearly eight at the time, perhaps the mental equivalent of a ten- or eleven-year-old human.

A while back I sifted through all the eps with Raph in them in the vague hopes that “Pizza Puffs” wasn’t the only episode featuring RR... and lo and behold, I found something! The shadowed face and dramatic background music are also present in “Minotaur Maze”!

“I can’t do it. I got no mystic mojo. I’m useless.”

“Hey, that’s not true, brother. You just gotta believe in yourself, and know this: If I die in this maze, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

(I know that’s only two data points, but y’all canonically cannot scoff at me.) RR shows up when HR is no longer able to tolerate the bullshit at hand. “I’m not going to baby you Leo, get your shit together before your ego kills us all” was a reasonable response to nearly being shish-kebab’d.

“Pizza Puffs”, on the other hand... LDM pulled through in the end, but that RR got HR to stay behind added an unnecessary level of risk. Getting his brothers to learn a lesson should have waited until after the giant mutant cannibal had been dealt with and they were no longer poisoned.

This hands-off “figure it out on your own” approach probably came from Splinter. I swear to Pizza Supreme In The Sky I’m not trying to shit-talk him, but his lack of involvement with his sons was a major flaw. Before all that character development he was terrible at things like “emotional support” and “life lessons”, leaving Raph without the blueprints to deal with a lot of problems. HR would respond by rushing in and figuring things out as he went, but sometimes RR would have to say “No, we’re maxed out and can’t deal with this, we’ve gotta step back”. As we’ve seen in other iterations, when Raph is maxed out and doesn’t step back...

...he goes too far. Plenty of folks have commented on how rarely the Rise turtles smack each other around compared to other versions; it’s telling that RR spoke up just a moment after HR smacked Mikey in “Pizza Puffs”.

Raph is much bigger and stronger than his brothers this time around, meaning such an outburst would have a much higher risk of Genuine Grievous Injury. And while his size and strength also mean a measure of gentleness has been baked into him since day one, there would still be times HR would feel himself boiling over and RR would head off somewhere quiet for fear of the above situation; which was potentially alluded to in “Hot Soup: The Game”.

“You went out on your own when you were his age.”

The context of “Man vs. Sewer” suggests Raph isn’t going to go off on his own without very good reason- such as cooling down before he does something he regrets. That this detail shows up in Casey’s debut episode suggests it is how they will properly meet and bond, since befriending Casey and doing vigilante shit with him is what usually gives Raph a way to blow off steam while having someone nearby to keep him in check. But that probably won’t happen until partway through season 3, since I doubt we can cram the rest of Casey’s redemption arc into the movie alongside the invasion and time travel trauma shenanigans and leader drama. So in the meantime RR will continue to brood on rooftops in bad weather and listen to Ephemerality songs and monologue to himself because he knows nobody’s going to hear him over the incessant background noise that makes up the cities above and below.

I was a bit stumped about how that meeting would take place- the events of the finale (and possibly also the movie) would no doubt have both the human and yokai populations on high alert, making it dangerous for RR to slip away for some peace and quiet. But the events of the finale also gave us some insight on Raph’s powers; he has a way to leave without actually leaving!

Hardlight Clone Jutsu, baby!

So whenever HR finds himself in a particularly sour mood, a wisp of power winds its way up through the open-air portion of the lair and forms into a clone aboveground. HR doesn’t have to leave for a while to cool down before coming back and dealing with the situation calmly, because RR is already on a rooftop somewhere dissipating those bad feelings by listening to the rain and/or yeeting trash cans.

But mutants can’t freely walk the streets of New York, and the Hidden City Police probably still have it out for Raph. And someone, hero or villain, will eventually realize that Raph has a gloomy stray clone running around and ask questions that can’t be answered without cracking open the can of worms that is This Whole Situation. RR needs to get creative. That we’ve seen clones have both full color and the basic red/white palette suggests their color could be altered in other ways; and that the holo-form grew extra arms in the lair fight vs. the Shredder suggests their shape could also be changed further.

So what will he choose to look like, if not his body?

Obviously he’ll use a red and black color palette because it slaps, leaning more towards black since I compared him to Batman back in Part 1. A low-detail design makes it hard to identify him, giving onlookers the impression that they just couldn't see him well in the dark. Mentally filing down his spikes and decreasing the curve of his shell are easy enough, but it takes him a while to figure out five fingers instead of three, and there’s not much he can do about his voice other than lowering the pitch so he just opts to not talk much within earshot of others. A cape further disguises his silhouette and again, it slaps. The impression of a mask means he doesn’t need a face and it lets peoples’ assumptions work for him. Humans are more likely to think he’s human than a Very Human-Shaped Mutant, and yokai come in so many shapes as is that he could be anything from a witch to a dehydrated googlyschmootz.

(You know how it is with franchises. Old patterns repeating in new ways.)

New York City never sleeps, and I doubt the Hidden City does either. He’ll run into Casey eventually, but in the interim he stumbles across and intervenes in some attempted purse-snatchings and kidnappings and the like. Most of the would-be victims use his arrival as their chance to escape, but one of them is too frozen with fear to move until their attackers are chased off into the dark. He escorts them home, and it’s only once they’re at their doorstep that they work up the courage to ask him who he is.

It’s... a difficult question, in more ways than one. “Raph” is out of the question. “Red” isn’t quite right, and neither is “Angel”- they’re a tad too identifying still, and the R.A.P.H. thing was HR’s idea anyway. So he shrugs, and melts away into the shadows.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Nobody.”

#rottmnt #rottmnt raph #red raph #rottmnt nobody #the 'raph is a system' theory #this will never be canon in a million years but it's canon compliant and that's what's important to me lol #ephemerality is a synonym for evanescence #i had to use a thesaurus for that one #anyway i am have always been and will always be an 03 hoe #long post #i have an inkling about how his meeting with casey would go so i might put that here sooner or later

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couldyouspeakmyname · 3 years

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Which gemstones do you associate with each member of the drama club?

I've actually never watched Steven Universe lol, i'm gonna go off gemstone meanings off some websites Legosi- Carnelian is about action. By activating the first three chakras, Carnelian provides a powerful boost to your willpower, with the physical energy and drive to back it up. If your heart wants something, carnelian can give you the confidence and power to go for it. Louis- Bloodstone assists us in facing the hard realities and challenges of Earthly life with courage and nobility. It does this by strengthening the root chakra, purifying the aura, and grounding one fully in the physical body. By bringing the subtle body into balance, it bolsters our inner vitality and gives us the heart to make necessary sacrifices, look at painful truths, or endure physical trials. Juno- Alexandrite helps you develop your own source of joy within yourself. It facilitates an awareness of the beauty of every moment, and your power to choose and make the most of your life. It provides hope by means of awareness of the possibilities that are always available to you, no matter your circumstances. Dom- Fluorite clears and clarifies mental clutter. If you are confused and distracted by too many ideas, or worries about the future, fluorite will put your mental mess in order, enabling you to focus on what really matters. It’s a support for work that involves making subtle distinctions, or a lot of decisions in quick succession.. Bill-Aragonite They bolster the strength of your emotional core, helping you confront painful feelings and embrace past wounds. This clears the way for lasting positive emotional states. Because they act to balance the energy system and chakras, they are both calming and energizing. Els- Blue lace agate is ideal for situations where you know you must speak up and don’t feel confident that you can find the right words. It helps you speak your truth with conviction in a way others can understand. Sheila-Lepidolite is one of the most powerful crystals to help with stress and worry when life feels turbulent and overwhelming. It’s high lithium content provides serenity, helping you work through and dissolve any negative emotions rising within you. Pina-When you are feeling hopeless, snowflake obsidian can help you regain your courage to persevere, and help you see opportunities you may have overlooked to improve your situation. It can give you the determination to find your way through and triumph over obstacles. It is especially helpful in enabling you to notice support that you may have missed or ideas or insights that could help you. Riz-Apache Tears are helpful for healing grief and trauma. They act both on new grief and on grief that is held in the emotional body from old trauma. Apache tears are gentle above all else, which makes them perfect for people struggling with processing difficult emotions. Tem- Amber carries the energy of the sun, warmth, and wellbeing. It is nurturing and good for people recovering from illness or who are needing comfort. It can transmute negative or stagnate energies into positive energy like a sunny day lifts the spirits. In this way it can be protective, letting you carry around a bubble of sunshine wherever you go.

-lexi

#sleepover saturday #longpost #analysis

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tarasylnin-lavellan · 3 years

Text

Justice’s Decision

"You are not the hounds that I was expecting," balefully glowing blue eyes watched the pair from the trees.

"DIRTHAMENS SHADOWY BALLS DON'T DO THAT

!" Harel was near panicked by the sudden words. Cole turned to the source an exclaimed "Your here!" Tara stepped further into the weak dawn light painting her pale face in the washed out illumination. "You've come sniffing around for me, Da'len. Unfortunately, you've trekked all this way for nothing. You should leave before the inquisition truly comes bearing down its arms. I would not want to see you bloody your hands." Tara looked worn to the end of breaking and her hands shook as she rested one against a tree. "Because they will come, they will have too, they will come with dogs and armor; and I won't have them hunt you too you must run, run any direction but mine."

Harel looked at the woman before her, eyebrows climbing in frank astonishment is this truly what she believed that a hoard of hunters was on her trail? "Are you daft? Mad? Tara we came here to find you to stop you from running away! No one is hunting you!" Tara's head snapped toward Harel and she flinched at the sudden movement

"Not yet they aren't, not yet, you did get here remarkably fast however. I don't know how you found me so quickly, but for your own safety you have to run." Cole’s weak but insistent voice answered Tara's confusion "We found you when you didn't want to be found, we know you're hurting and we want to help. Please! Let me help!" Tara snarled deep in her chest an animal wounded near to madness " I didn't want to be found for good reason! You knew that Dalen, I won't have you hurt because of ME!" As the turmoil in Tara grew a deep blue light coiled out from her, darker than the previous time its darkness reflecting her own. "Just go..." the words were tired and sad.

Cole and Harel stand side by side as Tara attempts to frighten the pair off, but they're stock still, their faces unchanging even as the blue wisps lick out at them threateningly. Harel watched the display meant to panic them "we're not leaving." Cole spoke softly hearing the desperate hurt in Tara the rents in her soul. "burdens break your back till your body aches. We will help carry. We must..." Tara face goes blank as she thinks of returning the pain too much. "I cannot go back, and I cannot stop them from hunting me you can't be in the path of danger not for me. No one else is dying because I was made into a weapon No one I. will. not. allow. it." Harel started to feel an indignant anger rising in her this damned woman "WILL YOU PUT THAT STUPID FUCKING SELFLESSNESS DOWN FOR ONE SECOND!!! her fists clenched tightly in frustration "you are not a weapon, YOURE TARA! You're so much stronger than you think, please, please don't lose yourself!

Cole could feel the choking fear the panic coiling its hateful tendrils around Tara. "I don't like this. It feels cold, like wind before the storm." Harel held her hands out to Tara in supplication "no one's going to hurt you, please, just come back. No one will get you, well make sure of it please don't run away." Cole felt it then the old memory the screaming of a child taken by Hate. "There are no templars! No voices screaming! You don't have to run, shouting mamae. You don't have to.....

Tara felt herself losing control and gripped her head in dread. " They will follow you here, I made a mistake, I am a fool. I never should have allowed a Templar to love me, just even think that I was normal, that I was even close to worthy of being normal! Just go..." The light of her bound soul swirled darker wrapping close to her. Harel called trying to break the hold of the panic "you're a lot of things but a fool isn't one. you need to calm down, you're scaring Cole. And me, just a bit. You're not going to hurt us and we're afraid but we're afraid FOR you. Please. Calm down" Tara's eyes closed and tears streamed down her face "my fault, I am too blame, I knew better" she fell to her knees "I knew better. Cole felt the hurt old and jagged wrapped in layers of walls now exposed and screaming monster, a monster I am a monster. "don't drown in yourself. The lion roars in grief not in rage. Please. Don't hurt yourself, it's hurting us, hurting him." Tara choked on the fear on the hatred she felt inside " His eyes I CANT no... No I can't I just hurt people I can't" she curled around the pain "this is my fault." Cole reached trying to tug on the pain but it was so old so omnipresent that he couldnt tug it loose. "you're a sword and a scalpel and a shield. You don't hurt because you want to, like Erimond and Samson, you hurt because you have to. You protect and pretend to step above the thing in you, to be more than just the breath and the purpose. Stop hurting yourself!" A ragged sob tore from Tara "I hurt everything I touch! I cannot go back not now not ever, I cannot bear to the see fear in his eyes.... I cannot watch him break inside."

Cole felt it within her the desperate need to be accepted for this to be a bad dream. Tara wanted to stay but she was so afraid of it she ran away. But one person was there, a light shining in dark forest of her mind. "breathe. This isn't you. It's the fear, the forgotten one speaking. You can't let it talk over you and control everything. You're losing yourself to what you think will happen. Lions roar but they don't bite without reason, the serpent curls around his paws and he's silent." He conjured the thought of Dorian like a Talisman, trying to calm her down.

Tara latched onto the one person she knew didn't fear her with the desperate strength of a drowning person. "Dorian? What could he say? how could he" Her eyes began to lighten in color with her brothers mention. Cole reached for it pulling the threads in her "he shouts over the noise of the old songs, the trauma of the circle, the fires in Kirkwall. He screams instead of hissing, his love and his hate all so that the lion knows, knowledge dripping like sweat when you held him, shaking craving the blue song. He learned its name and now the lion has a shape on his tongue to call your eyes." Tara stares at the boy in desperate, sad, hope mute. But the light has returned to crystal blue and slowed curling around her like mist again. Cole reaches for the hurt and speaks "Put your sword down, the scales don't have to fill with blood. You fear the inevitable even when it isn't to be. It's ok to fear, to be afraid of what might happen, but it won't." Cole stares forward, ice blue eyes unmoving and unblinking as if he speaks to Tara and yet, not to her at all. As if he speaks to someone else entirely "Don't be afraid but don't be angry. You're safe, Da'len."

Tara wanted to believe, she needed to believe but everything she had ever learned told her otherwise. She whispers "How could he ever see past..." Cole watched her with sadness in his eyes "Monsters are real, he's seen them before. He needs to look again, like a mouse who's lost its tail to a trap, he needs to see, to know that it's not the same. Love is love and you'll give him back his tail." Tara knelt trying to pull the frayed pieces of her mind back together. Her mothers voice spoke in her heart, and she looked up "I cannot go back to the castle, not until I know, I cannot trap myself there." Cole watches as she tries to accept a new path and his voice is firm for once "we'll protect you. You won't be trapped, I promise. And if you are then...." Harel stepped up next to Cole face still and stoic for once "then we'll let you leave for good and we won't follow you. We'll even keep those people off your trail. Just....trust us."

