#i’d say my pain tolerance is alright but nothing can stop me from crying a little bit-

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

the hues of an empty sky

Missing memories, or having two of them for one moment - not quite the same, but if there's one thing Jay's leant over the last few weeks, it's that literally nothing makes sense anymore.

Or, some Skybound aftermath, Zane actually expressing emotions about his memory switch being turned off for all those years, and what was supposed to be a 'they tell everyone about the erased timeline' fic, but it turned into a 'two characters who barely interact on screen talk at like one am in the morning, and don't actually tell the other what exactly they're alluding to the whole time' fic that I wrote at like one am- 

Also yeah, I realized too late that they split up to look for Wu after s7, we’re just gonna pretend that they waited a few days or something, idk anymore tbh, lol.

(I also didn't have time to edit - so please tell me where the typos are? 😂💛)

Word count: 4539

Prompt: crying, from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Trigger warnings: the main character has a panic attack, and squeezes their fingernails into their hands once or twice but I think that's it.

*facepalms* also, guys, i’m so stupid - i literally just realized that this freaking CHANGES TENSE HALFWAY OHMYGOSH I-  i don’t think it’s super noticeable, but ugh, apologies to anyone who actually thought my writing was good lol-

---

It's cold.

Bitterly, freezing cold.

The biting chill of the air is a bit strange for this time of year, but, heck, that's nowhere near the craziest thing that's ever happened to him - not by a long shot.

He sighs, squinting at the stars dotted liberally against the black canvas of the sky.

Cole had once joked that one of them might be the remains of their golden weapons, after they'd hurled the burning mass into the sky - in another alternate timeline; one that only existed in the memories of a certain few.

Gosh - that seemed like such a long time ago.

Wouldn't it be nice to go back to that time, when he'd still thought that their powers were the coolest thing ever - instead of despising them for all the responsibility and sacrifice that came with them? When one of his biggest worries was whether the girl he had a crush on liked him back - not wondering if his friends would survive the night?

"I did not expect to find you awake at this hour, Jay."

Reflexivity, he jumps back, his mind twisting his friend's gentle voice into the- the djin's triumphant, accented one.

You're supposed to be a ninja. What good are you if your friends can still sneak up on you?

"Geez, warn a guy before you sneak up on him! I almost fell off the Bounty!"

"My apologies. I was... surprised to find you awake at this hour," Zane answers. "What are you doing?" "Couldn't sleep. It's too cold," he confesses, not entirely a lie. Ninjago wasn't 'that' far from the Sea of Sand, but he'd grown up in a much warmer area - unfortunately resulting in his practically nonexistent tolerance to the cold. That never failed to stop Kai from teasing him about it, though. He doesn't mention the pressing weight on his chest, almost tangible - or how it constantly makes him feel. Like he's being dragged through the darkness of an empty sky, spikes of fear making everything so freaking terrifying- "You?"

"I have been analyzing my memories of Pixal, in the hope that it may lead me to her whereabouts. However, all my efforts have proved... unsuccessful," Zane answers wearily, shifting his gaze to the sky.

Oh- oh. They'd all be so caught up in the chaos of the last few weeks - hey, it's not like any of them had asked the universe to permanently be out to get them! - that they'd forgotten Pixal was still offline.

"Hey, I'm sure that she's still there somewhere," he says, earnestly. "After all - she wouldn't be your girlfriend if she didn't pull a vanishing act every now and again, eh?"

The question is punctuated with a laugh, but he doesn't say that he's a little worried about her too. They hadn't talked much, but-

I can't see one of my best friends find out that his girlfriend is dead, a quiet voice at the back of his mind points out. Well - been there, done that, wouldn't recommend, he thinks bitterly. Emotional breakdowns and frequent nightmares apply. Anxiety attacks are half off, too!

It's quiet for a few minutes, neither of them seeing a need to break the silence. The wind blows softly through the sails above them; gray wisps of cloud revealing a pale sliver of moonlight that paints the sky in its glow.

It should be a peaceful night: beautiful, calm, no one trying to kill them or destroy their city - for a change.

His hands won't stop shaking.

It should be a peaceful night, but, as usual, the world is too freaking unfair for that-

He hasn't even slept for a full night in weeks! Well, not since- since-

Don't think about it! That's only going to make it worse, duh-

"Are you alright, Jay?"

"Yeah- I- I'm good, thanks," he says quickly, ignoring the way his breathing keeps speeding up. FSM, not this-

Not for the first time, the world suddenly becomes too loud - too much. Every little thing, from trying to breathe properly or even walk- feels insurmountable, because, gosh, oh gosh, it's going to come crashing down if he even moves-

The memory starts off the same as it always does.

Rubble strewn over the temple grounds, his friends literally reduced to nothing more than statues. A shot that hit the mark perfectly, but perfectly shattered his world in the process.

A poison-splattered dress, a terrifying realization.

Her well-aimed joke, but one that never fails to sting every time. Gosh, why hadn't they just allowed her to join their team in the first place? Maybe they could've prevented this- this- whole situation, if they hadn't been so freaking egotistical-

And, again, he's overwhelmed by the sheer sense of helplessness, all his power and training and skills completely useless to one of the people he cared most about. FSM, if only I hadn't used my first w-request so carelessly! If only I'd been able to escape- or, or if only I'd been able to assemble the team faster! If only-

Despite being in what must've been unimaginable pain, she offers a strained smile - a sweet gesture that, ironically, feels like she's poisoning him, because- because FSM, this is all so wrong, it wasn't supposed to end like this-

He watches with horror as her eyes dull and she stills in his arms.

She's gone, FSM, she's gone and it's all my fault-

"Jay?" a voice asks, concern evident in their tone. Distantly, he registers that he's having a breakdown in front of one of his best friends - one of the things he'd been trying really hard to avoid.

Dang it.

"I-" he tries to say, but, great, he's breathing too fast to even get the stupid words out.

"Breathe in for four seconds," Zane says, softly.

Four seconds? Time has no meaning right now, narrowed down to, like - falling down a chasm, terrified of what's at the bottom, except the fear's all around, this- this... foreboding thing of his mind that keeps yelling that he needs to run, or fight, but he can't, can't-

Right. Four seconds.

You're okay, you're fine, no one's trying to hurt you or your friends. She's not dead.

But what if- what if they're being dragged out of this ship right now? What if it was all a dream, and she's dead anyway, because all of us were too stupid to come up with another plan, and none of us could even do anything when she-

After a little while, when he could breathe a little easier, and the fear didn't feel like it was slamming into him from every possible direction, he slowly opened his eyes. Shakily, he wiped a tear from his face - as if that would wipe away all the weeks that had, theoretically, never even freaking happened.

The sky comes back into focus - pinpricks of light against pitch black. 

How was he going to come up with some sorta explanation without... well, explaining everything?

Great.

My nerves are frayed, and I have to lie to a walking lie detector - what could possibly go wrong?

"Are you alright?" Zane asks, his brows creased in concern.

"Heh heh, yeah. Probably just too many video games," he replies quickly, laughter a bit strained.

"You were muttering to yourself," his friend replies quietly. Ugh, trust the way-too-observant-nindroid to call him out on the remains of his facade. "If you do not mind me asking, what was 'all your fault'? I am sure that it was probably a misunderstanding."

You're the one who misunderstands everything, he thinks wearily, ignoring the part of him that yearns to tell someone else about... well, everything that's happened because of that stupid teapot. He's not one to keep secrets by nature, and it's been taking a bigger toll of him than he'd thought it would. Is this how Nya felt when she was still the Samurai? "It's- it's nothing, probably just nonsense."

"Are you sure? You seem... quite worried about something."

Dang it, were his hands still shaking? He presses his fingernails into his palms, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

He's talking to one of his best friends, FSM. Weren't friends able to tell each other anything?

"Do you think it's easier to forget? Better?"

He didn't even realize he'd asked a question until Zane's eyes widened in surprise.

A forest coated in snow, ice crystals dangling from the tree branches above their heads. Plenty of screaming - way too much, he reflects, couldn't they have been a bit nicer? It must've been pretty jarring to learn that you weren't human, or that your father had erased years of your life from your mind - in that weird underground treehouse. Those crazy tree monsters - and the realization that they all had much more power than they'd thought.

"N- nevermind," he stutters, fleetingly thinking of kicking the deck. "That's way too personal, you don't have to answer it-"

"I do not mind," Zane says, a bit sadly.

Oh.

Heck, his friend was way too nice.

They gaze up at the stars for a few minutes, not really seeing them - one drowning under the weight of too many secrets, the other, too many memories.

It's quiet - too quiet.

Ugh, he thinks, sighing, that sounds like something a low-budget horror movie would start with, cringey sound effects to match.

But the silence is a painful reminder of the days he'd spent tossing and turning in a cramped cell - nothing but his worries and the bruises on his leg from that stupid ball and chain keeping him awake.

He's been trying hard - maybe too hard - to avoid being alone, avoid being in a situation where they've gotta be quiet ever since then, because, dang it, his memories always seem to fill the silence, and they're always far more terrifying than they should be-

It's easier, in a way, to be mocked for his stupid jokes than it is to relive a single moment from those nightmarish few weeks.

Almost reflexively, he grasps for something to fill the quiet.

"Heh, this is a bit awkward. It's okay if you wanna leave-"

"I do not mind," Zane echoes, walking a bit closer. "It is not as if I need to sleep. But... I do not quite know what to think of your question."

There comes the answer - or a semblance of one at least, and it's the last thing he'd been expecting.

"You don't know?" he blurts out before he can even think of trying to filter the thought. Way to treat your friend who's been nothing but kind to you, Jay. "But you're- you're a nindroid! You know everything-"

"Pixal," his friend mutters softly, sighing, and the hurt, the fear, laced through the word makes something in his heart practically twist. He knows all too well what it feels like to be in that situation - even if, technically, it had never happened.

Then- "I wish that were true. But I suppose that my emotions make certain situations much more complicated than... than they need to be. Thus I cannot give my perspective on this - or, at least, without sounding quite conflicted."

"You know that you're allowed to be conflicted, right? Even the coolest Nindroids don't know everything."

"...Yes, I suppose so."

Jay frowns at the almost subconscious hesitation, eyebrows creasing in concern.

"Seriously," he starts earnestly. They're both leaning on one of the railings just above the deck now. "Just 'cause you're a nindroid doesn't mean that you've gotta chase some kind of perfection that doesn't even exist."

He doesn't miss how Zane's eyes widen in shock, their bright blue hue glowing a little brighter - and heck, if that doesn't hurt even more than the earlier realization.

"Besides - it's not like none of us haven't made mistakes before. Hate to go all Wu on ya, but they help us learn or some stupid thing like that. Even if the mistake is trying not to make 'em, you know?"

"Thank you," Zane replies, a tired smile on his face. "Even the most advanced tech is susceptible to error, I suppose."

They've all made lots of mistakes, heaven forbid if one of them is still agonizing over messing up over the crazy situations the universe constantly put them in. It's not like they were told they'd have to face more ancient evil armies than they could count, were they?

Maybe it's time to stop focusing on events that never even happened, and pay more attention to your friends. What's the point of being part of this team if you're always scared or selfish?

"Shut up," he mumbles, rubbing his temples. What's the point of fighting if your own brain is gonna fight you whenever it gets a chance? A few seconds later, he schools his face back into his default anxious grin. "Great, cause I- I- could use your advice on something." "Alright," comes the quiet reply, his friend seemingly lost in thought.

"What if you wanted to tell someone something, but you couldn't?"

His breathing starts to speed up again, but he grips the deck until his fingers are practically bruised, stark white against his tanned skin. Not this time-

"Is this what you were referring to earlier? An event that you blamed yourself for?" Zane asks, eyes flitting between the floor and the sky.

Dang it, way too observant as usual. He masks his surprise with a laugh, but the conversation definitely isn't going as planned and, oh gosh oh gosh, what if-

No, there's no way that any of them would even believe that. Besides - no one can remember stuff that they've forgotten, especially if magic's at play.

"Yeah, kinda," and he's surprised by how steady his voice sounds. It's not easy to even think about that- event, talking about it is a whole different thing. A much more difficult thing, but also - a bit, a little bit, easier. "I-" "Apologies for interrupting," his friend interjects. "I suppose that I have not been entirely honest with you." What?

"A few days ago, I discovered a number of deleted memory files buried deep within my code."

Just like that, his whole world tilts out from underneath him.

It takes every ounce of his strength to keep himself from falling into the abyss again.

Wait, what?

Has he really known for all this time? It's been weeks! Surely he would've said something? It can't be, it never even-

The rational part of his mind points out that he can remember every day of those few weeks. Well, he was the one to make the wish - magical logic is kinda stupid, but maybe that's why he had to remember it or something?

Well then, a small voice interjects, why was Nya cursed to remember everything too?

Of course, even the stupid magical logic doesn't even make sense to the one who caused this whole mess in the first place.

"They were almost entirely corrupted - scrambled in a way that I am not familiar with. However, I did realize that certain files bore dates that have not even occurred yet. I dismissed it as a problem with my code, however..."

Breathe, calm down, it's not like he was able to process them or anything-

We agreed that no one was supposed to know! What if they end up blaming us for keeping it a secret this long, or, or-

"I mean, they could've been-" he starts, but the way in which he's nervously twisting his fingers is a pretty clear indication that he's lying, dang it.

"So when you mentioned that you were unable to tell someone something - did you mean that it was because they had quite literally forgotten about it?"

Great. Fantastic. Of course the literal robot has pieced it together by now-

He squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, hoping that if he ignores the problem, maybe it'll go away.

Okay, fine, maybe he's trying to figure out a way to fix this whole mess. Doesn't mean that he's any closer to coming up with a solution, though.

"Er, yeah," he whispers, shoulders slumped, eyes still firmly shut. Because gosh, he doesn't want to - can't, can't - see the realization dawn that, yeah, he's lied to people he's known for years and years, even though they've all seen way too many times that secrets bring nothing but trouble-

"Well, then - I would say that you don't have to tell them," Zane replies, surprisingly... earnestly? That, or he's either too freaked out to understand the tone properly. Could be either.

He opens his eyes, hesitantly.

And it comes as a bit of a shock to find nothing but concern reflected in his friend's.

The almost persistent weight on his chest feels a little lighter now, like the sky isn't as quite so empty.

Well, it still kinda is. But that doesn't hold as much weight as he'd thought it did - not if one of his friends is willing to look past that; past the heaviness of holding up all those memories with nothing his single star, flickering in and out of the darkness, to try and light the unforgiving darkness of the sky.

"Why?" Jay asks, so quietly he can barely hear it himself. "Don't I owe it to them? Do you?"

"No. Definitely not," comes the reply, so full of conviction that he almost stumbles back. Why-

"My father..."

Oh- oh.

"thought it was better to spare me the pain of mourning him than for me to know who I was," Zane confesses, hesitantly. "Not that I disagree, necessarily. I just..."

He trails off, clutching the railing so hard that the wood almost snaps beneath his titanium fingers.

It takes Jay a little while to realize why - why exactly his friend, who has access to a wealth of knowledge and information, is grasping for an answer. Because- because, well, even if someone does something in your best interests - sometimes the choice isn't always up to them. Or maybe it is, but it was... difficult, to say the least, to let go of the fact that his parents had never told him the truth sooner. Not that he blames them, necessarily - it's not like they knew that his father would pass on before he'd even get the chance to meet him - but... it's confusing, and difficult, not to know why you were left at a junkyard as soon as you were born. Maybe if he'd known that sooner, he could've asked the one person who might've had answers - although it's not like hoping for the past to change will actually change it.

They don't even know that you know, a small voice at the back of his mind points out, and suddenly everything makes a lot more sense-

"You wanted a choice," he breathes, eyes widening. A choice - like one that he'd never been given, one that he stills struggles not to hold against two people who've always had his best interests at heart. Even if they did have the right to withhold that one thing, after all they've done for him - the 'what if's' still echo in his mind far more often than he'd like. "There's nothing wrong with that, even if it feels that way. I kinda get where you're coming from, dude, and it's... super confusing, but I'd be pretty mad if my memories were tampered with like that."

So would anyone, he realizes, heart sinking. Oh, great. Not helping-

"I- I suppose so?" Zane answers, but it sounds more like a question than a reply. "However, in the same vein, it would be unwise for you to give away your choice whilst you still have one." "But don't I owe it to everyone? You just said it, it's horrible to alter people's memories and I- I-" "Did we forget... whatever it was for a good reason? "I- I mean, I guess, but..." "Then you do not owe it to us to relive something that we do not even remember." The words should be a relief - and they kinda are. But some part of him really does want to explain the crazy alternate timeline, and everything that happened in it. It's just... really, really freaking difficult.

"What if- what if I wanted to, though?" Jay asks hysterically, running his hands through his hair in a frenzied sort of way. "And I still couldn't? I just, I-"

He cuts himself off with a bout of forced laughter.

Zane takes a moment to reply, the bright blue light in his eyes flickering - a small tell that he was thinking so deeply, his processors were literally sparking up a bit.

"You queried earlier if it was easier, or better, to forget. And while all situations are different, I suppose it is... well, subjective. What do you think?" Zane asks, softly.

Derailing the conversation a bit, but his friend's obviously smart enough to be leading up to something.

Sure, he'll go along with it.

"I mean, there are some things I'd rather forget, you know? I guess we all know what that feels like," Jay replies, the statement with oddly sad air to it. They're still kids, after all, and it gets a bit exhausting pretending that their superhero lives were all fun and games - when they'd just given him enough grey hair to last then lifetimes, and enough nightmares to keep him from ever getting the normal amount of sleep his mum always prattled on about.

Sleep, heh heh. Practically a foreign concept, now.

"And I know that stuff that happens, like shapes us or something - and Master Wu would probably go off on a whole ramble about why we learn from our mistakes or whatever," he laughs nervously, resisting the urge to just fall headfirst onto the deck of the stupid ship instead of continuing the conversation," and how 'our scars only make us stronger', crap like that, but I just-"

"I'm just really... tired of this," he confesses warily, shoulders slumped. "W- I remember so many horrible things, and I-" he breaks off, laughing bitterly. His voice takes on a sort of brittle quality, way too high pitched, "and I can't even talk about them, dude. If that's not the most pathetic thing ever, I dunno what is."

"It does not-"

"Don't say it," Jay mutters, rubbing his temples. "I know, I know, my feelings aren't pathetic, they're always valid, whatever, spare me the lecture-"

"That is not what I was going to say," Zane replies gently. "It just seems that you have answered your own question."

"Gee, which one?"

"I do not know how much helpful assistance I can provide in this situation, but it is understandable to wish certain events had never occurred. However, seeing as we cannot change the past, it seems unwise to dwell on said events if you can avoid it."

Jay stiffens, clamping a shaky hand over his mouth. Something seems to press down even harder on his chest, a heavy sort of weight that causes his breathing to speed up again. Don't say it don't say it there's no reason to warn them this time-

"If you would like to tell any of us about something, of course you are welcome to. It does not to be the whole story, after all. Just make sure that it is the decision you choose, not one you choose because of what you think how it will affect others," Zane finishes quietly, ducking his head as if he's embarrassed.

The stars are still white-hot, burning away some million miles above them.

"Thanks," he says, and puts his hand softly on Zane's shoulder. "I mean, I know - that all makes sense, I guess. It's just- I-"

"You want to?"

"Yeah," Jay starts, sighing, "I do. It's just- it's not just my choice. And I'm pretty much dying already right now, so, as fantastic as making it all worse sounds, hard pass."

Oops, maybe he shouldn't have said that last bit. They'd agreed not to tell anyone about it - even this conversation was cutting it way too close. It wasn't impossible for them to put everything together - they were a pretty smart group, after all, even without their resident inventor and engineer - and Jay didn't really know what he'd think if they did. Fearful? Relieved? Angry?

"That does... not sound great? Dying certainly does not seem-"

"It's called sarcasm, Zane."

"Oh- yes. My memory now accesses the fact that people often speak in that manner. It does seem a bit counterproductive, though. Why not just say what you mean?"

"Shut it, you have no clue how integral to my life it is," Jay replies with a halfhearted grin.

A few seconds later, he remembers something his friend had mentioned earlier, and the grin disappears.

"You know that you can talk to us if you're not happy, right?" he asks, earnestly. Sure, it's not like he could always do that, considering, well, a stupid djin and even stupider magic, but it's not like he needs to. It's- well- he'll be okay, probably. Maybe. Kinda.

Zane's eyes blink on and off again, blue fading in and out. "I... I suppose that I was not quite aware of that."

Okay, they've screwed up way too many times, but this... this is pretty bad. Dang it, how long does it take for them to throw self-preservation instincts at their friend before he freaking- picks them up or something?

"However, will it not hurt those who have experienced the same unfortunate events?"

Dude, not the best question to ask someone wondering the exact same thing-

"It's been... uh, nice, kind of, talking to you. So- I don't think so, and I'm pretty sure someone would say so if it did. Besides, don't we talk about our adventures all the time? It'd probably be better if we... uh, well- heh heh, nothing."

"If we talked about the less than positive elements of them? Perhaps, but I still-"

Maybe it's the fact Zane has always tried to be there for him, or maybe he's too sleep deprived to care anymore, but this is a way too familiar situation and-

Well, not ignoring the issue would be a start.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we're family, Zane. We care about each other. And, gosh, that means that we care about you too. Memories are stupid and annoying sometimes, but we have to make good ones too, right? To block out the bad ones a bit, I guess? Kinda, at least."

They both look away from the stars now, grappling for something else to say.

In the end, they leave it be with a hug and a fondly exasperated warning about sleeping, if you happen to need it.

After all, they're family. They don't have to be perfect, or tell each other everything - even if it does take them a long time to realize that, and an even longer time remembering it.

---

The next time Jay startles awake from a nightmare, the sky is still empty - painfully so, like an ache that simmers beneath the surface even when it's not able to be seen.

The hue, though, is a little lighter.

Just a little - the all-encompassing darkness of it is now a navy sort of blue, his star shining a little bit brighter.

It's still not sunrise, not even close - but he'll take it. AN: the ‘sky’ mentioned at the start and end is a stupid metaphor that i somehow ended up liking too much to trash, it’s ‘empty’ because he hasn’t told anyone about the timeline, and Nya’s not included because they never had a chance to tell each other everything significant or even talked about it or processed it on screen. so yeah! if you read this,,, not great thing, can i send you a hug or good vibes or smth? tyy🥺

#ninjago #jay walker #zane julien #skybound #ninjago fic #not the best thing i've written #actually it's not great- #but i spent too long on it to not post it so if you actually read to here i simunltaneously wanna send you good vibes & apologize profusely- #the ending is super rushed but im too tired to try and write a better one yay:/ #also dang it- sorry this fits the prompt so badly i- #i didn't realize till after oops #ninbingo #ninjago jay #ninjago zane #ninjago masters of spinjitzu

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Prey for You | Part 3

Genre: Smut, angst

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary:  You stay away from Chan after the night you stay at his place You stay away from his friends too. He doesn’t stay away though, coming over to your place uninvited like he had any right to. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, dom!reader, sub!chan, wolf!hybrid chan, fox!hybrid reader, edging, degradation, cum play and breeding kink, lots and lots of puppy/dog/mutt, really unheathly dynamics, chan begs for sex and has to be good to earn it

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5, Part 6

"How did you know where I live?"

 "I asked Hyunjin." He shrugs, pushing past you into your house. He looks around, sizing up the place and you know it’s not to his liking, even without the unimpressed frown on his face. 

"Wait, you asked your friend where I live? What if he figures out that Saint Chan likes slumming it down with the dirty fox?"

"It's not like that." He turns to you with frustration, "I just don't see a benefit to involving people in--"

"I don't care." You cut him off coldly and he clams up, looking like a kicked puppy. "What do you want?" 

He comes close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as if it was his place. "Missed you." He mumbles and tries to kiss you, but you push him back. 

"Missed my pussy, you mean." 

"Same thing. It’s not like you expect me to woo you." He says irritably, and he's right. You don’t expect him to come over with flowers and chocolate, begging for you to forgive him. But the dismissive way he says it--like you're not someone to woo--stings at you. 

“I didn’t say you can be here.”

“But I’ve been horny.” He whines, and you snap at him, "So go fuck your bitches. I'm sure they'll be happy to choke on your cock."

“But it’s not as good without your shrill voice calling me a dog.” He bites back, grabbing your jaw and pulling it close so your faces are inches apart. "Come on wasn't I good to you? Didn't I take care of you?" 

"Is that why you did it? So I'd let you put your dick inside me again?"

"No, I was being a gentleman, but I guess you don’t know what that’s like because you’ve always been a mean bitch."

"Wow, I’m swooning." You deadpan, and try to get out of his embrace but he just holds you tighter. “Well, you don’t like it when I’m nice and you don’t like it when I’m mean. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to fuck off.”

“Don’t lie. I can smell you.”

Damn him and his insane sense of smell. And damn your body and its constant betrayal. “That’s because I’m imagining slapping you across the face.”

“Is that what you want?” He asks seriously, “Because I’ll let you do it.” 

"You're pathetic."

“Just let me have you, baby. Come on, you want to be filled up. You can grab my hair and call me all the names you want. You can do anything you want to me. Just need your pussy."

Fuck.

You consider his words. He seems to really mean them, the wolf looking so desperate and needy, and you realize that this is your chance to have him completely under your control. 

“You’ll be good.” You state. It’s not a question, and he quickly nods.

“You’ll be obedient.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumps but he nods again. “I’ll be your good, obedient boy.”

____________

"Can I cum?"

"No." You retort like he was asking a dumb question, because he was. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked you that, and like each time before it, the answer is obviously No.

“Please.” He squirms, hips bucking up as he thrusts his dick in your hands. 

“No.” You put your hands on each of his thighs and push them down and out. “And keeps your legs open.”  

He whimpers, struggling to remain how you like him, but you know it’s just a matter of time before he starts thrusting up in your hand again. “Why are you teasing me like this?” 

“Because it’s fun.” You grin, moving your hand up and down his dick. "Do you want me to stop?"

He bites his lips but moans flow out of his mouth nonetheless. 

"Chan." You scold, tightening your grip on him which makes him gasp and throw his head back. "I asked you a question." 

"No." He whimpers, legs closing around your hand again. "Yes? I don't know."

You take your hand off of him, tearing a forlorn cry from him, his hips chasing after you. “You need to stop me when you get too excited, and not by closing your legs.” You scold, pinching the meat of his thigh.

