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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Hopefully I’m not too early but What if Jiang Fengmian went “they only asks for blood heirs” and gave Jiang Cheng up to the Wen Indoctrination Camp because he cannot bear Wei Wuxian going and possibly getting hurt. JC is very hurt by the blatant favouritism of his father but still went as his duty dictates. He somehow become close friends with Huaisang, MianMian, and Jin Zixuan. Please give me Jiang Cheng Protection Squad. MingCheng sort of happens? Thank you so much!

“…wow,” Nie Huaisang said when Jiang Cheng finished explaining. “That’s – that’s bullshit.”

Jiang Cheng flushed. Secretly, in his heart, he agreed a little bit with Nie Huaisang’s assessment, but at the same time he couldn’t just sit around while someone said things about his father…

“Before you say that I can’t say something like that, I’m not being cruel or dismissive, I’m describing the situation accurately using crude words,” Nie Huaisang said, holding up his hands. “It’s not the same.”

That…sounded wrong.

“Back me up here,” Nie Huaisang said to the others in their group. They’d been put into a single group by the Wen sect, all of them but Mianmian who’d snuck over by climbing a tree, and given a too-small, too-crowded tent to sleep in and a single fire pit to warm themselves. How that had let them to sitting by the fire and sharing stories of how they’d been sent here, Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure. “Sect Leader Jiang deciding that because the Wen sect only asked for blood heirs that he wouldn’t sent Wei-xiong here alongside Jiang-xiong because he might get hurt is a situation can be, and indeed must be, accurately described as being total bullshit, right?”

“…it kind of is,” Jin Zixuan said. “Sorry, Jiang Wanyin.”

“It definitely is,” Mianmian said, emboldened by her sect leader’s agreement. “Absolutely bullshit.”

Even Lan Wangji hummed. It was a pretty neutral sound, but it might be an affirmative hum.

Well, if everyone agreed…

Jiang Cheng’s shoulders went down a fraction from where they’d been hovering around his ears.

“I wasn’t just taking it too personally?” he asked, seeking confirmation. “I mean, Father’s right – it doesn’t make sense to give the Wen sect two hostages when they’ve only asked for one, and there’s always the risk that Wei Wuxian would get hurt –”

“Your father should be concerned about whether you get hurt!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, slapping the ground. “They don’t feed us, they make us work in the fields, and who knows what else…! When my brother heard about their request, he nearly killed the Wen sect’s messenger, he was so angry!”

“My mother was angry, too,” Jiang Cheng offered. “She and my father got into a big fight –”

Nie Huaisang jabbed a finger at him, rather rudely. “From the story you told, your mother only got really angry when she heard Wei Wuxian was staying behind.”

“…so?”

“There’s a difference between being upset over your son’s well-being and being upset that – that – that, I don’t know! That your favorite dog is losing the race!”

“My mother threw a vase at my father’s head when she heard that he’d agreed to send me here,” Jin Zixuan said quietly. He was actually a lot more tolerable without his retainers puffing him up and egging him on all the time, and having to work side-by-side in the fields had revealed that under the flash and arrogance there was an introverted boy who disliked dealing with people nearly as much as Jiang Cheng did. “Then she spent the next two days trying to find a way out of it, then hovered for the rest of the week before I left.”

“My father punched a wall,” Mianmian recalled. “Mother had to sit on him before he tried something crazy, like petitioning to remove me from the sect or something. Not that’d I’d ever have let Jin-gongzi come here alone, of course.”

“See?” Nie Huaiwang said, gesturing at them all. Lan Wangji hadn’t volunteered, but obviously no one would ask him, either; they’d all heard about the burning of the Cloud Recesses. No one had agreed to send him here. “Violence in response to an unreasonable request! Violence! Anything less is unacceptable!”

“You know, for the very first time, I think see your resemblance to the rest of the Nie sect?” Mianmian said, chin on her hand.

“You’re exaggerating,” Jiang Cheng said. “No, not about the resemblance, about – the other part. It’s not anywhere near as bad as you’re all making it out to be; Wei Wuxian’s always been my father’s favorite, and Mother’s always been angry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“They should not compare you,” Lan Wangji said. He didn’t talk much, so everyone always listened when he did. “It is inappropriate.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to do with that. He’d never not been compared to Wei Wuxian, not since he’d arrived at the Lotus Pier all those years ago…and maybe even before.