Tara knew the path she had to take not returning and not fleeing. She had to try, she had to give him a chance, as terrifying as that was. "if he... wants answers that's his right but, he has to meet me outside of that place. My mother would kill me if I walked into a cage willingly." Cole nods feeling the old memories "Hands on my shoulder she raises her voice, but not to frighten to lecture. Don't let the shem keep you in submission. We are the People, and never again shall we submit. Eyes stern but loving, she would reprimand me if I allowed myself to be foolish." Tara nods looking at the pair decision firming in her eyes. "He can meet me, alone, in the Emerald Graves I will wait."

Harel watches as Tara breathes heavily, her purple eyes for once wide in fear instead of narrowed in disinterest. It was a shocking sight to see one so strong reduced to this mess but it was understandable. She walked this thin line, always keeping her guard up. Now that she was tired, it was only natural for her to regress. "You've chosen an interesting place, Hah'ren. May the grave of Mahariel give your conversation the strength to pull through this. Would.....would you like one of us to stay?" Tara shook her head staggering to her feet "No, no. This must be seen to alone. But thank you. I have to face him by myself."

Cole watches as he always does with his moping face drawn low, sad to leave Tara alone after such suffering. The Inquisitor could see the pain in his eyes like a wounded Halla. Tara looked at the young man "it has to be alone Cole if...if things go badly I want to.. I want it to be alone I will go there and wait This has to be done right."

Cole nods, his hat dipping down in a short stroke and never once turning upwards. Harel comforts the boy with a hand on his shoulder, trying to bring him back from his sadness of leaving the Inquisitor alone. "We're here" it is all he says before he shimmers a light green, disappearing into the darkness to find his way towards Skyhold.

Harel shakes her head, an eyebrow raised as she mutters, "Love how he expects me to keep up with his invisible ass." Its the last thing Harel says that barely draws a smirk from Tara. Just barely. The trees gather around the storm mage as she bids her companions goodbye, setting off with the same heavy heart but so much less apprehension. She makes her winding way to the heart of the vast forest feet silent on the ground. She is a phantom in this place, her path undecided. As night falls around her the shadows dull the sharpened edges of reality. she sets up camp on a high rock bluff in the great trees the song of the branches soothing and sad. Let this be the place she thinks if I have to go with Falon'din let it be here.

Cole and Harel return to skyhold quickly leading the disgruntled Hart with them. Dorian bustled through the crowd his face drawn and afraid. "please PLEASE tell me that you didn't lose her."

Harel folds her arms, appraising the worried Tevinter before speaking "She's fine and safe and super fucking rattled. But safe. She wants to meet Cullen in the Emerald Graves; her territory instead of here since you know....its kind of uninhabitable to her at the moment. Dorian lets a whoosh of held breath at the words of the half breed. "She is alive, and she is thinking at least." Cole interrupts the thought though pushing past Harel the Qunari-elf is confused at the sudden movement before he starts speaking as well. His voice is tinged with emotion as he mimics Harel's voice "I'll kill that curly haired bastard Ill shock his shit for what he's done the fucking templar!" Dorian lunged forward covering the boys mouth with his hand. Leveling a glare that could've frozen the sun at Harel he hissed "stop thinking in such vulgar terms!" Cole subsided and Dorian stood thinking "Now.....She wants to meet him in the Graves? Oh Isa'ma'lan, you make everything so planned, don't you. I've tried doing as much damage control as I can from here but...I suppose we'll have to trust what Tara will do next is the right thing. Kaffas, she worries me so."

Dorian strode alone heading for the Commanders Tower, better from him after all. Pushing open the door he sees Cullen standing behind his desk hands braced on its surface his face drawn and haggard. At the mages approach Cullen's head snaps up a worried flash in his eyes. "Is there word?!" Dorian held up a manicured hand "Pack you essentials, if you want to speak to Tara, she wants you, and you alone, in the Emerald Graves. I don't have to say do not try anything after that little talk we had, now do I?" Cullen blinks his brow furrowing "why didn't she come back here?" Dorian rolled his eyes in exasperation "The tactician that you are should know the reason. Come here, where you are? After your terrible reaction? She probably thinks you'll try to kill her and we both know how much that will hurt the both of you. At least out there, there's control in the place she feels strongest.

All right my lovelies one more chapter to this whenever I can bully my sad tired artists brain into making more ✨words✨

after that I will put all of them together into one continuous story line

as always all the love and thanks in the whole world to @w-h-4-t for the dialog help Ir lath ma Da’len

#tarasylnin #lavellen #cole dragon age #justice arc #part 4 #Harel #cullen rutherford #dragon age inquisition #dragon age

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targaryenimagines · 4 years

Text

A Dragon's Promise

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,171

Summary: You know that you weren't supposed to be there, but the promise rang through your ears like a siren song. You had to stay and help, no matter the consequence.

Warnings: Incest

Author's Note: This is Part One, I hope to be done with Part Two soon. (If you guys are interested.)

You could feel Balerion shift underneath you as the winds assault you both. Trying to rip you away from the warmth that Balerion always provided. You squint trying to make out any useful landmarks, but you can’t see anything but the grey of the storm around you. Wind and rain battling around you with more aggressiveness than any dragon. Feeling Balerion jerk to the side causes the breath to leave your lungs. Your body slamming against black scales as the great behemoth tries to right himself against the onslaught of natural forces.

Closing your eyes you try to remember why you were out in the storm to begin with. The promise that you made to your family. The promise that you refused to break no matter the consequence. The promise that burned within you just like dragon fire. The whispered words spoken in a darkened hall of Dragonstone. With only torchlight to illuminate the faces that were present during the conversation.

With your eyes still closed tightly you can remember every line on your mother’s face. The exact shade of purple her eyes were in that moment, lilac. Filled with fiery as the streaks of light that encompasses the sky during the most wretched of storms. They had been glowing with an inner strength that you hadn’t seen in quite a while. You could still remember the passion that her words held as she spoke to you. You could remember the way that she had a gripped you with a sense of desperation. Wanting, no begging, for you to trust her and heed what she commanded of you.

You were to ride out on Balerion, across the Narrow Sea, towards the Volantis where the Red Priests preach the words of R’hllor. However, she had told you that you were to never breach the shores of Volantis. That you had to coast along the shores until the moon rose to its highest peak. From there you were to dive towards the churning sea without ever looking back.

You hadn’t understood why your mother asked this of you. Especially when she knew that Aerea had been the one to want Balerion, and that she was bitter that the great dragon had chosen you instead. You didn’t want to do anything that would upset your sister, but your mother was adamant that you had to leave that night. Knowing this you could do nothing but agree as you were ushered into the dark night that surrounded Dragonstone. The place of your birth and that of your most sorrowful goodbye.

You could still remember that tears that had gathered in your mother’s eyes when you hugged her. Promising her that you would be back soon and that you would make sure to get something from Volantis for her. You still remember the strength of her hug before you climbed onto Balerion’s back. The sound of her sobs as you flew away, strong enough to cut across even the strongest winds that surrounds you.

Almost being thrown off of Balerion’s back causes you to focus back onto the task at hand. Narrowing your gaze you search for the moon above you. Hoping that its silvery glow would be able to penetrate the thick clouds that surrounds you. Your gaze quickly becoming desperate as your continued search came up empty. A sense of foreboding quickly worming its way through your body. Like you had to find the moon because there was no other alternative. You could not fail your mother.

Once again your bring your gaze up and hopelessly search the darkened sky for any sliver of light. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your gut when it didn’t appear. Looking down you try to see the sea below you, but even that was lost in the dark abyss of the clouds. Allowing your eyes to slip shut you try to focus on your surroundings. Feeling the way that Balerion shifts fluidly against the wind. His wings beating in time with their chaotic tune. You could feel the wind swirl around you like a mischievous hug. You could hear the sound of the crashing waves beneath you. The roar of the sea becoming more and more apparent the longer the storm goes on. You know that you are running out of time and that you had to make a decision fast.

Placing your hand on Balerion’s warm neck you speak. “Bale, do you trust me?” You feel him shift into your hand ever so slightly, and that was the only confirmation that you needed. With a feeling of resoluteness wrapping itself around you, you lean forward until your cheek rested against his neck. Tightening your hold on his spikes you nudge him into a dive. Feeling the weightlessness that comes right before the dive, and then the feeling of the world on your shoulders as it begins. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest as Balerion launches himself towards the sea.

Your eyes soon begin to focus on the mass of churning water that was becoming closer and closer. Shifting you ready yourself for when Balerion pulls up, and no sooner the weight of gravity slams into your back. Balerion’s mighty wings grazing the water's surface as he flies above it.

A sense of satisfaction works its way through your body. Feeling relief that you hadn’t failed your mother and that you would be home soon. So that you could see her and your twin sister once more. You felt as Balerion begins his ascent once again and the feeling still remained. Which is why when searing pain works its way up your back you couldn’t suppress the strangled scream that erupts from your lips. Nor could you stop your body from going limp as the pain works its way across your body. Suddenly another, much more frightening, weightless feeling surrounds you. You could do nothing as you plummeted back towards the churning sea.

All you could do was look up as Balerion dove after you a scream of his own leaving his maw.

Everything after that was total darkness.

-----

You awaken to the feeling of silk beneath your body. A rough layer of bandage keeping the entirety of your back from its smooth embrace. With great effort you open your eyes and immediately have to squint against the harsh light that assaults your gaze. With a barely constrained wince you start to sit up. Your body automatically becoming tense at not being in a familiar location.

You want nothing more than to have Balerion by your side, but you’re glad he’s out of harm's way for now. You know that if you were in any true danger he would come to you. Turning your head you couldn’t help but notice that the room you were in was very nondescript. The walls and floor the same stone slab with the floor being slightly darker than walls. The only saving grace was the long window the encompassed the majority of the wall. Allowing the natural light of the sun into the dreary entity that was the room.

Shifting your weight you test your back and are relieved to find that it was only a minor twinge of pain now. Breathing in through your nose you swing your legs over the edge of your bed. Wanting nothing more than to find Balerion and fly back to Dragonstone. Mostly so you could finally find out what in the Seven Hells was going on. Leaning forward you brace yourself to stand, knowing that although your back wasn’t hurting at the moment it would more than likely flair up at the most inopportune time. However, before you’re able to stand a hand grabs your shoulder and gently pushes you back onto the bed.

Startled you meet chocolate brown with your own unwavering violet. As if sensing you were about to speak the woman simply smiles at you and shakes her head. Causing her long red hair to fall in front of her face.

“I wouldn’t move around too much, your grace, while Targaryen’s are able to take large amounts of heat they’re not invincible to blunt force trauma,” she says, causing your ears to perk up at her accent. An accent you’ve heard only a smattering of times before.

“You’re a Red Priestess, aren’t you?” you ask but the tone of your voice doesn’t really leave room for an answer. Not that she had to give you one for you to know it. Even from where you were laying down you could see it in the way she moved. The way that she carried herself so effortlessly across the room.

You simply watch as she gathers ingredients around the room from the various surfaces. Seemingly having been left out for her to use when she needed them. You keep your mouth shut as she works, but you can’t help the stifling need that was rising up in you. You needed to know what happened and where you were. You needed to know that Balerion was okay and that he wasn’t harmed.

As if sensing the war that was raging within you the woman turns to you. Her eyebrow rising in question as she continues her task of mixing and crushing. Feeling as if she had just granted you permission to speak you do without question.

“Where am I?” you ask, deciding to go for the easiest question to ask.

“You are in Volantis, your grace.”

Which made sense after all you had gotten hurt right beside its shores.

“Is Balerion okay?” you continue fearing for the answer that could possibly arise. You didn’t want to think about Balerion getting hurt because of you. Because you had been careless and hadn’t been paying attention.

“I’m assuming that Balerion is the great black behemoth that had brought you to us?” the woman asks and you simply nod in confirmation not being able to find your words. “He’s doing quite fine don’t worry, your grace, but I do believe he is quite worried for you.”

At her words you sit up straighter, ignoring the twinge in your back at the action. “Can I see him?”

“I’m afraid not, your grace, at least not until you get better.”

You slump at the news, but are happy to learn that Balerion was safe and unharmed. That was all you could ever ask for. You glance back up at the woman and frown, you didn’t want to keep calling her woman in your head. So without thinking you speak.

“What’s your name?”

At your words the woman lifts her head from her book. You could see that a small smile was beginning to form on her lips. “Melisandre, your grace, my name is Melisandre.’

“Well, Melisandre,” you say, testing the name on your lips, “when can I get back home to my family? I’m quite certain that they’re worried about me.”

With a satisfied hum Melisandre moves back over to your side. Her hands grasping a small wooden bowl that she had been combining all the ingredients in. Sitting down beside you she brings to bowl to your lips in a silent prompt for you to drink. Without much thought you do so while you wait for her answer.

After a beat of silence she begins to speak. “I am quite certain that your family will be ecstatic at your return, and I am quite certain they will be overjoyed by all the help that you can give them. However, I must caution you that your family may not be as you remember it.”

Pausing you couldn’t help the frown that takes over your face at her words. “What does that mean?” you ask, feeling your entire being tensing up at the implication. “What happened?”

“You need to get better before I can explain fully. I don’t want you to get too stressed while you’re still recovering,” Melisandre says as she stands and starts moving towards the door. “Just know that your family needs your help and that this was the only way to insure her survival.”

Again you couldn’t help but feel confusion spread throughout your entire being at her answer. It was like the answer was standing right in front of you, but you were just too blind to see it.

“Who? Who needs my help?” you ask a begging lilt taking over your voice when you think of any member of your family in danger. But when Melisandre continues to walk without answering you, you couldn’t help the desperation that began to run rampant. “Please, please, tell me who is in trouble.”

Clearly sensing your fear and the desperation that came with it, Melisandre turns around. Her brown eyes glowing with the light of the room. Even though you wouldn’t be surprised if her magic was playing a part too. You stare into her eyes until she finally bows her head and speaks. Her words coming out soft but they were like war drums against your ears.

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”

#daenerys au #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys stormborn #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones

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earthlingschat · 3 years

Text

KPSD (Karmic Partner Stress Disorder)

Earthling’s Chat is an extraordinary LIFE - FORCE HUB OF HUMAN BEINGS OPENING THEIR MINDS AND HEARTS TO THEIR FULLEST POTENTIAL. A community of earthlings who are uniquely stepping into their powers, their talents, a knowing of their purpose, a safe place for the higher knowledge conversations, and aligning with other like minded individuals on this earth realm. So I thank you for showing up, not just for yourselves but for the start of this community. Thank you for being you so that I can be me.