"But, baby--" He coaxes sweetly, grabbing your hand and trying to get you to touch him again. “I really, really need it.”

Titling your head to the side, you slip your hand from his grip and reach out to brush your fingers through his hair instead. "I might get the puppy act after all. You are way more tolerable like this." Your hand catches in a knot in his hair and you force your fingers through, making him hiss in pain as his hair is pulled roughly. 

"I don't know what to do. Please don't tease me anymore." 

"I'll do what I fucking please, and you're gonna sit there like an obedient little dog and take it, won't you, baby?" You taunt, your nails raking up his chest and circling his nipples. "You're the one who begged me to fuck you after all."

Rubbing your thumb over his nipple, you let your other hand fall between his legs, starting to jerk him off again. "Look how red your dick is. Would you like me to put it in my mouth, soothe the ache a little?" You purr, kissing his neck.

He likes the sounds of that. "Oh, god, please yes. Want your mouth." 

You hum, kissing down his chest and stopping to pluck his nipple into your mouth, your tongue circling around the bud a few times before you pucker your lips and suck on it, just like you would his cock. Chan cries out and his hips shoot up, but he keeps his legs open just like you wanted. 

Moving lower, you continue pumping his dick as you kiss down his body, but the closer you get to his dick, the louder he gets, impatient moans falling from his lips as his hips buck up as if it would entice you to go faster. You know it’s getting too much for him when the hickey you suck low on his belly makes his dick twitch, and you pull off before he cums. 

"Why? You said you’d blow me." He wails, hips stuttering in vain as his hands reach out to claw at your skin, trying to pull you back. His hand grabs onto your hair and pulls your head down towards his crotch.

You push him to the bed and pin him down with your body. "You ungrateful mutt." You hiss, "Here I am, giving you all my attention and getting nothing in return and yet you're not satisfied.”

You know he could easily throw you off him and for a second you’re scared he will, subbing clearly a challenging new endeavor for him. But the grip he has on your waist is not challenging but imploring as he lays his head back on the pillow. “So come sit on my face.”

Your pussy clenches in need at the pure submission of his. He’s not being provocative, he’s genuinely trying to make it up to you. You turn around and climb up his body so that you’re straddling his mouth and facing his dick so you can still touch him. 

“Alright, puppy, earn it.” You lower yourself down on his face and he immediately puts his mouth to work. You sigh, grabbing his dick and stroking it. "Yeah, that's it, baby." 

Despite his neediness, he is attentive as he eats you out, his tongue gliding deliberately up and down your dripping slit, the vibrations of his moans adding to the wonderful sensations he is eliciting. 

"That's a good dog." You moan, getting a bit distracted as you impatiently rub yourself against his mouth. "You're so good with your mouth. I should put a muzzle on you and only take it off when I want your mouth on my pussy."

He moans loudly at that, his tongue flicking up and pushing inside your hole. 

“Shit!” You gasp, your hand stopping and wrapping tightly around his dick as he starts thrusting his tongue in and out. "You really like that, huh? You won't have to be good to anyone else anymore, only me. Won't that be so much easier, baby boy?" 

Finding it hard to concentrate on jerking him off with his tongue buried in your pussy, you take turns sliding your hands up his dick, your grip tight, and each time your hand glides off his slick head, his hips chase after it, only for you to push them down and grab the base of his dick with your other hand to repeat the motion. 

Soon, even that is too much and he can barely focus on eating you out as his dick flushes and jerks in your hand. You quickly cease your movement and wrap your fist tightly around the base of his cock to staunch his release. He thrusts his hips up, trying to pump his dick in your hand so he can get that final push but your grip is too tight, and you use your other hand to slap his thigh near his dick, making his hips immediately fall back to the bed and killing his orgasm.

“What did I say, dog?” You snarl, digging your nails into his thighs and lifting yourself off his face. “You’re supposed to warn me when you get close.” 

He pulls his knees together, trying to protect his cock but you yank them apart again. “I said keep your legs open, slut.”  

He whines, pulling you down so he can lap at you pussy like a little puppy, and plunges his fingers into you. 

“Shit! That’s it, slut. Forget about your stupid cock and focus on me.” 

Flattening his tongue against your clit, his other hand grabs your ass and moves your body over his face, rubbing your pussy on his tongue and nose. It doesn’t take long for the combined stimulation of his fingers and mouth to throw you over the edge, and your legs shake as you cum, your body falling forward and face nestling against his hip. You bite down on the sensitive skin there as your orgasm racks through you, which only drives Chan more insane. He lightly ruts his hips up, humping the air next to your face. 

"I've been good." His voice is hoarse as he pleads with you. "Please let me cum, baby. You won’t have to do much, just a couple of strokes, that’s all I need."

Regaining your breath, you press your hands to his hips to hold them down and push yourself up. You get off his face and straddle his waist instead, facing him once again. You lower yourself down a little bit, just so your pussy is barely brushing against his cock that stands erect over his belly, and you both shudder. 

"Please." He mumbles quietly, voice broken as you start sliding along his cock, coating it in your arousal. You reach up to cup his face, your thumb wiping your wetness that was coating his lips along his cheek. “You think you’ve earned it, dog?” 

“Yes.” He answers, his impudent hands back on your body, pressing you against him more. “I made you cum, didn’t I? I deserve to cum too.” 

“Wow, just for being so entitled, I might not let you cum at all.” You retort, sitting up again and tearing a whine out of him, his hands digging into your ass. 

“No, no, no.” Suddenly all his confidence leaves him as his hips buck up to make up for the distance you put between you so that his cock is once again sliding between your wet lips.  "Please let me cum….oh please---ah ah---please--" 

“Stay.” You hiss, grabbing his neck and pressing down. But he doesn’t let up. If anything, his thrusts get more frantic as his hands pull at your ass cheeks to more easily access your pussy. He is getting too riled up so you quickly intervene, pulling off of him and slapping his dick, eliciting a shocked cry from him. 

Suddenly, you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you. You try to struggle against him but he easily keeps you down. 

“Fuck, why did you do that?”

“You said I could slap you.” You reply defiantly, a little scared by the large wolf pinning you to the bed. 

“My face! I meant you can slap my face.” He growls, burying his face in your neck. One of his hands nudges your legs apart before he pushes them all the way open with his knees and settles between them, his dick laying heavily on your pussy. “I should fuck you dumb just for that.” 

“No.” You muster up all the force you can put in your tone. "You will do no such thing.” 

“But you’ve played with me enough, don’t you think?” He pants, laving open mouthed kisses against your neck.

“You don’t get to decide that, mutt.” You gasp as his mouth moves to your breasts. “If you won’t be good then you can leave.” 

Whining stubbornly, he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times before he pulls back with pop, leaving your now wet nipple to the cold room air as he falls back to the bed where he was. 

You take a moment to compose yourself, but when you’re over him again, you realize why you’d come so close to being overruled and fucked senseless when his glistening eyes greet yours. It was getting too much for him to bear and he was reaching his limit. You have to end it soon.

Grabbing his hands, you pin them over his head and leaning down to get close to his face. "Are you gonna cry, Channie?" 

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, holding his breath and refusing to give you what you want. It’s okay, you’ll get it out of him. You grab his dick and sit back, pressing the head of it against your pussy as you start moving it up and down your slit, masturbating yourself with his dick. 

His eyes tear open and he writhes beneath you. "Please, I can't. It's too much. Need to be inside you." His lip trembles, “Please, no one has ever done this to me before. I can't do this anymore. Let me fuck you properly." 

"You're gonna cry because I won't let you put your dick inside me? I knew you were a spoiled little pup but this is just sad." You jeer and he withers under your pitying tone. “I’m sorry. It’s hard.” 

“I know, puppy.” You coo, pushing his cock his cock against his stomach and rubbing your pussy against it. “But you acted out and you don’t get to fuck me anymore. Bad behavior shouldn’t be encouraged.”

“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise.” He pleads, his hands on your thighs once again. You sigh, not even bothering to remove them. “You disappoint me, mutt.” 

“Please, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.” You push your fingers inside his mouth, “You cum from this or you don’t cum at all.” 

He pouts but sucks on your fingers nonetheless as you quicken your pace. With your other hand you rub tight circles on his nipple and he chokes on your fingers. “You like when I do that, slut? Are your tits sensitive?” You laugh, sliding up and down his cock easily, aided by how wet you were, and you can see his cock start to leak. 

Chan grabs your wrist and yanks your fingers out of his mouth, strings of saliva falling on his cheek. “You’re the fucking worst.” 

“I know, puppy.” You laugh and grab his face, digging your wet fingers into his cheek. “But you’ll cum for me, won’t you, little doggie? Come on, I want you to do it. Cum all over yourself for me.” 

“Fuck you. Fuck you. F-fuck…” Chan grunts, body stiffening as he cums. Ropes of white shoot from his cock over his abdomen and chest as he pants and writhes. You scoop some of it with your fingers and rub it over his nipple, laughing in delight at his state. 

Eyes red, he asks tightly.  "Can I fuck you now?"

"Didn't you cum already?"

The tears finally fall from his eyes as he shakes his head. "Not enough. Need to cum inside you. Need to fill you up."

You stare him down. "Say you're my dirty little dog"

"I'm your dirty little dog." He repeats automatically. 

"Goood boy." You coo, grabbing his dick and putting it against your entrance. "Who's your master?"

"You are." 

"That's right. I can make a good boy out of you yet." You slowly take him in, taking extra care to not do it too fast or you won’t be able to walk straight for days. You’ve been so drenched though and with his cum and your juices, it’s not too hard to take him. 

You take a deep breath to steel yourself when you bottom out before you pull his hands to your waist. “Go ahead, baby.”

“Thank you.” He breaths, raising your hips up and thrusting into you from underneath frantically, too eager to get his orgasm to take it slow. He won’t last long, and at the angle he’s fucking you, you won’t either. You grab onto his arms as your whole body shakes from the thrusts and your knees buckle.   

“Can I cum inside you?”

“Why should I let you?”

“I need it.” 

“Oh, you need it?” You mock, clenching around him. “Puppy can’t settle down unless he fucks his cum into someone?”

“Yes.” He nods earnestly, not even trying to deny it. “Need to mark you.” 

“You think I’ll be yours if you stuff your cum into my pussy?” You laugh. “Cum inside me then, Channie. Let’s see if you can claim me.”

Your words are clearly mocking but they spur him on nonetheless, his hips fervently jerking up and down so he can give you his load. Helping yourself, you slip a hand between your legs and stroke your clit. It only takes a few brushes for you to clamp down on his dick, milking his cock as you cum. 

“Ahh---yeah, take my cum, baby. Fuck!” Chan cries, emptying himself into you, and you can almost again cum from how he looks under you, furrowed brows framing teary eyes as he concentrates on pushing every last drop into your pussy as if his life depended on it.  “Almost---fuck...ah, baby.” 

His hips stutter to a stop as he lets out a deep breath and falls back to the bed. Your eyes meet each other for a second before he drapes his arm over his face, breathing heavily and trying to collect himself. Despite your dislike of him, you know it would be unfair to let him deal with this on his own, especially since he took good care of you when the roles were reversed. 

Pulling his arm off, you cradle his face and stroke his cheeks until he opens his eyes and looks at you. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Y-eah...yeah!” He shrugs, acting nonchalant

“You did great.” You say awkwardly, the words so foreign on your tongue when they’re directed at him, but they still feel right. He was exceptionally good for you considering it was his first time fully subbing and you didn’t go easy on him.  

“Thanks.” He mumbles sheepishly, not knowing how to act. You understand, it's much easier being the one in charge. It makes you feel in control of the situation, less vulnerable.

“Would you like to take a bath?”

“Not really, I’m beat. You really fucked me up." He laughs. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so hard on you."

He shakes his head. "No, it’s okay. I kinda needed that, just to shut off and stop thinking. I'm sorry I couldn't be better.” He breathes, looking you in the eyes. “Me crying doesn't really help your view of me, does it?"

You tilt your head in confusion and he clarifies. "That I'm an impotent, weak predator?"

"Oh," You acknowledge awkwardly. "Isn't that how a sub is supposed to act though?"

"Right." He clips back, lips pressing into a thin line that brings out his right dimple. It’s funny, you didn’t realize they can show up when he’s upset too. 

Clearing your throat, you stand up. "I’ll go get something to clean you up.”

He tilts his head, indicating that he heard you but doesn’t look at you as you leave to grab a towel and some warm water to wipe him off. 

When you come back to the room, you find him almost fully dressed. 

"Hey, where are you going?" You exclaim, putting the towel and bowl of water down and rush towards him. 

"Home." He grunts simply, still not looking at you. 

"But you just said you’re beat."

"And now I’m fine. Would you look at that?" He mutters darkly, pulling his shirt on. 

Disconcerted and not wanting him to leave, you get in his way and put your hands against his chest. “Stay.”

He laughs mirthlessly, "That's not going to work when there is no treat."

“No, don’t do that.” You cup his face in your hands and lean close, looking more deeply into his eyes than you ever had. You hesitate--It’s going to stupid coming from you and he probably won’t even believe it. But you gather your courage and say it anyway. “Stay and I’ll take care of you. You… you can trust me.”

He stares back into your eyes, and you force yourself to keep eye contact. You know he’s looking for a reason to believe you, and that is more than anyone has ever done for you so you let him.

After eons pass for all you could tell, he steps away from you, and your heart falls to your stomach. Of course he wouldn’t trust you. No one ever did so why would he of all people? 

Through your blurry eyes, you could barely see him sit on the bed and lie back down. 

“What, you’re just gonna stand there?” 

You blink. He stayed. 

In a daze, you retrieve the bowl and towel and join him, dipping the towel in the warm water and gently wiping the sweat and cum off his body, still not believing that he’s there. When a small sigh flutters from his lips, your eyes snap to his and you softly ask, “Does that feel better?” 

“Yeah. It’s nice.” He hums, “You’re... nice. I didn’t expect that.”

You snort, the tension leaving your body at the remark. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” He proclaims, throwing his head back on the pillow and looking at you through squinted eyes. “I’m getting used to it.” 

A smile curls your lips and you quickly lower your face down to hide it behind your hair. 

_______________________

"But Mr. Lee, can't you give me one more week?" You ask desperately. "I know but I have no place to go. Please, Mr----son of a bitch!" You scream, throwing the phone on the bed in rage, where it lands near a groggy Chan. 

“Hey, what's wrong?” He asks slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You’re so angry, you don’t even stop to think who you’re talking to, just exploding with your need to rant. "My fucking landlord is kicking me out." 

"Why?" He sits up, concerned. 

"Because my stupid roommate left to move in with her boyfriend and I haven't been able to find someone else and it’s not like I can foot the whole bill on my own but my landlord doesn’t care because he is a heartless, greedy monster who would eat the devil’s ass for some money so he’s kicking me out to the fucking streets!" 

Chan blinks slowly, absorbing everything you just said. 

"I don't have a roommate." He says, and your blood pressure spikes even higher. "Yeah, I know. Now is not the time to flex on me.”

“No! I just mean... you could come stay with me until you find a place."

His suggestion throws you off so much that you stop worrying for a second and burst out laughing. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

He frowns at your dismissal. “I’m serious.”

"Dude, you hate my guts!”

“I don’t! You hate my guts.” He clarifies, frown deepening when you just shrug.

“Whatever. You know very well I can't afford to pay you rent."

"You won't have to pay a penny." 

You reel back, furious at the implication of his words. “Am I that pathetic to you that you want to give me charity?”

“It’s not charity. It’s helping out a friend.” He counters once again, exasperated. 

“We’re not friends.” You shut him down. 

“Just think about it.” He tries to convince you but you’ll have none of it. “No. I’m not gonna become another one of you philanthropic deeds. Saint Chan rescues dirty fox from the streets? No, thank you.”

"No one has to know.” 

“Why? What do you gain from this?” You screech at him, feeling inadequate and vulnerable. After everything, he still thinks of you as inferior. At least before he afforded you the dignity of not pitying you. 

"Nothing!” He barks back, frustrated. “I literally just want to help you, you stupid bitch." 

“Wow." You scoff, grabbing his clothes and throwing them at him. “Get out of my house.” 

“It won’t be your house much longer.” He sneers back at you, angrily putting on his clothes. “Maybe I should buy it off your landlord and make it a dump. It’s already halfway there.” 

“You fucking bastard.” You scream, pushing him. “Get the fuck out!” 

_____________

A/N:

idiots continuing to be idiots. anyway leave me a message uwu

#chan smut #bangchan smut #stray kids smut #bangchan angst #sub!idol #dom!reader #stray kids angst

[deniigi]

I love the fic you showed on Luke, Han, Chewie being kidnapped by the trio- I would love to see more! Is there a chance we might see that fic or sections of it? I hope you are having a great day!

You may see more sections of it! It’s like 30k because I have zero self control sometimes, so idk if I will post the whole thing, but snippets I can do!

I wrote a fuckin’ hilarious bit where Han tells Paz that Luke’s got a crush on Din. Paz thinks about Din’s sexuality for .05 seconds and immediately has an anxiety attack that Din feels like he’s got to hide his queerness.

He brings it up with Din, who promptly astral projects in embarrassment.

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

This was a reconnaissance mission now. One which Luke was again having fun on. With Djarin refusing to speak to his comrade, Luke wriggled right into the place he’d left behind and started agitating again. He goaded Djarin and Fett that he could shave hours off the current course time. Han and Chewie hung back and strategically did not back up a damn thing he said.

Paz, uncomfortable to be on any ship that was not his own, clutched at his fingers and watched Luke chasing Djarin like an underfoot puppy in concern.

“What does he want from Din?” he asked Han and Chewie quietly.

Han blinked slowly.

“He’s got a crush,” he said.

Paz’s helmet managed to blanch.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“Yeah, your boy’s ticking every one of Luke’s boxes, I’m afraid,” Han said while Chewie snickered. “He’s already decided on a destination wedding.”

Paz rubbed a few knuckles under the edge of his helmet and looked away.

“I dunno if the Armorer’s gonna be cool with that,” he said.

Han snorted.

“Armor isn’t strong enough for him, he’s got mind powers,” he said.

Paz’s helmet turned slightly back towards him.

“The Armorer is Din’s parent,” he said. “She leads the teachings at our covert.”

AHA. Orthodox. Han had it now. Djarin was a preacher’s son.

“I don’t know what that means,” Paz said.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Han told him sympathetically. “It’s okay, though. People are more tolerant than you think.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” Paz repeated.

“You will,” Han soothed, “You will.”

--

 It was an hour before Paz blurted out, “Wait you mean he’s gay?” and Han almost cried, he was laughing so hard.

--

 This was supposed to be a hostage situation, but Paz was making this trip a pleasure cruise. He’d gotten about fourteen thousand times more awkward around both Luke and Djarin anytime they passed by. Luke had caught onto this with interest.

Han did nothing to stop him. He and Chewie finally had entertainment after hours and hours of torture.

Paz inched away.

“I’m happy for you,” he told Luke. “It’s fine.”

Luke cocked his head at him and got closer.

“No, man. Not me, sorry,” Paz said. “You got—you got Din. He’s—well, honestly the last I saw him he was like, fifteen and sort of scrawny, but you know he’s probably grown a couple muscles by now.”

Luke lit up.

“I know, he picked me up,” he said.

Paz vibrated.

“Mm-hm,” he said.

“Do you think he likes me?” Luke asked him.

Paz vibrated so hard his armor nearly started knocking against itself.

“He’s really into ancient Tusken shit,” he said. “Ask him about ancient Tusken shit.”

Luke’s eyes couldn’t get any wider or rounder. Any more of this and his pupils would start dilating, too.

“Copy that,” he said, then vanished.

Chewie whimpered and wiped tears from his eyes. Han leaned into his side and grinned so wide his face hurt.

--

 Luke took to flattening himself against the cockpit door and serenading Djarin in the other side with pleas for information about Ancient Tusken culture. Djarin was understandable baffled. He smelled a rat and refused to be forthcoming with any new knowledge.

That made Luke caterwaul louder until Fett had enough of him and locked Djarin out of the cockpit too, with instructions to ‘silence the Jedi before I do permanently.’

Djarin was now stuck out here with the rest of them. He crouched in front of Luke and they had a staring contest for a good two minutes before Djarin got up and sighed.

“You have so much energy,” he said. “No wonder Grogu likes you.”

Luke rocketed up to stand next to him proudly.

“I don’t sleep most nights,” he said.

Djarin studied him.

“I see that,” he said.

“Han and Leia say that I’m a ‘hostile’ bedpartner when I do,” Luke said with finger quotes for Djarin’s benefit.

Djarin, Han swore, was trying to think of a polite way to say, ‘Sir, I think you’re at breaking point.’ But instead he said, ‘do you like tea?’ to which Luke said, ‘absolutely not.’ Djarin told him that he had a great tea for him to try and was thereafter followed into the Falcon’s kitchenette around the corner.

Paz, in the meantime, was absolutely shitting himself. No longer able to avoid this conversation with Djarin.

“I think it’s cute,” Han goaded with Chewie nudging his ribs the whole time.

“The Armorer will not approve,” Paz insisted.

--

 Djarin had done the impossible: he’d put Luke to sleep. He delicately removed the mug of (possible sleep medication) tea from Luke’s unconscious deathgrip and asked Han where the used dishware went. That was thoughtful. Han told him to just stick it any damn place around the sink and he or Chewie would get to it.

He did and then came back to settle in next to Paz. Paz visibly experienced a rainbow of emotions. Djarin didn’t notice a single one of them. Instead, he crossed his legs and held the orange tips of one hand in the orange tips of the other.

“I wanted to apologize, Paz,” he said. “After what you’ve sacrificed for me and the kid, I should have been more grateful.”

“D—don’t mention it,” Paz stammered. “It’s—it’s the Way.”

“It is the Way,” Djarin agreed. “I think I was afraid of how to face all of you afterwards.”

Han could hear Paz’s internal scream from here.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll bet you, uh, did. It—it wasn’t the first time, was it?”

Djarin sat up a little straighter.

“No. How did you know?” he asked.

Paz shivered.

“Just a feeling,” he said. “You know, uh. Din. You don’t have to be ashamed of anything, right? You’re—you’re like my little brother. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or anyone say anything to you. Okay?”

Awwwwwwwww.

Djarin looked up into Paz’s visor.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“What? No. I’m. I’m saying, that if you ever had something you wanted to tell me, or you know, any of us. We’re always here to listen,” Paz said. “And to support you.”

Djarin’s silver helmet tilted worriedly.

“I already did,” he said.

“GREAT,” Paz said. “Perfect. You’re doing amazing.”

Djarin pulled back, officially disturbed.

“Right,” he said slowly. “So I’m gonna—”

“Listen, kid,” Paz said, grabbing the strap between Djarin’s chest and back plates and dragging him back down to sitting. “Think about your parent.” He took Djarin’s hand from where he was actively trying to escape and held it in a firm, masculine grip. “She loves you, you know that.”

“Paz, I’m panicking,” Djarin said outloud.

“And she was so happy for you to have a foundling,” Paz carried on like plough. “So she’s gonna be happy for you, no matter what.”

Djarin could not pull his hand out of Paz’s grip, and boy was he trying. He’d started a cool descent to the floor, he was trying so hard.

“I know,” he grated out.

“But a jedi, Din?”

“He can’t help it, man,” Djarin said, still struggling almost on his back now. “You said it yourself. It’s a born-with-it thing.”

Paz stared forcefully at his knuckles.

“You’re right,” he said, letting out a slow breath. “But if that’s how it gonna be, you really should propose first.”

Djarin’s helmet somehow managed to emote ‘shock’ on the ground there.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked. “I barely knew her.”

“Her?” Paz asked, then caught himself. “Sorry, sorry. Not my business—”

“It was like, a week at most—”

“Not my business.”

“And yeah, she had a great kid and—”

“Wait, wait, hold up,” Paz said. “Who are you talking about?”

Djarin stared.

“My friend? From Sorgen?” he said. “Who are you talking about?”

Paz went very still.

“You’re fuckin’ some gal on Sorgen?” he asked.

“No?” Djarin said. “I mean. She wanted to, and I thought about it, but it was only a week, and I didn’t want her to feel like I’d used her only for—who are you talking about?”

“The jedi,” Paz said, pointing at Luke’s languid, curled up self on the table’s bench.

“Why would I be fucking the jedi?” Djarin asked. “He’s my son’s teacher, Paz.”

“Because he’s crushing on you?” Paz asked, equally upset and confused. “And you’re gay, so?”

“I’m what?”

“Gay????”

“I am??”

Han was crying. Han was sobbing.

These idiots were days of comedy. Look at them go. Look at ‘em spin.

“Din, please. You don’t have to fake it. I support you—”

“I didn’t ask for your support?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m picking up some strong feelings. And I don’t want you to think that—”

“Paz, what I want more than anything for you to do right now is to stop thinking. I’m not gay.”

Paz pressed a hand against his helmet like he was in physical pain.

“But the way you always looked at Teyo,” he said.

Djarin had a tiny stroke and slammed his fist into Paz’s arm.

“DON’T MENTION—”

“What the FUCK, brat?”

“HOW DARE YOU—”

“Why’re you yellin’ at me now??”

“Why’re you bringing up some childhood shit, haven’t we done enough of that already?”

“Why’re you so mad? I’m tryin’ to be supportive. If you wanna fuck the Jedi, fuck the Jedi. I’m just sayin’ maybe don’t tell the Armorer until after you’ve done it, so she doesn’t think you’re under some kinda mind-trick or somethin’, alright?”

Han no longer needed those helmets. He had these characters down. Djarin was gaping now. In shock and offense.

“Never speak to me again,” he decided.

“Bro,” Paz said.

“NO.”

“Karkin’ hell, Din. What’s your problem?”

“Excuse me, I must drown, where are your facilities?” Djarin asked Han directly.

“Round the corner, on the left,” Han told him.

“No, no, no,” Paz said, grabbing Djarin by the cape and dragging him back. “We gotta talk about this. We gotta process.”

“I’m not processing shit with you,” Djarin said. “I am not fucking the jedi.”

“But you want to,” Paz deduced.

“I—what? Wh—do you want me to have relations with him? Did I miss something?” Djarin asked.

“I want you to feel supported,” Paz said.

“I don’t. I feel targeted,” Djarin said. “Stop targeting me.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

“Good. Let go.”

“But if—”

“Paz, I’m going to behead myself.”

“If you do want to have sex with the jedi, later. That’s fine. Or anyone else. That’s fine, too.”