“Even Lan-er-gongzi agrees,” Nie Huaisang said, pulling his knees up and putting his chin on them with a pout. “It’s all bullshit, I’m telling you. I’m taking you back with me to the Nie sect when all this is over. If your parents want you back, they can come ask nicely.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jiang Cheng told him.

“You could come to Lanling if you prefer,” Jin Zixuan said, and Jiang Cheng turned to stare at him. “What? Your mother and mine are friends. It’d be fine. I wouldn’t – it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m the heir of the Jiang sect,” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “I can’t not go back!”

“Don’t think of it as not going back,” Mianmian said. “Think of it as taking a long detour.”

“You’d like Qinghe,” Nie Huaisang put in. “My brother’s really cool. He gives great hugs.”

“I bet he does,” Mianmian muttered appreciatively.

“Gross, Mianmian.”

“He’s seventh on the list of most attractive male cultivators, and in my personal opinion should be a good few places higher up. Get used to it.”

“I don’t do hugs anyway,” Jiang Cheng interjected before he somehow got sold up the river – he knew how this sort of thing went. “Father doesn’t like them.”

“…your father hugged Wei Ying when he arrived at the Cloud Recesses to collect him,” Lan Wangji said neutrally.

“Fine. He doesn’t like them with me. Never did, not really, the whole time I was growing up…well, I mean, I guess he did sometimes when I was really young, before Wei Wuxian came...”

��Are you seriously saying your father hugs Wei Wuxian and not you?” Jin Zixuan asked. “And that he - he stopped hugging you when Wei Wuxian was there? Because that’s – that’s…”

“Bullshit?” Nie Huaisang suggested.

“Bullshit,” Jin Zixuan agreed with surprising vehemence.

“You’re exaggerating,” Jiang Cheng said.

“No,” Lan Wangji said.

“No, what? No they’re not exaggerating, no they’re not –”

“No. It is bullshit.”

“…did we just get a Lan to curse?” Mianmian asked, eyes wide. “I didn’t even know Lans were allowed to do that. Ever.”

“It is not a curse,” Lan Wangji said with dignity. “It is an accurate description of the situation.”

“Vindication,” Nie Huaisang hissed. How Jiang Cheng had missed that he was such a vicious little snake during their time at the Cloud Recesses, he had no idea, and judging by the amused expressions on everyone else’s faces, they felt much the same. “See, Jiang Cheng, this is why you –”

“Time to sleep,” Lan Wangji interrupted. His internal sense of time was more reliable than any clock when it came to sleeping and waking, and no one complained – if they stayed out much later than nine the Wen sect guards would come to accuse them of making trouble, and no one wanted to be labelled a trouble-maker.

Mianmian disappeared back over to the women’s camp – boring in comparison, according to her, but more likely she just wanted to keep her word about watching over Jin Zixuan – and the rest of them shuffled back to bed.

Some time later that night, when Jiang Cheng was lying in the middle of a pile of arms and legs he could no longer differentiate, he stared at the ceiling and asked quietly, “…is it really that bad?”

An arm looped around his waist tightened, and a foot lightly nudged him from the other direction.

“It’s not that it’s bad,” someone said, and their voice was so faint that he couldn’t tell which of the boys it was. “It’s that you deserve better.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to say to that.

He continued not to know what to say the next day, but that was the day that they got forced to act as bait on a night-hunt into a giant lightless cave and Mianmian nearly got herself killed, followed very shortly by Jin Zixuan and Lan Wangji for standing up for her.

Under normal circumstances, Jiang Cheng would think first about his sect and only later about everyone else, and he tried, really, but – well, the Wens were attacking anyway, and somehow it’s Nie Huaisang of all people who hisses, “Get Wen Chao!” and Jiang Cheng had, and for a moment there it looked like they were going to be okay.

And then they all got stuck in a cave with a corrupted Xuanwu.

Minus the Wens, which was at least something.

“There are fresh maple leaves on the water,” Lan Wangji said. “There must be a way in and out.”

“I can dive in and check it out if someone distracts the Xuanwu,” Jiang Cheng offered. When they stared at him, he shrugged. “I’m a good swimmer.”