“Don’t make a permanent decision based on temporary emotions.” - Sadghuru

I’m speaking to my men and to my women, always. I’m going to say it louder for the people in the back. Today I want to dive into the topic of what I call Karmic Partner Stress Disorder (KPSD) - Now the definition for a karmic relationship/situationship is defined as “one that's filled with all-consuming passion but is extremely difficult to maintain” it can also be viewed in my own words as an ‘invasion of your spirit’, yet, it is an experience (s) we are meant to learn from. - The misuse of sexual energy exchange can really transform a person’s perception of self for the worst, in ways that sneak into your consciousness so easily when you are susceptible to receiving from this person you are involved; with not just physically, but in tied up energies. As there is nothing wrong with knowing who you are in your sexually active nature, it is important to realize the way we translate and open ourselves up to another human is to be proceeded with immense caution, because after all, this experience of life is an unfolding process of infinite learning. Now please know that I only can & am only speaking frommy past and prior experiences, do not feel like you are being berated, pinpointed or mocked for being a human who has made or is currently making some questionable choices. The karma of another who is constantly in negative spirits, a lack of understanding of self, & highly promiscuous is not only damaging to themselves but has the unconscious potential to transfer their undealt with karmic trauma to your vessel which in turn becomes your disturbed confusion. Moving from one sexually involved partner to another, to the other, and to the other with no consistent commitment, appreciation, availability, care, and/or a lack of love ultimately creates a lack of love and unavailability into your own being and character, even if you don’t realize it. Our body has an exceptional memory.... MULTIPLE partners create MULTIPLE problems. How are we to find the peace in which we seek with a heavy heart that is orchestrated by an entire choir of low vibrational chaos??? Specifically when you are involved with someone who isn’t in the mindset to evolve, you aren’t evolving either... You become stale & stagnant, you begin to vibrate at a different level and you may not even recognize that person in the mirror anymore. This misuse of sacred exchange may lead to an inability to release a toxic person or ‘persons’ even when it comes to the breaking point of feeling, it can and will lead to emotional tifts and breakdowns within that take a toll on the inner & outer parts of your being. I understand, I have been here. I’m here to talk my shit because I’m human, I’m an earthling and we all have our own karmic bonds and soul contracts to face and work through, but do we choose to rise above, and pull through to the other side? I could admittedly say at a time I was in a toxic relationship and attempting to suppress the turmoil I couldn’t face inside of myself to make concrete changes that were necessary. In turn of rejecting my own growth, I instead began seeking out different partners in time frames too close to each other, and let me tell you, it was the most destructive time. When your mind is full, we aren’t mindful. Multiple partners in a short time set you up for long term depression & emotional baggage that you can’t quite put your finger on because it’s coming from all different directions. I’ve been here before, wondering in a past version of myself questions like: “Why doesn’t my partner love me or treat me the way I feel he should?” “Why do I still want this person so bad, what is it in myself that can’t resist?” when we should be asking ourselves, “Why am I investing such power into something so stagnant?” “How do I begin to learn to really know what it’s like to love and know who I am? I create my story! I have always had the power, learn how to harness it!!”, We all have the potential to heal, and we are on our own personal paths each and every day. It is a long road ahead of learning to be whole and remembering you always

have been whole. Celebrating the love you transmute to self is setting a spiritual foundation, which takes patience, strategy, and a special kind of strength. Now, this leads me into the conversation of considering a path of abstinence for your physical well being and your spiritual growth, and here are a few reasons why I believe this could be beneficial :

CONSIDER THE BENEFITS OF SEXUAL ABSTINENCE TO PROGRESS ON YOUR SPIRITUAL PATH:

IF YOU ARE GOING THROUGH A BREAKUP.

IT IMPROVES BUDDING ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS.

YOU BEGIN TO KNOW YOURSELF IN A DIFFERENT WAY. IT OPENS YOU UP TO LEARN NEW THINGS ABOUT WHO YOU HAVE THE POTENTIAL OF BECOMING.

NOT EVERYONE DESERVES TO TOUCH SEE OR OBSERVE THE MOST DIVINE AND GENTLE GIVING PARTS OF YOURSELF.

BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF WHO YOU ARE AS A WHOLE BEING

CLEAR MINDEDNESS, CLARITY ON WHO YOU ARE AND GETTING YOURSELF.

TOGETHER PREPARES YOU MORE FULLY TO MEET THAT RIGHT PERSON YOU WANT TO SHARE YOUR SEXUAL SACRED ENERGY WITH.

SUPPORTING YOUR BELIEFS HOWEVER THEY MAY VARY (as long as you aren’t hurting anyone else in the process) AND PERSONAL VALUES.

If you needed to hear this, I pray this reaches you beloved. You deserve to not survive through your struggles, but to live to inspire others to do the same.

#spirituality #healing journey #earthlings #spiritual blog #karmic relationships #soul contracts #karmic lessons #anika wilmore

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mileycyprus-hill · 5 years

Text

Mistakes: Part 3

A RDR2 Fanfic

Summary: Starts right after chapter 2, Arthur and reader have a chat. She goes to the doctor.

Warnings: descriptions of female anatomy (your body’s going through changes, hun. But nothing super graphic)

Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 here.

“Talk ‘bout what?” Arthur asks, stepping past you and into his open tent. You turn to follow right behind him, making sure to stand in the entryway. If he wants to leave, he’d have to walk right through you. Your talk with Hosea had finally given you the bravery needed to confront this issue head-on.

“I think you know what.” You reply, arms straight and hands fidgeting the fabric of your skirt.

With his back still to you, Arthur stiffens. You see a hand curl into a tight fist, his fingers immediately unbend and relax at his side. You try to silence the pounding in your chest, pounding so loud like the war drum of an approaching battalion. Worry seeps through your thoughts while your body steels.

Arthur turns only slightly, his body unmoved while his head slowly veers to look at you over his shoulder. From the side, you can clearly see his eyes make contact with you, normally hidden beneath his father’s hat when he looks straight on. It felt likes ages since you looked into those eyes. Those eyes made from crushed sapphires and emeralds, sprinkled with subtle hints of amber that shine in the light.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he abruptly turns his gaze away, “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

Taking a step—nay, a leap forward, you gently protest, “Arthur...what’s wrong? I—I know it has something to do with that night.”

As you step over to look at him directly, Arthur counters by turning away and avoiding your stare. He mentally curls within himself like a scared, wounded animal.

“I want—I want you to know that...I don’t regret what we did. And—goddammit, will you just look at me?!”

You feel the other members darting their attention to you throughout the camp.

At that, Arthur reluctantly turns to face you, like a scolded child. You can’t tell if he’s nervous or annoyed by the look on his face: the tight pursing of his lips, the furrow of his brow.

“I’m sorry if I pushed you into it,” you continue. “It wasn’t right of me to take advantage of you.”

A moment passes in agonizing silence, and Arthur looks into your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” you repeat, this time you avert your gaze and look down to your hands, wringing them nervously. “I just want things to go back to the way they were...but if it can’t, then I understand.”

Without hesitation, you move out of his tent and quickly march to your own with your head held low. You try not to look at the other camp members so they can’t see the tears welling in your eyes. It took so much strength to speak to Arthur, and you feel as if you’re a second away from collapsing.

Approaching your tent, you realize there's no privacy for you to cry in peace. Anyone could hear you and ask, and you have no desire to speak to anyone else tonight. Looking to the horizon, you see the sun set. The dry dirt of New Austin glows red like the embers of a fire. The long, thin clouds cut through the indigo sky in a mix of orange and pink.

You decide to walk to the edge of camp, to a lone tree standing high above the shrubs. Gently falling to your knees, you lean yourself against it and let go. The tears trickle down your cheeks like heavy rain on a window pane. You struggle to take deep breaths with your lungs constricting and heart hammering away.

You weren’t even there for a full minute before you hear footsteps coming from behind you.

“Go away,” you seethe through your teeth in aggravation, not bothering to look at who’s coming. But the footsteps don’t falter, continuing to stamp through the dirt towards you.

Turning towards the sound you nearly shout, “I said, GO AW—”

You’re stopped short. It’s Arthur, raising his hands slightly as if he’s trying not to spook you.

“I’m sorry, just...gimme a minute?” he asks.

You hesitate, quickly wiping the tears from your face.

“Sure,” you turn back around, leaning back against the tree, feet crossed and your knees held up your chest. Arthur steps up near you, leaning his shoulder against the thick trunk.

There’s an uncomfortable silence between you that seems to last forever until Arthur finally speaks.

“I wasn’t lying that night when I said that... what we did was the best I had,” he confesses, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess I—well, I dunno,”

He sits himself down next to you, viewing the beautiful sun disappearing below the horizon. The sky gradually darkens to a deep blue, the evening stars shining brightly.

Looking over at you, he continues, “I guess I was afraid.”

You turn to him, eyes scanning his face, unblemished except for the scar on his chin, a reminder of life's harsh gifts.

“Afraid of what?” you ask.

He shrugs, “ ‘fraid of losing’ you, I guess. I thought you only did it ‘cause you felt sorry for me.”

You cock your head to the side, raising an eyebrow at him, “What?”

Arthur looks back at the horizon and continues his confession.

“I-I know. It’s silly now that I think about it. Hell, I weren’t even sure if you remembered anythin.”

He lets out a deep sigh, “I wanted to give you space...thought you regretted it the way you looked at me—or I should say, didn’t look at me.” He chuckles dryly.

A tiny chuckle rises out of you behind your dried tears.

“I’m sorry.” you say.

“ ‘m sorry, too.” He responds, looking back over to you with a symptathic smile. You catch his eyes studying your face.

“Does this mean we can be friends again?” You inquire.

His eyes squint while a big grin forms on his lips, “Yeah, if you wanna be.”

Taking him by surprise, you embrace him in a hug.

“I do.”

He returns the hug by squeezing his arms around you. You feel safe in his burly arms, the feeling of his warm, bare neck against yours calms you. You take in the scent of his thick hair while he rubs his bulky hands across your back.

—————

Another week goes by and things seem to return to normal. The friendship between you is rekindled, though deep down you secretly crave more. But you refuse to push further. You don’t want to mess things up again.

You almost forget one thing.

Your period still hasn’t shown up. No spotting, no subtle dots on your undergarments, nothing.

And now, you begin to notice other symptoms. At first, you thought they were signs of your upcoming period. But these were different. You couldn’t eat, yet you were starving. Your breasts were tender, your nipples began to darken, and you swore they felt a little bigger than before. Have your breasts swelled before on your periods?

Everything you ate from Pearson gave you intense heartburn. It didn’t matter what it was, your chest felt like it was on fire and you were belching lava.

You were constantly tired from the most menial activities. You tried blaming it on the heat, but it’s October, and the weather is mild. The nights were cold and yet you’d wake up in a sweat. There was no denying it now. You had to go to the doctor to be sure.

But how? It’s not like you could convince Dutch and Hosea to let you go see the doctor when visually, you don’t seem sick.

After your morning chores, you see Arthur sitting in his tent. Unbeknownst to you, he watches you from below his hat, sketching you in his journal. The past few days, he has been capturing the worried look on your face, transferring it to the pages of his book.

If only you had seen the written entries of his journal, then you could see his growing feelings for you. He could be honest to himself in his journal, explaining the conflict within himself. His heart still felt loyal to Mary, as the wounds were still fresh. However, being with you helped patch the trauma of heartbreak. Was he only trying to find a substitute for Mary? Or were these feelings towards you genuine?

He closes his book as you approach his tent.

“Hey Arthur?” you greet him with a nervous tone.

“Yeah?” He replies, the sound of his voice soothing you only minutely.

“If you’ve got a minute, would you mind going into town with me? I uh, heard about some rich newlyweds moving into a homestead not far from here. I’d like to check it out, but Dutch wants me to get the mail first...wanna come with?”

He stares at you for a second, eyes squinting in confusion.

“Funny, I didn’t hear anything about this. Usually Hosea finds out ‘bout these.” He replies.

Your mind scrambles as you to try to convince him to escort you without giving yourself away. Normally, you go into town by yourself. But you’re too scared to enter the doctor’s office on your own and you desperately need someone there with you.

Someone you can trust.

“Yeah uh, he actually told me about it and said I should look into it,” you state. You shove your hands into the pockets of your trousers to stop your fingers from twitching and fidgeting.

“So what’dya need me for?”

Struggling to hold back a frustrated groan, you blurt, “I dunno! Willyoujustcomewithme?”

You’d be surprised if he could even understand that sudden outburst of words.

The both of you stare at each other with wide eyes until you plead softly, “Please?”

With a suspicious look, Arthur sets his journal down on his cot beside him.

“Okay,” he croaks slowly. “Just gimme a minute and I’ll meet’cha over there.” He points over to the horses.

Leaving Arthur, you jog over to Dutch’s tent. You’re only there for a quick second as you poke your head in.

“Arthur and I are going to town, we’ll be back tonight.” You rapidly state, not even giving Dutch a moment to process what you just said before you pop your head back out. You swear you saw him jump with a startled look, nearly dropping the book in his hand.

What you didn’t see was Hosea standing in the tent across from him, leaning back against a table.

Dutch looks to him with his mouth agape and forehead wrinkles creased, “What the hell was that about?”

Hosea shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know...” he looks over to the closed flaps of the tent. “But I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You haven’t been noticing that something is up between those two?” Dutch asks lowly.

Hosea is well aware, but he knows better than to indulge in Dutch’s skepticism so as to not let him worry any more than he should.

“They’re fine, Dutch,” he responds, stepping forward from the table and placing a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re so worried about them, I’ll go and talk to them tomorrow.”

“Perhaps we both should. Find out what’s going on...I don’t like not knowing.” Dutch closes his book.

Hosea chuckles, “I know.” He pats Dutch’s shoulder once more before leaving the large tent. He watches you and Arthur mount your horses before cantering off into the distance.

Dutch is right, there is something going on between you two. Whatever it may be, Hosea only hopes both of you are being safe, especially you.

——————

The pair of you make it into town fairly quickly. Mainly because of you pushing your steed to a full gallop, almost leaving Arthur behind. His mare can hardly keep up with your thoroughbred.

“Y/N! Slow the hell down!” Arthur yells as you reach the outskirts of the town.

You were in such a daze, you didn’t realize how hard you were pushing the horses. You just wanted to get to the doctor fast, prove to yourself that you’re not pregnant. The thought had been gnawing at you like a dog on a bone. You don’t even recall if Arthur said anything to you on this trip. You had tuned the whole world out.

Pulling on the reigns, you slow König to a walk to let him catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you call behind you as Arthur catches up to you.

“Why you in such a damn hurry? Not like the mail’s goin’ anywhere.” He trots his horse up beside yours and you both ease your way into the streets of town.

Going into town has always made you nervous, as you’re unsure if someone will recognize you as part of the Van der Linde gang. Luckily, the gang’s presence is not that well known in these parts of the country. But you never know what could happen, so you always watch your back.

“I’m not in a hurry, I just—I remembered I got some other things I need to get while we’re here.” You reply to him.

“Mhmm,” Arthur hums, eyeing you suspiciously from his horse.