“BOBA.”

Behold. A breaking point.

--

#fic #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian #I literally just want to write Din and Paz fighting and being secretly protective of each other 24/7 #idk if that's been made clear yet #do you think I'm being too subtle? #ficlet

[nicco-needs-love]

Back with the last two chapters! Quick warning, this is the chapter with a quick description of gore! It's short and it's not a canon character <3 y'all are so sweet omg- this is a looong one. Pretty sure it's around 4k .

(2/3)Red Proposal

"Ooooh isn't this exciting?! We're going to a wedding! God, this is awesome!"

"Shut up, rat! If I hear one more word about this damn thing we aren't  going!"

"Awww, come on, angel baby! This is an exciting day for everyone! I mean, we could take some pointers from this-"

"Shut up!"

Hyde is silenced by a pillow slamming against his face. Licht huffs, getting off their bed and stomping into their bathroom.

Hyde laughs, peeling the pillow off his face. He can't help but be excited, it's a wedding! Especially since it's a wedding for one of his siblings, most shockingly is Ildio getting married! Hyde is a sucker for weddings, the most romantic day of someone's life. Well, it's been about ten days out of Hyde's life, he tries not to think about that. He got up hours ago, already getting ready for Ildio's wedding. There's a dress code, obviously fancy attire, the really interesting thing though is that the wedding theme is all white. Hyde finds it ironic, a vampire and a mafia boss, having an all white wedding. Honestly it's a beautiful thing.

"Angelllll…! Don't leave me alone! I wanna cuddle~!"

"Oh my fucking god Hyde!"

Licht kicks open the bathroom door, clearly 'irritated'. Hyde laughs, his arms wide open for a well deserved cuddle session.

"Pleaseee!  Baby!"

Licht huffs, not in the mood to argue about this. He thinks that Hyde may actually need this. Licht doesn't ask about Hyde's past, it's a touchy subject for obvious reasons. The only time he really hears about it is during Hyde's emotional occasional rants. He knows that Hyde has been married multiple times, which is something that many people do, it's completely normal. However, multiple marriages don't have the same circumstances as Hyde's. Licht can understand that today can be an emotional day. So, he decided a few nights ago, when they got the wedding invitation and when Hyde started crying; that Licht would be much more tolerable to Hyde's antics. He lies down in Hyde's arms, Licht's face against Hyde's shoulder.

"There. Happy now?"

Hyde hums, laying his head on top of Licht's, smiling into his hair.

"Mhm. Very."

Unfortunately for Licht, he's very comfortable. This is a daily occurrence, much to Licht's 'dismay'. He's gotten used to Hyde's emotional swings, between being completely neurotic and bursting into tears. These little moments, usually last around ten minutes, are a highlight of Licht's day. No one would ever hear those words from his mouth, though.

"Y'know… I'm kinda worried for Wor and his Eve. Their wedding isn't gonna be public but it's much more public than I thought they were gonna do."

"What do you mean? It's a wedding, not a cult ritual. "

"No, no, I mean anyone could show up. I still remember Child's look when he found out there would be another wedding. I don't think he himself would do anything but his subclass? I'm not too sure."

"I think you're thinking too much into it, why would he even want to ruin a day like that? If it's not meant to be, they'll just divorce."

Hyde goes silent for a moment, mulling over not Licht's words, but Hugh's. Hugh would keep glancing over at Hyde while talking about how marriage doesn't work for Servamps. That it's just a painful thing for both of them. Hyde knows that Hugh was talking to Ildio, but the words felt directed at him. Even though he doesn't think about her anymore, it's a topic that will never be let go during meetings.

"Hey, it's rare for you to shut up."

Licht's words drag Hyde out of his thoughts. 

"Aha, sorry angel, just started thinking."

"Well. Stop thinking about other things, start thinking about me, an angel. "

Licht can feel Hyde smile against his head.

"Yeah, you're right, angel. You're the best to think about."

Hyde shouldn't be thinking about the negative things, especially on such a joyful day. He just can't help it. So much negativity has happened in the lives of the Servamps. Why would luck grace any of them today?

"This is going to be the best day of my life… this is going to be the best day of my life this is-" 

Niccolò keeps repeating that mantra in his head, it's not that he doesn't think this will be the best day of his life. He's just cripplingly worried and anxious about this day. What if he messes up? What if he falls down on his face while walking down the aisle? What if Ildio decides that's it, he doesn't want to get married? What if-

"Boss. Are you alright?"

Nicco looks over to Cappuccino, snapping out of yet another one of his worry sessions.

"Ah, I'm fine. Just… worrying."

"Shouldn't you-"

A knock on the door startles Niccolò, the door opens slowly.

"Sorry to interrupt, I just would like to have a conversation with Niccolò Carpe Diem."

The door completely opens, revealing a man that Niccolò doesn't know. By the look of the suit, he's most likely a member of another family. Nicco swallows heavily, feeling somewhat nervous at the sight of this. He takes a few steps forward, offering his hand to the stranger. In the corner of his eye, Nicco can see Cappuccino with a hand in his shirt, where everyone keeps their guns holstered. 

"Nice to meet you."

The stranger takes his hand, shaking it quite enthusiastically. 

"It's a pleasure to finally meet the new leader of the family! I knew your father, he was a wonderful man."

Niccolò raises a brow, giving a small smile. This man certainly caught Nicco off guard. He thought he knew everyone back when Father was alive. As he was ill for a long time, Nicco had met everyone within his father's social circle since he was going to inherit the family. With shame, Nicco thinks that he could not be paying enough attention to the events of other familiar families. He's done a decent job gaining all their trust but all of that could go away at any moment, it's a terrifying thought to Niccolò. 

"R-really? Well, it's wonderful to meet you again. You're welcome to stay if you'd like. This is a personal event and I don't think we've been in contact so this may be an awkward situation. "

The man shakes his head, still holding Nicco's hand. Nothing seems wrong with the man, his tone and presence seem harmless. Still, Nicco is on edge.

"What personal event is it? I just wanted to meet the new kingpin after your father's passing."

Niccolò drops the man's hand, the term 'kingpin' catching his attention. It's a word that Nicco hasn't heard in a long time. Especially in the business he's in, that word is very much a buzzword, a word that isn't used kindly. If this man actually knows the family, then that word would not be used.

"Forgive my rudeness but, which family are you a part of?"

The man smiles,

"Serpente."

Niccolò freezes, blood running cold. This family name… Nicco remembers it far too well, they were the first family that Nicco spared. He spared their boss, thinking that family would leave the city. Instead… They set aflame the building where a child and parents of a very close family of Nicco's. To this day, Niccolò still tears himself apart about it. If only he had shot that boss… He tenses, not too sure how to continue the conversation-

"Anyway, what event is going on today?"

Before Niccolò can even speak, the Serpente family member speaks. Nicco isn't sure he should even tell this man. However, if he acts suspicious now, things could go horribly wrong.

"It's uh… today's my wedding."

"Your wedding!? Well, who's the lucky lady?"

Nicco goes quiet, not sure what to say to this. For the few people that know about this wedding, they're fine with it. Not many people even need to know anyway, marriage isn't going to affect his job, and that's the most important thing. There's also the fact this marriage is complicated, it isn't a 'conventional' wedding. A gay marriage, a gay marriage with an immortal vampire and notorious mafia boss.

"Uhm… Well, I'm marrying a man. I'd say I'm the lucky one."

Niccolò chuckles, trying his damndest to add some humor. He isn't sure who this man is, besides the name… His hands are uncomfortably clammy, he's getting increasingly nervous by the moment. The man gives Nicco a look. A look that Nicco can place from looks he has seen in the church. Years of flashbacks, years of self loathing, years of tears. All of that from one glare. Niccolò takes a small step back, the step signaling Cappuccino to get a grip on his gun. Nicco doesn't want to start a fight, especially today. He already had started getting ready for the wedding. He was going to be the one walking down the aisle. Already in his white suit. The last thing Nicco wants is to get into a fight with the stranger, getting either his own blood or this man's everywhere.

"I see… Well, I hope you have a wonderful wedding! I'd love to stay for the ceremony! I'll be back for the meals!"

The man laughs, walking right out where he came. Niccolò blinks, he sighs loudly, tension leaving his shoulders like a boulder. 

"Grazie Dio…"

He comments, shoulders slumping down.

"Did he say he was a part of… Serpente?"

Cappuccino says hesitantly, not sure if he heard right. Nicco nods, rubbing his temple. 

"Yes… I'm not sure he was telling the truth…"

Niccolò knows he shouldn't let this get to him, it could have just been a new boss wanting to make amends with Nicco. Yet, here he is, getting freaked out and very weary of what just happened. 

"This is going to be the best day of my life… This is going to be the best day of my life."

"Ohhh this is so exciting oh my god! You're getting married!"

"Law, shut up."

The wedding just began. Ildio waiting at the altar, the best men and women of both grooms on each side of the altar. Ironically, a priest at the forefront of said altar. It's a beautiful sight, everyone all dressed in white suits and dresses. White chiffon curtains tied to trees, white rose petals scattered throughout the grounds, a gorgeous pearl white five-tier cake, it's a stunning scene. All the chairs filled with people, there aren't many chairs, a grand total of twelve. The Servamps are standing with Ildio, the best men, and one woman. Even Hugh showed up, it took a lot of convincing but he ended up showing up. Of course, when he did, Hyde gave Hugh a long talk about saying anything negative today. Surprisingly, he agreed and even apologized. Their Eves are all sitting down in the pure white chairs. The other chairs filled with Niccolò's family. Ildio even got to meet Niccolò's sister, who looks uncannily similar to Nicco. She's a very kind person, can't hold a candle to the kind heart or beauty of Niccolò, but still a very kind and lovely person.

The only thing the wedding is missing is Niccolò. Ildio can't help but be excited for this. A moment that he never thought he would ever experience in his life. Or even want to experience. Yet, here he is, wanting to marry Niccolò, wanting to spend as much time with him as he possibly can. It could be the romantic movies that Hyde would make Ildio watch when those movies were all the rage. Ildio can't wait to see Nicco walk down the aisle, to see his beautiful face. It's almost comical how much Ildio has changed, gone is the man who only wanted food and blood. Well, he still needs both of them, those things just aren't the only things he thinks about now.

A quiet song starts to play in the background, a song that Ildio knows very well from long drives together with Niccolò. La storia infinita. If the couple were to have a song, this would be it. The song is slower than usual, the lyrics accompanied by a soft piano. 

Then… There he is. The man that Ildio is helplessly in love with. Niccolò Carpe Diem. He always looks beautiful but today… Today he looks ethereal. It's ironic because Nicco always calls Ildio his God but here, Nicco is the one who looks like an Adonis. He's wearing a pure white suit, fitting him perfectly in all the right places, the cuffs of his coat and pants are a delicate lace. Nicco's long, beautiful hair is placed in a low bun. A sheer, delicate lace veil covers Niccolò's face. The last detail, the thing that makes him look even more stunning is a dark green rose in his suit pocket. Ildio has no words; their song playing quietly in the background, Niccolò looking like a God walking down the aisle. Ildio can't help the tears starting to roll down his face. He can't name a time that he's ever cried happy tears, or cried ever.

Niccolò continues walking up the aisle, the beautiful song picks up in sound, right as Nicco reaches the altar. He can't believe it. This is the day he's getting married. Getting married to Ildio of all people. It's not that Nicco didn't think he would ever fall in love. The thing is, he never thought anyone would love him back. Niccolò never thought that someone would care enough about him emotionally or romantically. Yet, here he is, getting married to the man he is hopelessly in love with. Nicco knows that he won't live forever, it's a horrible thing to think about, that one day, he'll die and leave Ildio behind.

The preacher starts speaking, reading from a holy book; going silent for each of them to recite their vows.

"I, Niccolò Carpe Diem, take thee, World End, Ildio, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till…"

Niccolò goes silent for a moment, thinking about this word. 'Till death do us part.' Nicco isn't sure he wants to say that, he feels like it would be disrespectful to Ildio because death will do them part… Except Nicco is the only one who'll die.

Ildio grabs one of Niccolò's hands, rubbing the inside of his palm, as if telling Nicco it's okay. At this point, tears are running down both of their faces, tears of extreme joy, but tears nonetheless. They aren't the only ones either. Almost everyone in the ceremony is reduced to tears.

"-Till death do us part. According to my beliefs, I hereby pledge to you my eternal love."

Ildio inhales, he can't believe he's hearing these words. These words that he's thought about hearing from Niccolò's mouth many times. Actually hearing them is an entirely different thing. He didn't expect a slight crack at some of the words, Nicco shakily inhaling from tears. Nor did Ildio expect Nicco to stop in the middle of the vows, as if asking to continue with the last few verses. 

"I, World End, Ildio, take you, Niccolò Carpe Diem, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for rich and for poor, in sickness and health, to love and cherish until… Until death do us part. I pledge to you all my love."

Ildio turns red after finishing his vows. He missed a few things, he tried to memorize the vows but he couldn't help getting lost looking at Niccolò. The lines about death taste sour in his mouth. He wants to just forget about the fact that he's a Servamp. That one day he'll outlive his precious Nicco. For now, all Ildio can do is hope to ignore it.

"Is there anyone who wishes to object to this holy, wonderful matrimony?"

Silence. Nicco had turned his head for just a moment to see if anyone was going to say anything, he turns back to Ildio, smiling. Ildio grabs the ring that he picked out, picking up Niccolò's hand-

BOOM!

It's as if time starts to slow. Ildio looks at Nicco, seeing a large splotch of red starting to bloom against his shoulder. Niccolò stumbles, catching himself before he can fall or before Ildio can catch him. The blood quickly travels to cover almost all of Nicco's front suit. 

A loud shrill scream echoes throughout the lot, a scream from Nicco's sister. 

Ildio sees red. Not red from blood. No, red hot rage. So furious that he can't see anything but red. Following the smell of the gunpowder, he runs to the shooter. It all goes red.

Niccolò presses an unsteady hand against the gunshot wound, a shot from a revolver. He knows he won't die from a shot like this, he's had much worse injuries. His waistcoat is stark red, a horrifying contrast against the white. Nicco looks around, desperately hoping that everyone is okay. He meets eyes with his sister, who is racing over to him.

"Oh Mio Dio Niccolò?! Stai bene!?"

"Sto bene, sorella…"

Niccolò speaks Italian in a shaky voice. He's shocked, not going into shock, but shocked that he would be shot on his damn wedding day. Niccolò's sister grabs his hands, looking terrified. 

"I'm okay… Just shaken up."

"Sh-shaken up!? You've been shot, Nicco!"

Niccolò looks down, realizing the blood is traveling to his pants as it's completely covering his shirt. Some of his blood paints his sister's dress, staining a large portion of the bottom white tulle red. 

Loud, vicious moist sounds fill the air. Terror grips Niccolò, he turns to look where the sound is, terrified that something may have just happened to his beloved Ildio-

Jesus…

Ildio is panting, whole body heaving in quick breaths. Blood is everywhere. Covering his mouth, bits and pieces in his hair, his entire outfit is entirely deep crimson. Beneath his feet is a body, or… the small remains of a body. All that's left is an open chest, organs strewed throughout the entire yard. Deep red mush where the head is supposed to be, legs and arms gone, thrown in multiple different directions. A large pool of blood is beneath Ildio, obviously not his, but the shooter. A large gun, the one that shot Nicco, lays a few feet away. Niccolò feels sick, bile rising in his throat at the sight. He's seen Ildio's rages. He thought he had seen the worst. This… This is the most violent thing Nicco has ever seen. He turns his head to retch, moving over not to get any of his morning breakfast on any of the guests who haven't run for the hills. Which none of them have.

Niccolò walks over to Ildio, trying very hard to ignore the squelching of his shoes in blood.

"...Il?"

The red slowly fades back to color, Ildio coming back to his senses. He looks around, taking in the gory scene beneath him. He takes a few steps back, eyes widening. He's done this before, he's let his fury take hold of him. However, this is the worst that Ildio has ever been. Ildio turns around, catching Niccolò just in time before his body hits the ground.

"Ti ho usata come una risposta. Ma eri milioni di domande." 

(Just to not confuse anyone, the last line is the last verse from their wedding song^^)

#gluttony pair #servamp #fanfiction #fanfic #servamp ildio #not beta read #servamp niccolo #niccolo carpediem #ilnico #minor lawlicht #tw gore #marriage #this shit is so soft #very cheesy #extremely soft #for the most part #super romantic wedding #servamp of gluttony

[bimswritings]

This Is Our Way

Ch.1

Summary: What happens when you make the mistake of thinking you can steel from a Mandalorian? You land yourself and job and a plethora of adventures and emotion you could never even dream of.  The question is; where will those emotions lead.

Warnings: Typical canon violence, NSFW implications and scenes later on

You can also read it on my Ao3 account.

_____________________________________

Clouds. Dark, impenetrable, depressing grey clouds are what greet you as soon as your eyes open, just like they have every day for years during your existence on the scrappy planet of  Corellia. Home to the most desperate and cruel criminals, along with the enslaved and weak civilians and captives. All mixed in with your average day citizen trying to get by.

A great place to live.

The sound of tie-fighters overhead is what first woke you, screaming as they made their morning flight overhead, acting as an ever present reminder of the Empire's presence and signaling the start of your day. Bones and joints crack in sync as you push yourself up, rubbing your eyes and crawling from the busted old weapons crate that acted as a poor supplement for a bed. Its lid laid discarded to the side, allowing the cool night air of one of the only dry nights of the month to flow in while you slept. The hard metal lining was barely tolerable, even when padded with the few scraps of fabric you had managed to snag over the years, but it was sturdy and the lid provided great protection from the ever present rain on the overcast planet.

Taking care not to trip while climbing from the enclosed space, you stumble out onto the main section of the roof and stare over the city as you stretch, trying not to cringe as certain bones popped back into place painfully. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and not even the fresh breeze that floated in from the sea could make it any more appealing.

Boring, industrial buildings stretched as far as the eye could see in varying colors of black and steel, hardly standing out against the horizon of equally dull colors only punctuated by the occasional crism Empire flag. In the middle of it all was the only decently maintained and sizable buildings on the planet, where the majority of ships for the Empire were produced. It was thanks to the presence of that one building that there was even an economy here, keeping it from turning into a more dreary and wet version of Tatooine, the outlandish world it was. The sight was enough to make your stomach churn, but had nothing on the aching pain that radiated from the organ and had you mind wondering when you had eaten last. Three, four days maybe? It didn’t matter. However long it was, the meager scraps you had managed to find behind the restaurant district of the wealthy were but a distant memory. It was this very hunger that drove you from your safe space, forcing you to climb down the pipes lining the outside of the building you resided on.

The metal creaked and groaned in protest under your weight, but you didn’t give it a second though, knowing there was nothing to worry about. You had been climbing along these fixtures for years, nimble hands and feet finding the smallest of purchases as you move along with ease.

When the ground was close enough you dropped, rolling through the impact to your feet and taking shelter behind an abandoned stall as you momentarily stumbled, vision swimming and black dots dancing before you. Force, you really need to get something to eat soon. Rainwater could only fill your stomach for so long before it lost its abilities to hold you over.

Peering around the corner, your eyes scanned the narrow alleyway, looking for any sign of stormtroopers or other rough characters that would cause trouble. You were never much of a fighter, but today especially was a day you were feeling particularly weak.

‘Alright. All I need to do is slip out, grab a couple of credits, and get back. It should be fine as long as I don’t run into-’

“Well well well. Look what we have here.” Leon’s voice spoke from behind, making you cringe and berate yourself for not being more careful. This was the last thing you needed to deal with, and Leon’s sickly smooth voice only served to grate on your nerves more as you turned to face him and his three lackeys, identifying them as Sho, Everett, and Corin.None as dangerous, but all as bad tempered as their leader.

Glacial blue eyes stared from pale skin beneath his shock of blond hair, a combo that drew ladies like flies to him. Pair that with pearly white teeth and he could have been a poster boy for some prep school on Coruscant. If not for the tattooed arms and green vest that held the insignia of a ranicore tooth, marking him as one of Sozin’s many street enforcers. His kind was the one you hated most. Cocky guys who thought that just because they were someone in some gang they had power over everyone else, not giving a second thought to those they hurt, be it man, women, or child. As long as they got a nice cut at the end of the day they were fine. Despite your hate for them, by all means joining a gang was the best way to survive here. It promised food, shelter, and constant work. All you had to do was give up your own self respect and humanity in return.

“The little Jawa had finally come out from her fortress. Tell me,” He smirked as the others formed a loose circle around you, effectively caging you in. “Get anything good lately.”

You wanted to spit at him, slap that stupid smirk off his face and leave him to go crying back to his boss. But you didn’t. Instead, you took a more casual, defensive stance, ready to get away the moment you had the chance. Slapping a fake smile on your face, you cocked an eyebrow in mock teasing.

“Please. If I had anything of interest I’m sure you of all people would know.” You were getting more nervous now, keenly aware of how close Sho was getting to your current position. Far too close for your liking.

“And with the patrols increased and punishments cracking down, things have gotten harder.''

“True, but I just never know what those sticky fingers of yours may manage to pick up. Your skill has a reputation after all.” His eyes skimmed over your body, not even trying to hide the way he was practically undressing you. The slimy bastard had been pining after you for years, ever since he had watched you lift a number of things from a trooper when you were both just young teenagers. He claimed it was for your skills but it didn’t take a genius to see he was looking for something more. “Maybe you could give me a live demonstration some time.”

And there it was.

You said nothing, only pushing yourself further against the cool metal of the wall behind you in an attempt to create some sort of distance in between you. Your stomach, the traitor it was, decided that it would be the best time to voice its own opinion, letting out a loud growl of protest that didn't go unheard.

Leon’s face took on a mask of concern and sympathy, and you might have fallen for it had you not known any better. His tone took on a softer, more whispery tone, like he was speaking to a stray feline. Not that far off if you thought about it.

“You look hungry. Why don’t you come back with me. I can get everything squared away with Sozin, and I promise, I’ll take real good care of you.”

His hand extended out in invitation, strong fingers that had ended the lives of so many gently relaxed, the other crossing behind his back in a mock gentleman pose, as if he even knew what being a decent guy even started with.

“C’mon. Think about it. No more empty stomachs or fighting for every scrap. You’d even have a nice bed to lay in at the end of the day. No more sleeping on the filthy streets.”

Scoffing, you summoned the last of your confidence, brushing past him and ignoring his invitation. “I’d rather take the streets than your blood soaked sheets any day.”

That should have been it, and it would have been for anyone else on just a code of respect among those here. But Leon wasn’t known for taking no for an answer. Before you could even make it  three steps his hand closed on your elbow, bringing you back closer to him. Despite all you twisting and pulling, his superior strength kept you close, breath fanning your skin as he spoke.

“Listen here, I’ve been more than kind in my advances. A saint some may even say, so you’re not going to walk away from me, understand? No your going to come back and-”

“Hey!” A shout from the end of the alleyway interrupted him, drawing all your attention as the squadron of storm troopers rounded the corner to the alley, falling in line behind their captain.”You there! What’s going on?”

At the sight of the local law enforcement and their blasters, Leon’s grip loosened a fraction. Just the smallest amount really, but enough for you to be able to slip from his grip and between Sho and Corin before they could stop you. You ignored the shouting of the officer, sprinting in the opposite direction and around the corner into the main streets of Corellia.

‘Good luck trying to find me now.’ You smirked, pulling your hood up to conceal your face as you effortlessly blended into the crowd, becoming just one of the thousands of faces that traveled through as you continued on your way. Now it was time for the real work to begin.

Just as with the seasons, your own hunting grounds changed, ever rotating through the different sectors in order to keep law enforcement off your tail. It was one of the first lessons you had ever learned; never hunt in the same spot for more than a few weeks.

Today was a fresh start in the port district, leaving an abundance of new and unaware targets. It was a popular place for travelers as well, who were especially naive, but even with that you knew today would be a challenge. It hadn’t been a lie when you told Leon that the troopers were cracking down. More patrols and increased severity of punishments had started to begin in order to ‘cut down the crime’, as your senator put it. Fat chance of that though, as one could argue that Corellia ran on crime. Still, the effort put forth was really putting the pressure on smaller people like you, who were just trying to survive, not to mention the street vendors and shop owners had installed their own new security measures in place, leading to an unfavorable combo that led to your current weak and hungry state. So you were here, looking for some oblivious fool to cop a few credits off from your perch just outside the mechanics.

As your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for visible money holders or those with liftable jewelry and other items, you saw him. He was hard to miss actually. The beskar he wore from head to toe shone proudly even without the light of the sun hidden above, speaking of its own durability and care shown by the owner. Alongside him was a pod, closed, and most likely carrying whatever supplies he had picked up from the market. The brown cape around his shoulders did nothing to hide the gun scross his broad back, nor the dozens of smaller weapons strapped to his person.

He stood tall above the crowd, most parting like water around a stone to avoid him, and it was no wonder. Even you had heard the stories about the Mandalorians. Fierce warriors and fighters who could track their prey to the ends of the galaxy. They were the best bounty hunters and hired guns on the market. You had been witness to more than one lowlife being pulled from their seat in the cantina by his kind, kicking and begging to no avail as they were carried away, dead or alive.

Teeth gnawing on inside of your cheek, you debated with yourself. On one hand, he was a high risk target, undoubtedly being used to these kinds of places and the people who lived here. Stealing from him would earn you a blaster shot to the head if caught, that is, if he were feeling merciful enough not to crush every bone in your body. But then, he was a bounty hunter. They always carried a lot of credits, and ones worth more at that. One swipe from him could set you up for days, if not weeks! He was also the only target you had seen open worth any value the entire day, and you weren’t sure you could go much longer without food.

You debated with yourself, going back and forth as you watched him grow closer to where you sat. If you didn’t make a decision soon you would lose your chance all together.

As if detecting your hesitance, your body made the decision for you, loosening another growl from its depths, prompting you forward and before you knew it you were on the move. Pulling a small guide book from your pocket, you pretended to be grossly interested in the useless thing, eyes moving to falsely skim the words as you carefully adjusted your path closer to his, threading between the crowd with as much ease as he cut through it.

The moments before were tense, each step leaving you feeling more electrified as adrenaline coursed through your body, only feeding your blind confidence as you counted down.