“You’d better be an amazing swimmer,” Jin Zixuan said. “I don’t want to have to plan your funeral.”

“I don’t think we get funerals here,” Nie Huaisang put in. “So if you die, you’ll stink up the whole place and we’ll all be very upset. I mean, gross!”

Jiang Cheng had by this point gotten used to Nie Huaisang’s – Nie Huaisang-ness, but it couldn’t be denied that everyone was a lot less terrified after listening to Nie Huaisang complain about nonsense for a bit. So much so, in fact, that it abruptly occurred to Jiang Cheng that maybe Nie Huaisang was doing it on purpose which…he wasn’t sure what to do with, so he decided to just put out of his mind.

Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan put their heads together and eventually decided on each of them using a fire talisman as a distraction, alternating between them, while Jiang Cheng crept to the water and found a way out, which he reported back.

“Someone will need to stay behind as a distraction,” Lan Wangji said solemnly. His hands were clasped together, and Jiang Cheng knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“No way,” he said. “You’re not staying behind. If anything, I should; I’m the best swimmer, I might be able to get around it even if it’s not distracted.”

“You know where the exit is; it is better if you lead those going out.”

“A description will do the trick just as well,” Jiang Cheng argued. “And anyway, it’s not – it’s not as if I’ll be missed at home, the way all of you would be.”

They all glared at him, then, and he shrugged angrily.

“It’s true,” he said, and he could say it only because Wei Wuxian wasn’t there to stop him. He wouldn’t even think it, if Wei Wuxian was there; Wei Wuxian always knew when it was coming and interrupted him with a smile or a joke or something, and so the bitterness never got a chance to be let out. But he wasn’t here now, they were, and everyone else seemed to think it was all bullshit and maybe it was, okay, maybe it was. But it didn’t make it any less true. “My father has always said that Wei Wuxian understood the sect motto better than I did. He wouldn’t be upset at all if the sect went to him instead, and if I was dead or injured he’d probably just give him the Jiang surname in my honor or something. Let me be the one to stay.”

“Uh, question,” Nie Huaisang said. “Why does anyone have to stay? Can’t we just set up a trap or something?”

“A trap?” Jin Zixuan said. “What do you mean?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged and looked at Lan Wangji. “Do you know Chord Assassination?”

Lan Wangji blinked, surprised, but nodded.

“Okay, so, here’s the idea…”

It was an extremely stupid idea, based on using the chords as part of a pulley, some Wen sect soldiers and swords used as counterbalance weights, but as a distraction it worked pretty beautifully right up until the last moment when Jiang Cheng was helping Lan Wangji – whose leg was broken – swim through the water and the Xuanwu abruptly noticed that they were all going to leave and dashed after them, getting its head stuck in the exit hole they were using.

“Should we behead it or something?” Jin Zixuan asked, staring at the thrashing beast. “It can’t be allowed to hurt others.”

“Using what?” Mianmian asked, holding up a Wen sword in disdain. “These pieces of – well. These swords? It wouldn’t work.”

“I can still do Chord Assassination,” Lan Wangji said, and with all of them heaving together they were able to hold the string down tight enough to eventually cut the thing’s head off at the neck.

Nie Huaisang even used the opportunity to go pick out some sort of sword that was sticking out of the creature’s side, which he’d declared to be extremely ‘aesthetic’ if you looked at it from a certain perspective.

By that point, they were all exhausted, but no one wanted to stay a second longer in Qishan than they had to – especially since one of the small sect cultivators who’d wandered further away had seen Wens incoming – so Jiang Cheng put Lan Wangji, now totally exhausted, on his back and they all ran away.

“Come visit me in Qinghe sometime!” Nie Huaisang shouted, waving as the Nie sect disciples split off in a different direction. “I promised you some high-quality proper affection hugs from my da-ge, Jiang Cheng! Just you wait, you’ll see how good they are!”

(They are every bit as good as promised.)

#mdzs #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #mian mian #jin zixuan #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #jikazu-sama

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sullustangin · 3 years

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Darth Marr and Satele Shan: Names and Priorities

I’ve reached the point in my Yavin fic that I’m starting to use Marr’s POV on occasion. One of the things I’ve been chewing on (likely to the annoyance of others) has been the Marr-Satele-Theron dynamic during the Yavin 4 op. It’s clear that Satele and Marr have put aside differences and have become friends (as much as a Force ghost and a self-exiled Jedi Master can be friends) by Chapter 12 of KotFE.