The two of you reach a hitching post nearby the post office, dismounting your horses and continuing on foot.

“And uh, what ‘other things’ did you suddenly need to get?” He teases.

You blank. Do you persuade him to go with you to the doctor? Or should you distract him? Keep him in the dark until you know your condition for sure?

“Y/N?”

You jolt as Arthur is suddenly by your side, lightly grabbing your elbow to get your attention. He drops his head to look at your eyes, staring at you with slight concern. You’re trembling in fear. Fear of telling him the truth. Fear of the unknown.

You finally look into his eyes, clearing your throat of the growing lump in your throat.

“I uh, need to pick something up at the doctor’s office.”

He straightens up immediately like a spooked horse, but before he open his mouth to ask, you stop him.

“It’s for Miss Grimshaw. It’s...y’know.” You wave your hand. “Lady stuff.”

Arthur makes a disgusted face at which you laugh.

“Tell you what. I’ll get the mail and you go to the doctor, and uh, I’ll meet you up later,” he says.

You nod to him and walk over to the doctor’s. The walk is short, but feels like it’s miles long. With each hurried step, it’s as if you’re further away.

You finally reach the storefront of the building. Looking up at the painted lettering, your heart beats even faster.

Dr. Thomas Birner, M.D.

General health, surgeries, pharmaceuticals

Taking a deep breath, you step inside. You nearly jump at the sound of the bell on the doorframe. You catch the attention of a young woman, slightly older than you, sitting at the front desk. Her tiny spectacles sit on the edge of her nose.

“Hello, may I help you?” She asks kindly. Her delicate fingers organizing the papers littering her desk.

Your mouth feels dry as you step forward and lay your hands on her high desk.

“Um, is...is the doctor in?” You ask meekly.

“Why of course,” she answers. “Lucky for you, he’s only got one patient ahead of you. So you shouldn’t have to wait long. May I get your name?”

Rapping your fingers nervously at the edge of her desk, you give her a false name.

“Y/N...Y/N Dougall.”

“Ok, Miss Dougall. Just follow me.” The young woman stands up and leads you down the hallway.

“Take a seat in here and Dr. Birner will be with you shortly,” she says, holding her arm out in the doorway to invite you to the room.

She shuts the door behind you as you step inside. Sitting down on the cold chair, you look around to see pictures on the walls. Drawn images of organs and human bodies with descriptions are hung up by thumbtacks.

Suddenly, you feel nauseous. You jerk your head over to the door as you hear it click open.

A tall, young man enters the room. He looks too young to be a doctor, in fact. You discreetly examine his long legs and slender torso, moving up to his face. He’s nearly masked by a dark, thick beard, trimmed short to his jawline. His hair is so dark, it almost looks like it’s painted on him. His nose is long and upturned, and the attention of his doe-like eyes move from his hands to you. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag before finally speaking.

“Miss Dougall, is it?” He asks. His deep tone is a mix of authority and kindness.

Swallowing your nausea, you answer. “Yes.”

“No need to be afraid Miss. I can see you’re nervous...” he pulls up a rolling chair and squats in front of you. His chair is lowered so that you’re looking down at him, instead of eye-level. The way his knees bend as he sits makes him look like he’s part grasshopper.

“...I’m here to help. So, what seems to be troubling you?” He asks, looking up at you. The cigarette burning slowly in his mouth. His pale, lengthy fingers remove it from his thin lips and places it on the ashtray near.

“Um...well. I, uh, think I may be um...” you gesture with your hands as you can’t bring yourself to say it. You run your hands over your lower stomach.

Dr. Birner’s eyes dart to your stomach. He pauses before finishing your sentence, tilting his head at you.

“Pregnant?” He asks. The timbre of his voice is oddly soothing, as you fail to detect any hint of judgment. You expected the doctor to be an old man who’d give you a lecture about the dangers of sex and pregnancy, how you should have been more responsible, blah, blah, blah. But Dr. Birner seemed to be understanding, like he already knew your life story just by looking at you.

You nod your head while maintaining eye contact.

He rubs his hands in his lap, “And I take it that this was not planned?”

Pursing your lips tightly and wringing your hands, you silently shake your head.

You hear him breathe a small sigh through his nose while he looks up to you again with those big eyes.

“I see...Well, nothing to fear, Miss Dougall. We’ll soon find out. If you don’t mind...” he stands and beckons you to a nearby table.

“Just lay on this table here and relax for me.”

You do as he asks and lie flat on your back on the cold, metal table.

He gently pushes down near your groin with the pads of his fingers, pressing in small areas around your lower stomach. You feel a slight discomfort at this feeling, but surprisingly relaxed by his touch. You watch him narrow his eyes as he focuses.

“When was your last menstruation?” He asks softly while still pushing down.

You try to count the weeks back, “Um, I’m not sure. About two months, at least.”

“Hmm...and uh, do you—well, how do I phrase this? Would you consider yourself...romantically active?”

You furrow your brow at him, “Romantically active? You mean, do I have sex often?”

He lets out an embarrassed chuckle and nods his head, “Yes, to put it mildly.”

His light-hearted chuckle brings a small smile to your lips, easing your nervousness.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I am. The last time I had...relations, was several weeks ago...with a friend.”

“And is he aware of this?” He asks, straightening up and moving over to a nearby cabinet. You hear him rifling through items before pulling out what looks like a horn connected to a tube.

You shake your head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Not yet.”

Dr. Birner hums again. “If I may, could you untuck your shirt and unbutton your trousers for me?”

You squint your eyes at him. Any man who would ask that would only want one thing. You’ve been tricked and used so many times before, it’s the only thing you expect of men.

He senses your tension and reassures you, “I just need to listen. See this here?” He lifts up the instrument, the horn in one hand and the two odd, silver prongs in the other, “I can listen to your body and the little one inside you...if there’s one in there.”

Nodding your head, you slightly pull your shirt from your trousers, only exposing a small amount of skin. Next, you undo the top two buttons of your pants and go no further.

Dr. Birner pulls your shirt up only a tad and touches your bare skin, his fingers feel ice-cold to the touch. But they’re not as cold as his instrument, causing you to draw in a sharp breath through your nose. He places the horn on various areas of your groin, much like what he was doing earlier. The two silver prongs are now in each ear. He looks straight ahead as he tries to listen.

Removing the prongs from his ears, he straightens himself up and smooths out his shirt sleeves.

“Well, Miss Dougall, it may be too early to know for sure. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a more thorough examination.” He says.

“More thorough than this?” You ask.

“Yes. Don’t worry, my wife is at the front desk and she has experience with this. I’ll ask her to come in and help you.” With his long strides, he steps over to the door and leaves the room.

Oh, how you wish Arthur was here with you in this room. The doctor’s uncertainty made your paranoia increase tenfold. You laid on the cold table, shivering violently as you swallow the lump in your throat. You wrap your arms around yourself in your own embrace, wishing it was Arthur’s warm body holding you right now.

———————

Arthur struts out of the post office, stepping into the warm midday sun. The number of people on the streets grows as they go about their day, completing their errands. Arthur begins sorting through the mail letters, leaning against a tall gaslight pole. His heart twinges in disappointment as he sees there are no letters for him. He still carries a small shred of hope that the woman he once loved will change her mind; send a letter to him asking to run away together. But as the weeks rolled by, it became apparent that their relationship is truly over.

The memory of that night with you is triggered as he remembers the heartbreak that lead to it. It seems that you and Mary are tethered in his thoughts, he cannot envision one without the other slipping into vision. While the thought of Mary brings him pain, you bring him pleasure. Your friendly affection towards him is the soothing balm he needs to heal the scarring burn on his heart.

He takes his time walking towards the doctor’s office, as it took him only a minute to retrieve the mail. He has no intention of rushing you, since you’re only picking up an item or two. It shouldn’t take long. So he slows his stride, stopping every once in a while to peer into the glass windows of the stores and boutiques: a cobbler shop with hand-made leather boots and satin slippers set on a display shelf, a toy store with wooden figurines and cotton dolls, and a gun shop showcasing the latest models of rifles and revolvers that have just come out.

As Arthur checks the stores, he regularly looks over to the doctor’s office to see you waiting there. But you have yet to come out.

Curious.

He continues walking over to the office and halts in front of the small steps. Raising his chin, peering here and there, he tries to get a good look inside. Unfortunately, the glare of the sun is making it difficult to view inside the dim office.

The bell rings as he steps inside, his heavy boots landing with dull thumps. Two people down a hallway turn to look at who’s entering the door: a tall young man and a petite young woman.

“Good afternoon. Just take a seat over there and we’ll be with you shortly.” The woman says, pointing to a chair near the front desk.

“Uh, actually. I’m lookin’ for a friend o’ mine,” Arthur steps forward. “She came in here a lil while ago.”

“Oh, Miss Dougall?” Dr. Birner asks. He beckons for the young woman to enter the room off the hallway. She enters, carrying a white sheet or gown of some kind, leaving only him and Arthur.

“She won’t be long. I’ll be finished with her shortly.” He states.

Arthur stammers, taken aback, “Wha—Is...is she alright?”

Dr. Birner senses Arthur’s worry and gives him a reassuring smile.

“Of course. Just an examination.” He steps back and turns to enter the room, closing the door behind him.

Arthur’s left alone at the front of the office. He takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair and fumbles with the brim of his hat. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he stands there, waiting.

—————

You lay on the cold table as you hear the door click open again. This time, it’s the woman entering the room. She tells you to strip your trousers and undergarments off and she lays a white sheet over your lower body.

“It’s all right,” she assures you. “It’s a routine examination. Nothing to worry about. I’ll be right here next to you if you should ever feel uncomfortable.” She looks to you with soft eyes, her blonde hair glowing in the light of the room.

The corner of your lip upturns to a small smile at her reassurance.

“Dr. Birner says uh, you’re his wife?” You ask.

She responds with a warm smile, “That’s right. My father was a medical man and he trained my husband as an apprentice while he was studying.”

She fixes the sheet that’s laid across your legs.

“That’s how we met,” she remembers fondly. Her eyes unfixed as she becomes lost in thought. “We both have a passion for medicine. I studied to become a midwife. We both taught each other everything we knew.”

“A what?” You ask. You never heard that word before.

“A midwife,” she repeats. “Someone who helps the mother with childbirth, so to speak.”

Suddenly, the door opens again and Dr. Birner steps in, walking over to the sink and scrubbing his hands.

“Are we ready, ladies?” He asks softly.

The two of you nod as the doctor sits in his stool again, now at your feet at the end of the table. He holds a small tin in his hand and rubs his fingers with the oily balm that’s inside.

“My name’s Christine, by the way,” she whispers to you, holding your hand. You smile and nod to her. Even if Arthur isn’t here with you, you’re glad to have Christine by your side.

“Christine, if I could have you stand over here, please.” The doctor asks. She obeys and stands as close to him as possible, the two of them facing you.

“And Y/N, if you could bring your knees up for me.” He doesn’t order you. Instead it feels like he’s asking for permission, and you consent.

You feel them lift the sheet up to your knees, and the cold air hitting your bare regions. You nervously fidget with the hem of the sheet as you feel him touch you. You can barely make out what they’re muttering to each other behind the sheet. He presses here and there on your groin while inserting two fingers into your vaginal opening.

Christine looks up and senses your discomfort.

“You ok, Y/N?” She asks, reaching for your hand to calm your fidgeting. Her warmth is a wonderful change from the doctor’s ice-cold fingers. It’s like wrapping your fingers around a warm cup of coffee.

You quickly nod while scrunching your eyes, wanting to get this ordeal over with quickly. The doctor continues to poke and feel around with intense focus in his glare. The two of them continue to whisper to each other, you’re too focused on the feeling inside you to listen.

Finally, the doctor straightens up and slides his fingers out of you. Christine takes her cue and rolls the sheet back down to cover you. Dr. Birner steps back to the sink to wash his hands, shaking them dry. Turning back to you, he catches your stare with a forlorn gaze.

“Well, Miss Dougall, I’m afraid to tell you this but...”

Your breathing quickens to a near panic, leaning up on your elbows in anticipation.

“It does appear you’re pregnant. All the signs point to it.” He wipes his hands with a clean cloth, leaning against the counter.

Your eyes dart back and forth in panic. Your chin quivers as you hold back a scream. You look away from the both of them as you suck in a deep, shaky breath. The pair of them stay absolutely still as they watch.

Sitting up, you move your legs to the edge of the tall table, still covered with the sheet. You can hardly contain yourself anymore as you clasp a hand over your mouth and cry, wrapping an arm around your midsection. You feel Christine’s sympathetic hand rub across your back. Ashamed at your outburst of tears, you drop your head in your hand and hide your eyes in your palm, continuing to shake as each sob rolls out of your chest.

“What’do I do now?” You cry softly into your hand.

Dr. Birner shifts his weight as he answers, “The best thing you can do now is keep yourself healthy. Eat more, drink lots of water, and try not to overwork yourself.”

Stepping forward towards you on the table, he continues, staring at you with those big, brown eyes. “If it’s at all possible, I’d like to see you again in a month.”

With a wet sniffle, you gaze at him with confusion.

“The early stages of pregnancy are the most important,” he explains. “And I’d—we’d like to make sure everything’s going smoothly. For you and the baby.” He and Christine look to each other with fondness.

“I dunno if I can afford that mister.” You confess.

“Don’t worry,” he consoles. “We’ll only charge you what you can afford. Even if it’s just a penny.”

“No offense but, why do you care so much?” You ask.

The two of them turn their heads to each other, the fondness now replaced with melancholy. Dr. Birner looks like he wants to answer, but continues to look into Christine’s eyes as if he’s asking for approval.

Christine turns to you and answers, “To be honest...we can’t have children.” She looks back to Dr. Birner, “No matter how hard we try, it’s just not possible.” She reaches a hand to him and he grasps it, squeezing it gently.

“So, we want to help you. To make sure your baby makes it into this world safely...We realize that it’s God’s plan for us to use our gifts and help others give birth to His children.”

Never have you met such kindness from strangers before. The only instance was Dutch and Hosea taking you under their wings. You instilled your trust in so few people. And here you are, with a young couple offering their charity to you. Do you take it?

If it meant for the safety of your unborn child, then yes.

“Thank you.” You cry, sniffling and wiping away the tears.

A few more minutes go by as the doctor gives you instructions on taking care of yourself during your pregnancy. He steps out of the room while Christine helps you back into your clothes. Your hands tremble as you try to button your pants and tuck in your shirt. Your whole body feels exhausted as you shake like a beaten dog.

How do I tell Arthur?

Christine leads you to the door and opens it for you. You step out with your head held down, watching your feet walk you forward down the hallway. You wipe at your nose with the back of your hand and look up.

Shit.

Arthur is leaning on the front desk, his leg bouncing impatiently and his forearms resting on the countertop. His hat lays on the counter as he turns his head over to you. His eyebrows are upturned in worry, his forehead wrinkling. He stands up straight but doesn’t move.