‘6..5...3..2..1….Now’

You pretended to stumble, tripping on your own feet as naturally as you would walk, veering from your course and bumping into the armored man. You winced slightly as your shoulder made contact with the metal, which made your grunt of pain that much more believable and distracting while your hands got to work. Like all bounty hunters, he kept his money in front of him, just slightly to the left of his leg. A tactic to prevent pickpockets like you that frequented the scenes they often found themselves in. Smart, but you had gotten used to this tactic before, and it was a simple swipe of your hand as it quickly entered and retreated the pouch, fingers closed around an unknown number of credits, all within a fraction of a second as you mumbled apologies, raising your opposite hand in distraction as your other moved to pocket your catch.

As soon as your own fingers left the pouch, you knew you were in trouble. Years of being on the streets had taught you when you had the upper hand in a situation or not, whether you were the predator or prey. In that moment, that small fraction of a moment, you went from poised victor to the most demure of prey.

And the man in front of you was the hunter.

His hand, even quicker than your own, moved to latch onto the retreating limb. The very one holding the credits you had thought had been yours.

Head snapping up to meet his, you were faced with an unfeeling gaze in the form of silver surrounding a small ‘t’ of inky darkness that prevented you from seeing his face. You tried to pull away, only to have his stern grip tighten even more, the leather of his glove squeaking in symphony along with the crackling of the joint. Yet you still refused to drop the credits, stubbornly holding onto them out of spite and fear. If he hadn’t seen them yet, there was no way he could indefinitely prove you had taken anything from him, though the way he focused on it told you he already knew the truth.

Kriffing hell. Why had you even thought this would be a good idea. He was a Mandalorian, and in your hunger driven brain you had somehow managed to convince yourself it would actually work. Well congratulations, you had the credits, but now you were as good as dead. If he didn’t decide to deal out his own justice and kill you then and there, surely he would turn you over to the stormtrooper.

The skin on your back tingles and warmed at the thought, memories of public whippings flashing in the back of your mind and doubling your heart rate and raising your panic even more.

Maybe you could still get out of this though. He was a man, as far as you could tell anyways, and all men were susceptible to one thing, hardened warrior or not. You could distract him, try to get a trade or compromise in return for forgetting about the situation. If not him then the clones. Maker knows they were always willing to pass up small crimes every once in a while in exchange for a way to sate their horniness. Though you had never tried the practice yourself, you had heard of numerous others getting off the hook that way. How hard could it be?

Your thoughts were interrupted by movement, bringing you back from your blind panic of plotting how to get out of this. The Mandalorian had tilted his head, t-visor still trained on your face as he observed you. Those around you were all too eager to ignore the situation, walking past with explicitly diverted eyes as they went about their business. The hand not holding yours moved, making you flinch back but with nowhere to go as he kept you trained in place. It moved towards your face and you braced, eyes scrunched and ready for the impact of a palm or fist making contact.

Yet, it never came.

Instead, the soft worn leather gently pressed against your face, fingers gently running along the curve of your cheek, highlighting the bone that protruded with hunger. The occasional scrape of his beskar along the skin makes you shudder, but if he even notices he doesn’t say anything, only continuing to stare as his hand tips your face every which way for him to examine. Then he just...let go. Without another word he had dropped his hands, stepping around and continuing on his original path, leaving you behind him, frozen in place and in a state of shock.

You could have stood there for any measure of time, be it seconds or minutes. Your brain was too busy trying to process what had just happened to even think about anything else. It was only when someone rudely bumped into you, almost knocking you to the ground, that you finally snapped out of it, and suddenly you were running. Feet pounding the uneven ground as you gained speed, faces flew past as little more than blurs as you continued to put more space between you and your should-have-been attacker. If it had been any other time you might have been proud of the speed you had, the burning in your lungs of little significance. Not even when you had seen Leon once again did you blink, blowing past as he called out and tried to grab you.

Before you knew it you were rounding the alley back to your little home, leaping more than climbing up the pipes with record speed as your feet barely touched the rickety metal. You practically dove into your little crate of a home, pulling the lid and locking yourself in darkness as you tried to sooth your pulse, taking deep breaths that did little to help. Absentmindedly, you began humming to yourself. A song so out of tune and unrecognizable it would have made a wookie weep, but it was what you needed as you pressed the burning and sticky skin of your forehead against the cool metal of the wall.

Eventually, after countless repetitions or the short tune, you managed to steady yourself, bringing enough sense back to realize you were still holding onto the credits from before, which were now gripped tightly in your hand. Enough to the point where the skin had turned a pearly white and your fingers hurt to move as you slowly unclenched them, revealing angry marks and even places where the rectangular currency had bit deep enough into the skin to draw blood. But oh what a beautiful sight it was.

One hundred credits laid in your fist, clustered together in a jumble of varying amounts and different kinds, but a total amount of one hundred. You normally only got this after a week of extremely successful hunting in the summer months. The sight of it now was enough to make you cry.

Despite the urge to go and get food from the nearest vendor, you knew better than to go out right away. For all you knew he had only let you go just to follow you back to your base, probably thinking he could turn you into the stormtroopers for a bigger ransom than what he lost, or loot your own place for anything you had stored up. Jokes on him if that was the plan, because he would only get back what you took from him.

The thought stayed stuck in the front of your mind, forcing you to stay tucked in your hiding space for the remainder of the day and keeping you awake through the night. Every little sound made you jump, convinced that you would once again find yourself at the receiving end of his burning gaze, the helmet he wore only masking his expression and leaving your fate uncertain. He never showed though, never ripped the lid off your container or dragged you out into the open.

By the time you managed to fall asleep, your body finally running out of its immense supply of adrenaline, the city itself had just begun to awaken below to the wee hours of the morning, and the fighters had just begun their morning rounds once again.

‘Maybe...maybe just a few hours of sleep.’ You thought to yourself, burrowing down into your small nest of blankets. What could be the harm?

Well, apparently a lot.

You had woken up in a panic, cracking the lid to see that the sky had already gone dark once again. Swearing to yourself, you emerged once again like a Nightshrike from its cave. Foregoing any normal rituals, you allowed your body to stretch itself as you moved, hustling from rooftop to rooftop, something you only did under the cover of night. The last thing you need is someone seeing you and discovering your home up top. You would never be able to get any peace after that.

You were in a rush though, and the thought of wasting a day of work didn’t bother you nearly as much as the thought of your favorite shop closing. With the amount of credits you had now, you wouldn’t have to worry about money for a while, so the only thought you had while the dim lights of the city flicked to life below was getting there as soon as possible. Who knows, maybe you’d even have enough to treat yourself to some fruit, an expensive and rare treat for anyone on the planet.

Skidding to a stop just before the end of the row, your eyes lit up at the sight of the shop still open, clearly readying to close. Shimmying back down to increasingly deserted streets, you were already drooling at the thought of biting into something and not having to wonder what it would taste like. No more than ten minutes later you were leaving, pockets now full of brick bread as the owner locked the doors behind you.

The plan was to only eat half of one on your way back, the nutrient rich and dense pastries giving you enough energy for the day in a single bite, but not even halfway back you found yourself licking the crumbs from your fingertips, hardly holding back from grabbing one of the four remaining loafs. Instead you reached into the opposite side and grabbed the meiloorun fruit you had managed to snag.

Now this was the main event.

Sinking your teeth into the soft skin, you nearly groaned as its taste exploded on your tongue, making your taste buds dance and sing as the sweetness became so intense it almost hurt. You still loved it.

Your stomach was full for the first time in forever, almost foreign as you had begun to forget the feeling. Juice dribbled down your chin as you continued on your way home, making a deliciously sticky mess to be wiped away and cleaned by your lips, intent on not letting a single morsel go to waste.

Thankfully the trip back was less eventful than your previous outing, helping instill an eerie yet calming silence over the city and prompting you to take your time.

You always enjoyed it up here on the roofs. Hardly anyone came up, not many having the same confidence and agility possessed by you and few others, and there was an ever present breeze up here that didn’t quite reach the lower levels. Not to mention the view it gave, which was one of the main reasons you had chosen a roof as your spot for a base camp. If only you could see the stars, but alas, the sight was as rare as greenery here, leaving it up to your own imagination to construct an array of bright lights on the top of your crypt.

Finishing the fruit, you paused at the edge of the building before your own. Small lights danced in the darkness, the occasional lamp illuminating a hustling figure and the street walkers that lined the corners of streets, calling to anyone in sight. The occasional search light of a patrol ship would shin above the buildings as it made its rounds over the city.

‘Must be looking for someone’ you mused, turning back to return home. No reason to get caught out tonight, especially when you were looking at a few days of relaxation.

As you turned, a familiar flash caught your eye, triggering a new taught panic response. You could hardly believe your eyes, rubbing them extra hard just to make sure you were seeing things right. But alas the sight before you neglected to change, unfortunately not a trick of the eye like you had hoped it was, and the Mandalorian you had thought you escaped the previous day continued walking down the dark alley.

You began to sweat backing away from the edge and further out of his line of sight, trying to still keep him in yours as you peered back over and tracked his progress as he got closer.

‘Kriff. I should have known he would want his money back.’

Panicking, you began going over all the escape routes near you. Ones through city street and sewers that would be much too small for him to fit through. Though, if he had tracked you here then chances were he would be able to find you wherever you went. This really wasn’t good. You might not even be able to go collect what meager possessions you had back in your box.

Then, materializing out of the darkness as if he were made of it himself, was Leon. He stepped into the path of the Mandalorian like he had no fear and, knowing how stupid he was, you thought he might actually not have any for the bounty hunter. But why would he when he was the primary enforcer for Sozin and still had his own backup, the three from earlier.

“Hey there.” He spoke in a voice that promised nothing but trouble, hands casually resting in pockets that undoubtedly concealed a weapon of some sorts. "I've been meaning to have a talk with you. The shiny Mandalorian warrior everyone is talking about."

This, you thought, was not good.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din dijarin #din dijarin x reader #x reader #star wars #fanfiction #star wars x reader #baby yoga #grogu #mando #mando x reader #boba fett #star wars fanfiction #the mandolarian

[somerpmemes]

Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist S1 Starters

Change as needed. More under the cut.

“Quick question: do you always have to play and sing your music that loud?”

“Why are you up so early anyways?”

“Oh, I didn’t go to bed.”

“So, you’re ready for this?”

“I just really don’t wanna screw this up.”

“Keeping it lean for the ladies.”

“I need to expand my horizons.”

“It was literally all you.”

“Now is not the time to be modest.”

“Let’s face it, the woman’s a narcissist.”

“Work your magic, feel the glory, in it to win it.”

“Well I’m not really comfortable with anything.”

“Alright, who wants some freshly delivered, slightly cold, mediocre pizza!”

“Could we maybe open a window or something?”

“They’re not that scary.”

“Are you sure this isn’t an elaborate teleportation device that will take me to an alternate universe?”

“I just wanna get this over with.”

“Is this supposed to be happening?”

“That sounds really sad.”

“Why are you singing right now?”

“Why would I sing to you? You don’t even like me.”

“Can I get you anything? Water? Vodka? Xanax?”

“Quick question: did you recently imbibe or inject anything that came from a “medicinal” type shop?”

“But I’m an open-minded person, I’m willing to roll with this.”

“Maybe you’re operating on a higher plane than the rest of us.”

“Child, I’m completely baked. Ain’t nothing going on in my head right now.”

“This is the first thing that I find remotely interesting about you.”

“Will we ever have joie de vivre?”

“My mom left me when I was young and my whole life has been a series of rejections from the opposite sex.”

“You sure you don’t hear that?”

“Let’s party like it’s 1978!”

“And you should really take everything I say when I’m high with a grain of salt.”

“That song is real dark.”

“Good music can make you feel things you can’t express in words.”

“Hey, not that I’m keeping tabs or anything but that’s like your fourth cup of coffee today.”

“That’s a whole lot of tmi I just spewed on you.”

“Who knows what other people are really thinking, right?”

“I’ve found in general death and dying tend not to be the best conversation starters.”

“If I show you something can you promise to keep it only between us?”

“This is the only thing that I can hold onto.”

“I’ve become a real expert on bottling my shame and pain and hiding it from the world.”

“Listen, I’m not an expert on this or anything but you can't just keep it in.”

“I should’ve been the one this happened to.”

“I think we’re just gonna have to stumble through it together. The blind leading the blind.”

“If you had the power to know what was going on in other people’s heads, do you think you’d feel guilty?”

“I’m going to be uncharacteristically honest with you so don’t get used to it.”

“I notice everything.”

“I just feel like everyone’s against me.”

“Two more hours and I would’ve gotten it, just saying.”

“There’s gonna be good days and bad days, remember? Let’s chalk this up to one of the good ones.”

“Mama needs an update.”

“No, no, don’t be flattered.”

“I view you more as a social experiment, like a rat running through a maze.”

“Sounds bougie, I’m in.”

“I'm not in trouble, am I?”

“Bottom line, please?”

“You’re yelling, bro.”

“I’m acting weirder than normal?”

“Believe it or not I didn’t really play any sports growing up.”

“This power is wasted on you!”

“Is this weird? This feels weird.”

“I gotta say, I am loving the energy.”

“I’m pretty sure nobody cares.”

“Any desire to tell me what this is all about?”

“Of course I know that song, it’s a very famous song. Do YOU know that song?”

“With great power comes a lot of nasty stuff don’t nobody wanna do.”

“I’m not NOT mortified right now.”

“Please tell me your day was better than mine.”

“Do I need to hide all of my breakables?”

“I can’t cook. You should see the inside of my fridge.”

“I guess we’ve just breezed right past the whole “knocking-and-waiting-for-the-other-person-to-answer” phase.”

“When I get inspired no doors will stand in my way.”

“Creative. Absolutely terrifying..”

“Could be cool. Could be confusing. Could be both. Let’s see.”

“And I’m kinda obsessed with you.”

“Door’s always open, honey.”

“So could everyone please act as if they care?”

“I haven’t breathed outside air in over forty-three hours.”

“Why did we come up with this stupid, stupid plan?”

“Dolly Parton is my spirit animal.”

“There are lots of reasons why people are unsatisfied, ___. 80% of it is sex related.”

“Do you just make these statistics up?”

“I’m gonna keep this one simple.”

“The only place I’m comfortable dancing is in my bedroom… closet.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“First of all, that’s terrible grammar.”

“I was a drum major in high school and that mess would not have been tolerated.”

“I have always found it helpful to vent when I’m feeling dissatisfied.”

“I don’t vent, I scream into a pillow.”

“You dress like a docent at a folk art museum.”

“Wow, we’re still talking about this?”

“___, are you growing as a person?”

“And the good news is I’ve been banned from the grocery store.”

“There’s been a radical shift in the way I perceive the world, you wouldn’t understand.”

“There is nothing in the world that I love more than your smile. But not if it isn’t real.”

“Don’t make this into a thing right now.”

“That term hasn’t been used in well over a decade.”

“I can see your side eye.”

“You can take the fifth and stop telling me about it.”

“Do you know anything about faith at all?”

“I think we might be vibing again.”

“Are you sure that everything’s okay with you because I feel like maybe it’s not.”

“See, that whole “leap of faith” thing really doesn’t work for me.”

“Empathy is a wonderful gift to have.”

“I have faith. You should too.”

“I recognize your tiny footsteps.”

“Okay, that’s enough gaping at the shut in for one day.”

“I swear this is the last one.”

“Why so secretive?”

“I am very aware of what a duet is.”

“Why do I even answer the phone this early?”

“My brain does not like functioning until night o’clock.”

“What’s the good of bad news if you can’t share it?”

“I love barely meeting expectations!”

“Is it great? Feels not so great.”

“I think you’re crushing it, that’s all that matters.”

“You two would be great in a female cop show.”

“Something’s going on with you, I can tell.”

“How do you do that? Really see me. No one else has the ability.”

“I’m just not used to negative feedback.”

“Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Can I take a picture? I’m gonna take a picture.”

“Uh oh. Don’t tell me you’re depressed too.”

“My body’s doing all sorts of disgusting things to me like making liquid appear in my eyes.”

“It’s too gutless, it’s too passive-aggressive. I like aggressive-aggressive.”

“I just feel like I’m failing.”

“Why do you put so much pressure on yourself?”

“Wow. I just got a window into your soul and, baby, it is not a place I wanna visit.”

“Did you know I once stared at the ocean for literally seven hours?”

“How about you lead the way and I’ll just holler if I need any medical assistance?”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t good, right?”

“So, tell me some good news please.”

“Thank you for not trying to fix me or make me feel better. Thanks for just being real.”

“Why are you smirking?”

“Sometimes I just feel like I can’t do anything right.”

“Someone sounds like they’re in a good mood.”

“The world is waiting, so am I.”

“I have no interest in hanging around a bunch of 20-somethings talking about artisanal beer all night.”

“___, this is a classy affair. Of course they’ll be pigs in a blanket.”

“Now it’s time for a makeover which is literally my favorite thing to do.”

“No matter how hard I try I just never say the right thing.”

“At least let me help you accessorize.”

“I gotta admit this is kinda fun.”

“Now they just taste like water.”

“Who do we know with a hot tub?”

“You are super fun. Like sloppy, dance on a bar fun.”

“I might also be drunk.”

“I’m a mess… and emotional… also vodka.”

“Life doesn’t always go as planned. It just doesn’t.”

“Is it weird that I want one of those?”

“Yeah, nothing good happens after someone sings that song.”

“I hate when people assume I know their names.”

“So, you’re attractive and talented.”

“I can’t believe that happened, and how quickly…”

“If there’s something going on I’d love all our friends to hear about it.”

“You should probably leave this party before you burn something else down.”

“That’s almost funny.”

“I need that thing more than you’ve ever needed anything in your entire life and I’m ready to fight you for it if you make me.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself to ride that thing sober let alone now still halfway drunk.”

“The last thing I want to hear from you is another apology.”

“I really need to be mad at you right now.”

“Are you crying?”

“What? I’m not allowed to get emotional at a superhero movie? Lives were lost, ___. Ethical questions were raised!”

“He only responds in one letter. ‘K’? Who does that?”

“Just— let’s talk about you.”

“It’s hard to accept that I can’t do this all on my own anymore.”

“Wouldn’t peg you for a food court guy.”

“We are gonna be ultra professional from now on.”

“What’s the crisis? Did I cause it?”

“Can you believe it?! ...apparently you can and perhaps already knew?”

“___, are you okay? You look paler than usual.”

“You okay? You look shaken.”

“But I feel great and I’m gonna be totally fine.”

“Can you google that for me?”

“Are you seriously hiding from me?”

“I listen to true crime to calm myself.”

“Look, we both know I’m not good with feelings or emotions.”

“Mad respect for your pun game.”

“Men don’t check on men in bathrooms, it’s not a thing.”

“Well now I know you’re telling the truth because no one would ever lie about doing something that heartless.”

“Were we ever even friends at all?”

“Real friends have hard conversations. They owe it to each other.”

“I’m gonna get deep for a hot second so bear with me.”

“Stuff like this has been going on for a while now. You wanna tell me what’s up?”

“You’re starting to seem like a liability, man.”

“What’s the point of rising if we can’t do it together?”

“Here to pour salt on my wounds?”

“It’s all coming from a place of love.”

“It is not exactly what I expected but I’m rolling with it.”

“Watch how fast I nail this.”

“Are we talking witchcraft or just shameless career advancing?”

“I’ve got a super chill brain that never needs calming, so…”

“Was I just singing out loud?”

“Am I going crazy? I feel like I am. I mean, I don’t know what crazy feels like but I feel like this is it.”

“That’s… bad.”

“Are you fine? I mean, I know you’re not fine but…”

“Can you schedule your nervous breakdown for another day?”

“In solving one problem I’ve created another.”

“I… I don’t know why that happened.”

“Okay, yes, I’ll admit I’m in a good mood but it’s for completely unrelated reasons.”

“Okay, this is getting worse by the second.”

“I apologize in advance for whatever’s about to come out of mouth.”

“I'm really sorry. Just know, it’s not me, it’s my body.”

“That’s such a strange way to phrase that.”

“There you go, now you know. Hey, that rhymed.”

“I will go to the supermarket… one day.”

“I ruined my entire life yesterday.”

“I just call that uninspired.”

“Honestly, I think I’m broken.”

“What exactly is going on here? A creative inspiration or a massive cry for help?”

“I’m broken and I’m gonna die alone.”

“How do you go through all that suffering and not let it break you?”

“I don’t know what to do. And it’s tearing me up inside.”

“Hurt people hurt people.”

“I think it’s best if you don’t look at me or worry about and focus on what I’m thinking or feeling.”

“It can be challenging sometimes, knowing the right way and the wrong way to care for somebody.”

“Well, it’s the almost-thought that counts.”

“That’s a terrible surprise face.”

“I think it’s finally time I focus on my own happiness for a change.”

“I don’t want to talk. Lord knows that we’ve done enough talking.”

“I’m exhausted. And exhilarated. And thoroughly depleted.”

“Stay aloof, reveal nothing, keep small talk down to a minimum.”

“You’ve been there for me, I wanna be there for you.”

“Don’t smile at me, I don’t wanna look at your sad, appreciative eyes.”

“What? He’s hot, I’m weak, you do the math.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a hoodie before.”

“This would be a great place to murder someone, huh?”

“So, who’s ready to talk about death?”

“It doesn’t have to go down like this, ___.”

“You can only postpone the inevitable for so long.”

“In moments like these sometimes you have to haul out the big guns.”

“Someone better be dead or dying, I’m not in the mood.”

“I am worried. This is how I compensate.”

“I find you charming and disturbing, like a Pomeranian wearing a tutu.”

“I go big or go home.”

“Death is hideous and ugly and grotesque and wildly, wildly unfair.”

“Believe me, I’m not doing well but I’m not doing that badly either.”

“I guess we gotta face the music sometime, right?”

#zep #zoey's extraordinary playlist #rp #rp meme #rp starters #starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #ask meme

[electricbluebutterflies]

Could you do an 'I didn't know I was pregnant prompt' where somehow Abby, who's a doctor and won't ever live it down, doesn't realize that she's pregnant until she's in labor. Possibly with it being conveniently when she's alone bar delinquents, and someone has to go track down Kane and inform him of what's going on.

Canon-divergent from early s3 ish. Also featuring Raven being awesome and Clarke trying not to have a breakdown, so hopefully I wrote those two darlings okay. Content warning for vague / non-graphic and questionably medically accurate descriptions of childbirth. PG13ish for that and also swear words. Also on ao3.

The thing about quiet is it doesn’t last. She should’ve knownbetter.

It’s been a year, maybe a little more than that. Time flowsdifferently here, but one of the kids – and Abby knows they are not that anymore,most of them are so much more capable than her, but in her mind they are stillso small – is pretty sure they saw a snowflake yesterday. So, bit more than ayear. And about a year since she broke down and let herself be reckless and…

All of this hits her in the worst way as she realizes whather body is doing. This pain is not cramps, but she can’t blame herself forgetting confused, it’s been a while since she’s had her normal cycle and-

Yeah. This is what she gets for ignoring her own body aswell as she does. Dammit.

The worst part is, Abby thinks as she paces across herworkspace because so help her she is not letting this nor anything else stopher, she justified everything. Her last implant had expired shortly after shewas widowed, and she’d passed on getting another one because she was on theedge of forty and had zero plans to ever let anyone else touch her and she didn’twant to waste resources like that, and she’d just… forgotten about that detaila year and a half later when she’d gone and taken a new lover anyways. With orwithout the implant, her cycles were always erratic and she stopped trying topredict that ages ago. Nausea got justified when she wasn’t the only person whoate bad meat (turns out mutant might’ve-descended-from-a-raccoon needs to be cookedlonger than that attempt was); a little weight gain because she iseating more, because that’s a possibility now. Said weight pooling in herabdomen is normal enough for a woman her age, right?

She justified everything, she was wrong, and now she is-

Fuck.

Okay, so right now pants are a mistake. They’re soakedthrough anyways, and somehow the idea of someone wandering in and seeing hernaked from the hips down is one of the less embarrassing details of this wholedisaster. Normal people have seven or eight months to process imminent parenthoodbefore it comes. She won’t even have that many hours. Supposedly births getquicker the more a person has had, and given her track record there…

Another wave of pain hits and she grabs the edge of the tablefor support. At least she’s having this crisis – she is trying to use everyword for it but what it is, and she will go through the guilt spiral later – inmedical. Ideal place for this nightmare. If she has to give birth on herown, as is looking more and more likely, at least she is doing so in a safeplace. That’s about the only thing going right here.

There is, after all, the small issue of her partner havingno damn clue about any of this.

Last she checked – and she tries not to hover, she is notthat kind of woman and their more recent trust in each other has eliminatedsome of her tendencies – Marcus is out on a hunting / scavenging daytrip. Whichmeans he may or may not be back before this is over. Either way, explaining howshe managed to be oblivious for close to nine months about something so significantis not going to be a good time and she is more than a little nervous about thatand-

Abby hears the door open behind her. Great. Now thenightmare is complete.

“Are you…” Raven, thank goodness, at least the intruder issomeone who occasionally has common sense. “Screw that, you’re not okay.”

“How willing are you to believe things right now?” Abbyasks, turning her head to look at her friend. Group bonding across generationsis rough, but she sees a different kind of potential in the younger woman thanmost people do. Like this one, if she doesn’t accidentally kill herself beforeshe turns thirty, has some serious untapped leadership potential. And moreimportantly right now, Raven is extremely well-connected and has a highertolerance for crazy than most people. So, again, ideal person.

“From you, pretty cooperative,” Raven shrugs. “What happenedslash who do I need to electrocute?”

“I somehow managed to ignore being pregnant and… it’scoming.” And saying it out loud sounds even more damning than realizing it herselfhalf an hour ago, dragging another person into this mess with her and puttingthat weight on someone who doesn’t need it. “Feel free to judge me.”

“Nah. Not sure what you need me to do but…”

“Get someone. Anyone. Nothing against you as a person but Ido not trust you to-“

Another contraction hits before Abby can sufficientlyexplain why she’d rather not have someone who interacts with technology betterthan people as her backup here. Great. If she factors in the number of timesthis has happened that she really did think were cramps, and how long it’s beensince closing her legs felt like a good idea… shit. Yeah no. There will be noexplaining this to her partner before it’s too late.

“What I’m hearing is radio your idiot and tell him to gethis ass back here as soon as humanly possible but do not tell him whybecause that’ll break him, grab the first person I can find who I’d trust tocatch something and send them in here to help you, and go through the storageroom and hope there’s still baby clothes in that one box I found some in lastmonth. Anything I’m missing?”