I give credit to @swtorpadawan for posting about Satele on Yavin 4 a few months ago and being willing to have continued discourse about the post -- thank you. In comments and reblogs, there’s been discussion about how to interpret Satele’s references to Theron during the op and her motivations for why she does this.

This is a spin-off of that post, since I’ll be focusing more on the dynamic between Marr and the Shans instead of Theron and Satele.

During the Yavin op, Theron is consistently referred to as Theron, not as Agent Shan or as Shan. The issue of his last name is avoided. A few people (including me) have the headcanon that ‘Shan’ is a common name in the galaxy, like Smith or Patel or Garcia would be on our world; two people named Shan does not a family connection make, necessarily. It would explain why Theron doesn’t have a code name (though he jokingly? complains about it on first meeting).

And yet, Satele avoids using the name in reference to Theron. So does Marr. And Theron doesn’t insist on being referred to by his last name, even though his peer, Lana Beniko, is referred to as ‘Beniko’ by Marr. (Satele never addresses Lana using her name.)

Why the dance?

Honestly, when I try to reverse-engineer dev!logic, in terms of the game design for Yavin 4, I’d guess it was done to help the player differentiate between Grand Master Shan and Agent Shan. And maybe that’s all it is: calling Theron “Theron” just keeps the player from getting confused, especially if the player isn’t a Jedi and doesn’t know Satele; and/or skipped the Forged Alliances quests and thus doesn’t know Theron.

Within the universe, however, what’s an explanation a player can come up with?

The Spies in Question

Theron’s name was broadcast across the galaxy as a wanted man for killing Colonel Darok. He was to be apprehended on sight, but Theron was a spy; spy agencies to this day rarely let any images of their active duty agents be circulated, even if they do go rogue or defect to the other side. Theron’s image in direct connection to his name and job as SIS agent would be on a need-to-know basis. This has led me to headcanon that Director Trant was well-aware of Theron going off the grid; in fact, he aided and abetted it.

Lana, on the other hand, was a known member of the Sphere of Military Offense. She commanded troops on Hoth. She had a known face, and there was an Imperial bounty contract on her head, per Theron at Manaan. If anything, Lana was in as much danger as Jakarro; someone could try to claim the bounty on her head, since the bounties weren’t lifted til the end of the Yavin op.

And yet, Theron’s name was the unspeakable one.

Satele and Theron

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I feel that the dynamic between Theron and Satele is not that of son and mother; both of them have gotten past that decision. Rather, it’s more similar to a child who was given up for adoption looking for some sort of acknowledgement from his birth family -- it’s not love. It’s not approval. It’s.... complicated. Acknowledgement of existence. Acknowledgement that the decision had impact on Theron well beyond his first year of life. Acknowledgement that Satele hurt Jace.

I’ve interpreted Theron’s bristling at the use of the term “my agent” to be more directed at the possessiveness of the word, yet how far apart they still are, despite the biological connections. Technically, Yavin 4 was the first time they worked on an op together. This was their first professional collaboration. They haven’t seen each other socially, they can’t talk about their issues/relationship/whatever.....and they have to save the galaxy together.

Giving up Theron doesn’t mean Satele felt nothing. She privately struggles with what she did and how it turned out -- still does, based on 6.2. However, she, like Jace and Theron, believe in serving the cause at great personal cost. Seeing Theron beat to hell after Rishi bothered her -- it would bother anyone with any sense of compassion (which she does have). Theron got the beatdown he did because he was taken by the Revanites. Revan attempted to convince Theron to join him on Yavin 4 by invoking the idea that they are flesh and blood -- family.

Pretty sure Revan wasn’t talking about the Malcom side. Satele knew that. Was there a sense of protectiveness for Theron because of what happened immediately before Yavin 4? I think so, yes, but it’s not motherly.

Theron’s experience on Rishi probably made Satele hyperaware that if Theron was of interest to the Revanites, then the Empire would doubly interested in Theron if they knew that he was not only an heir of Revan, but that the Grand Master of the Jedi Order was his biological mother. Referring to him as “my agent” may be Satele’s way to avoid using any part of his name on Yavin 4.