And neither do you. You stop dead in your tracks.

“Arthur? What’r’you doing here?”

He swings his arms heavily in uncertainty, “You told me you were just pickin’ somethin’ up...You were in here a long time.” He tenses his shoulders up. “Is evertythin’ alright?”

You bite your lower lip, “Sort of.” You step forward to the desk while Christine follows behind you and returns to her seat.

“How much do I owe ya?” You ask.

Christine distractedly glances at Arthur, then to you, “Um, ten dollars.”

You scramble through your satchel and find you only have seven dollars in your bag. Sighing, you take out the crumpled wad of cash and hand it to her.

“This is all I got, I’m sorry.” You state with embarrassment.

“Here,” you hear Arthur’s gruff voice beside you. He pulls out a neat stack of cash and slides out three extra dollars, placing it on your stack.

“Arthur, no. You don’t have to.” You protest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he counters, placing the stack of bills back in his bag.

You thank him softly.

“Should we expect you back in a month?” Christine inquires, causing Arthur to lean and peer at you.

Quickly nodding your head you let out a small croak, “Yes.” You immediately turn to leave the awkward situation and walk out the door. Arthur steps right behind you.

Walking briskly, you nearly jog back to your horses tied at the post office. You avoid looking back at Arthur who doesn’t struggle to keep up your pace with his long strides. You feel him staring at you. Neither of you speak a word as you near the horses.

You’re about to untie König from the post when Arthur finally speaks up.

“Y/N?”

You stand still with your back to him, shoulders tensing.

“You wanna tell me what happened back there?” He asks.

Tremors shake through your body. You gnaw at your lower lip, nearly drawing blood from the constant biting. You hear him step towards you and place a hand on your shoulder. You tense up at his touch and turn to him, causing him to release his hand as if he’s been burned.

He notices your bloodshot eyes. Your face is paled, and you let out a shaky breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

#damn text block limit got me again #working on chapter 4 now!#mistakes #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fan fic

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

Only For A Moment Ch. 43

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Dissacociation, flashbacks, violence

A/N: Once again HUGE shoutout to @wonderlandmind4 for being my beta. Seriously, she’s a gem.

I don’t really know what to say here. Trauma sucks, it’s good to have someone who loves you through it though.

Tags are open!

Sweat drips down your back, soaking through the tee shirt you wear.

You realize, for the first time, that this is the only significant piece of clothing you have on. Suddenly you feel exposed. Tucking yourself tighter between the wall and dumpster you tug at the hem in a vain attempt to summon more fabric.

These efforts come to a screeching halt as a pain you can’t name sears its way through your skull. Clutching your head tight you crumple into the fetal position, mouth open in a silent scream.

You think, for a moment, it will pass quickly but no… It feels like lightning burning in your brain. And it just will not stop.

Silently you begin to bargain, beg anything, any force that can hear your silent plea to just make it stop. If it doesn’t… you think you’ll die because nothing can sustain this level of suffering for long… Can it?

This continues for minutes… Hours maybe, you don’t know, but it’s long enough that you forget what the absence of it feels like.

Once the pain fades to a dull roar you can’t move, don’t even receive the relief of a deep breath, your chest only able to lift the smallest bit. Despite this paralysis, your entire body buzzes with the overload of sensation that’s now flooding your perception.

It is almost worse than the pain. You could understand that, pain is pain, but this… The grains of sand beneath your nails each feel like shards of glass, the bits of rock beneath your raw feet gnaw and cut, insects in the dumpster to your left devouring the garbage, a microbiome of disgusting-

A skittering noise distracts you from everything else for a moment. Glittering eyes peek at you as a small screech claws at your eardrums and a large rat runs from beneath the dumpster—before it can touch you its flung across the alleyway by some invisible force, hitting the opposite wall with a sickening squelching sound.

Your eyes dart in your immobile skull for whatever made that happen.

Deep in the recesses of your fractured mind, something tells you with unwavering certainty, you did that. But that doesn’t make sense you can’t, couldn’t. You… A name flutters through your mind but you can’t grab it. Who’s…

Realizing it was your name—your name you can’t remember, can’t grasp—causes panic to seize you sending your heart into a wild rhythm. Your breath picks up to meet the new demands and the paralysis flees you. As your body loses rigidity you fall forward, hands flat on the filthy concrete.

It’s too much. Everything is too much. You’re aware of the cells of your skin, of the dirt slipping between them, aware of the smog in the air, of the particles that make up the earth. Aware it seems of even the spaces between… everything, vibrating particles everywhere overwhelming you.

Shouldn’t be feeling this much, not right, not right, is all you can think. Not right, not right. The face of an angry man fills your vision.

“Demon!” He bellows from your memory.

Your mouth opens to scream but instead your stomach clenches and you hurl. It doesn’t stop until you heave and heave, abdomen aching with the effort. Once your body concedes that there’s nothing left inside you to purge you collapse on your side, right cheek skidding against the ground.

Something stings, something sharp. You hiss, righting yourself slowly, you touch your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky and red.

You stare at the color, another man flashes in your memory. He’s not angry though, he’s… worried. His eyes are kind and—tears flow freely down your cheeks, the salt stinging the cut even more.

Angry you slam your head against the wall at your back. That man, you know that man, his name, his name is…

“Fuck,” you growl through clenched teeth, surprised at the roughness of your own voice.

You don’t know who you are, why would you know him?

“Y/N?!” Bucky gasps bolting up in bed.

You fell asleep in his arms, he knows you did, but you’re not beside him.

He listens but there’s no noise from the cracked bathroom door. His eyes frantically search the space until he realizes the back door is open.

Relief rushes through him, muscles instantly relaxing. You’d probably woken up and stepped out for some air with your headphones on. Stretching, he slowly rises from the bed, making his way outside.

The moment he’s in the doorway his body goes stiff once more. You’re not there.

A million possibilities flood his mind, temporarily rendering him immobile.

No one could have come in. He’d know, he’s sure he’d know. Unless… Maybe if they’d triggered him… He studies his hands, praying there isn’t the least bit of red or discoloration of any kind on them. Noticing nothing he cautiously approaches the balcony edge, steeling himself before looking over.

Blessedly, you’re not down there in a heap. Of course you wouldn’t be, your body would survive, ability reacting on instinct.

“Get a grip, Barnes,” he chides out loud.

The door wasn’t broken or tampered with and the locks, he walks to the front door to be sure, were still in place from the inside. All your things were still there meaning… Meaning you were somewhere in this city alone, underdressed, and likely terrified.

In minutes Bucky is out the door.

You haven’t moved as the cloudy sky lightens with sunrise. Maybe you should move.

Why would you move? Where could you go? Did that matter? The sun would come out and make the garbage stink more and you were beginning to see a red smear on the wall across from you… it scared you. Those were good reasons to move… Plus you were no longer perceiving every single particle around you, so that was helpful…

Before you’re able to make your decision a door opens somewhere toward the front of the alley. Tension coils within your body.

A woman lifts the lid of the dumpster, not noticing you at first. When she does she begins shouting in a language you don’t understand. She’s angry, fists raising, you’re afraid, backing up and up until you’re in the corner with nowhere to go.

You cover your ears and close your eyes, the woman’s shouts hurting your head. You want her gone, want her to stop.

She grabs your chin and your eyes shoot open. In a flash of rage, you push her back with all your strength sending her careening into the side of the dumpster with a clatter.

Forgetting her anger you rush to her. She’s breathing, heart beating, no blood.

Good. That’s good. Right?

That’s right. The other woman wasn’t so lucky. The one who’d taken you to her hotel. The one you killed… No… No, you’d done worse than just kill her outright.

Being the monster you were, you felt with invisible hands inside her body, without her even realizing it, until you found just the right spot in her brain… then you’d simply gripped the thin membrane of the blood vessel and tore through it with an ease that terrified you. You’d lingered there, staring at her writhing form, her terrified gaze, until her body stopped moving and they’d come, to tell you you’d done well… But it hadn’t felt like a victory.

The sound of the door again, someone calling out. Panicked you run to the corner and jump, easily landing on the roof above.

For a moment you stand, shocked.

You should go somewhere, somewhere safe and warm, and that name… kind eyes. That pain shoots through your skull once more, not as strong but enough to knock the wind from your lungs.

Won’t think about that.

Survive.

By midday, Bucky thinks he may actually lose his mind.

Despite his extensive skill set, he was no closer to finding you. There just wasn’t a trail to follow.

He’d checked in with Mr. G, in case you’d been to visit, doing his best to assure the old man that there was nothing to worry about while internally he was screaming. He’d been to all your favorite places even went to your old squat hoping something in you would have led you there but nothing. Not the barest trace of you.

The city feels oppressively overcrowded in a whole new way as he navigates back streets and alleyways. Feeling sick he checks police scanners, calls hospitals, checks morgues. Nothing, for that he’s thankful.

As the sun sets he begins to make his way toward the apartment, unsure of what else he can do.

Y/N. That was who you were. It felt right, felt good, knowing.

You’d spent the better part of the day hiding in one location or another, trying to stay out of sight, scared of every person you saw. Being able to navigate on rooftops from time to time helped with avoiding people. Though sometimes whatever kept you aloft would falter when your mind would get distracted with a passing thought or memory.

When you’d remembered your name with certainty the ground flew up to meet you so fast as you tried to jump from a four to six-story building, you thought you’d meet your end, splattered like that rat. But you’d caught yourself, barely, though not before painfully wrenching your ankle. Still, a wrenched ankle was better than a shattered skull.

The pain brought clarity each time, cutting through the fog filling your mind. You’d considered causing more pain, maybe then things would make sense, but you’d ultimately dismissed the idea. No sense in breaking yourself.

Besides, something in you said you were heading the right direction and that was enough for now. What exactly you were heading toward wasn’t exactly clear and focusing on it for any length of time made your headache. Not that it mattered much. Everything hurt, what was one more little thing?

You peek out of the narrow ally you’d been limping through, waiting for the perfect moment to sprint across the street. The window opens, no one around, you bolt.

Your ankle screams in protest as you run, each shock of pain makes you remember little things though. A home, somewhere, it was close… Brooklyn?

The thought of Brooklyn sends a whole new ache through you. Just as you enter the alley you’d been aiming for a sob rips through you leaving you gasping. Not paying attention you step on something sharp and tumble to the ground in a heap.

It feels like your chest is being crushed as their faces fill your memory. Nix and Marcus and Abby. Your family. Your dead family. Dead… because of you.

“Hey,” someone asks from behind you in a language that isn’t English, though you understand it still. “Hey, you ok?”

No. You weren’t. Everything is wrong and broken. You don’t say this though, unable to stop the tears.

“You alone?” Another voice asks. You can’t answer, can hardly breathe.

“Looks like it,” the first voice says.

“Hey,” the second voice says, coming to stand before you. He grips your shoulders pulling you up. “You understand us?”

You hiccup a sob but manage to nod.

“She’s kinda pretty,” the first man says.

“Maybe after she soaks in bleach.” The second man looks you over, you’re too tired to pull away from him. “You wanna come with us?”

“No,” you croak. It surprises them both to hear you speak no more surprised than you are at your conviction. There was a home here. Somewhere, someone with kind eyes. You know this, you just have to find it.

“Leave me alone,” you push his hands away.

“Junkie, bitch,” the first man grumbles as the second lifts you by your short head of curls.

You’re exhausted in every way a person can be and the thought of fighting back seems like so much. But as soon as you meet his eyes, brimming with malice, you find it in you to push this power in you against him. It’s not particularly strong but it forces him to release your hair.

Staggering back you brace yourself, your body remembering movements your mind can’t quite connect to.

The first man tries to hold your arms to your sides but a flicker of your power prevents him from gaining purchase for long. The other swings at you and you counter, a too strong punch to his ribs leaving him gasping. But… you’re so goddamn tired after a day of running with no food or water and your ankle paired with a cut on your other foot makes your stance shaky at best.

You cry out as the second man hits you from behind with something hard, sending you to the ground, leaving your head spinning and ears ringing. One of them, you can’t tell which, lifts your head up by your hair.

Some part of you feels detached, as though this is happening to someone else. Another feels a slow hot rage begin to rise from the darkest parts of you and you know that once it surfaces you will kill these men… You don’t want to kill anyone, not again.

“Please…”

“Yeah. Beg, bitch. See if that helps,” the one you punched, snarls, taking a stance in front of you.

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

They. Laugh. The anger roiling in you surges.

“This bitch is-” The man before you is suddenly gone, flung against the wall like a rag doll by a large figure you can’t quite make out before the one holding your hair let’s go in surprise and you fold forward for a moment, unable to remain upright.

“We didn’t do anything!” The man chokes out, fear slurring his words. You turn and watch as the hulking figure corners the simpering man.

“She was-” Before he can say another word a hand wraps around his throat. Slowly he’s lifted from the ground, kicking, gurgling, hands clawing in vain at an arm—an arm that you know is solid metal and very deadly.

Memory slams into you and you gasp as the disassociation flees you. There isn’t time to feel the emotions thundering through your body though, he will kill this man.

“Bucky,” you croak, voice cracking with relief. He doesn’t move, focused with terrifying intensity on his target. Standing on trembling legs you step toward him and lay a hand on his shoulder as the man’s thrashing begins to still.

“Bucky,” he flinches, registering you. “Let him go.”

“He. Hurt. You.” Bucky growls out each word.

“Not like I could have hurt him. Don’t kill him. Please.” You didn’t want him to have more blood on his hands either. His grip loosens and the man crumples into a half-dead heap in the alley.

Tragedy averted, whatever willpower you mustered to keep yourself upright flees your body. Despite the warm summer air you begin to shake, violently. Swaying back, Bucky catches your shoulders before you plummet onto the concrete.

Bucky takes you in, quickly. His white tee you’d slept in is filthy with sweat and grime. Your right cheek has a shallow cut that seems to have already started to heal but that clearly bled judging by the flaking smear of dried blood. Looking down he can tell that your left ankle is badly bruised and swollen while there is blood on the side of your right foot. Then there’s the way your body is shaking in his grip, indicating shock.

“Y/N,” he says softly, searching your eyes for answers he isn’t sure you have.

“I…” You trail off, voice dry and raspy. “I was lost.” Your glazed eyes flutter and he feels your knees give.

Without hesitation, he scoops your trembling form into his arms. The way your hands grasp at his shirt your face burrowing into his shoulder makes his heart ache. He understands well enough that you don’t mean that you were only physically lost. You’d lost yourself for a time.

He steps around the body of the unconscious man he’d tossed aside heading toward the mouth of the alley. The movement jostles you just a bit and a small whimper meets his ears.

“Did I hurt you,” the fear grips him as he assesses his grip on you, worried he held too tight. A hollow huff that may have been an attempt at laughter shakes your body in a different way, you suck in the air a little, tilting your head up a bit to him.