If Abby were more mobile, and/or felt less like her body wasabout to explode, she would hug Raven right now. “Yes. I… yes. Thank you.”

“And try to keep this on a need-to-know basis. Far as anyoneelse is concerned, you figured out you were incubating at a normal enough timebut you decided to keep quiet about it because you hate attention. That work?”

“I’m not sure that’s going to be believable when-“

“It’s believable if you’re a couple weeks before your duedate and you can pass that particular dramatic shitshow off as being more aboutthe timing.”

“I’m not sure if you’re an angel or an evil genius.”

“I’d like to think I’m both,” Raven laughs. “Now, if youthink you have enough time here for me to do that, I’m gonna go.”

Abby assesses herself quickly. Unless something somehow goeseven more wrong, she’s got at least half an hour here. “I’ll be alright.”

And again she is alone, she thinks as the door closes behindher. This is… not an absolute worst-case scenario, but pretty damn close. At best,she’s got a lot of explaining to do when it’s all over. At worst…

Describing this as an accident is a serious understatement. Therehas been no conversation about whether or not to have kids together. It neverseemed necessary. They’re older enough that the risk seemed so low, and therearen’t restrictions on that here, and she didn’t think…

She didn’t think. That’s what this all comes down to. A temporaryvacation from her normal instincts and look what that got her. No time tomentally prepare for a tiny vulnerable creature, no time to think about theimplications for her relationship, no time to even find out if her partnerwants this enough to stick around for it, no time to-

Getting closer. She is not attempting to measure herself butshe can feel the process. Timing-wise, she probably is a few weeks earlyhere, in that comfortable space where that won’t mean any problems for thelittle creature and a normal person’s biggest concern would be not being quitedone with their preparations. Whereas she has done no preparations, whatlittle of her fate isn’t in her own hands right now has been entrusted to atwenty-one-year-old who has even less of a baseline for this, and-

It’s all too much, and Abby starts crying. Most confusedemotional release she’s ever had, not sure if it’s stress or fear or pain oranticipation or probably all of those at once. Overload enough that the nextcontraction feels muted by comparison, overload enough to overlook how uncomfortablethis all is.

It’s just a little ironic that this started bent over atable and it may well end that way too, at the rate she’s going. That’ll be funny,in a couple months when any of this can be, maybe.

She hears the door open again and this time multiplefootsteps, this time she is too exhausted to even turn her head, this time-

“Mom? What the hell?”

Limited options, Abby reminds herself. Limited options ofpeople she would trust to be her backup here, and her own – possibly soon to beolder? – daughter is one of them.

“Clarke, I can-“

“Raven filled me in,” Clarke mutters, sounding so familiarlydisapproving. Abby’s always thought her daughter takes much more after her latehusband, but sometimes there are familiar flickers in there. “You basicallyneed me to catch it.”

“Basically, yes. There should be some towels in-“

“I know where things are. Learned my organization systemfrom you.”

“And I can grab stuff,” Raven adds. That would be the secondset of feet, the bright-red jacket Abby can see in her peripheral vision. “Iwould rather not see the nightmare fuel here but I can hold things or whatever.”

“Any luck with-“

Abby swears she can somehow hear Raven roll her eyes. “Wrongperson picked up, but we tried. The group at least knows something is goingdown here and hopefully I yelled enough to-“

The next pain is strong enough to blur Abby’s vision. “Nextone is it.” She’s amazed she can even talk clearly right now, but her presenceis not going away just because she’s in a crisis. She’s gotten through worse. Rarelybeen on this end of it, rarely felt so helpless, but she will not let anythingstop her. “Be ready.”

Around her, the girls attempt as much prep as they can. Abbydoes not know what they’re doing, does not think about it. There is only this. Thereis her, and the little creature that is about to exit her body, and her olderchild who is surprisingly calm about all of this, and another member of theirfamily who is at least trying to do the same, and a black hole where herpartner should be and-

She screams.

She lets it be a blur. She does not want to remember thesefew moments.

She knows one of the girls is hovering under her with alarge towel in hand, and the other one is yelling, and she doesn’t know whichis which and she doesn’t care. She knows that this is at least a familiar pain,and the first part is the worst, and the little creature – now officially hersecond child, she will let herself process that later – is slick andcooperative and how the child of two such stubborn people is so easy to dealwith in its first moments she does not know but-

“I have a little sister,” Clarke says somewhere in thebackground.

Abby wants to collapse. Wants to sleep for a very long time.She focuses on her body, on all the things she knows. There is still pain, waitingfor the afterbirth to come out. She suspects she’s torn but not as badly as itcould’ve been, and her breasts ache and at some point soon that too will beuseful, and-

She fades out. Exhaustion is a wonderful thing. She knowsher body will do what it needs to, and she trusts the girls enough, and… shecan’t do this anymore.

When she wakes up, she’s somehow been moved to the cot –which means someone else has seen her questionable condition, great, just whatshe doesn’t need – and she’s in a clean shirt and someone has placed cold clothbetween her legs to help the hurting and-

“You really didn’t know?”

She’s not awake enough for this shit.

Abby turns her head and yep, there is her partner (but howmuch longer can she call him that, she wonders) in a chair someone must’vebrought in, looking at her like he does not know where to start but he has alot of questions. It’s been a while since she’s had to interpret that look, andshe is concerned.

“I didn’t know,” she repeats. “You’ve known me since we werechildren, you know I can justify anything, I thought-“

“Alright.” And now for the scary-calm. That particularversion has evolved over the past year and a half or so, as Marcus has learned howto be more of a person, but she still knows it too well. He’s harder to readthis way, and more dangerous to those around him. “When I found out… I thought…”

“Do you really think I would’ve hidden this from you if I’dknown?”

“I had to ask.”

“I wouldn’t… I just went through hell,” she hisses. “Involuntarily.Again. And I wouldn’t have had to if I’d paid more attention to myself but youknow I don’t-“

“I believe you.”

She’s not sure she believes him right now, but she isstill too exhausted to move so that fight can wait a day or two. “Where is…” Shedoesn’t know the right word. My daughter? Ours? Which of those will hold longer?

“Raven’s looking after her. You needed to rest, and… I canlook after you here, Raven can keep the baby in her workshop except when sheneeds to feed.”

Abby rolls her eyes. Yeah, keep a newborn in the mostdangerous place in the settlement, great idea. On the other hand, Raven’sspace is at least warm. “And you’re…”

“Still processing,” Marcus finishes. “Someone tried to radious but we were a few miles out, and when we got back I didn’t have time tothink before someone shoved what looked like a bundle of towels in my arms and…”

“It is yours. If that was going to be your next question.”

“It wasn’t. But good to know.”

“I just… I ignored everything, and I…”

He reaches out for her hand, and even that feels like toomuch physical contact right now but it’s a nice gesture anyways. “I’m notblaming you.”

“Well that’s new,” she mutters. He’s been decent for a year,she should have more faith, but… “Are you going to stay?”

And now for the look of stunned horror, the wide eyes and haltedbreaths and for a moment she’s broken him. “Am I… how is that a question?!”

“You are aware how many bad choices I’ve made here…”

“You’ve always been a little impulsive,” he counters. “And stubborn.And usually right. And I don’t know why you think this kind of innocent mistakewould push me away.”

“It’s a screaming liability of a mistake?”

“It’s ours. And I want… if you want…”

“Yeah. You’ve never done this before. You do not realize thehell you’ve just volunteered for.”

“I’m with you. How bad could it be.”

He leans down and kisses her forehead, and the scratch ofhis beard is way too much, and… yeah. They’ll be okay.

#ebf talks to anons #kabby #ebf writes fic

[racebox-of-higgars]

Why Was I Not Cut Out For The Task?

The final (at the moment) fic in the “Unkindest Cut Of All” series. 

MAJOR SUICIDE TW - DO NOT READ IF THIS COULD BE TRIGGERING FOR YOU. Please stay safe, and my DMs are always open if you need to talk. 

Summary: "Spot slumped onto the couch, cradling the jacket against his chest as he finally let the tsunami past its barriers and everything came over him at once, wave after wave of unrestrained, gasping sobs that wouldn’t let him come up for air, not once. Each one hurt more and more than the last, as tears flowed down his face, hot and unrelenting."

Spot finds out that Race is gone, and does his best to cope.

Based on the poem "Straw House, Straw Dog" by Richard Siken, with some influence from the song No Children by The Mountain Goats. Title from Turtles All The Way Down by Sammy Copley.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31475210

@angelslibrary 

It had been two days since Spot had last heard from Race. “You can sleep now.” That was the last message he had received. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have been worried, but this was Race, who spammed him with 47 texts a minute at the best of times, but all he got was radio silence. So the fear slowly sank in, settling deep in the pit of his stomach and staying there, something he was only vaguely aware of at the edges of his consciousness. It crept in, until it became all he could think about.

Yesterday: 11:32am

You: Race, you okay?

Yesterday: 1:56pm

You: Can you just text me back? Let me know you’re okay? I want to talk to you about something.

Yesterday: 4:23pm

You: I’ll tell you now. I’m going to come out to my parents, and our friends. You won’t have to hide anymore

Yesterday: 11:18pm

You: Goodnight Racer, I love you

Today: 3:36am

You: Tony, I’m really fucking worried now. Please just tell me you’re okay

Today: 3:37am

You: Tony please

Today: 3:37am

You: Tony?

Today: 10:55am

You: Sorry for blowing you up last night. Are you alright?

You: 7 unanswered calls

Tony wasn’t answering. He wouldn’t pick up the phone. Why wouldn’t he pick up? He hadn’t even been online, which was out of character, since Race could nearly always be found endlessly scrolling Instagram or TikTok. Something was incredibly wrong, but Spot could not work out what, so instead he just sat there, going over every possible bad thing that could’ve happened and praying none of it was true as he couldn’t do anything but wait.

At around 2pm, just as Spot was getting ready to send yet another text, a knock sounded at his door. He half expected to see Race standing on the other side (he had a habit of showing up unannounced), but not Jack. He definitely didn’t expect to see Jack Kelly at his doorstep, with no warning, no reason to be there.

See, he and Jack had never gotten along well once. At best, they tolerated each other, at worst, they beat the shit out of each other. They tried to stay relatively civil for Race’s sake, but that didn’t mean that they had to actually like one another. They had a mutual agreement to not kill each other as long as it would make Race happy. That’s just how they worked.

“Why are you here? Where’s Race, he hasn’t answered me in days?” Jack’s face fell and he almost broke there and then, but he schooled his features into something carefully apathetic.

“I’ll explain, I just- you might want to sit down.” Spot frowned, but sat down on the sofa, whole body tense as the fear crept in again. Jack sat opposite him and set down the bag he had been carrying beside him.

Jack looked oddly serious, which was too out of character for Jack for it to go unnoticed.

“What’s going on?” Spot asked. Jack pulled a folded piece of paper out of the bag and handed it to Spot silently. Spot frowned in confusion as he unfurled it, eyes scanning over Race’s looping scrawl.

Spot. I want to open this by saying that I love you, and I’m sorry.

I’m sorry we could never have that future that you wanted. I’m sorry for tearing everything apart, over and over and over.

Spot shut down. He didn’t scream or cry or throw things, he was just unsettlingly silent. The pain crashed over him in waves, each one stronger than the last, but still, he couldn’t cry. He was just numb as his world came tumbling down around him. He seemed to collapse in on himself, as his shoulders slumped and his whole body seemed to cave in with the weight of the world. His hands trembled slightly as he kept reading.

You’re everything to me. I need you to know that. I know that I’m unlovable, I have for a while, but you made me forget that for a beautiful, fleeting moment. For the first time in my life I felt worthy of love, and it was because of you, and I can’t thank you enough for that. You gave me some of my best memories and feelings and you are unattainable and you have a million reasons to throw me aside but you don’t, for some illogical reason that I can’t fathom, and there will never be the words to describe how I feel about you. Just know that I love you beyond what should be possible.

Spot was completely numb as his eyes scanned the words on the page without actually reading them. He took nothing in, he couldn’t. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. Cold hands seemed to wrap around his throat, squeezing tightly as it stole his breath. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn't do anything but stare at the words in front of him as they swum through his blurred vision. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. Everything was spinning and falling apart around him and there was nothing he could do to stop it or try to hold everything together. There was no putting this back together.

I am drowning, Spot, and there’s no sign of land. I was crashing and burning and bringing you down with me, hand in unlovable hand. I’m sorry for hurting you in all of this. This isn’t how it was supposed to end, but it was inevitable.

Y’know, our friends always say that there’s light at the end of the tunnel, just hold on, but I think they’re wrong. There is no light at the end of my tunnel. It just gets darker and darker and darker with no escape. This was my only escape, and I’m sorry it came to this. There was nothing else for me to do. It should never have ended like this, it wasn’t supposed to, but I couldn’t stop it. I wish things were different and we could’ve had forever.

Spot couldn’t help but think about the life they had planned, down to the most meticulous details. He had never thought it would happen exactly as they had talked about, that seemed impossible. All the best laid plans get torn apart anyway, but he hadn’t expected them to get torn apart in this way. He thought they would at least have a future.

There are a million things I could say here, but they would all be cliche, and I know you find those disgusting so I’ll keep this short. I love you. I love you so fucking much and I’m so sorry that things had to end this way. I’ll never stop loving you, I will until I can’t anymore. I hope that I’ll get to see you again someday, but until then, please know that I love you so fucking much, I always will.

Spot didn’t know what to do. Everything spun around him. He felt sick as the ground shifted under his feet and everything was just off-kilter and he couldn’t think or breathe or do anything but sit there and read the words that made him sick to his stomach.

I want you to have my jacket. I hope that someday you’ll have the courage to wear it.

I love you,

Tony.

The note slipped from Spot’s hand as he stared blankly at the air where it had been. Jack pulled Race’s jacket out of the bag and handed it to Spot.

“He- uh- he wanted you to have this,” Jack said, utterly out of his depth, with no idea what to say or do. All he knew is that they were going through the same loss, the same pain, with no way out. Spot took it from him, holding it gently, as if it were made of glass. It still smelled like Race.

“I’d like to be alone, please,” he said, voice hoarse with the difficulty of holding back an ocean.

“Are you sure that’s for the best?” Jack asked, brows furrowed with concern. He never thought he would be worried for Spot Conlon, but he also never thought something like this would happen.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Kelly!” Spot shouted. Jack held his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay. Just- text me if you want to talk? Please?”

“Get the fuck out.” Jack took that as a no.

Spot slumped onto the couch, cradling the jacket against his chest as he finally let the tsunami past its barriers and everything came over him at once, wave after wave of unrestrained, gasping sobs that wouldn’t let him come up for air, not once. Each one hurt more and more than the last, as tears flowed down his face, hot and unrelenting.

He didn’t know how long he cried for, but he couldn’t cry anymore. Now he just felt empty, hollow. His head hurt with the force of his sobs and his chest hurt from trying desperately just to breathe, but that wouldn’t bring Race back. Nothing would. He was gone.

Spot’s days were monotone. Wake up, have a coffee, watch mindless TV to block out the screaming thoughts that clawed at his mind, dream. Wake up, have a coffee, watch mindless TV to block out the screaming thoughts that clawed at his mind, dream. Wake up, have a- stop. He couldn't break the cycle. Over and over again the same things, as if he was going through the days on autopilot.

His dreams were the only thing that changed. Visions of memories, both good and bad - Race bathing in sunlight. Race’s tears mixing with the rain. Race dancing in the fields. Race collapsed at the bottom of some deep pit. Race’s eyes in the light of a bonfire, his head thrown back with laughter. Race about to burn. Race burning up (he seemed to smile from the centre of his fire). Race, Race, Race. He didn’t stop, didn’t leave Spot alone.

Spot remembered their last conversation. It was burned into his mind. Race, lying on his chest, tracing patterns on his collarbone.

“I want an adventure.” He had said. “I want to feel alive.”

“So have an adventure,” Spot answered. Race’s lips upturned into a cold, cold smile.

“Watch me, Spot. I’ll have the adventure of a lifetime.” He had the greatest adventure, the adventure to end a lifetime.

Every night was the same. Endless dreams, endless nightmares, endless visions of Race’s face and god all Spot wanted to do was reach out and touch him and know that he was there but every time he tried he disappeared in his arms. Spot was falling and falling and falling and Race couldn’t catch him because Race was dead.

Race had wanted to be cremated, so they cremated him and as Spot looked at the ashes he thought about the dream of Race smiling at him through the flames that consumed him. It was a sick sort of thing, really. They scattered the ashes in the wind by the sea. The sea like his eyes, alight with a fire gone out too soon. It was all too soon. Too much, too fast. They were too young to be feeling grief like this.

“I want an adventure.” Those words echoed over and over in Spot’s mind, the forlorn way Race had said them, as if longing for a childhood gone too soon. Spot thought them over, turning them over and over in his head before he came to his conclusion. He would have the adventure Race didn't get.

He found himself in the woods. Trees surrounded him, shrouding him from the outside world and birds sang from their nests. He ran through the trees, leaping over roots and straying from the beaten dirt path into unmarked territory. Birds flew from their nests as he passed and sticks and leaves crunched underfoot. He ran and he ran and he knew that Race wouldn’t be there to catch him if he stumbled, like the many times he had been before, but he didn’t care. His lungs burned, his legs burned, and Race was still smiling at him through the flames and this time Spot smiled back.

Spot had his adventure. It wasn’t the one he wanted, but it was the only one he was able to have.

Race was always there in some corner of his mind, like a fever Spot just couldn’t break, but he was learning to live with it. He was learning to live with the cold sweats and headaches and tremors, learning to live with the pain. It wasn’t going to go away, it never would, but he could learn to accept it as part of himself. Race would always be there, but his presence was one Spot could live with.

That didn’t make it any easier though. Spot couldn’t do anything. He was completely numb, no matter what he tried to make himself feel alive. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t do anything, it wasn’t like he wanted to anyway. He just lay there in bed, with Race’s jacket in his arms as the scent of Race overtook him and he listened to the blood pound in his eyes because that’s all he had the energy for. He tried to fix things, over and over, but there’s no fixing or bringing back the dead, and no matter how much Spot tried, Race was still dead, still gone.

He was dead, but still everywhere. Still hurt. Race tore everything in half. There was no putting it back together as Race burned it all down and Spot couldn’t rid himself of that nightmare, Race smiling back at him through the flames, a look in his eyes just like the one he had when he had told Spot to, “Watch me.” It coaxed Spot in, and made him want to follow. With those slightly upturned lips and the flames dancing in his eyes, who wouldn’t want to follow him? But Spot couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t.

Even so, he held onto that jacket like a lifeline. It was all he had left. The one thing he hadn’t lost to those cruel, merciless flames. It was the only thing that made him think, I don’t have to follow. I’ll wait. I have this piece of Race to keep me here, Race wouldn’t have given it to me otherwise. He could hold on, as long as he had this part of Race to keep him here. It was a choice, really. Follow Race, or try to make some good out of the worst situation possible. Whichever one takes over, whichever one you feed, that would decide how the rest of Spot’s life would go. He could maybe do something good with this. He looked at the jacket, and he knew Race had left it to him for a reason, he had wanted Spot to find the courage in himself to be out and proud.

He still couldn’t wear it, though.

He had to do something. Everything was slowly becoming too much. Spot stood in the rain as it slammed the pavement, soaking his skin, soaking his clothes, freezing him to the bone but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He felt alive as he stood out there, for the first time in months since Race had gone. He had thought it was getting easier to wake up each day, but it hadn’t. He hadn’t felt alive in so long, it was a shock to his system. He let the rain seep through his clothes and relished in the way he shivered against the bitter cold and the sky was black with thick, dark clouds and there was nothing but him, the sky, and the never ending rain.

The rain gave way to snow.

Had it been a year already? Spot stood under the fire-coloured sky as the snow came down around him in a sheet of pearlescent white. He wrapped Race’s jacket tighter around himself, inhaling Race’s scent that had mostly faded or given way to his own, despite how much Spot had tried to preserve it. It had taken a year, one of rain and blue skies (like Race’s eyes, Spot couldn’t help but think) and terrible storms and snow, but Spot had finally found it within himself to wear the jacket. The pride pins glistened proudly under the cold winter sunlight, and Spot’s courage surged. They were all so very Race, wearing the jacket made him feel as though Race was right there with him, holding his hand through everything. Spot smiled.

#suicide tw #sprace #spot conlon x racetrack higgins #newsies #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #jack kelly #newsies fanfiction #fanfiction #angst

[huacheng-zhu]

ok so 2ha. vague spoilers ahead (important spoilers are warned but watch out)

that’s a solid 4.5/5 for me. this novel RUINED me and I loved it for it. it made me feel like very few novels (and even stories in general) did. today I’m STILL shaken over a part of it that I read two days ago, despite the happy ending. I have A Lot of thoughts (shout-out to @whateverwuxian​ who can testify that I couldn’t shut up about it, love you buddy!!) so I just went ahead and [gestures below]

starting with the negative so we can enjoy all the positive later. feel free to discuss but I’m extra sensitive and these are only my personal feelings so they probably won’t change anyway, so be nice please!

what I didn't like:

too many r*pe scenes. I get that the non-con """makes sense""" narratively and thematically but like. they didn't have to be explicit. at the very least not all of them. sorry but too much is too much. there are more non-con sex scenes/flashbacks than consensual sex scenes! stop! we get it! enough now!

not a fan of a 26yo falling in love with a 16yo. if cwn had initiated Anything I would’ve thrown the novel out the window. but thankfully it didn’t happen, I got invested, and nothing mutual happened until mo ran was 22, so I mostly got over it, but I’m still somewhat uncomfortable with it for very personal reasons.

their first time putting it in. it felt so unfair and I was very upset over it. it could’ve worked without going There? why. was that necessary. and it's heartbreaking for both of them, because mo ran didn't want to do it either. he wanted them to take all their time. he wanted to go step by step. all he wanted was to make sure cwn would be happy and comfortable and never hurt again in bed. for their first time that way he wanted it to be special. but it was just. taken away from them, and for what? for nothing there’s absolutely no reason for it. I get there’s the metaphorical foreshadowing of the upcoming reveal aspect (spoilers) both of them not consenting, mo ran being horrified -> the reveal that mo ran was cursed and so would’ve never wanted to treat cwn like this in the past either if he’d had control (end spoilers) but still?? and it’s never brought up again? I know they don’t get the time until the very end but hhhh. yeah I have Feelings over this

some plot twists hit good emotionally but had no point? thinking of the one about xue meng here.

there’s horny, and then there’s mo ran. it’s not a bad thing, it’s just not the kind of stuff I like reading about and book 1 and 2 are A Lot on that side so in book 2 after a while ME, THE BIGGEST ASEXUAL WHO COULDN’T CARE LESS ABOUT SEX SCENES, WAS LIKE, “oh my god have mercy please just fuck already I beg of you” and indeed they chilled a bit after that. like they were still horny but. less intensely and less all the fucking time. thank god (I still think the farm arc was hilarious to witness though, and I did love it)

kinda wish their reunion at the end was longer and more emotional but that’s just because I love that shit

(spoilers) kinda wish we got to see shi mei again before he went off doing his blind wandering doctor stuff. a talk with ranwan would’ve been very interesting. (end spoilers)

xue meng didn’t get a hug

that one thing at the end you know the one. maybe I'd be more into it if it'd been given time to be explored seriously and wasn't played off as a joke. it kinda ruined the mood of their last scene for me. (spoilers spoilers spoilers this is the end of this section if you don’t want to get spoiled) in that scene I wanted chu wanning to ride off into the sunset with mo ran, not txj. like, txj is the alternate world’s “if there had been no transmigration” version of mo ran 2.0. the whole point is that mo ran IS txj in book 1, but changes and becomes mo ran 2.0. mo ran 2.0, who by the end of the novel has already done all the redemption and deconstruction of his dubious habits. who he was as txj is long behind him. at this point txj will always be a part of who he was, but they are pretty much two 'different' people now. txj disappearing into dust after everything that happens at the end was beautiful symbolism. it meant something. to me there was no point keeping txj around after all that other than for “haha split personalities fighting over cwn’s attention uwu” THAT SAID the fact I'm not a fan of the idea doesn't mean I don't like txj. I care txj a lot and have Emotions over him, and I will definitely eventually explore this in my writing

(still spoilers) the demonic blood reveal was a bit.... deus ex machina? plus I personally would've preferred mo ran staying a regular person (end spoilers)

alright what I liked now:

the themes, both regarding the characters and the various plot elements. this novel really challenges your morals and what you think is right or wrong, what’s redeemable, what’s punishable, and how much one relies on first impressions, amongst other things. this novel is the definition of “don’t judge a book by its cover” but also “look further than the first page” in so many ways

the romance. like I don’t need to say anything there. just, the slow burn, the longing, the yearning, the romance [clutches heart]

the plot twists/reveals. I’m so glad I was barely spoiled (I was spoiled two Big things but very vaguely so I was still surprised) because pretty much all of them had me shouting “WHAT” and/or gaping and/or various “what the fuck!!!”/”holy SHIT”/“NO” reactions

the way a lot of those reveals just completely change your view on things/characters?? that’s my jam

wontons. that was the first time I cried and my first very physical reaction to an event in this novel. I literally felt like time froze. I heard my heart beating. it was painful but AMAZING.

might be nothing in the grand scheme of things but honestly, all the food! I love that mo ran is an excellent cook and can make all those delicious dishes for cwn. as someone who loves to cook for their loved ones I think it’s so lovely that he gets to do that

the character growth. for everyone, but mo ran in particular? like I just. I started off not liking mo ran very much, straight up despising him at times, and in the end I was fucking sobbing over him and cried myself to sleep only to wake up in the middle of the night to cry some more so there’s that

chu wanning? there were aspects of him that I related to heavily, and that felt both like the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known and very special because it doesn’t happen to me that often

the whole deaging arc. that was deaging done right and it had a purpose in the narrative and their relationship growth, I was “!!!!”