I’m willing to bet, regardless of any efforts to ignore or conceal Theron’s name, that Marr quickly figured out that the agent who managed to outfox Revan, resist torture, get Marr’s attention, and unravel an intergalactic conspiracy was something special to the Republic. Odds were that this agent had acted against the Empire.

Marr would be interested.

The History of Darth Marr and Satele Shan

Prior to Yavin 4, Marr and Satele had most recently squabbled over Makeb in the Hutt Cartel expansion through their various operatives. When Marr saw Satele on the Imp side Battle of Rishi, he bowed. He respected her and she respected him. I didn’t get any other impression from their interactions. They saw each other as equals, though on rival sides; that creates tension, since a fight between them would be a draw or mutually assured destruction. It’s highly likely they fought against each other in the previous Galactic War (which I’ll talk about below).

Marr was born in 3702 BBY, Satele in 3699 BBY. They’re about the same age, and they ascended almost equally quickly when the Sith returned in 3681 -- Satele is 18, Marr is 21. I have spoken about how Satele and Jace (who seems to be somewhere between 16 and 20 in the trailer) were essentially just kids when the conflict started. So was Marr.

The big difference, in terms of how their characters are constructed, is that we have the end product of Marr. Period. We don’t know what his name was before he took on the name ‘Darth Marr.’ We know nothing about his family, his relationships, his struggles. As Marr said later to the player in KotFE, he wanted to be a symbol to the Empire. Marr did not let himself be just a man.

Darth Marr is not the singular leader of the Sith. Marr is the head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire for decades, and as of the Battle of Corellia and the death of Darth Decimus, he also becomes the head of the Sphere of Military Strategy. With 2 of Military Spheres in his grasp, Marr was the de facto leader of the armed forces of the Sith Empire. The Sphere of Military Offense passed from Baras to Arho and then to Arkous after Ilum. When Arkous is killed by the player’s character, there is no indication as to who was the next head; that Sphere is never spoken of again in-game. We may assume Marr took hold of that. Either way, he has become the de facto leader of the Sith Empire. His voice, his robes and mask -- immediately recognizable to the whole galaxy.

The creators of content for SWTOR took the opposite approach to Satele. We can read about how her mother Tasiele was forced into exile when Satele was still a child. We meet Satele at 18 in a SWTOR trailer during the first Sith incursion at Korriban. We see her in comics fighting against the Empire. We see her at the Battle of Alderaan against Malgus. In Annihilation,we see bits and pieces of her falling in love with Jace Malcom and hoping she doesn’t get too attached... until a pair of permanent complications occur in 3667 BBY: Jace was severely maimed in the Battle of Alderaan, and Satele got pregnant. Jace’s injuries made him a much harder person than the soldier Satele met in 3681 BBY; he scared her with his hatred of the Empire.

I’ll take a moment here to say that Satele wasn’t dumb or naive when she made the decision about Theron. Satele was at least 32 years old, possibly 33 by the time Theron was born in 3666 BBY. She wasn’t a teen having a knee-jerk “oh noes, he’s evil” moment. She had been in a constant state of war for 15 years when she got pregnant. It’s in that context that Satele was concerned that Jace’s hatred could drag their child to the Dark Side... but also, Satele’s love for her child would make it impossible for her to serve the Republic without a second thought. She couldn’t fight and die for the Republic if she was always preoccupied with coming home to her baby.

So she let Theron go. She had other adventures. She was at the Treaty of Coruscant. Satele founded Tython. She became the Grand Master of her order.

We don’t get any of that pathos or glory with Marr. Marr IS. Marr is the Empire. He is the best of them. He has been, is, and will be.

The odds are pretty good that Marr and Satele met each other in combat, directly or indirectly. The bow on Imp side Rishi is a big thing for me that points to that. Also, look at their responsibilities during the last war. Marr was responsible for not only defending Korriban and what would become the Imperial core, but also any gains the Sith made over time against the Republic. That’s the job of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire; taking planets was somebody else’s rodeo, not Marr’s. His job was to defend... something the Imperial people living on these planets would love him for. He was their protector against brutish Republic troops and their systemic corruption.