“No. Everything just… hurts,” you say in barely a whisper.

Anger at every person who ever hurt you in your life burns like a volcano in his gut. Even so he coaches his expression to be soft.

“Let’s get you home.”

Where he found you, was only a few blocks from the apartment. He’s grateful for it, despite his efforts the movement clearly causes you more pain—he’s also certain he’s never been more grateful for what Hydra did to him, without his enhanced senses he’d never have heard you, may never have found you.

By the time he closes the door behind you both, your consciousness is hanging by a thread.

“Stay with me baby,” he kisses your forehead before he sets you as gently as he can on the couch. Still, you groan.

He pulls a thick blanket from the closet to wrap you in. As he moves to wrap it around you your head shakes a no.

“Your body is in shock, Y/N.”

Clarity lightens in your eyes. “That makes sense,” you lift one hand, seeming to study the tremors. As you do the lamp begins to shake on the table. Both of you stare for a second as your power rustles things around the apartment like ripples on a lake.

“May I?” He doesn’t want to force it on you but… Thankfully he doesn’t have to. Pulling you from the couch for an instant he swaddles you tight in the warmth of the blanket before settling you back on the couch. Instantly things around you stop their ghostly movements.

“I’m going to get you something to drink,” he plants a kiss on your forehead before heading into the kitchen.

The cracked state of your lips suggests that you’re deeply dehydrated. Just water wasn’t going to cut it. Though it may take a minute longer he heats water on the stove for a moment before mixing just a bit of salt and honey into it.

“Here,” he crouches in front of you, “sip this.” Bucky lifts the mug to your lips. You swallow, your face scrunching up at the taste. “I know, but you need the salt and sugar. Just try to finish it.” He manages to get the whole mug into you.

Thankfully your shaking has slowed some. Tenderly he tucks a shaggy curl back into your mop of hair. How he loved these curls.

“He’s going to be ok, Y/N.”

Mr. Goldstein had spent the last week in the hospital. He’d insisted it was nothing, just a bit of cold. It wasn’t until his daughter had come into the shop that you’d learned the truth--cancer, she’d told you, and not his first run-in with the disease either. The news had rocked you both. Bucky didn’t doubt that the fear of losing someone else, someone you loved, had triggered what you’d just gone through.

You say nothing, just look away, gnawing on your bottom lip.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says with a soft smile. You nod and he unwraps you from your blanket cocoon.

Unresisting you allow him to remove your filthy tee and slip your underwear off before he places you in the empty tub. As he wets a rag in the hot water pouring from the faucet to begin cleaning a day’s worth of city grime from you he starts to hum a tune, hoping the sound will soothe both of your frayed nerves.

With a light touch, he inspects the cuts and scrapes on your feet, knees, and hands. The only one that’s deep enough for a slight pause is on your foot, but even so, he doesn’t think it will need anything more than a bandage.

Your body wasn’t the only thing that needed attention. Grabbing a pitcher from the kitchen Bucky slips free of his jeans, as to not get them wet and perches on the corner of the tub, repositioning you between his legs. Slowly he pours hot water over your short thick curls.

As he takes his time coaxing out the tangles, his humming shifts to lyrics. Singing isn’t something he did often, just when he was alone from time to time and now when you’d wake up particularly shaken from a dream. Once, he’d sing all the time but finding his voice had been tough. Seeing your lips curl a bit in response goads him on though.

When he’s rinsed your hair, running your comb through your curls, he’s singing the final lyrics of an old love song:

I see your face in every flower Your eyes in stars above It's just the thought of you The very thought of you, my love

As he finishes you sigh and rest your head on the inside of his thigh.

“Thank you… for finding me,” your voice is less raspy but he can hear your exhaustion in every syllable.

Gently he coaxes your head to look up at him, “I will always find you.”

Tags

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2 @hardygal69 @marvelousmeggi @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky feels #soft bucky

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fiercyy · 4 years

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Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi, Team 7 - Relationship, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Tsunade (Naruto), Orochimaru (Naruto) Additional Tags: AU, Post-Chuunin Exams, post chuunin exams attack, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Team 7 Family bonding, Genin Era, Everybody moves in with Sasuke, he's got room, semi-au, Plot Twists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Roommates, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto) Feels, BAMF Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Team as Family, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of Post-Chuunin Exam AU Summary:

Sakura always wished she could relate to her teammates better. She wishes she could take it back.

In which Sasuke acquires some unwanted roommates and a team becomes a family.

Sasuke hasn't needed an alarm clock to wake him up in weeks. Every night he falls asleep to Naruto's soft snores and the anxieties of his day as told by the voice in his head. When sleep finally drags him under, ankles first, he has the same dream.

He's in the Forest of Death, but instead of the canopy of trees, the trunks just stretch up and up into darkness. He is completely alone. He walks at a leisurely pace for a while; the scenery doesn't change. Eventually, he looks down, only to realize that ahead of him are a set of footprints. He glances behind him and finds that he has left his own track of prints, they curve behind him and into the trees. He realizes that the set in front of him are his own. He's been going in circles.

Beneath him, the earth splits. He hovers above the chasm. The chasm blinks. A golden snake eye glares up at him. A hissing noise rises like the roar of a river.

"Sasuke," Sakura whispers in his ear, but when he turns, she's 50 feet away and her fist touches the ground. She is the source of the chasm.

"Try to keep up, bastard," says Naruto, only he is right by his side. "Or we'll leave you behind."

Suddenly, Sasuke is falling into the eye. Naruto grabs his hand and stops him from falling. "Naruto," Sasuke orders, "pull me up, quick!"

"You can do it yourself, can't you?" He wrenches his hand away and Sasuke is falling falling falling again into the eye. Consumed.

Relying on them is foolish. They will leave you. A voice hisses from all around him. He's still falling. You can't trust anyone but yourself. They're not worth your time anyway. You've tried to pull them up to your level. But at what cost? They've dragged you down to theirs. You're better than this Sasuke Uchiha. I can offer you-

And it is often here, that he startles himself awake. But today. Today the nightmare continues.

He stops falling. Heart in his throat, he floats in the inky blackness of the snake eye pupil. I can offer you power. You languish in this village, thwarting your true potential. Look at what Uzumaki Naruto has achieved with the help of a sannin. he is weak but he almost beat you. Why? And Sakura Haruno. Pathetic, sobbing Sakura Haruno. She will learn to bring men back from the dead. What can you do? You need me. Come to me. I will give you power the likes of which you've never-

"Sasuke!"

He gasps and emerges from the nightmare. His heart races under the fist he's clutched to his chest. His neck burns. Sakura stands over him, hands on his shoulders. He slaps them away.

"What!?" he demands.

Sakura deftly takes a step back, like dodging a fist. "Fine. I'll train on my own today…" her tone is sullen until she takes a good look at him. "Are you sick?" Approaching with the slow unstartling gait of a snake charmer she lays a hand on his sweaty forehead. "Oh no, I'm sorry. I should have let you sleep."

"…It's fine."

"I'll pick up some soup on my way back from my lesson with Tsunade," she promises. He's glad she hasn't offered to make any herself. Salty, spicy and oily broth might make him feel worse than he already does. Then again, the longer he's in her presence the worse he feels—the more he thinks about the voice from his dreams.

He nods, tense and shivering and goose-pimpled like he's just come out of a freezing lake.

Sakura shoots him one last look from the doorway, hesitant to leave.

"Would you go already?!"

Her mouth presses into a firm line and the door snaps closed.

Once she's gone and he's left to fixate, Sasuke spirals lower. He can't be around anyone, but he doesn't want to be alone. He's furious. He's scared. He desperately wants to go back to sleep but knows what's waiting for him if he does.

So Sasuke makes a liar of himself and prepares for some solo training.

Sasuke is being so weird and Sakura is torn between genuine worry and anger. He could be such a hypocrite sometimes. She slept in once an he left without her. She was kind enough to wake him and he was nothing but cranky! He looked terrible though; red rimmed eyes, gaunt and seeming a little lost.

What a stupid, self-centered jerk! …Who patiently waited for her most mornings and helped her catch up to him and Naruto with extra training…

Sakura quickly grows bored of training by herself, having been ditched by her old friend. Her new friend. Her former crush and former enemy. Sometimes it's hard to keep Sasuke straight. Living with him and dealing with his henpecking ways makes it hard for her heart to pound every time he talks to her. It would become a medical condition. But does that mean she doesn't love him anymore?

She does… she thinks. She's just figuring out how.

With Naruto, it's so easy. He wheedled himself into her heart slowly; with jokes, support and attention. It feels as if they've always been together. He has never once confused her.

After they came to live with Sasuke she didn't have the emotional bandwidth to worry or question the way the boys treated her. There was no room for surprise at the delicacy with which they both handled her. In retrospect It's not shocking at all that Naruto filled her cracks and held her together, but it is surprising that Sasuke did too. He found it somewhere within himself to give her a home, acceptance and empathy. Even though there was no conceivable means for him to have acquired it. Sakura doesn't have her parents anymore, but she does have a family. They must love her very much.

She turns on her heal and stomps away from the training ground toward the market.

She's early for training with Tsunade, but the Hokage is already there. The training ground is a rocky clearing that peaks just below the treeline. Konoha is in the middle of a draught and the air is dusty. A small stream runs through the middle when it rains; sometimes Tsunade plucks a small fish from it with her bare hands and makes Sakura keep it alive for as long as she can.

"Good morning Shisou."

"Morning Cutie." That tells Sakura that she's in for a rough morning.

It doesn't matter that they're both half an hour early, they get started right away.

"What am I-" Sakura chokes on the sentence because a rock the size of her head is flying right at her. She dodges. "What the hell?!"

"Strength training, block, don't dodge."

"NO!" Sakura shrieks as a rock twice the size of her head flies overhead.

Tsunade picks up a boulder. "They're just going to keep getting bigger!"

When Sasuke wakes up again, he's cranky. It's why he doesn't often sleep in or nap. He always wakes up worse off than he started. The bitter taste of his tongue travels to his heart and his belly with each aching breath of wakefulness.

He glances at Naruto's bed. Gone, training with Jiraiya. They're set to go on an expedition soon. He says the Sannin's going to teach him a new technique.

Sasuke scowls. They haven't fought in months, not since the Chunin exams, but Naruto bested him when they fought Gaara and that counts. Meanwhile, Sasuke has stagnated. Kakashi's one-on-one training is centered on control and expanding his chakra reserves. It's a long, painstaking process and he isn't getting stronger fast enough. Itachi is so far ahead. By his age, Itachi was already in ANBU. Meanwhile Sasuke couldn't even make Chunin on his first try.

He's never failed at anything before and it hits harder than he cares to admit. The prospect of retaking a test is maddening—the kind of thing reserved for dead last losers in the academy, like Naruto.

"At least we'll get to do it again as a team!" Naruto had proclaimed, sunnily. To him, the greater tragedy would have been one of them passing without the others.

Sasuke would have been perfectly fine leaving them behind. He sees them every day at home anyway.

A creature of habit, Sasuke drifts to the kitchen for breakfast.

On the fridge the magnetic dry erase notepad reads 'check the microwave' in Sakura's handwriting.

In the microwave is a takeout container of chicken broth.

That night, Naruto, Sasuke and Sakura fall asleep under the chunky red blanket on the couch in front of the TV.

In the morning, Sasuke wakes up first and waits a few minutes before jiggling his shoulder free of Naruto's head and shaking Sakura awake. Together they go to morning training as usual.

Naruto can't help but think that Kakashi's getting a little lax in the sensei department. Team training's been pretty lackadaisical lately (a word he heard Sakura call their training sessions, that he liked the sound of). It's usually just exercises. Or style specific sparring; Taijutsu only, no chakra, kunai only, substitution only etc. He hasn't given them a team building exercise in forever. And while that was Team 7's least favourite kind of exercise, they were really really good at it. Especially lately. With Sasuke being more of a grouch than usual, it'd be nice to be on the same side for once.

"Today we're doing round robin spars," Kakashi tells them, "All out, no holds barred."

"YES!" Naruto screams. Screw being on the same side, he wants to beat Sasuke into the ground at full power.

"Great, you can go first."

"I wanna fight Sasuke!"

"Of course you do," Sakura rolls her eyes and drags her feet on her way you a tree. She settles in the roots and her peevish expression makes him feel a little bad. It's just that… He loves fighting Sasuke, with Sakura he doesn't feel like he can go all out.

"Hm," Sasuke rolls his shoulders. "Let's go then."

The spar lasts a while. Sasuke is down to his last Chidori. Naruto's crowd of clones has thinned, there's only two left.

He knows that Naruto needs at least one to shape his Rasengan, so all he needs to do it get rid of them both, or keep his eye on the pair that are together. One Naruto holds out his hand to the other, getting ready for the assist. Sasuke won't give them the chance. He makes the safe bet that the one assisting is the clone and charges his last Chidori. He needs much less runway for his attack. He lunges for the pair of Narutos, ready to aim his leg for the clone, and Chidori set on Naruto's gut.

Suddenly, he's flying through the air, hits a tree and crumples to the ground.

What just happened? Naruto… he used the Rasengan without the help of a clone. How did he do that? When did he learn to do that?

Sasuke doesn't get up—not because he's hurt. The attack was only at 20% of its power, otherwise he'd have been killed. He just… can't understand what just happened.

Naruto hasn't seen Sasuke since the end of their spar yesterday. He stormed off right after and was asleep before Naruto and Sakura came home. In the morning he was gone, but when they arrive at the training grounds for day two of the round robin spars, he's already there.

"You look like you're chomping at a bit," Kakashi remarks when he finally gets there an hour after their meeting time. "Sakura, you wanna take him on when he's like this?"

Sakura quirks an eyebrow and switches her considering gaze between Sasuke and Kakashi. Naruto just knows she's weighing whether or not she's going to be insulted. "Yeah," is all she says.

From her pouch she puts on these sick black leather gloves and cracks her knuckles.

Sasuke's expression doesn't change, but at least he takes a stance. He's taking her seriously.

Naruto isn't really sure what goes on at their extra training sessions. He's had absolutely no desire to join them because honestly? He needs every extra bit of sleep he can get and they take everything so seriously. The one time Sakura made him tag along, they did three hours of Katas. Snooze.

Sasuke streaks across the field going right for Sakura. There are two approaches to beating Sakura: speed or stamina. He's faster but he can also outlast her. They've been working on building up her stamina and chakra reserves.

With Sakura, he doesn't have to worry that she's going to have any big finishing moves. He's got to watch his back for a sneaky kunai and use his head to figure out what elaborate strategy she'll use on him.

He engages her in a taijutsu bout to test her reflexes and warm up. Maybe he won't finish her off right away. It would be mean and embarrassing for her. They'll play a bit. Just long enough to see what she comes up with. Sakura's a fun sparring partner because it's also a little like playing Go.