I LOVE how they took their time with EVERYTHING once they got together? that it spanned over several weeks? that it started with the confession, then just holding hands, then kissing, then making out, then sex, and even the sex was step by step! it said A LOT about mo ran’s character growth and it respected SO MUCH the fact that cwn is a 32yo (unrelated but (spoilers) I like to argue that yeah he’s been alive for 32 years but when you’ve been asleep and not aging physically nor growing mentally for five years in a way that makes you a 27yo. so when he calls his body “mature and old” and compares himself to shi mei I’m just. buddy your body is just three years older than shi mei’s there’s barely any difference in maturity right there. I know it’s your lack of self-worth speaking, and believe me I get it, but don’t be so hard on yourself. (end spoilers) anyway, this is an unimportant and unrelevant thought that I had during the mirror scene) who has no experience in any of these things whatsoever. he's not pushed into sex like he's going to be comfortable right off the bat and like it isn’t such a big change in a life that’s been ascetic so far. mo ran is aware of that! and when they have their first time mo ran, who’s been maybe even more horny than cwn all this time - seriously horny is that guy’s middle name, who initiated the sex, what does he say!!! "don't worry about me, tonight, I just want to make you feel good"??? mo ran?? your character development??? I appreciated that so much.

the pain. I’m still bleeding on the floor despite the happy ending but yeah. I like angst and I was not disappointed. it didn’t feel that gratuitious to me, more like, brutally honest? I don’t cry that easily but by the end I think I’d cried, what, close to ten times??

quite a few excellent quotes [lies down] “I realized - I had grown into the you in my heart”?? “hell is too cold”??? I highlighted more but those two are the ones that always come to my mind first

most of the time the flashbacks were perfectly inserted for maximum emotional damage and I respect that skill

xue zhengyong. like he’s not my favourite, my favourites are xue meng, nangong si and ye wangxi but? I just adored him so he gets a special mention

the side characters? like, I legit loved Everyone? when I cry over side characters you know it’s serious

THE CONFESSION SCENE. LIKE. HOLY SHIT MY HEART. it comes reaaally close to the vocal one (because hua cheng confesses so many times without words) at the end of tgcf for me. it was beautiful. I was so emotional. the fact that cwn can't say it no matter how much he feels it. like it's always been plain and clear just how much he loves mo ran. but he can't say the words yet and I just. the fact that mo ran gets it? that he doesn't need the words, just that squeeze of fingers, just what cwn is, at that moment, able to give him, and it doesn't mean less to him than words would? it hit home real hard

unless I think of something else, that’s about it! I can’t recommend 2ha enough, that said, I beg of you, heed the warnings. they are NOT overstated. and even if there were no warnings, take care anyways. the angst is serious, it haunts you. angst always makes me feel like my chest is being squeezed and that’s precisely the feeling I’m looking for when I choose to read angst. I have good tolerance to it, so despite not doing entirely well lately, I thought I was tough and went for it, but I’m a CLOWN. the way it’s written ruins you. this morning despite reading the hardest part of the angst on saturday evening, I still had some physical chest pain. so I recommend it with all my heart, but take care of yourselves. 2ha doesn’t fuck around.

#2ha #bee talks #i will probably tweak and add to this post over time because I probably forgot stuff #anyways I'm gonna go lie down and cry over ranwan as I think about my fic ideas #2ha review

[atinybitofau]

S A N ➪ the breakup

THE ONE WHERE YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU REALLY NEED

warnings: may contain triggering content. (non-suicidal, social anxiety, depression)

• it’s not your relationship.

• it’s not.

• it’s definitely you.

• and San will fight like a soldier in battle,

• with no other reason to live,

• just to keep you forever.

• but you can’t take it anymore.

• because sometimes when your heart hurts too much,

• you forget about the people who are really trying to help.

• he just wants to hold you forever— his baby.

• he’s holding you.

• shaking.

• trembling.

• scared.

• just like you are.

• “No. No. Hey, baby. Hey look at me. I can help you. Help you through this.”

• but you don’t let him.

• you think it’s wrong.

• wrong to let him suffer helping you because you’re so broken.

• you think he’s cutting himself by holding you.

• “San! Let go of me!”

• you flail trying to pry your boyfriend’s hands away as he tries to keep you steady—

• gentle all the same.

• he loves you.

• “I love you.” he’s crying to you, trying to cup your crying face in his hands. “I love you. And I’ll be here for you, baby. You just have to let me.”

• you shove him harder than you think.

• it’s hurting him.

• how you hard you push him away.

• and seeing you so frustrated that it’s driving him insane.

• “No, San! Stop helping me. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you.”

• you keep insisting.

• you don’t know that he’s keeping you together.

• you’re so torn by hurting him because you’re so broken,

• that you don’t see that you need him as much as you love him.

• “Get out. Get out! Leave me alone and please for the love of god, San. Don’t come back.”

• so he leaves you.

• but not because he wants too.

• but because he can’t watch you tear yourself apart because you think you don’t need him.

• months pass and you aren’t any happier.

• no actually—

• fuck you, because you’re selfish, is what you’re thinking.

• losing San might be the worst thing.

• the worst feeling.

• you’re sad enough as it is.

• and you do that to San?

• the biggest ball of sunshine to ever live.

• the only thing ever to put a smile on your face.

• his.

• now you want him back?

• you’re dumb.

• “H-he’s dating her?”

• Seonghwa sips on his coffee while he confesses to you. “It wasn’t something he wanted to do. His parents just think that maybe since you aren’t in the picture anymore that he’d be willing to marry into family benefits. Of course, he’d never say no to his mom.”

• it kills you.

• Seonghwa knows you aren’t suicidal.

• just sometimes not always there because you feel different from others.

• like, crying before you sleep.

• hiding in a locked room for days because you’re afraid of hurting people’s feelings.

• he knew that your heart was weak.

• that you need someone who can hold you even though you push them away.

• no better than San. EVERYONE knows that.

• “You okay, y/n?”

• “Hm?” you blink up through wet eyes and smile. “Yup, happy. Happy for him.”

• the handsome boy raises an eyebrow at you not convinced. “He’s not happy. I just told you his parents forced him into it.”

• “H-he deserves somebody.. who can take care of him too.”

• Seonghwa knows what you mean.

• knows too that you broke up with San because you didn’t WANT him to take care of you anymore.

• that you think you’re a burden in his life. Much less of a child.

• but he also knows that’s not true.

• “You know, y/n.” Seonghwa reaches over to hold your hand, something you didn’t know you needed for a long time. “It’s okay to be with San. To tell him you aren’t okay and let him hold you.”

• a tear falls from your face from his reminder.

• “There’s no one. NO ONE. In this world that can tolerate the pain of holding a broken glass like San can.”

• he’s telling you softly in a way he’s not direct. so he doesn’t hurt your feelings. “Don’t wait for the glass to break completely where he’d have to pick up the pieces, y/n. A little cut here and there won’t hurt anyone. Won’t if they’re trying to save someone.”

• you’re nervous.

• biting down on your lip as you hold the fluffy stuffed animal San gave you years ago to ease your griefs— your panics.

• but when a woman very familiar to you opens his door.

• you can’t help but think the plush pillow wasn’t going to do much.

• “H-hi, is San home?”

• her eyebrow arches eyes raking you up and down before sneering.

• “And can I ask why you need to know?”

• “Oh.” You look down at your feet tightening your grip on the pillow.

• seeing white, dizzy,

• for a moment pretending it’s San’s hand holding yours.

• “U-um. I.. I just want to.” you stutter over your words. “I thought I could.. I could come and talk to him? I-is that okay? Is it a wrong time?”

• she looks disgusted at your presence.

• it doesn’t help your anxiety.

• the little devils in your head that grew when San was away.

• you feel like falling and your eyes are blinking more.

• lost— completely lost and just looking for San.

• “Is this your way of trying to run back to him? After what you did breaking up with him?! You think coming here to my boyfriend’s house would be okay?”

• you stumble back and you don’t notice.

• how hysterical this woman was being.

• and the normal right thing to do was punch her sqaure in the face.

• but your heart is too weak, it really is.

• especially when hearing someone else call him her boyfriend.

• you see a glimpse of pure black before someone hoists you up.

• holds you tight before you fall to the ground.

• you’re shivering in his arms and he’s more scared than you are.

• “Baby? Hey baby, no look at me. Look at me, you’re okay.”

• you gulp, eyes wide when San’s holding you.

• one hand on your back and the other on your cheeks.

• he’s frantic and hot, worried like hell when his arranged girlfriend attempts to hurt you.

• hurt his baby.

• “She’s nothing, okay?” he’s moving so he meets your wavering eyes to keep you from looking to the woman behind him. “Her mouth is shit. Doesn’t know what’s good for her. Don’t listen to her dirty words. Baby, look at me.”

• you frown, fumbling with his shirt when your panic settles.

• settles when you look at him in his glowing eyes.

• like a crystal ball that hypnotizes you to serenity.

• “I love you.” his forehead’s pressed against yours now that your breathing has calmed.

• likes to feel it when your heart goes from fast to slow against his chest.

• “You love me too, that’s why you’re here right baby?”

• you nod hands moving so you could hold him back.

• rare.

• he knows it.

• knows you don’t give him much affection sometimes, not that he minds.

• but he feels you finally try.

• and girl does it SEND him.

• “Don’t cry.”

• he’s caressing you like fine glass that’s so thin he could break it any second.

• but he’s the only one.

• only ONE who can touch it without breaking it.

• “I love you so much and I’m so glad you’re here. You came to find me all by yourself.”

• you kiss his lips.

• now that he’s brought you back.

• “I’m sorry.” you mumble to look straight up at him the way he deserves. “I’m sorry for saying fucked up shit that could’ve ruined you. Could’ve made things worse for me and you. I’m so sorry, San.”

• “No.” his eyebrows furrow. “You didn’t make anything worse. Don’t say that to me.”

• now that you’re back.

• you’re ready to take care of him too.

• “San, I’m not all there sometimes.” You admit even though his girlfriend’s watching from behind. “I know I’m a lot of trouble. Hard to handle— when I have my attacks and I’m about ready to break. And you’ve always been there.”

• “I don’t mind. You know that.” San’s always ready for you no matter what you throw at him. “I don’t give a shit even if you think you don’t need me. If I know you do, you do. Alright?”

• “I feel bad. For making you have to take care of me sometimes. I’m not a child and you should never feel like you have to take more care of me than you actually do.”

• “I’d take care of you forever.”

• you chuckle because sometimes San’s more hopeless than you are.

• “I have no idea.” you tell him. “I have absolutely no idea how you can put up with my crap sometimes.”

• “But I know though. I know.”

• he presses another kiss to your lips not removing his as he pulls his now ex girlfriend out of his house and replaces her with the both of you.

• arms tangled and body against the door.

• “It’s because I love you. So fucking much. No one can take care of you like me.”

• you giggle under his lips fingers grazing his flawless jaw.

• “I want to take care of you too this time. This time if you let me.”

• he lifts you up so your legs are wrapped around him and your arms rest on his shoulders on each side of his head.

• “Baby you’ve always taken care of me. You just never knew it.”

• you didn’t know that.

• didn’t realize cause you think you’ve got bigger problems than him.

• but he gets sad too.

• get’s angry too.

• states of panic too.

• but you’ve always been there to hold his hand.

• “I was thinking I lost you.” he’s pressing you so close, you feel like if you move you might break him. “Thought I’d never have you hold me again. That I’d never be able to take care of my baby again. That maybe you really didn’t need me anymore.”

• you shake your head against him, your laugh sending him to places better than heaven if they existed. “Even if I tell you I don’t. I think at this point we both know I do.”

• he kisses you again.

• more for closure than anything else.

• “I love you, y/n. So much it’ll kill me. So will you take care of me for a long time? As long as you can. As long as you’re able.”

• you obviously can’t say no.

• not when he needs you as much as you need him.

@atinybitofau

#san #san x reader #choi san #ateez san #ateez reactions #ateez preferences #ateez imagines #san imagines #san reactions #san scenarios #ateez scenarios #seonghwa #breakup #social anxiety #ateez #ateez au

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, ch.5

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Chapter Summary: Okay, listen. Listen. Eden may have agreed to this, but are we absolutely, positively sure she needs stitches? Yes? Er… Okay. But are we, like, SURE sure or...?

Warning: swearing, blood, describing injuries, mending injuries (on a wuss) 

Also!!! Apparently, you’re not supposed to use rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide on cuts cuz their chemicals are too harsh and can damage muscle tissue. I grew up using peroxide on my cuts and didn’t know you weren’t supposed to until after I’d already written the majority of this chapter, so like… don’t do this irl. I’m just lazy and using alcohol works really well for the story so blah

—

Chapter 5:

Eden leaned her head back on the low wall behind her and stared up at the clouded sky. She huffed for what felt like the hundredth time. At this rate, she was going to be completely healed before Red Hood even got back...

She took another peek at her sliced palm. The cut was about a third smaller than it had been. Would Red Hood notice? Probably. It was hard to miss.

Should she— she shuddered. Should she try to reopen it a little with her nails?

She moved her hand away, gagging at the thought.

Nope. No way. Forget that. If it was noticeable to Red Hood, she would just play it off somehow. Distract him or something. Play dumb. Cry. Whatever it took but she was not going to reopen it. It shouldn’t heal much more before he got back, anyway. He promised it would only take a few minutes for him to get what he needed and get back. And, despite feeling like she’d been sitting on this rooftop for hours, Eden knew that wasn’t true. She was just getting antsy.

She put a hand to her neck, gently moving a finger across the gash there. It was fairly long, running from the dip between her shoulder and neck down to the crook of her collar bone. The knife nicked her jugular on the way down, too. That was how she’d become so lightheaded so quickly. Even now, her shirt was still wet with all the blood she’d lost.

She was lucky her body healed the way it did. The process was by no means instant, and sometimes it was too little too late, but more often than not it was just enough to save her from unnecessary encores.

Actually, still running her finger along the jagged cut, Eden was a bit surprised. Usually, an injury like this would be far more healed by now. Yet, somehow, the cut on her neck didn’t feel any smaller than the first time she’d touched it. True, it wasn't as deep as it had been – Eden could just… tell it wasn't – but on the surface, it was mostly the same.

Was it her? Had she gained some control over this part of her power without realizing it? Maybe. Or maybe she'd just lost so much blood that replenishing it was more important than mending the rest of her body. Or maybe her body magically knew that healing too fast wasn’t a good idea this time. Or, maybe, it was just mending itself like this, like a snail trudging across a bone-dry desert, because she hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime.

Her stomach growled on cue, confirming her suspicions. Eden groaned. Now that she wasn’t drowning in her own thoughts or missing a remarkable amount of blood, she was fully aware of her body’s needs. And, boy, did it need food.

 “Would you—”

Eden shrieked in surprise as Red Hood announced his return by swiping her hand away from her neck.

“—stop messing with that?”

“What in the—!? Where in the heck did you come from!?”

“Hell, obviously.” He knelt down in front of her, taking a small black bag off his shoulder. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Oh, of course,” she said rolling her eyes. “I thought I recognized the accent.” She smacked her forehead theatrically. 

Red Hood let out a small, amused sound as he unzipped the bag. Inside was a swath of medical supplies. He dug around a moment then pulled out a white cloth and bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Eden eyed the bottle as he unscrewed the cap. “I hear the weather’s lovely in Hell this time of year,” she continued, hiding behind the joke. “Good time for a visit.”

“Nah," he said playing along. "It’s hot as balls right now."

She chuckled. “Ain't it—” Red Hood turned to her urgently and Eden quieted.

He said nothing. 

“Um…" She shrank down a little, unnerved by his wordless stare. "Everything okay there, Mr. Hood?”

He studied her another moment then eased back. “Yeah. Sorry. You started laughing so I thought you might…” he drifted off, looking at her neck. He shook his head and went back to prepping the cloth. “How do you feel?”  

She shrugged. “Fine. Better than I was.”

“No more gagging fits?” He glanced over at her and Eden shook her head. “Good.”

She eyed the drenched cloth in his hand, thinking back to all the times she'd put alcohol on someone else’s cuts and scrapes. She’d never had to use it herself, not even when she was a kid, so she didn’t know what it felt like. All she knew was that other people often hissed or groaned when they used it. Even Nate, arguably the toughest of her semi-siblings, would wince if alcohol went on an open wound.

“Is that going on my neck?”

“Yep.”  Red Hood brought it closer.

Eden leaned away. “Is it going to hurt?”

“I mean.” He gave a half-shrug, half-nod like it was obvious. “Yeah?”

“Okay, but like…” She slunk down against the wall, growing quieter. “How bad is it gonna hurt? Like… bad or… really bad?”

Red Hood tilted his head in thought. “How’s your pain tolerance?”

"My...? Oh. Well, it's... um..."

No matter how she got hurt, Eden was always fine in the end. But in the moment? When it was actually happening to her? Or, if it was a trade, when it felt like it was happening to her?

“Not great,” she decided. But, then again, who didn’t experience excruciating pain while dying? “It’s hard to say. It might be normal but… I’m not really sure. I certainly don't like pain, if that helps.”

“Alright, better question: have you ever used alcohol to clean a cut before?"

“No,” she murmured sinking into her shoulders. “Never.”

Red Hood turned his head upward and let out a deep noise, something between a hum and a sigh. He glanced toward the little black medical bag, then down at himself, then around them. Searching for something, perhaps.

“Look—” Eden straightened herself up, drawing his attention. “Look, why don’t you… Why don’t you just do it, okay? You being all,” she made a gesture, “this is freaking me out more. Just throw it on there and if it hurts, then—”

“When it hurts. I’m not just slapping it down," he told her. "I have to actually clean the cut.”

“Oh, okay!” she said in a much higher pitch. “Great! Wonderful! Then when it hurts, I’ll just— I’ll— I’ll kick you or something! And it’ll be fine!”

Red Hood cocked his head. “After all I’ve done for you, you’re going to repay me by kicking me?”

Eden blinked at him. “What? Oh! No, no! I didn’t mean— I wasn’t really going to kick you! Of course not! I wouldn’t actually— Okay, I mean, maybe in like a knee-jerk kind of way, but not on purpose or anything! And even if I did do it on purpose, I’d probably hurt myself more than I’d hurt you, Mr. Hood – I think we both know that – ‘cause it would just, you know, be like a, uh, little baby kicking you or something. More sad than anything, really; just downright pathetic, and, honestly, you'd probably feel bad for me and have to pretend it hurt 'cause I'd just be holding my foot and crying, and—” 

Red Hood snickered loudly, cutting off her senseless jabbering. He turned his head and covered the place where his mouth would be but his shoulders kept shaking.

Eden’s whole face went up in flames. He'd been joking. And now he was laughing at her. Again.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she grumbled turning away from him. She pushed her hair out of the way and offered up her neck. “Will you please just get this over with before I make a bigger fool of myself?”

“Hold on.” Still fighting back laughter, he reached for the bottle again. “I need to add some more.”

“More!?”

"Yeeaah," he said shaking his head oh-so-solemnly. "It dried out while you were talking." 

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure." She turned and pinned her eyes on the skyscrapers in the distance. "Go on and tease the panicking person, Mr. Hood. Very kind of you. Very classy.”

"What can I say? I'm such a kind, classy guy."

A laugh nearly tumbled out of her but Eden quickly fought it down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. The sound of fresh alcohol spilling onto the cement wiped her suppressed smile clean away.

“Oh god.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be fine, Cookie Girl.”

“I am not gonna be fine!” she threw back. “This is awful! This is horrendous! This is— This is torturous!”

He scoffed, close to her neck now. “Don’t be such a baby. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I know! That’s what’s so awful!”

“Do you want to hold my hand or something?” 

Eden knew he was mocking her. She did. She just didn’t care. Her good hand clutched at the fabric of his leather jacket. The other wrapped around the exposed skin between his glove and tight, armor-like sleeve. Her mending palm warmed quickly against his skin.

He cleared his throat. “I was joking.”

“Well, that's too damn bad, Mr. Hood! Don’t go making offers you don’t wanna bank on! Now, would you puh-LEASE just get this over with!? I’m seriously starting to freak out here, and I really don’t appreciate the whole ‘Let’s draw this out as long as possible ‘cause it’s funny’ shtick, ‘cause it’s not funny, and I for one really don't appreciate—”

“Okay, okay! I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Sheesh.” He moved forward and ran the cloth over her torn skin in one quick motion. Eden shrieked and clutched his arm.

The burn was intense— sudden— unlike anything she’d felt before. Her eyes misted as she forced herself to breathe through clenched teeth.

Every so often, Red Hood gave her small words of assurance – that she was doing fine, that he was almost done – but Eden could only focus on the pain. Liquid fire bubbled and seared its way deep into the wound. She dragged the soles of her shoes against the cement, desperate for relief. Eventually, she tore her good hand away from Red Hood’s jacket and pounded her fist against the floor. She grabbed his sleeve again and held it tightly, trying not to cry.

When he finally finished, Red Hood carefully removed her good hand from his sleeve and put it on top of the cloth. “Keep this here, alright?”

“I don’t like this,” she sniffed, her voice wavering. “Why do we have to do this. I hate this. This is stupid.”

“You’re doing fine, Cookie Girl,” he said softly.

She half-huffed, half-whined in disagreement.

Red Hood turned back to his little black bag and dug around with his free hand. He made no indication of needing his other hand, so Eden didn’t let go. Every time the frothing, stinging burn flared up again she dragged her heel across the floor and gave his arm another tight squeeze. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“So.” He pulled a small pouch from the bag. “What kind of trouble are you in, anyway?”

The furrow in her brow deepened. “What do you mean? I’m not in any trouble…”

“Right.” From the pouch, Red Hood took out a curved needle, some thick tweezers, and what looked like a spool of blue fishing line. “Because only someone not in any trouble would beg someone like me to patch them up instead of going to a hospital.”

“Hey now!" She let go of him and pointed to herself. "I didn't beg for nothin'. I just refused to go to the hospital. You're," she jabbed her finger at him, “the one who’s insisting on doing this nonsense.”

He scoffed and swiped her hand away as he threaded the needle. “Would you rather I didn’t do this nonsense?”

“It feels like the devil himself is pissing on my shoulder right now, so... yeah, to be completely honest, I’m kinda wishing you didn't.”

Red Hood stopped. Stiffly, he turned his head toward her. Eden shrunk back from the sudden, severe emotion coming from him. The heat of his hidden gaze, amplified by the glaring eyes of his helmet, was hard to meet.

“I’m sorry,” he said harshly, “did you want an infection in your fucking neck?”  

“No,” she said quietly.

“Then what about having a huge scar for the rest of your life?”

Knots formed in her stomach. “I’m not worried about scars,” she mumbled stubbornly.

“No? Then how about that cut reopening?” he shot back. “How about bleeding out a second fucking time when there's no one around? How about fucking dying? Are you worried about that?” he hissed. His distorted voice was sharper and more searing than Eden had ever heard it.

She sank further down the wall. It wasn't hard to understand why Red Hood was so worked up about this. She glanced down at the slick, sticky river of blood that had flooded her shirt and pooled down her torso. She'd lost so much so quickly... If she were a normal human being and the cut did reopen, there wouldn't be enough blood left in her body to survive it. She would bleed out and die just like Red Hood said.

But Eden wasn't normal. The cut wouldn't reopen. And even if it somehow did, it wouldn't kill her. Her body had already made up for most of the blood she'd lost — she could feel it. And even if it hadn't, even if the damn thing did kill her, it's not like she would stay dead anyway. The universe would demand another encore from her, just like it always did, and her heart would start again. Just like it always did.

Eden eyed the needle in Red Hood's hand apprehensively. He was going to put that into her skin. Into her cut. He was going to sew her up like an old ragdoll and she didn't even need it!

What would it feel like? Would it be small but sharp like getting pricked by a sewing needle? Strange and agonizing, as if she were being carved up by a tiny knife? Quick and exasperating, like getting her ears pierced again before they finally understood why the holes kept closing up? Or, would it feel like something she’d never experienced before — like the molten, frothy sting of alcohol on an open wound?

And, even worse, the stitches would eventually have to come out. Her body would be perfectly healed within a day or two – at most – and would leave no scar. There'd be nothing to suggest she’d ever even needed stitches in the first place. Even if she could find a way into a hospital without alarming her mother, how would she be able to explain that? She wouldn't. She'd have to remove them herself.

She could just... tell Red Hood her secret, of course. Avoid the whole kerfuffle that way but... But that was stupid. Yeah, he was trying to help her now, and, yeah, he’d save her before, but being a metahuman wasn’t something you just… told people about. Not even heroes. Eden wasn’t that stupid.

In fact, the only people she’d ever told were the “cousins” she considered siblings. And even then, unless they actively needed her powers, she only told them after years of knowing and trusting them. It was her greatest secret, and, as far as she was concerned, only family needed to know it.

Well. Family and whoever the hell Frank told, apparently.

Eden was still upset about that. People – people she didn’t know; people her mother didn’t know; total strangers – knew about her powers now. Frank had told the people he worked with about her without her knowledge or consent. He swore they were trustworthy, that they were merely interested in the science and what it could do, but that didn’t mean much to Eden. After all, he wasn’t even family. Not anymore.

She'd thought he wanted to be. Despite all the years of silence, of absence, she’d hoped he wanted to be when he suddenly reached out and asked to see her again. But when they finally did meet up, after all the backflips and hoop-jumping they’d gone through to keep Mama from catching wind, he’d treated her more like a business venture than a daughter.

That stung more than alcohol ever could.

“Well?”

Eden glanced up at Red Hood. Waiting, with needle in hand. Likely angry, or at the very least upset, with what he must’ve thought was a very stupid, very weak, very ungrateful little girl. He certainly wouldn't be the first.

She looked away again and let out a slow breath. Carefully, she removed the cloth from her neck, hissing softly as she did. She wordlessly offered up the wound a second time. He shifted closer, putting a hand near the cut. Eden flinched and he stopped again.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, softly, sure he was getting more irritated by the minute. “I’m sorry, I just…” She shook her head, fighting the shameful urge to cry. “I’m just," she choked. "I'm just no good at this stuff."

Red Hood said nothing. Eden wondered if silence was how he showed his disappointment.

After a moment, his free hand moved from her neck. He held it in front of her, his palm up. She stared at it, unsure of what it meant.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” he said gently. Eden's eyes lifted in surprise. “It does when the needle goes in," he continued, still soft, "but it’s more weird than painful, I swear. If you need to, you can still…" Red Hood looked to the side and started mumbling. "Y'know.” He bobbed his hand. “Hold my hand or whatever...”

A rebel tear ran down her cheek. Eden sniffed and quickly brushed it away. 

This... This was Gotham’s most-contested vigilante. The mob boss. The murderer. The one everyone and their mother had an opinion on. The one they said could never, should never, be considered a hero. This guy. The one who insisted on helping a stubborn, panicky, annoying civilian all night. The one who got downright pissed when she tried to brush off life-saving care. The one who did not rebuke her for being so pathetic, so weak, but instead shyly offered her comfort.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. People called Red Hood bad, immoral, unforgivable, but how? How could anyone think of him like that? Even if he'd done awful things... Even if he still did awful things... Red Hood clearly wasn't an awful person. He was thoughtful. He was kind. He was good.