Satele was responsible for winning those territories back; we see her on counter-strikes against the Sith. Satele is cast as the liberator of people imperiled by the spreading Sith Empire, not a conqueror taking new territory. Marr probably had to defend against Satele at least once in their careers, possibly multiple times. If she was absent from the front lines for any period of time, Marr would have noticed; he had to anticipate the next move of Republic counterstrikes as part of his job.

And indeed, Satele was absent for an extended period. How long Satele was absent from the battlefield due to her pregnancy, we don’t know. Satele did continue her battlefield duties for “months” after she found out. The only information we have about post-partum Satele is that she stopped visiting Baby Theron at 6 months old, according to Lost Suns. I don’t think she could just skip off at random while in command, so I think she probably was off the battlefield at least 10 months (last 4 months of her pregnancy, 6 months post-partum), possibly as long as 18 months, since Gnost-Dural reports she was assigned to duty with the Republic Navy at some point in 3665 BBY. She did give birth on a random planet in a cave, so she didn’t exactly have the best medical care immediately. Maybe there were complications. Maybe she did show early. We don’t know.

Regardless of the timeline, Marr would have been paying attention. Marr would have noticed when Satele Shan stopped fighting for the Republic. Where was she? What was she doing? Was this part of a greater plot by the Republic? What were they planning? And when Satele did return, he may well have wondered what she had been up to. But no matter; she had returned. Marr had to be ready.

There’s no obvious indication in the game as to when Marr figures out Satele and Theron are mother and son. He makes no comment to indicate that he knew before Rishi. Based on Marr’s dialogue in game on the Imperial side, he heavily suggests that he knows who Theron is by the time Iven, the former commandant of the Imperial Guard, is taken into custody and it’s time to interrogate him. Satele objects to Marr’s plans to torture Iven. “And what do you think your agent has done in the Republic’s name?” is Marr’s response.

The delivery of ‘your agent’ is indicative that Marr knows.

Theron himself stated at the end of the Imp side romance that if he was indeed recruited by the player to join the Empire, people would be suspicious that he’d be working for his mother. That would have to include Darth Marr.

Personally, I would guess that the after-action reports from Lana and Theron would have some clues for Marr. However, once Theron had healed up from the Rishi events, Marr may well have taken one look at Theron standing next to Satele, and then had an epiphany so immense it gave him a headache that Lana felt across the compound. There’s the answer. That’s why she disappeared for almost two years, twenty-nine years ago. Theron Shan.

(According to Jace in Annihilation, Theron has some similar features to his mother. He doesn’t specify which ones.)

The Lie of Omission

A lie of omission is permitting an inaccuracy or a falsehood to continue to circulate without correction, even though the person knows the truth. (In contrast, a lie of commission is when you actively make something up or contribute to the lie -- you commit the act lying.) Marr signals he knows who Theron is by the time Iven is retrieved from the Imperial Guard training facility on Yavin, but he never says the name Theron Shan out loud. It’s simply “the agent” “your agent” or “Theron.” But not Agent Shan.

The use of “Theron” in the Pubside story is most eyebrow-raising.

Marr calls people by their titles. Marr always keeps professional distance. Underlings are uniformly referred to by their titles. Lana doesn’t like titles, so Marr doesn’t refer to her as Lord Beniko or Darth whatever; it’s just Beniko.

Calling someone by their first name is highly irregular. He does not refer to Satele as such until 6.2 (and that might be the Socratic Problem of Marr in the player’s memory rather than the real Marr). It’s always Grand Master or Grand Master Shan. In a unique instance in the game, Marr calls Theron by his given name when he finds the Imperial Guard’s buildings in ruins during the Pubside story: “But given the destruction Theron describes, it’s mostly likely a distress call.” This is before the Pub operative annoys Marr by going to the Imperial Guard facility by themselves; it’s not said in anger or in irritation. It’s said under ‘normal’ circumstances (if circumstances on Yavin are normal at all).

But why? Why not “Agent Shan”? That would differentiate him from Grand Master Shan. Just referring to the pair as Grand Master and Agent would work too; how many Grand Masters and SIS Agents are running around on Yavin 4? Why is Marr avoiding attention to the man’s last name?

And why doesn’t Marr hop on this and use it to the Empire’s advantage?