Close combat's the way to go, if he loses track of her, she'll take advantage and substitute herself until he makes a mistake. He dodges a punch and blocks a kick with his right arm only to hear a crack.

What?

She sweeps her legs again, determination blazing in her eyes and Sasuke jumps over them, nervous for her to connect again. Pushed by yesterday's wounded pride, he changes his mind. He wants to end this swiftly. He charges his left hand with a Chidori. It's just at 1/5 power, so it won't hurt her too bad.

His range is good, she won't have enough time to get far enough for a dodge. He thrusts his arm out.

Sakura ducks—no, she strikes the ground with her gloved fist. With a spine tingling crunch the ground opens up beneath their feet.

(It's just like his dream.)

He's weightless, falling, his arm still reaching out to strike Sakura. Their eyes hold, all widening in alarm. He sees it all in slow motion, Sakura reaches for him even as he drops into a chasm of her own making-

(How did she do it?)

-She takes his hand, grounding the circuit. Sakura spasms, but holds on. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes and she cries out. Holding on is making it worse, but if she lets go, he'll fall.

"Sakura," he says, gentle and shell-shocked, processing what's happening in sluggish disbelief.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!" She shrieks, not in pain but determination. She hauls him up and over the lip of the crevice. He tumbles on top of her. With his head against her stomach he can feel the rhythm of her ragged breaths. Sasuke rolls off of her and pants. He's barely exerted himself but his heart is racing.

Sakura has gotten so strong. He sits up and turns to the side so he can look at her. Her eyes are closed, her hands curled loosely at her sides.

"Uuuh, Kakashi-sensei," Naruto considers from a short distance away, "Who do you think won?"

Sasuke is the only one left standing, but he doesn't feel like it was him.

#sasusaku #sasuke x sakura #naruto #team 7 #fanfiction #IYC #if you can't hold on hold on #my fic

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samsexualdeancurious · 4 years

Text

Many Dark Places | Chapter Two

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Eventual)

Words: 1,964

Warnings: hurt!Reader, trauma/PTSD, references/flashbacks to past torture, emotional and physical hurt/comfort, past and attempted kidnapping, Thor being a darling.

Summary: When cleaning up a camp of dark magicians near the new Asgard, Thor stumbles upon Y/N - the daughter of an Asgardian nobleman, who disappeared before Thor first traveled to Midgard in 2011.

A/N: I started writing this fic pre-Endgame and, as such, it exists in a strange world where they didn't make new Asgard on Earth and also maybe Thanos didn't win? Idk. (Loki's still dead, though. Sorry.)

Betaed by @samsgoddess and @the-soulofdevil

Header by me

Check out Thor's scent

---

You don't know how far it is to the camp, seeing as you sleep until Thor sets you on a bed in a large, cozy tent that is clearly his. An older woman, dressed in a simple brown traveling dress and carrying a leather bag, hovers a few feet away.

“Y/N,” Thor says, petting your head soothingly. “This is Svanhild. She's a seidr-woman and here to help you, if that's alright?”

You eye her warily. Something about her face reminds you of home, of someone who sang quiet songs when you were scared and kissed your every bump and bruise. Swallowing back the emotions that well up unbidden, you nod.

She smiles kindly and sets her bag on the bed, sitting on the edge. “I'll start with your feet and we'll go from there. I promise I'll tell you before I do anything. How does that sound?”

Your words won't work but she understands your nod.

“Alright. Lift your foot up here, please.”

Thor sits behind you as you rotate to put your feet by her, his strong warmth supporting your back. Svanhild works quickly, explaining as she goes. Salves are applied to the cuts. They sting a little but that quickly fades and then she wipes the salve away to reveal new skin where the small cuts once were.

“Now, let's look at this ankle.” She lifts your foot onto her lap and gently feels the swollen joint. “Broken. I would like to use a small amount of magic to see how bad the break is.”

You clutch Thor's cloak tighter around your body, feeling his huge hand cover your own. The contact helps to steady you and you nod. If Thor trusts her, then you will try.

A wave of her hand, a few murmured words, and a soft blue light wraps around your ankle. Svanhild examines something you can't see and frowns.

“This is bad,” she sighs. “But not hopeless. I will set and bind it now. This will hurt a bit but should feel better once I've finished.”

It does hurt a bit and then it does feel better. As she finishes binding your foot and ankle, you breathe a sigh of relief. Next, she treats and wraps the rope burns on your wrists.

“Is there anything else I should look at?” she inquires.

“I think we should see what affects the dark magicians have had on you,” Thor says softly. “Would that be okay?”

You agree and Svanhild performs a spell similar to the one before, this time resulting in a deep purple light. When the light fades away, she looks puzzled.

“I cannot see any ill effects,” she tells you. “Unexpected but a good thing. You need a bath, food, and a good night's sleep. The bandages have a spell to keep them from getting wet, so you should be fine. Feel free to take a long, hot bath.”

That sounds heavenly. You give her the biggest smile you can muster and she returns it.

“I will check on you in the morning before we return home. Goodnight my lady, my King.”

Thor dismisses her and then carries you to a curtained off “room” of the tent- which you now realize is more like a small two-room building with canvas walls than a tent- that houses a large tub a servant is finishing filling with steaming water. She bows hastily and backs out of the room.

“Would you like any assistance?” Thor inquires, setting you on a stool by the tub and crouching to put his face at your level.

You shrug. You would rather bathe yourself but you know there are places you can’t reach. Thor seems to understand.

“Alright. I will help where you feel comfortable with me. Here, let's get you into the water.”

Between the cover and the warmth it's provided, you’re reluctant to give up the cloak. Thor sees it on your face and smiles to himself as he keeps it in his hands, using it as a barrier between his skin and yours. When you glance up at him, his eyes are politely averted. He doesn't look at you until you're settled in the water. The suds do a decent job covering you, assisted by the fact that the tub is nearly flowing over the edge.

The heat from the water begins seeping into your limbs, warming a chill you’d almost forgotten about, it's been in your bones so long. You settle against the side of the tub with a contented sigh as it fades.

Thor pulls a chair over and sits a few feet away. “How are you feeling?”

You look over at him, taking in his posture: leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. You’ve gotten good at reading people- best way to avoid accidentally upsetting someone- and reading Thor is easier than most. All his thoughts, his emotions, are right there on his face and in his eyes. He’s concerned, genuinely so, and interested in what you have to say.

You shrug. How are you feeling? Your body still aches, though the major sources of pain have been dulled by the healer’s work. You’re cold at your core but warming slowly. Honestly? You’re feeling better than you have in months. Years. You open your mouth to say something, though, and the words won’t come. It’s like an invisible force is stopping the words from ever reaching your throat. Panic wells up in your chest.

Thor must read it on your face. He reaches out, hand hovering just above the edge of the tub. “It’s okay if you can’t speak,” he says. “I know all of this must be overwhelming.”

You can't help a soft snort at that. Overwhelming is an understatement.

Thor chuckles. “I understand. Would you like to rest a little in the bath? I can have food brought here.” Your eyes must brighten at those words because Thor nods and rises. He moves to the door and speaks in hushed tones to someone in the larger room of the tent before returning to his seat.

“Food is on its way,” he informs you, resettling into his former position. “Would you like to be left alone?”

Fear seizes your chest and one hand flies out without any thought to grip the closest part of him - his hands.

“Hey,” Thor says softly, strong fingers turning to give your much smaller ones a gentle squeeze. “It's all right, Y/N. I won't leave you alone.”

A soft tap outside signals the arrival of food. Thor gives your hand another squeeze before dropping it to fetch the tray. It's designed to hook over each side of the tub, creating a shelf above the water. The food is simple - a slice of bread, a bowl of basic soup, some vegetables. Your mouth immediately begins watering at the sight but you find yourself too nervous to eat.

“Go on,” Thor urges. “You need to regain your strength.”

The soup is verging on too hot but you can't find it in yourself to care, not when it tastes so good and you're so hungry. You don't even bother with the spoon, just pick the bowl up and take big sips. It's mostly broth, with chunks of potato and some kind of meat, most likely poultry.

“Slow down a little,” Thor says with a quiet laugh, shedding his armor as he speaks. It clinks as he drops it to the floor, leaving him in a simple blue tunic and black breeches. “It would defeat the purpose if you became sick.”

Your cheeks warm at that and you force yourself to put the bowl down. You trade it for the bread, taking little nibbles to savor it because it's probably the best bread you've ever had.

The room is quiet but not in an uncomfortable way. Thor is easy to be around. When you finally decide you can't eat anymore, he doesn't comment on how much you left untouched. Only moves the tray to the other end of the tub - within reach but out of the way.

“Ready to clean up?” Thor asks, fetching a small basket from the floor by the tub.

You nod, taking a bar of soap and a cloth from the basket. The soap smells spicy and musky and you're more than happy to rub it on the cloth. You take your time scrubbing everything you can reach, savoring the feeling of bathing probably for the first time in Odin only knows how long. There comes a point, though, when you can't wash anything else simply because you can't reach.

Thor has focused on his hands, giving you a little extra privacy as you bathe. He looks up when you hold the cloth out to him.

“Would you like some assistance with your back?” he asks, carefully taking the cloth.

You nod, curling your arms around your chest and sitting forward. Thor moves the stool closer to the tub.

“I'm going to touch you now,” he warns before he begins gently scrubbing across your shoulders and upper back.

The scratch of the cloth in places previously untouched feels wonderful and you can't help a soft sigh, letting your head tip forward. Thor is thorough but careful not to overstep. When he's done, he drapes the cloth over the edge of the tub.

“Would you like me to wash your hair?”

Washing your hair is a short process - the dark magicians cut it shorter than a boy's early on and have kept it that length ever since - but Thor's huge fingers massaging your scalp help to draw more tension from your body and when you're finally all clean, you feel better than you have in years.

“You're all shriveled up,” Thor teases, tapping your fingers where one hand is draped over the side of the tub. “Perhaps it's time to get out? I had some clothes brought for you to sleep in.”

You're reluctant to leave the safety of the water but the water is getting cold and the towel Thor offers is fluffy, oversized, and oh so inviting. You climb out of the tub and Thor immediately wraps the towel around you, using it as a guard between his hands and your skin like he did with the cape earlier. He guides you to sit on the stool so you can dry off while he fetches the clothes - undergarments and a simple blue sleeping gown. The fabric feels strange against your skin, a soft weight you haven't felt in a long time.

“I think it's time for bed,” Thor murmurs. “Can you walk?”

You test your ankle against the floor. It doesn't hurt as bad anymore and you could probably walk on it if you’re careful but sleep is making your brain fuzzy and you know you're gonna fall over if you stand. You shake your head a little sheepishly.

“That's all right. I can carry you.”

And he does just that, strong arms looping around your shoulders and under your knees. He hoists you into the air with ease, settling you against his chest. You fight the urge to burrow into that warmth and fall asleep right here again - something about him is comforting in a way you haven't felt in years.

The trip to the bed is a short one. Before you know it, he's laying you on the mattress and pulling thick, heavy blankets up to your chin. The blankets settle over you, a weight that seems to soak up every ounce of tension from your body and dissipate it elsewhere. You find yourself sinking into the mattress, suddenly too tired to keep your eyes open.

The last thing you're aware of is Thor's hand resting gently atop your head, thumb rubbing soothing circles along your hairline.

---

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theawkwardvirgin · 5 years

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Codenames and Personality

I should be working on a paper right now but if I’ve been at it for 4 hours and if I have to look at it one second longer I will Scream so have a post about what codenames mean to the batfam! (it kinda devolved into general character study oops)

Bruce: Batman is definitely different than Bruce, I think most people agree on this. Batman is like a brick wall, he’s cold, hard, and if you go up against him you will almost definitely hurt yourself more than him. Batman is filthy alleys and gravelly voices and sirens wailing in the dark. Bruce is softer, he’ll cheer his kids on in their school plays and stay up late helping them understand chemistry homework and he’ll struggle his way through the mire of social interaction to show someone he cares. Bruce is piano music and engine grease and the fuzzy memory of what parents should be.

Barbara: Babs lets the parts of herself that she normally locks down out when she puts on the cowl. The photographic memory she usually downplays, the connections she can make before someone else even takes in the view, the anger than ran simmering under her skin all those years her dad was putting himself on the line and she had to stay home, all of that is magnified in Batgirl. Batgirl was hope and determination and I can protect people too. And after Joker, it became even more of that, even more about rising above the circumstances life threw at her. She might not have a cowl anymore, but whenever she rolls up to her computers and sees the city mapped out before her, she knows that she can still protect.

Dick: Dick doesn’t really change when he puts on the mask. Sure, it started out as a quest for revenge, but Dick has never been as bogged down by his parents as Bruce was. He grew up as both Dick Grayson and Robin and they’re both equally him. Maybe it’s like putting on glasses, everything comes sharper into focus, but it doesn’t change his personality, not like with Bruce. Robin was joy and courage and defiance to a world that wanted to drown out the light. And when it came time for Nightwing, those same values shone through. The light might have been dimmed by the world, but it’s still there, still proudly splashed across his chest in homage to those who flew before him.

Cass: Cass is the closest to Bruce in this regard, but even she has not gone as far as him. Where lots of Bruce’s trauma came after he became Batman, kind of cementing him in the role, Cass experienced most of her trauma during her childhood. When she puts on the mask, all the things that Cain taught her come forward a bit, tempered by what she’s learned in Gotham. Batgirl was redemption and anger and strength. When she passed on the mantel, Black Bat was protection and courage and family.

Jason: Jason is and has always been very authentic. What other way is there to be when you’re fighting for your life every day? When he became Robin, he made the title his own. The cops might gossip about how this new Robin is a bit rougher around the edges, less agile, once tried to bum a smoke off the Commish himself, but the poor and working girls tell each other about his kindness, about how he sees them in ways the other bats never could, about the john on third street who always got too rough that mysteriously turned himself in, about the care packages that appeared on their windowsills, about the twenty-dollar bills they would inevitably find tucked in their pocket or purse or (on one memorable occasion) a shoe. After the Joker, after the Pit, after the League of Assassins, Jason was, to all appearances, a very different person. He would curse someone out before cracking a pun, hit like a freight train, and would sooner shoot at a cop than be within ten feet of one. But the working girls and the homeless children still gather and whisper about the pimp that showed up tied to a lamp post and full of lead, the blankets and heaters that appear in the night, the phone number that is jealously guarded but they all know that if they need it, one call with bring help. Jason is passion and punish and hope.

Tim: For Tim, it really depends on which title he is holding. When he was Robin, Tim was himself in much the way Dick is. Maybe he was more focused when he put on the domino, but ultimately he was himself, night or day. After Jason came back though, and Bruce was lost in time, and his friends died one by one, and Damian forced Tim out of the one thing he felt secure in, and Dick didn’t stop it, Tim changed. Who wouldn’t? He became darker, more cynical, the kind of person you look at worriedly because have the bags under their eyes gotten darker? Has their hair always been that greasy? Have they always been that thin? Where Robin was about hope and light and protection, Red Robin was about efficiency and the greater good and control over a life with precious little of it. Thankfully, things got better, and Red Robin became a little more like Tim, a little lighter, a little more hopeful. It’ll never be the way it was, but it’s better.