Had any of the people who said those nasty things actually met him? Did they know how tender he could be? How sweet? Maybe they hadn’t and his rough reputation simply preceded him. Or maybe Eden was a fool who couldn't see the true cruelty hidden beneath a masterful facade. Or... maybe she was one of the lucky ones who got to see past the facade, who got to see the heart hidden underneath.

Eden gingerly took his hand, so, so grateful. “Thank you, Mr. Hood,” she whispered, hoping the words would be enough to convey at least a small fraction of what she was feeling.

He grumbled something back — his voice garbled more than usual. 

Eden smiled and giggled softly, feeling outstandingly lucky.

“You ready now?” he muttered.

She nodded. "Ready."

He moved forward again, slowly this time — giving her enough time to stop him if she needed it. She squeezed his hand in anticipation. He took it as a go-ahead.

There was a sharp prick at the base of her collarbone followed by a strange sliding sensation. Like he’d said, there was a sharp, shooting pain each time the needle went in or out of her skin, but it wasn’t too bad. The real issue was the silk-like thread. The slick feeling of it running in and through her skin, tugging pieces of herself together… It was off-putting. Nauseating, even.

Eden tried not to squirm too much. When the needle pierced too thin a piece of skin, she squeaked and scraped her shoe against the ground as Red Hood muttered an apology. When the tugging made her nearly gag, she zeroed in on the scruff marks along his jacket, breathing slowly as she counted them up.

When none of that helped, she would squeeze his hand, silently begging for strength. He squeezed back, readily giving it whenever she asked.

“There,” he said pulling the needle through one last time. He tugged the thread firmly. “Can I have my hand for a second?”

Eden let go and watched as he tied off the string and cut off the excess.

“So…" she tried. "How do I get them out?”

“They’ll dissolve or fall out in a few weeks’ time. No hospitals necessary.”

She nodded slowly then let out a breath of relief. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Red Hood studied her a moment. He lowered his head slightly and stayed that way, something clearly on his mind.

Then, as if forcing himself, he reached for her cut hand. Eden jerked it close to her chest.

“Are you gonna put stitches in my hand, too? That would hurt worse, wouldn’t it? Since it’s my palm?” She snuck a glance at the cut as she spoke.

The first time she’d looked at it, it ran clear across her palm from end to end. There’d been thin cuts across some of her fingers too. She honestly couldn't remember when it had happened in the fight or how, but she must’ve grabbed for the knife at some point and been holding it by the blade when it was roughly pulled from her grasp.

Now, the cut was much smaller. Only about an inch and a half over the center of her palm. She couldn’t even tell where the smaller slices on her fingers had been. She imagined the skin there still looked a little irritated, but – because it was dark and her hand was still coated with blood – she couldn’t see it.

“I might not have to,” Red Hood said holding his hand out for hers. “The neck was definitely worse, but let me take another look at it.”

Nervously, Eden took one more glance at her palm then handed it over.

Red Hood inspected it a moment then tilted his head. "Huh."

She panicked. “What!?” she shrieked, startling him enough to look away from the cut. “Is it bad? Do I need stitches? Please don’t say I need any more stitches, Mr. Hood, I really don’t think I can handle going through that with my hand. Please say I don’t. Pretty please?”

He glanced down at it again. “You don't.” Very gently, he ran a thumb over the cut. “It’s a lot smaller than I remember…”

“Oh, thank goodness!" she said in a fast voice. She started tugging her hand away. "So we’re all good then, right? No more patching up? You can just take me home now?” 

Red Hood let out an amused hum and started packing up his supplies. “You trying to get rid of me?” 

“No, not at all! But," she brought up a finger, "if you bring that alcohol crap anywhere near me again, I really am going to kick you.”

He scoffed and batted her hand away. Then he paused and dipped his head. “Actually," he teased, reaching for the bottle. "Now that you mention it—”

“No. No, no."

“We really should clean it."

“Nope. No. Don’t you dare.”

“Aw, c'mon, Cookie Girl,” he said waving the bottle. “Just to be safe?" 

“Mr. Hood, I will kick you and I will do it hard.”

He laughed, stood up, and offered his hand. "You gonna cry when you do?"

"No! ...Maybe." She took his hand. "Shut up."

—

Feedback is always appreciated! 🥰💕 

Chapter 6

#jason todd #jason todd x oc #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x oc #red hood x reader #oc: Eden Smith #Never-Ending Encore #chapter 5 #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction

[ceo-of-choco-bibi]

HCLW 107 SPOILERS

I've actually been so upset over the past few days because of the new chapters... nothing to worry about though it's not too serious.

I am making content, in terms of fics I got one more oneshot to add to my current chocotemp collection, a HnK au, and a new series of oneshots, more precisely about how I feel GRG would respond to the current event in the real world. In terms of art I have a few sketch graphs and one piece planned, but it might take a while to churn out.

(Check out my ao3 for my fics! https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811194)

For now I just really want to talk about them because they make me so sad and happy at the same time. Enjoy my rambling.

Giga 13th squad! They're all so cool, Giga's squad are really just Squad 1 Legendary characters team, the other fillers and Squad 13th. I immediately fall for any teleportation-related character, so Veganic is like (chef's kiss)! He is adorable I want to pick him up and put him in my fancy coat pocket.

MASTER SWORDSMAN ALWAYS GETS THE COOLEST PANELS! AS HE SHOULD! HE SLAYS ALL THE TIME UGH I

I hate the word goated but he really is he's the coolest and I hope he knows it! I feel embarrassed for talking to a fictional character but I wish he knows how much I love and cherish him

"There are times in life when you lose. If you're bound to lose, then just do the best you can! Then there will be a next time." I'm so devastated. How could you leave like this. How could you leave so happy when I'm dying over here.

"Give it to Choco Bibi and tell him it's my gift to congratulate him for becoming the second guild master of Grass Roots."

"How about we fight with our swords? It's been a while!"

"There should be a home for him to return to after he's done wandering. I'm going to start a new guild."

You don't understand. I don't have words for how painful this is. Just revel in the pain with me.

And here comes the backstory fluff (aka a sweetener to make the angst more bitter)

"How about we dance to draw attention?" "I think that'll make things worse." HELP ME

I CAN'T BELIEVE BIBI CANONICALLY HAS PRETTY BOY PRIVILEGE!!!! AS HE SHOULD???????

I'm actually never going to shut up about how Bibi never blushes in the presence of women. Like never. MSM and Drip Soup are always blushing when there's pretty women around but really Bibi has never shown attraction. When Pooh Upooh was naked? No. When Coco first entered the guild? No. Here, where a girl literally says she wants to go on a date with him? NO. This is actually my queer agenda, me and Sehun Kim had a talk and we agreed on making Bibi queer coded.

I would have never guessed that Drip Soup and Tempest were both affiliated with Giga for a short while? Guess I manifested my Giga!GRG but in a different way

I've never let go of the headcanon that Bibi is fucking terrible with feelings and is always angry, this just solidifies it more (really, every interaction Bibi has is just solidifying the theory that he's emotionally constipated)

I've also got the feeling that Bibi's super prideful in the sense that he would rather not express weakness (cry, express pain) in front of others (seen when he gets beaten by NM!Bibi the first time on) and that he channels everything into spite and anger instead. I kind of want to see this when he realises MSM is gone later on also. I want to see him get irrationally mad and blame someone (HCLW) before realising (or realising but still feeling lost and like he has to target someone) MSM wouldn't have wanted this. Armes wouldn't have wanted this. His friends are the only ones left.

It really comforts me to see that Master Swordsman is happy with his life right now. I'm kind of stuck between "oh he's happy because he's well off from the game, his work doesn't count" and "anything that you're happy with in life is worth it. You don't need an office job to be happy" though, but for real. I've never wanted a regular office job and I'd rather just do something simple and get by since nothing matters in the long run when I die. But at the same time, I feel like I can only say this because of how privileged I am to be me. It's hard being alive, sometimes. I'll pull through.

Tempest appearance! This time it solidifies my idea that Tempest finds his friends to be more important than himself, at least at this point of time. I expand a lot more in my new fic and I've written a bunch there already, so I'll save it for then (haha, shameless plug)

It's so bloody funny that they're all from the same school and that they're meeting up for a battle. What are you, YouTubers with beef?

TEMPEST BEING A GOODY TWO SHOES NERD? HIS HAIR IS KIND OF FLUFFY? (I die.) TEMPEST AND BIBI IRL INTERACTION? THEY KNOW EACH OTHER IRL BEFOREHAND? (I die again.) BIBI EATING POPCORN? (I die once more.)

Anyways Bibi with a sugar addiction I really do not need to elaborate on this.

They are such LOSERS who does irl fights I swear to god yall EMBARRASSING /lh

I MANIFESTED HEAVY ALCOHOL TOLERANCE BIBI YOU HAVE ME TO THANK FOR THIS!!!!!!! I REALLY DID!!!!!!!! (My linked headcanon was that Bibi's the group protector when they're out drinking. It's sort of true.)

I can't do this. This is a lot for my heart. To whoever looks at this, why? But also thank you for being here it means a lot to me.

MSM RICH

Bibi gets couch rights as he should! Also Bibi and Tempest airpod users while MSM and Soup earphone users?

Glasses and WFL came from nowhere but alright I still love them

The gifts thing. The gifts thing. I am so upset it's unbelievable.

The hat... the hat was given to Bibi by MSM... I want to see him have a breakdown now. I want to see him wear the hat forever on after this arc because it's something solid he has left. He's an art major irl, I want to see him recreate the hat or make art related to MSM.

"You might be grumpy on the outside, but I know you always think dear of me. I'm glad you don't know what I'm doing right now. If you did, you would've stopped me by any means."

It hurts so much.

"Life doesn't always go your way. And sometimes... you just want to run away from the life that turned out so differently. Some people say, the place you run off to is no paradise. They may be right, but those who ran away can still comfort each other there."

GRG IS LITERALLY FOUND FAMILY! THEY ARE LITERALLY-

I cannot do this anymore it's horrible my heart is shattering into a million pieces

"How did we end up like this? You went through enough to deserve a little happiness. Hardcore. Go back to your friends!"

He does deserve it. You deserve it. I hate this. Thank you. Sorry.

And Bibi still doesn't know. He'll be the last to know. "Did he go knowing I loved him? What were his last words? How do I go on? What do I do from now?"

I do want to see them reunite and remember. I do want to see them waddle in their hurt and pain, to heal together, to move on as a guild knowing this is what MSM would have wanted. It's so fascinating seeing someone grow and oh how much have the Grass Roots grown in the past 3 years. They've been close to my heart since forever and I really love them so much.

Final conclusion: I hope you've hurt as much as I do. I hope reading this has shown you something from my perspective that has made you hurt a little more. Talk to me and be my friend so we can hurt together.

On a more self note: Like I said, I'm writing stuff. I'm drawing stuff. It sucks to think sometimes that so few people will see it, but I know that I love what I'm doing. I may be prideful and want more people to love me, but I think I'm not selfish for wanting so. Reading this drains me. Reading this fills me with inspiration and joy and happiness and pain and anger and sadness.

I hope you don't find it just plain cringe that my emotions work like this. I hope that you reading this find comfort in knowing someone feels this way too. Thank you.

#sun rants

[onlyhorn]

@rcguna​

A soft rap on the door sounds before Raguna opens his way into the library. It’d only gotten easier and easier for him to get into the normally ‘forbidden’ pocket space, now to the point that opening the door appeared to be as easy as finding the bathhouse, kitchen, or similar room in the manor. Whether or not this had to do with Beatrice appreciating the farmer’s presence more and more wasn’t something he would be asking. It wasn’t in his character to look into that, much less call it out from the small spirit.

And yet what was in his character was to bring her a pie from the kitchen, one he had hidden away from the rest so that Ram or anyone else wouldn’t be able to snatch it and do who knows what. And so coming with him into the forbidden library was the pleasant scent of nutmeg and spice as he approaches the girl at her chair. The dish is offered with a smile, a warm and vibrant pie decorated with sugared cranberries and pie crust leaves around the edge.

“Here you go, Beatrice, just like I promised, one of my homemade pumpkin pies. Yours to do with whatever you like, but uh, I’d definitely prefer if you ate it. Of course.” He chuckles awkwardly before pulling up the second chair that had appeared not too long ago and taking a seat. “…one last time I’ll extend the invitation. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Arlam for the festival? At the very least, is there something you’d like me to bring back?”

——————————

This wasn’t the first, second, third, fourth, or even fifth time he’s extended the invitation. The more Raguna had extended it to her, the more uncertain of herself she seemed to become. At first, it was a dismissive ‘no.’ The second time, it was a no again– and a rather dismissive shooing gesture. From that point on, however, it looked like she was hesitating to answer his question. Every attempt at asking her to go only made her more and more uncertain, to the point where it started to exceed beyond its annoying capabilities and moved right on into ‘frustrating’ territory.

Raguna is no longer greeted with the same, dismissive, distasteful or disgusted look that she used to give him and commonly gives Wylan. Instead, he is greeted by soft features remaining wholly neutral up until the scent of the pie meets her nostrils. At that point, her eyes widen slightly, and her gaze shifts up from her book to the pie that was held in his hands, on a platter accompanied by a fork and a knife. It smelled heavenly, and it was still warm and fresh, and its soft, slightly-cinnamon-y  scent pleased her and eased her…. but she knew what he was going to ask before the offer was even extended.

He is persistent in his pursuits. Unrelenting in his kindness. Were it not so wholesome, so bearable compared to the usual rabble she has to deal with, she would have disregarded him long ago and kicked him out many more times after. Even now, he stands there as a testament to both his patience and her’s – a trial he has yet to give up on.

He wants her to go with him so bad– he wants her to leave her library and join the rest of the mansion’s staff and residents in a nice, wholesome festival to celebrate the coming of fall… so why? Why couldn’t she just say yes? 

“ I still don’t understand you, I suppose. “ She’d slip out of her seat and approach him to take the pie platter from his hands. She takes a closer look at the sweetened, candied cranberries that sat atop the warm delicacy, taking in both the scent and its vibrant colors, but choosing not to waste too much time admiring the colors and instead focus on the topic at hand– because despite his genuine kindness, despite his desire to feed her, she knew what this was about, and she needs to address it.

“ Tell me, Raguna. What am I to you? “ The question is offered in a non-rhetoric tone. For a moment, she seems genuinely curious, but the question seemed to be so out of left-field that it leaves Raguna somewhat speechless for a second. She continues on with her thought, looking away from him with her back turned, eyes glazing over the confection she currently held in her hands.

“ You have treated me with such stubborn kindness despite my attempts to disregard you or remove you from my presence. I’ve grown more tolerable of you since then, I suppose. I find your presence far more …. pleasing than that of the others. “

“ … And I resent that. “

Her hands clutch the platter a bit too roughly– the fork on the plate shudders as her intense grip on the plate causes the utensil to shiver. She quickly moves towards her nightstand and leaves the plate there, refusing to turn around to face him again.

“ I don’t want to like you. I don’t want you to like me. There is a reason I try to force you or anyone else out of my life. Yet all you do is keep coming back, refusing my requests to let me remain in peace. So I stopped. I stopped demanding that you leave my presence because I knew it was no use to remove you from it. “

“ Because despite how much I wanted to keep you out of my life, you somehow always found a way to come back into it, I suppose. “ One hand clenches tightly into a fist, her grip against the hems of her dress. Her head ducks forward slightly, keeping her gaze to the ground instead of that pie which begged her to eat it.

“ And I.. am in a dilemma, I suppose. Because as much as I want to say no to your request, I… “

… I want to go so bad. But I know that I can not leave.

“ I can’t. I can’t deny you. I don’t have it within me to deny you anymore. All it does is frustrate me whenever I say no to you. I can’t say no to you anymore because it reminds me of how long I’ve been suffering here by myself for hundreds of years, Raguna. It makes my chest hurt. “

The longer the thought of it sat on her mind, the more and more frustrated she wanted to be. She wanted to be mad enough to kick and shatter her nightstand, she wanted to be angry enough to say no to him and to demand he come back later with maybe a stuffed toy. But she can’t. No matter how much she wills herself to say no to him, all it does is make that unending ache in her heart worse and worse.

“ When you were sick the other day – from exerting yourself, too hard – I had sped up the process of your recovery because seeing you in that state pissed me off, I suppose. “ She says this with an almost indignant huff. She knows she didn’t owe him an explanation, but if she was venting, she might as well let it all out. “ It reminded me of how you were when you were comatose after the maiden had saved your life. “ A moment passes between her saying that, and the noticeable shift in her tone as she takes on a more aggressive approach to this topic. This has become less of a acceptance or a denial of his request, and instead, has become a rather emotional rant.

“ But that would be a lie, I suppose.. “ She finally turns to face him, but her gaze is transfixed and almost appears to be angry.

“ That’s not how I really felt. I understand it now. I helped you because I felt indebted to you, after you had given me nothing but kindness and all I have been doing is dismissing it. “

“ And I’m TIRED of it. “ Her voice raises suddenly in volume. “ I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care. I’m tired of pretending like I’m alright. I’m tired of YOU coming back to ME every time I’ve tried to shove you away. Rough, gently, dismissively, or without word– it doesn’t matter! No matter how many times I’ve tried to push you away you’ve always come back to me, I’m sick of it, I suppose! I’m sick of it! “

I’m sick of pretending like I want to be lonely. I’m sick of pretending that I want to be angry at the world, at everyone. I’m sick of pretending that no one matters to me.

Words begin to warble as her eyes clench shut– when they re-open, they’re sparkling with the sudden formation of tears behind heavy lids. Lips quiver into a grimace as she chokes back a brief sob- when was the last time she was able to cry in front of someone? She had let herself grow so used to hiding her emotions or intentions that she had not been given a chance to cry to someone for hundreds of years.

                         Raguna would be the first person in several centuries                             to hear the wounded spirit’s heart plead for help                                                         for the first time.

“ Someone like you– doesn’t deserve to have to worry about someone like me. So why? Why do you keep coming back? Why can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t want to be a burden to you. You’ve already suffered too much, you’ve already almost lost your life, you’ve already almost lost the love of your life, so why, why?! “

The burden of my existence is too much for anyone to bear.

“ Be honest with me! I need to know…! Why do you keep giving someone as despicable as me a chance!? “

I need to know if you will be that person for me.

No doubt in her mind that unloading something like this to him would have thrown him for one of the biggest loops of all time. Never before had the spirit allowed herself to get as emotional in front of people as she does with him right at this very minute. The pain in her heart had grown too unbearable to hold back anything anymore. The facade in her mind refuses to play this dumb little game of lying and pretending that she’s someone she’s not.

For the first few years, she was the stalwart, undeniably powerful guardian of the forbidden library.

For the next decade, she was a staggering barrier between those who sought infinite knowledge, and the reserves of her mother’s library.

For the next century, she had been ruined by loneliness, torn apart by the darkness that settled on her mind, the dwindling hope that she would ever find someone who could save her from this horrid cycle of repeat.

And for every year onward, there is not a passing day where she wishes that she was not a spirit– that she were mortal, unbound by her contract, and given the freedom of choosing to take this horrible life away from herself. For the longest time, she wanted nothing more than to bring this unbearable pain to an end– so she was forced to live with it instead. She started to form a shell, forced away everyone who would attempt to get close to her. Even now, she still does so, denying multiple people the opportunity of friendship.

But even the hardest, most durable masks eventually degrade, and like water to a sea-battered boulder, her hard-to-shatter exterior has crumbled away, and inside of that powerful, stalwart and rude librarian sat the wounded heart of a scared little girl who was never given the chance to live a normal life.

…..

And only after she yells at him, does she turn around to grab the pie platter from her nightstand, shakily take the fork from the plate, and use it to scoop some of the contents of the pie into her mouth. Give herself a reason to shut up, she supposes. The pie is good, and warm, and made with love, and she hates it. And yet, she can’t help but love it, too.

“ … I’m sorry. I don’t want to force you to answer if you don’t want to. “ Her tears hit the platter and stain the pie. She ignores that the tears ruined the glistening exterior of the lovely treat.

“ You’re better off worrying about your own life rather than mine, I suppose. “

In the end– she would still prefer to try a last-ditch effort to remove him from her life altogether.

#[🦋] Will you be that person for me I wonder? | (RAGUNA) rcguna #[🎕] Life finds a way to get better. | IC. #[🎕] Politely-answered messages. | ASKS. #[🎕] History Re:Written. | (V. MAIN) #( hi bear ) #[🦋] Guardian of the Forbidden Library. | MUSE : BEATRICE. #suicide mention// #long post// #submission

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #27)

(cw: drugs/addiction) ----------

01/13/88   4:05 PM

Hey.

I had a lot to think about after that total clustercuss. 

Once I came down enough from my high to start feeling sick, I threw the blanket over Fix-it and left. Not in a mushy way or anything, more like tossing it over a chair or coat rack. I would have stolen it and added it to the pile, but it reeked of him. That’s not what I want to smell while I’m falling asleep.

The arcade opened the same as any other day, which felt strange given the surreal horrors I’d spent the night battling. I definitely took some wounds away from it, in the way of the worst hangover I’d had in my life. Chills, headache, puking, all the standard stuff was there, but I’d never had mental effects quite like that before. My moods were spinning as much as my head. They were so intense, yet so cold all at once. Minute to minute, I’d be laughing ‘til it hurt, then hyperventilating, then punching the bark off the trees, then crying so hard I couldn’t stand up -- yet it all felt dissociated from me. They were physical symptoms of emotion, but the emotions themselves just weren’t there. I was just numb.

Eventually, I passed out. I fell asleep craving nothing more than the quenching release of GC.

One more, I told myself. Just one more.

What I told Fix-it was the truth -- I didn’t want to corrupt. I did want to avoid it. But what I said before about the risk feeling far away? That only got worse, moving forward. My brain said that if I had gotten this far, I was tolerant to it. I was tough. I could take just one more and be fine. If I didn’t take another, I’d be left with a bad taste in my mouth. If I didn’t take another, I’d be giving up one last chance to experience the freedom and euphoria that the first hit gave me. The second one couldn’t be the last. I couldn’t end on such a horrifying note with nothing to wash it down. I couldn’t be ready to face my reality again dragging that around. I needed just one more. Just one.

So, once I’d woken up and had some more time to pull myself together, I drew another portrait, from memory this time. I’d drawn Fix-it so many times perfecting my disguise of him, it was like muscle memory. I guess I just didn’t want him to be one of the first faces up on the wall, otherwise I’d have drawn him sooner. But at that point, I didn’t have the patience to track anyone down to model for me. He’d have to do.

I set out for Tapper’s, portrait in hand. But halfway there, the weirdest and creepiest thing happened. Remember in my buff trip where I’d lose little chunks of time?

That started happening in real life.

One second, I was crossing Game Central Station. One flash of blue later, I was standing outside the bar, having just gotten off the train, with no memory of the time in between, and drumming pain in my head. I knew that was weird and definitely not a good sign.

But it was okay, because I wasn’t going to take any more GC after this last hit.

I entered the bar and sat in my usual spot. The atmosphere seemed somehow even drearier than before, even darker, as if Tapper had dimmed the lights. I wasn’t about to let it get me down, though. I whistled for Tapper. To my surprise, he didn’t come over right away, despite it being a slow night.

He wiped down a counter a little ways away. When I whistled, he took a deep breath and sighed through his nose. He didn’t even look at me. I got the sense, though, that he wasn’t trying to give me the cold shoulder. He just seemed so reluctant to even acknowledge me, so avoidant, as if being pressed on something he didn’t want to talk about. I actually had to get up and go sit in front of him for him to actually talk to me.

“What’s the problem, sad sack?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be happy to see me.”

Tapper stopped cleaning, took another deep breath, and looked me in the eyes with a sad sort of scrutiny. He asked quietly, “Mavis… is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

My heart skipped a beat.

“...No?”

“Really,” he furrowed his brow. “Nothing at all.”

“I’d…” I trailed off for a second, before pulling out the portrait and placing it in front of him. “I’d like to say ‘Pleasure doing business with you!’”

For a second, he froze in inspection of the portrait, and then sighed harshly. He leaned the heels of his palms wide on the counter’s ledge and nodded at me. “I know, Mavis.”

My insides turned cold, but there was no use fighting or running away. I lied to him in full consciousness, knowing that it would hurt my well-intentioned bartender and business partner that I am very fond of. I made my bed. I make many beds. Sometimes I have to lie in them. 

So I sat down in my metaphorical bed, and lied some more.

I tucked my chin. “Know what?”

“Quit playin’ dumb, kid,” he sneered a bit. “And take off those damn shades. You’re not foolin’ anybody.”

I was genuinely confused. “I’m not wearing shades.”

I flinched as he reached over and, with a single motion, snatched away the aforementioned unusual darkness in the room. The lights hadn’t been dimmed. I had just been wearing shades without even noticing -- surely an embarrassingly amateur attempt at hiding my blue pupils from the public without use of my brush. If I know me, I’d say it was more for the walk to Tapper’s than the actual conversation with him. But I don’t think I would have taken them off before speaking to him, anyway. I think I felt worse about that than I did about actually lying to Tapper in the first place. At least the first time, I gave him enough credit to be a convincing liar. This was just stupid.

“Oh…” I blinked against the light. “‘Kay.”

Tapper leaned his elbow on the counter and squinted at me. Then, he sighed. “Yep. That’s what I thought. It’s dim, but it’s there. You couldn’t even wait for your eyes to fully fade before coming out to look for more.”

I caved. I took a deep breath through my nose, leaned on the counter and started munching out of a nearby bowl of pretzels. “So. How’d you find out?”

“Ralph told me.”

My pupils might have been blue, but I saw red. “He did what.” 

“But he wouldn’t have had to, Mavis, with you showing up like this. The shades, the eyes, the-- the--” he looked at the portrait, grasping for words. “Whatever the hell this is.”

“Excuse me? That’s Fix-it Felix Jr., you dope!”

He just spun the paper around and showed it to me. It was not the image I remember drawing. It looked like it might have been a drawing of Fix-it once, but the lines all got drunk and staggered around the page in cliques. It looked like I drew it with my eyes closed. 

“Wh…”

“It’s over, Mavis. I’m puttin’ this deal on hold.”

I can’t say I was surprised. But I was pretty disappointed. The deal had been a good one -- quick, convenient, and benefitting my favorite bar. But once it was over, my brain didn’t even give me time to be upset. It dove right into figuring out how to get my last hit by other means.

I was quiet for a minute, before popping a pretzel in my mouth. “On hold?”

“My walls still need to be filled. I still like working with you. I still like you, kid,” his eyes faded, “but I should never have given you credits, not right now. I should have known better than to think a promise would keep you clean. Now you’re out there getting high with the credits I gave you. I might as well put poison in your root beer.”

I didn’t know what to say. Nothing he said was untrue. I just looked at him severely, waiting for him to finish.

“Now, listen,” he pointed his index finger against the counter. “You go get help. You go get clean. You process all the stuff you gotta process. You give it time. A lot of time. Then, and only then, can we talk business again. I won’t singlehandedly fund your addiction, Mavis. I can’t be responsible for that.”

Something about that rubbed me the wrong way. I pointed a pretzel at him. “It’s not an addiction. I enjoy it, sure, but I don’t need it. I’m still me. I’ve still got full control of my brain.”

He didn’t look up from cleaning the counter. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Tapper.”

“Then what the hell are you eating, kid?”

“Pretz--” I stopped dead. There was nothing in my hand. There was no bowl on the counter. It’s kind of funny to look back on, but at the time, I got a chill up my spine. It really was worse than I thought. 

I suddenly felt I had to leave. I grabbed my crappy drawing and hopped from the stool. “Alright, well. It was fun while it lasted, Tapper. Seeya round.”

“Mavis.”

I stopped.

“You’re gonna have to swallow your pride. You need to get help. ‘Cause I want you to come back. And if you keep walkin’ down this road,” he paused. “You ain’t comin’ back.”

I just sighed through my nose and started walking. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before.”

Just when I thought he was done, he said loud enough for me to still hear, “What if you heard it from him? What would he say if he saw you like this?”

I’d spent all my lowest hours with a conflicting gratitude that you couldn’t.

I didn’t slow down. I just dragged a faint groan in the deepest part of my throat.

“He’s not the boss of me.”

I saw another flash of blue. Next thing I knew, I was stumbling a bit on bricks. I was in the dump back in my game, and there was an anxious anger boiling in my guts. Wreck-it had made one too many decisions for me. I decided I’d been far too kind to him, I’d shared too much with him. I had to share my feelings one last time. Ugly ones.

I climbed over a small peak, and I saw him. He saw me.

At once, we both yelled, “YOU!”

Then, “ME?!”

He barked, “You dirty little liar!”

I barked, “You big fat narc!”

We advanced on each other, while he growled, “I oughtta whip you across the map!”

“I oughtta stuff your throat with bricks! Why do you keep messing with my life?! It’s none of your Dev-damned business!”

“Oh, it became my business the second you lied to Tapper! I let you stay here just ‘cuz you didn’t want to be alone, I helped you get out there when you were too scared to go, I brought you to see someone who cared about you when you needed it, and what do you do?! You lie to his face so you can go get high! What’s WRONG with you?!”

We stopped just a bit outside of his arm’s reach. I wished so badly that I could fly, so I could float eye-level with him. Having to look up at him sucked.

“I didn’t WANT to go! I wasn’t READY! You dragged me out against my will -- what do you want in return, a freakin’ medal?!”

He gave a full-body eye roll. “No, I don’t want anything! I didn’t want anything! All I wanted was to help! And all you had to do was-- was NOT do exactly what you did! Easy!” 

I seethed. “EASY?!”

“EASY!”

“I have not had,” I grit my teeth, “a second of ‘EASY’ since-- since--” I couldn’t even say it. “You have no idea of the things I’ve been through! You have no freakin’ idea what this is like!”

“Yeah! ‘Cause I’m not allowed to ask about it, remember?!”

“I can guarantee, I can bet my very pixels on it -- if you had to deal with even half of what I have, you’d be blubbering like a 650-pound baby!”

“643!” he spat. “At least I wouldn’t be spinning lies and stuffing my pixels with buffs like you, you little sewer rat!”

“Oh, ho, ho,” I laughed, “That’s just adorable. Buddy, let me tell you -- if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t have even lasted this long. You’d have gotten us all unplugged.”

“Oh, gimme a break.”

“It’s true! You’d have gone and corrupted a long time ago! If you had to deal with HALF of what I have!”

An upset look sparked in his eye for a second, but he quickly countered, “No, see, that wouldn’t happen, because unlike you, I don’t make my own therapy with-- with--” he gestured sharply, “I’unno, substances.”

“Oh, I see. So, the fact that you go to Tapper’s every single night’s got nothin’ to do with that, huh?”

He clenched his fists. “Don’t even start. I go to Tapper’s because I like talkin’ to Tapper.”

“No, you’re nursing something,” I gave a sickly-sweet smile and took a half-step forward, and I saw his foot twitch back. “You’re drowning some sorrows. What are they, huh? You sad? You lonely? You want things you know you can’t have? You want to change things that can’t be changed?”

“No,” he growled.

“Yeah,” I nodded, knowing I’d struck emotional gold. “You feel trapped.”

“No,” he grit his teeth. “I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” I laughed, just about ready to derail and completely unhinge. “Everyone does! Because, guess what? We are. All we do is chase things that make us feel like we’re not. And you know what the cheapest, most reliable escape is? Intoxicants.”

“Stop it.”

“So let’s just cut the crap,” I marched forward, and he shuffled back, “If you had nothing, absolutely nothing to bring you joy anymore other than your drink, and you had to lie to get it, you’d lie a million times! You wouldn’t even bother with Tapper if he didn’t pour out your sweet medicine so you can lap it up like the thirsty boozehound you are!”

I just barely dodged his fist.

He roared and slammed his huge meaty cudgels again and again, and I weaved and jumped and slipped out of the way. It was almost the same routine as ever, but his rage was like nothing I’d seen in him before. I grabbed a brick and sprung up to crack it on his head -- I succeeded, but pain stabbed into my brain when I tried to launch from his shoulders. I tumbled against his arm and spilled down onto the bricks. I tried to push up, but the pain in my head held me down. The binary in my eyes crackled away just in time for me to see him standing over me, both fists raised, fire in his eyes.

I just closed my eyes and braced for impact.

It didn’t come. When I looked again, his arms were down, and he was checking me over in a distasteful sort of way, like I was a machine that mysteriously stopped working. I guess he was disturbed to see my usually impressive acrobatics reduced to... that. His chest heaved with anger, but he was clearly pulling the reins.

“Look,” he said quietly, raising his index finger, “let me make one thing perfectly clear: I told Tapper… for Tapper. I brought you out to see Tapper… for Tapper. I like Tapper. I wanted to help him. And I wanted you outta my home. ‘Cause you and I,” he gestured between us, “are not friends. I didn’t even want to get mixed up with you in the first place, and I shouldn’t have. ‘Cause clearly, I wasted my time. You don’t wanna get better. You just wanna keep using everyone, right? You love that. Especially now that everyone feels sorry for you. They think you’re some kinda… kinda tragic poster child for addiction. Well, guess what? I don’t. I think you’re a shady lil’ double-crosser who has no problem taking advantage of sprites who love her. And then you act like you only did what anyone else would have done. Like everyone shares your crappy worldview, or whatever. Listen -- yeah, I do drink when I go to Tapper’s. But, newsflash, not every sprite who drinks is as miserable as you are.”

He kicked a splash of bricks over me, and they hit like a barrage of punches. Then he turned to leave me lying there, calling back as he disappeared over a rise: “Now get out of my home. And stay out.”

I didn’t. Not right away. I just stayed there, lying against the bricks, waiting for my headache and the pain of the brick shower to fade. And, I’ll admit, I felt like crap. Not for what I’d done, exactly. Just for where I was. How I’d gotten there. What drove me to that point. What I was like before all this. Wreck-it was right about one thing: I was miserable. But I wasn’t always.

There were nights where my nonexistent sleeping schedule would keep me awake while you slept. I’d lie there remembering my first nights in the woods, with the sharp grass and the cold baths and newfound loneliness. And then I’d look at where I ended up, safe in a soft bed kept toasty warm by the relentless heat of your body next to me. And I’d just feel so happy over how far I’d come.

The cold, hard bricks under my bruised body were a far cry from where I’d been with you.

For a while, I lied there alone, trying so hard to banish thoughts of those nights from my head. They were so far above me by then. I didn’t want to look up and see how far I’d fallen. 

After a decent wait, the pain in my head clenched enough to flash me down to the bottom of the bricks. I wasn’t sure if I lost time or just warped. A second later, I flashed into Game Central. 

It wasn’t remarkably busy. The atmosphere felt pretty safe, relative to how it had been. For the first time in a while, it felt safer than my game. So I wandered aimlessly. I sat on the benches, I paced, I watched one of those weird dragons from Joust fly by and wished I could chase it. My brain just flooded with nagging thoughts of how I would obtain that last hit of GC. They grew more insistent by the hour, but I was mostly coming up short. Normally, I would hunt the buffs down myself, but I didn’t feel ready to venture into other games again, not other than for meeting my one dealer. But I had nothing to offer her anymore. I was stuck. As my body began to shake, withdrawal approaching fast, I knew I had to come up with something quick.

So many times, I’d lose a chunk of time and find myself sitting on a bench in front of where your game used to be, staring down the dead, black hall. I’m not entirely sure why. I obsessed over the emptiness of it. The wrongness. It hurt so badly to look, but you know when you get a tooth knocked out and your tongue won’t stop running over the empty spot, even though it just makes you bleed more? It was kind of like that. 

I could see wandering sprites looking at me. Of course they did. They didn’t like what they saw, either -- supposed accomplice of mass murder looking at where the murderer himself used to live? Definitely drew some glances. Most were just morbidly curious, it seemed, as if waiting for me to lose it. Others glared and shook their heads, making angry gestures in conversation with their friends. But the last category really caught my eye. A good amount of them showed anxiety. Some watched, wide-eyed. Some exchanged worried whispers. Some even tried to hurry off to their games inconspicuously. At first, I marveled at how stupid they all were. I wondered what it would take to get it through their thick heads that I genuinely had no interest in hurting anyone. I wondered if it would even be worth the headache. But then, something dawned on me.

I’ve always been a master at working with what I’ve got. If I couldn’t soothe their fear, I could at least make it work for me.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #make it mavis #original character #homesick

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 9

*Stands on a chair* It’s Monday again!!!!!

And Roman and Erica are going on a double date with Butcher and Hannah because I said so :D

Tags: @sunshinepascal​ @rentskenobi​ @obaby-wan​ @maybege​ @princessxkenobi​ @agent-450​

Excessive fluff, country music, more fluff, Butcher being soft, Roman being a sap, Erica being a pain and planning ahead to spite Roman, did I mention fluff?

Masterlist

Reference Photos!!! Erica’s dress is first then Roman’s outfit (ft. Ewan:))

“Starshine?”

It’s called out as Roman fusses with his tie in the mirror, eyes never leaving it and frown etching itself deeper. He hears a giggle from the kitchen before his Starshine appears, the hair on the crown of her head pulled into a ponytail and the rest added in in links down the back, it’s gotten slightly longer he’s noticed, falling to the middle of her neck when down instead of her lips or chin. It’s a small difference, but he notices.

“Your hair’s gotten longer.”

She tilts her head, looking down at the flowing sundress and white sneakers she’s also wearing before looking back at him in the mirror and blinking twice (it seems smug he thinks but he’s noticed and he plans to point it out). “That’s what you needed me for?”

“I need you for a lot of things dear one—”

“Telling you you’re over-dressed being one of them apparently, we’re going to a barn dance Roman it’s hardly a black-tie affair.” It’s teasing but it’s fond and he can’t really complain, turning to look her in the eyes as he gives his best rebuttal.

“You said we were going dancing—”

“Swing dancing” she cuts in

“Yes, and then you said you were wearing a dress”

“A sundress.”

“Which can also be formal” He adds in an attempt at defense and she shakes her head and laughs.

“Not suit and tie formal silly”

He huffs.

“You’re just worried I’m going to put you in jeans again”

He tries not to wrinkle his nose, he really does.

“Don’t act like that” She says placatingly “Butch’ll cry if you don’t wear the cowboy boots.”

He opens his mouth wide to protest but she’s already reaching to undo his tie and his brain short circuits long enough that she’s already moving away with it towards the closet before he can say a word.

“I brought a flannel of mine, if we can’t find anything in your closet that’ll be our back up!”

She doesn’t yell but she does raise her voice to carry out into his room and he is not having any doubts that she is entirely too cheery about this whole ordeal.

“I don’t know how to swing dance.”

Her head pops out of the closet and she pauses a moment before walking over to kneel in front of the edge of the bed where he’s dumped himself in a defeated pile. His hands are resting on his knees so she rests hers on his forearms, murmuring out a ‘balance’ as she bends.

Roman flips his hands over to steady her.

“I’m alright” She says softly before turning her eyes up to him, “I don’t either, but if there’s anyone I’d want to learn how to with, it’s you.”

He smiles, pinching her cheek just barely, eyes roving over her face. “I’m only wearing the jeans if the shirt doesn’t clash. I refuse to clash colors in public, I have a reputation to uphold.”

She grins so ferally he leans back the slightest bit. “You planned that didn’t you.”

She withdraws and sweeps away to the kitchen before coming back through the doorway with a jacket that somehow is exactly the same color as her dress. Roman would damn her if he didn’t love her.

As it stands, he closes his eyes and sighs deeply. She laughs at him.

“I’m not wearing the boots”

“Oh, Come onnnnnnnn”

“No.”

They pull up to the lot in Erica’s car (she’d insisted on driving so she could give Roman a musical education on the way, he’s decided country is “tolerable, I suppose”.), and she texts Hannah quickly before they get out, meeting Roman at the hood of the car to pump him up one last time.

“Worst case scenario, we stay an hour and then James feels sick and we have to leave to get him.”

“James?”

She reaches out to pat the hood of the car gently. “James.”

Roman raises his eyebrows at the car, looking back to her with them still up.

“Welcome to the mind of an introvert, we have plans for everything.” She takes his hand and turns to walk toward the barn. “I once planned the demise of three small countries to get out of a party.”

He sighs again, “I honestly don’t know if you’re serious or kidding.”

She shrugs before seeing Hannah and Butch and calling out to them, cutting off their conversation.

“Did the boots fit him?”

Erica knows she hears Roman growl but she ignores him and smiles widely at Butch instead. “Don’t think I’ll ever get him out of them actually! He loves em to pieces!”

Hannah smiles, “I’m so glad you both could come!! Butch and I have been enjoying it so much and” she pauses before leaning closer to Erica and holding up a hand to hide her words (though they’re still at the same volume) “its easy on the eyes” She finishes with a wink and Erica laughs.

“He’s always easy on the eyes” She says conspiratorially, jiggling the hand of the man in question who’s eyes are currently off in the middle distance. He snaps back to her with a questioning hum and she smiles teasingly at Hannah before they all turn toward the barn again.

“What was that about?”

“Oh nothing, just how amazing you look.” She looks away from him noncommittally, “How big of a stick I’ll need to keep the women away.”

He laughs despite himself before squeezing her hand. “Won’t even see them with you here.”

She smiles at him and it’s his turn to look away, “Probably spend all night looking at my feet.”

They’re walking through the door now and before they head up the stairs she stops him, wrapping her arms around his waist firmly.

“It’s just you and me, we can always hang in the back and eat snacks or make up random steps to confuse everyone else.” She starts listing, lolling her head to the side as she does so “Spend the whole night speaking only Russian and get ourselves thrown out, sit around discussing Star Trek and get shunned...”

He shakes his head and grabs both her cheeks to pull her into a soft kiss that turns into them pressing their foreheads together.

“I can do this, its just more fun if I give you trouble.”

She laughs, “Come on then” she winks, “Cowboy”

“I’m doing this for you but you are on thin ice.”

“I’m on the stairs”

“It’s an expression”

“It’s a barn.”

Roman sighs.

They spend the whole night dancing, Roman (who also definitely commandeered the stereo covertly while Erica occupied the DJ at least once but can’t be held accountable for the second and third time because he might have also been in the bathroom), eventually discarding the jacket for its heat and spinning Erica around in just his t-shirt. They traded partners with Butch and Hannah at the beginning to learn the steps, but they’ve been back with each other for a while now. It’s mostly fast songs the whole night, probably to keep children present engaged Roman thinks, reaching behind him to where Erica is standing to pull her against his back, tucking his hands into her back pockets as hers wrap around his chest. They’ve decided to take a break and watch for a bit, Erica lays her head sideways across his shoulder sleepily, but he starts shrugging to get her attention across the room.

“Look at them, saps.”

Butcher and Hannah are completely wrapped up in each other, twirling and laughing and Butch sweeps Hannah into a dip at the crescendo of the bridge, just as Erica looks up.

“Awwwww.“ Her gaze goes back to Roman. “Like bodyguard, like boss man.”

Roman huffs a laugh. “I’m not a sap” He says calmly, bring his hands to rest over hers on his chest. “I, am…”

“Go ahead, I want to hear another word for it.”

“Whipped.” Comes a slightly croaky voice from behind them and they both startle slightly, turning toward it. They find an old man (who looks weathered and wise enough to be a wizard from a bedtime story) who’s also watching Butcher (who has now picked Hannah up by the waist and is carrying her in a deadlift as he sways so they’re still close) with a slight smile. His eyes fall back to Erica.

“That’s always what we called it, Butcher there’s been waiting for the right one quite a while.”

Erica smiles, “You must be the grandpa he always talks about.”

It isn’t a question and Roman turns to look at her, how many things about Butcher does everyone know except him?

The man smiles a little bigger now, “Are you the Ms. Erica?” She nods, disconnecting from Roman to turn toward the man “He talks about you almost as much as his Sunshine over there, come ‘ere”

She reaches to shake but they end up hugging and she holds on for a second Roman doesn’t fail to notice, he follows along, hoping for a handshake and he gets one, incredibly firm like his grandpa used to give.

“Roman?”

He nods in what he hopes is a confident way and is put at ease when the man smiles again. “Heard good things about you too, Butch says you’re the original sap.”

Erica laughs out loud at this before closing her mouth and putting a knuckle against it as she bites her lips to hide a smile. Roman decides to tell the truth, something about Butch’s grandpa makes him feel comfortable enough to, anyway.

“Can’t let a woman like her get away” He says, looking at Erica with longing as she stands by the mans other shoulder, he wants to reach for her right now, and he realizes there’s finally slow music playing in the background. He turns his head to find Butch again, (he’s set Hannah down and is holding her against his chest, she pauses every few beats to place her chin on his chest and gaze up at him lovingly) heart growing in size at the adorableness.

Then he’s looking back at her, and her eyes haven’t left Butch, so he greedily drinks in the moment of looking at her profile. Her beautifully done hair, the highlights of golden and white blonde that peek through, the neckline of her dress that makes her neck look long and makes him want to lay kisses along it, up the side and behind her ear before holding her head in his hands and kissing all along her face and finally---

“Well. I see he still hasn’t taken up exaggeration. Go on then son, take your woman out there ‘fore somebody else does.” Butcher’s grandpa cuts in on his daydream, drawing Erica’s eyes and he gives the man a look that says he isn’t really sorry for having been caught before extending a hand to Erica.

“May I have this dance, beautiful ace woman of mine?”

She smiles at him, and for the briefest of moments he allows himself to believe that its love on her face not just fondness,

“He’s a good one Ms. Erica, wasn’t sure how I felt about him fakin’ it in those boots but, he’s alright.”

And then she speaks.

“Thank you, Ted.”

She gives the older man a smile, placing her hand on his shoulder before reaching out to take Roman’s.

“I’d love to dance with you cowboy.”

He starts to shake his head at her, prepping a sigh but she’s already taken his hand and started pulling him forward towards the floor and turning to face him.

“Does he know?”

She shrugs, “Butch might’ve told him, but having a Grandpa tell me I picked a good one is always a comfort. Even if I knew already.”

Roman blushes. He hasn’t in years but he can’t stop this one, his cheeks burning red as he looks down between them.

She wraps her arms around his neck, sliding in close and kissing his forehead gently. “You knew that, right? That I think you’re a good one?”

He bites his lip and swallows, finally finding the courage to look her in the eyes. “It’s different when you say it out loud.”

She nods, looking down herself before continuing quietly “I should say it more, I’m out of practice but, I want to try, for you” Her eyes drift back up to him, pausing a second to linger on his lips. “I don’t want you to doubt that I want you either.”

He wraps his arms around her waist tightly, breathing in deeply and sneaking a hand up between her shoulder blades to bring her close enough he can bury his face in her neck. “I like you a lot.” He says softly.

“I like you more.”

“Actually with the boots—”

“Shut up cowboy”

They finish their night like that, holding each other tightly and whispering loving words together (interspersed by comments about how adorable Butch is like this), nuzzling cheeks and noses in an effort to keep the feeling of the night in their memories forever.

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

#asexual #ewan mcgregor #aces in spaces #ace character #original characters #original fic #original story #new chapter #this one is one of my favorites

[myngxy-sue]

I began writing this thing since last night. It’s just practice and I have no plans on continuing it. However, if you guys do like it enough, I might make it into a full on story. For now, it’s just a short story written in my self-insert’s POV.  This entire thing is just angst. There are references to Bible in this and it’s 1198 words long. That’s the best warning I could give for now.

I arrived in Devildom quite unceremoniously the night before.

For the longest time, I didn’t understand why I was chosen amongst millions of people on earth. All I knew was that I was sitting amongst six demons and I had to tolerate them for an entire year.

I was conflicted. There was a lovely plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and some small sausages sitting right in front of me. It looked perfect unlike my dad’s cooking which was always either burnt or undercooked. But I wasn’t sure if I should eat. I was in a strange place, surrounded by men who probably didn’t know what morals were. You can’t blame me for not trusting them right off the bat, right?

It was tormenting me. I refused to eat dinner with them when I first arrived so I was quite hungry. Yet I only poked at my breakfast. The night before, I promised myself I wouldn’t interact with any of these demons unless absolutely necessary. I supposed that this would be one of the instances.

I asked whether my food was safe to eat. Lucifer, the eldest brother, assured me that it was and went on to elaborate that my food was made with ingredients from the human world so I didn’t need to worry. A part of me didn’t believe him. Nonetheless, I ended up eating something for once.

The food was fantastic. The egg wasn’t salty and the bacon wasn’t oily. It reminded me of the breakfast I had at a hotel my family took me to when I was younger. But my face was as hard as stone and I didn’t comment on the cooking.

At least I knew the cooking wasn’t going to kill me. 

Breakfast was quite chaotic. Beelzebub began eating the tableware and Mammon was arguing with his little brothers. If Lucifer hadn’t been there, I’m sure it would’ve escalated into a physical fight.

As I brought another piece of bacon to my mouth, I began to wonder how I was picked. I was a Christian. Granted, I was probably an insult to all Christians out there but I still went to church often enough and I believed in God.

Perhaps this was punishment for all my misdeeds, I thought. Maybe I should’ve repented and truly become a good Christian when I had the chance. But what did I do that was so bad? Was it the fact that I lied too much for my own good? Did I indulge in pornography too much? Maybe it was my laziness and how it affected my grades in school.

Yet again, when I thought about it, none of my sins were horrid enough to warrant something like this. And even if I was that awful, I wasn’t supposed to get punished severely. Jesus died so we’d be forgiven for all of our sins no matter what, isn’t that right?

I didn’t know anymore. Throughout breakfast and the walk to school, I was trying to rationalize my situation. However, I only confused myself even more. The demons did do a few nice things for me.

Before I “settled” into Devildom, I was allowed to contact my family and friends so I could explain my situation. My father would allow me to explain myself because I was pretty much in Hell so he recounted every “misdeed” I did to him. Mom actually listened to me and let me know that I will be in her prayers. Saying goodbye to my friends and my sister was the hardest part. I think that was the point I started crying. If they hadn’t been supervising me, I would’ve gladly stayed there forever.

My granny’s call was the strangest. She was her usual, vigorous self when I greeted her. When I explained I was in Devildom for an exchange program, she went silent. I was sure she’d hang up on me. But she didn’t. 

I called her expecting a much harsher condemnation than the one I got from my father, at least until she’d allow me to explain myself. She was a devoted Catholic, after all. But the only thing I was hearing were footsteps, probably her’s. Then a door slammed shut.

“Sue…” My granny began in a whisper, “I know that you’re scared right now but I want you to know that everything is going to be alright, in the name of Jesus. I will keep you in my prayers and I can assure you that he will take good care of you.”

She prayed for me then, which I was grateful for. However, there was only one thing on my mind then.

“Who is he?” I asked when I was sure she was done with her prayer.

I was sure she was about to tell me but then I heard the door opening and my uncle ranting about something, probably my aunt telling him what to do.

“Oh God, Immanuel!!” Was all my granny got to say before the call was cut off.

“Granny…?” I muttered, even though I knew she was gone.

They didn’t allow me to call her back. Still, it was nice of them to let me call to begin with. I was sure that would be one of their last acts of kindness towards me though.

The demons might be kind afterwards but I told myself to keep my guard up. I mustn’t get close to any demon lest they take advantage of me. One already seemed like he’d eat me when given the opportunity. And don’t get me started on Asmodeus. Leviathan wanted nothing to do with me and I was okay with that. Satan was sensible and had a love of books but I had to stay away. He was, after all, the Avatar of Wrath.

As for Mammon and Lucifer, keeping away from them was going to be difficult. Mammon was assigned to be my guardian. Even then, Lucifer still kept a close eye on me. No one had faith in Mammon which made me question the elder brother’s decision.

Mammon may be the second oldest but he behaved and was treated like the runt of the litter. Sometimes, I even felt sorry for him. But it was so easy to get disillusioned. If he’d stop causing trouble for one day, I might’ve forgotten that he was a demon then.

I wasn’t going to be in any trouble, I thought. I’d go through my entire year in Devildom having little to do with the demons and keeping to myself. I saw no reason to leave the comfort of my room. Everything I needed was there and Lucifer would just go and buy whatever I needed.

My first day at RAD would be the only day I wouldn’t take anything in. I was too caught up in my thoughts to notice how my classmates gawked at me and whatnot. Throughout the day, I had a clenching pain in my chest. I couldn’t cry anymore. All I could do now was get used to my situation. As I apathetically went to pick up my soiled lunch from out in the rain, I wondered how long it would be before I reached my breaking point.

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