Stephanie: Steph tries to put on a persona when she pulls on the mask. She sees that Batman does it and Black Bat does it and even Oracle to an extent, and she wants that for herself. She wants to be taken seriously, to be respected and acknowledged for her skills. So she tries, she tries to make first Spoiler then Batgirl different from Stephanie Brown. And in some ways, she manages. Spoiler isn’t afraid of Cluemaster, not like Steph is afraid of Arthur Brown. Batgirl doesn’t bleed the need to be accepted, because when the physical armor slides on, so does the metaphorical, and she’s gotten used to disappointment. But whether Spoiler or Batgirl, Steph is still very much herself. She has learned to be loud and take up space in civilian life, and such habits do not disappear when she pulls on a mask. But slowly, gradually, she realizes that she is worthy of admiration as she is, that she does not need to change to earn it. And on that day, Batgirl can truly fly free.

Damian: Damian is a lot like Jason in that he is unapologetically himself, in uniform or not. Most of that is him having grown up being told that he would be Batman and not having any concept of an identity outside of that. Both sides of him grow together, learning to explore things he was never able to before. Maybe Damian attends an art class and learns how to channel all those emotions onto the page. Maybe Robin stops to pet a stray dog now and then. Maybe Damian Wayne ends up on the front page of the Gotham Gazette by putting on an art show to fund animal shelters. Maybe Robin gains a reputation for coming down hard on dogfighting rings. As Robin returns from a new role of danger and death and fighting to one of redemption and hope and light, Damian does too.

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch28 (V x Reader)

So here’s another chapter that somehow never got posted on Tumblr. My bad.

Chapter 28 - Last Glimpse of Sunlight

Soundtrack for this chapter is Coheed and Cambria’s Love Protocol. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1hs4fj-B-k

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June 15th, 12:00 pm

A cacophonous rumble breaks your stride as you and V trek through a park after your… break. Instantly you both look at the Qlipoth to watch in horror as it grows suddenly, massive chunks of roads and buildings mysteriously floating skyward as its spiny branches reach above the clouds and into space.

“We’re almost out of time,” V mutters morosely.

The shaking earth prevents you from answering as you're forced to take off running, the stable path you’d been walking crumbling away into a chasm. V falls behind quickly to your dismay, and you slow just enough to keep him close.

Even so, you’re separated when the ground you stand on rises as the terrain he remains upon drops. You fall to your belly immediately, looking back as V reaches out to grasp your forearm as the soil continues sinking away. You grunt and grit your teeth as your shoulder wrenches from taking his weight but you miraculously manage to hold on, your other arm quickly joining the first to spread the strain out. He glances back and forth between your determined face and the destruction beneath him, his clever eyes judging whether you’ll be forced to drop him or if you’re strong enough to pull him up to join you.

I did NOT spend three days searching Dante’s library just to drop him!

The thought makes you snarl and sends a blast of adrenaline through your system, temporarily lending you the strength you need to haul him up beside you with a primal shout of exertion. His legs scramble against the dirt fruitlessly for a moment before he finds enough friction to help raise his body higher. The moment he can support himself safely you let go with a gasp, flopping over onto your side and panting.

I miss Griffon.

He drops down and lies there beside you as the trembling terrain settles, his chest displaying his racing heartbeat. His emerald eyes find yours and the rhythm of his breath changes as his laughter fills the air.

“When they find they must, my lord, they will,” he quips between his relieved chuckling. You let out a snort of your own, sitting up as your cheeks stretch and your laughter mixes with his. His eyes sparkle with delight, the widest smile you’ve seen in days showing his white teeth to the sun above.

“I never knew that William Blake had a line of poetry for every conceivable situation until I met you, V,” you remark as the humor begins to fade. He smirks at you as he rises to his feet, his cane taking most of his weight. You join him with much less effort, still choking back the last of your giggles as your steady stride accompanies his limp forward.

The next half hour passes quickly; the hordes of demons apparently enjoyed the rumbling earth even less than the pair of you had and left the area. Your thoughts drift back to revisit every aspect of your theory, dissecting it and searching for flaws in the haphazard ideology yet again with no results. Frustration at your lack of new insight fills you and you irritably imagine what your life would have been like if you’d lived in a different city, fallen for a normal guy with normal problems.

You know exactly what it would look like; you’d lived that life before. The image you form seems drab, colorless and without flavor.

Contentment would’ve been easy, that much is true. A comfortable home, a decent paycheck and a special someone to buy you flowers on your anniversary, rub your back when it ached or, if you were lucky, who would cook dinner from time to time. A reasonably attractive man who was acceptable in the bedroom, someone your mom would like. Maybe you’d finish school, earn a position as a trauma surgeon like you used to dream about. Save lives every day, helping people you’d never see again after they left the operating table.

A life like all the rest, a cog in the machine of society struggling to achieve a pale shadow of the joy that fills you every time you draw your sword, every time you hear Nero’s battle cries or Nico’s muttered curses as she tinkers. A soft echo of the incandescent love you feel for your poet. You don’t even bother picturing a face for the amorphous form representing a romantic partner, knowing that regardless of the creativity of your imagination it would be like holding a single candle up to the sun at its zenith compared to V.

I have a life most people lack the capacity to even imagine.

Your eyes drift to study his face, taking in the small growth of dark stubble on his strong jaw. The curve of his nose, the small indent on his cheek by his wide lips. The arch of his brow, the intensity of his gaze under his dark eyebrows, even from the side. You force yourself to ignore the thin scar on his cheekbone, choosing to focus instead on the smoothness of his alabaster skin.

His lips twist into his signature smirk, his eyes catching yours glued to his face.

“What are you staring at, love?” he asks teasingly. You blush at being caught but meet his eyes with a smirk of your own.

“Nothing much, just the most attractive man to ever exist,” you reply casually, adding a shrug for good measure. His smirk deepens and he stands a little taller, breaking your stare bashfully to look at the sky as his cheeks tinge pink.

Gotcha!

He recovers quickly, playfully swatting your ass with a light tap of his cane. You gasp in mock horror.

“And here I thought you were a gentleman!” you remark, easily stepping out of his range.

“You know very well that I can be gentle, and I can be rough. You’ve never complained about my performance in either category,” he easily shoots back at you with a wry grin. The reminder of his… variable tastes sends a torrent of lewd memories through you and your thighs shake as you step forward. You turn to face him and raise your arms in surrender.

“You win, you win! No more, kind sir, I beg of you,” you plead playfully, and V chuckles softly in amusement.

“Then allow me to claim my prize,” he growls, his arm already extending to pull you against him. You don’t resist, happily letting him capture your lips with his own. His kiss is soft and sweet, a light pressure lacking any urgency as he molds his mouth to fit yours. You part with a soft sigh, taking his hand as you step ever closer to the Qlipoth.

The tree seems to grow with every step now, its form meeting the ground mere blocks from where you stand. The closer you get, the worse the devastation. Instead of chunks of rubble, entire buildings are simply gone, only the outline of their foundation marking where they once stood. Even the trees that once lined the roadway have been uprooted, the very asphalt cracking to set their roots free. And the smell… if you’d thought the Glutton was the worst imaginable aroma, you are quickly proven wrong by the sickening stench of blood, death, decay and dirt that permeates the air.

Two blocks away, the ground turns slimy with the amount of blood that’s soaked into it, the dirt stained red along with the lower portion of anything unfortunate enough to be touching the desecrated earth. The once white soles of your faithful slip-resistant shows turn crimson, then almost black. You’ll never be able to wear them again without remembering this place, this carnage.

A block left; you can see where the accursed tree meets the pavement and you smile at V. The resounding relief in his emerald eyes as you slowly creep forward is almost painful to behold, telling you exactly how worried he’d been about getting this far. The ground here is so sticky you have to be careful not to lose a shoe with each step, the caked-on blood sucking the soles in a tight embrace. You’re amazed that the area is so flat, expecting more of the strange elevation changes or shifted surface to impede you yet finding nothing of the sort.

The daylight vanishes as you enter the shadow of the massive structure at last. The change in lighting is reminiscent of an eclipse, the darkness so complete it feels like you’ve entered a cave. Through a convenient gap in the structure, you spot Nico’s van within, hastily pointing it out to V and rushing toward it to reunite with your friends. As you enter the base of the accursed tree the stench reaches a new level and you have to hold your shirt over your face and breathe through your mouth to keep from retching. Trish and Dante are loitering nearby, talking seriously as if they haven’t noticed the smell.

I bet I know what they’re talking about…

As you approach, Griffon flaps over with a relieved caw, settling back into V’s dark tattoos instantly to rest. You glance back at the group as Trish tells Dante something and his eyes go wide. Nico, Nero and Lady are nowhere to be seen.

So now Dante knows, too. Good.

The man in red glares at you and V as you enter the small area, fury radiating from him in waves as he stomps over, hands balled into fists and chest heaving. He stops just before you and the poet, restraining his anger visibly with a clench of his jaw.

“You’re dying? You’re part of Vergil?” the son of Sparda demands harshly. V sighs heavily, taking a seat on a conveniently located stretch of Qlipoth roots. You meet Dante’s enraged eyes with your own, making him pause.

“Yes, he is. Now get a hold of yourself, Dante. We don’t have time for this right now. We can deal with it after Urizen is gone,” you reply firmly, leaving no room for argument.

He shakes his head and is silent for a few long moments, his hands slowly relaxing and his lips twisting into a smirk as he faces you once more.

“There’s that fire. Careful not to burn him, sweetheart,” he comments wryly, his flirtatious tone making your fingers twitch angrily.

“Lucky me, I can’t get burned,” he adds slyly, and you growl in frustration at your own restraint keeping you from slapping him silly.

V cackles softly, his emerald eyes rising to meet Dante’s blue. His amused smirk soothes your anger as he speaks.

“If any could desire what he is incapable of possessing, despair must be his eternal lot,” the poet quips sarcastically and you have to choke back your laughter. He winks at you, clearly noticing your mirth. Dante grimaces but doesn’t respond to the teasing, instead finally focusing on what’s important.

“Hey, where’d that garbage god go? What is Urizen after?” the brash man asks you both.

“He’s at the top of the Qlipoth,” V answers in a strained whisper. Trish steps over to join your trio, adding her own considerable knowledge to the conversation easily.

“It's the other way around, Dante. This is the lowest level of the Qliphoth's upper echelon. Human blood is the source of demons' power. The fruit born through the Qliphoth is even more dense than the blood that created it. Its power is unparalleled. Even the almighty Mundus used it to become king of the Underworld. V told me everything,” the blonde woman explains carefully, crossing her arms and tossing a dismissive nod of her head at the poet.

Dante gives her a look as he responds, striding away confidently.

“Yeah, well, that’s a lovely story and all, but… as long as we know where to find him,” he rumbles, his hands already hovering near his waist in preparation for the showdown. Nico steps into his path with a huge grin and you almost laugh as she meets her personal hero for the first time, her nervousness evident in her every motion. If this moment wasn’t so obviously important to her, you’d already have her in your arms in a relieved hug.

“Whoa! You are the infamous Dante! Um, I'm Nicoletta Goldstein. Sounds familiar? My grandmother is Nell Goldstein. The gunsmith that made all your fancy weapons that you got... strapped... back there...” she gestures lamely at the two pistols strapped within Dante’s coat and he pulls them out to show them to her kindly.

Nico points to one of the portraits on the handle excitedly. “Yeah, there she is!” she exclaims proudly. Dante glances between the portrait and Nico doubtfully.

“You don't look much like her...” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I got my looks from my daddy. That's about all I got from him,” her southern drawl replies, but your attention is elsewhere as Nero steps forward from behind the van. You dash over to envelop him in a hug, hopelessly thankful that your friend is alright. He briefly hugs you back, agitated by something and not entirely focused on you. He doesn’t even scratch the back of his neck like he always has in the past at any sign of physical affection. Nico’s voice rises even higher as she presents a gift to the man in red and you both glance over silently.

“Um...it--it-- consider it a gift! In honor of us finally meeting! Meeting,” she tells Dante, holding out a white cowboy hat with a small piece of demonic decoration adorning it. Dante shakes it suspiciously, as if he expects something to fall out of it, but the hat instead leaps onto his head. Your eyes widen as a red and black scarf forms around his neck and he winks right at you before smirking and dancing to music only he can hear.

His moves, while skilled, are ridiculous. He adds several exclamations and crotch grabs, ending with a moonwalk and a pose that is an obvious imitation of Michael Jackson. Nico claps happily, laughing as the man in red nods at her.

“I’ll take that,” he states simply and walks away, clearly about to resume his hunt for Urizen. Nero quickly joins him, an angry scowl on his expressive face.

“Dante! I'm gonna go too,” the young warrior informs him. Dante turns around to face him with a serious look on his face.

“Why don't you sit this one out?” the devil hunter asks, trying to be kind.

Nero is having none of it and his scowl deepens. “Oh, and let you call me dead weight again? No thanks. I got all the power I need. Right here,” he retorts, flourishing his metal arm to emphasize his readiness for battle. The whole conversation makes no sense to you; Nero is a capable fighter, already having proven himself many times over in your eyes.

Why doesn’t Dante want him coming along?

“You don't understand. That's not what I mean,” he begins, exasperated.

“Let him go, Dante. Time is a luxury we can no longer afford. We must chase after him, post-haste,” V pipes up from his perch, carefully standing and limping over to the two men. Being near them only highlights how weakened he is, how frail his posture marks him to be and you frown, anxiety tugging at your thoughts.

“Why? Does this mean you're going too?” Dante replies in confusion.

“I have a duty to see this through,” the poet reminds him hoarsely, and you step over to stand beside him in silent support. Your breath hitches painfully as you notice more flakes of his flesh floating away in the still air. Dante shrugs, walking backward to the edge of the small area your group stands upon with a smirk.

“Well that's all you have to say, Mr. Poetry. I'm gonna go my way, you guys can go yours. Let's just say that's best for the cause,” he claims, and jumps over the edge without any further comment. Nero and V exchange a look but follow quickly behind him, each choosing their own pathway. V twists his wrist and Griffon’s side of his body lightens as the bird appears overhead, swooping around to take his outstretched arm and carry him to the next level. You wait impatiently until Griffon comes back for you.

“C’mon, little lady! No time to waste!” the mouthy demon informs you and you roll your eyes as his claws close around your arms and carry you to join V below.

#SBHS #fanfic #v x reader #reader insert #dmc5 v #dmc5 #dmc #dmcv #vitale #devil may cry #my writing

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