Pragmatism and Prioritization

Marr is not a Jedi. Marr doesn’t do things for the greater good. He does things for the Sith Empire and for the people of the Sith Empire. Offing Theron Shan? Definitely on the agenda. So is killing Satele, eventually.

But not now. Not on Yavin 4.

Marr is probably the person closest to knowing what Revan is going to try to do in order to make the Emperor take physical form again so he can kill him. It’s going to involve a lot of dead people. That can easily happen; up until this tiny fragile cease fire between Marr and Satele, the Empire and the Republic have been engaged in a hot war. When they first make camp on Yavin, there is a real possibility they��ll frag each other regularly. This is why players have to do daily quests, in theory -- to build good will between the factions.

My partner is a military nerd and a Star Wars nerd. He watched both version of the Battle of Rishi. His conclusion: based on the ships we see, Marr had more than twice the number of troops that Satele did (I put the numbers in my Yavin 4 fic). The Imperial troops, at Marr’s word, probably could wipe out the Republic forces on Yavin 4, pack up, and head back to Dromund Kaas in time for tea.

But they won’t. Marr wouldn’t permit it.

He knows how dangerous the Emperor is, and if he does let his troops kill the Pubs, they feed him. There also appears to be some sort of weird mystical thing going on with Revan’s bloodline. Revan knew highly personal information about Theron (and Theron says so when the player opens the temple later on); somehow, Theron was able to use that connection to get Revan to give up Yavin 4 and secure an invite there at the end of the Rishi op.

Marr knows about this. Marr doesn’t know what Revan would do if Marr did kill Theron or Satele, plus there’s the more predictable possibility that the Republic would respond to the death of Satele Shan thanks to the Jedi feeling it through the Force. Chancellor Saresh would not let that opportunity pass by, even if it did feed the Emperor; we saw that at Ziost.

Grand Master Shan is a public figure. Her name and her power is obvious to everyone in the Yavin camp. Theron, however, is everything his mother is not. He is a spy. His face is not known to the general public. His work is secret, his exact abilities unknown.

Sure, the last name is common enough....

But Theron and Satele have never worked together before. They’ve never operated in such close proximity before. Yavin 4 would be the first time all the pieces could fall into place to someone observant. Marr is many things, but one of the things he really gets annoyed about in regard to the Sith is their arrogance. They get such fat heads that they can’t see obvious danger or they overlook aliens and non-Force Sensitives to their own detriment.

Marr isn’t arrogant.

He doesn’t think he’s the only one who can see a family similarity or sense some connection between them. Saying someone’s name is a powerful thing; we get upset when someone screws up our name. It’s how our attention is attracted. Shared last names of interesting people attract attention. Attention leads to distraction away from the primary goal of stopping Revan and the Emperor.

That’s something Marr doesn’t want to deal with right now. Revan and Emperor now. The Shans later. He avoids referring to Theron as “Shan” so as to reduce any chance that some young Sith will attempt to make their bones killing Theron, since that would spell doom for the Empire, whether through Revan’s anger or the Republic’s revenge. It would also help empower the Sith Emperor to retake physical form, which is the last thing Marr wants him to do.

Exposing the Grand Master as having a secret son would remove an ally from the field for Marr; Marr doesn’t want to destroy his assets before he’s used them to their full ability. There’s no point in burning Satele Shan on Yavin 4 before Revan is dealt with.

...And Marr respects her. It’s a cheap way to win against a rival he knows to be his equal.

Marr wants to end Revan and the Emperor now, in that order, to defend the people of the Empire. He’ll worry about the Shans later. Marr will let Theron’s last name be overlooked and unmentioned, if only because it makes his job as Defender of the Empire less complicated for a few months.

Thanks again to @swtorpadawan and also @inyri @shabre-legacy @theniveanlegacy for discussing the original post about Satele and Theron and making me think about this.

Headcanon Postface:

This last bit is purely my headcanon ideas about Marr, so you can leave here if you so desire. I’m placing them here rather than making a separate post and having to link back to this one.

As I’ve described previously, we have the finished product of Darth Marr, with none of the personal insight that was provided for Satele Shan. Who’s under the mask? Nobody knows, really. His first comic book adventure takes place in 3678, when he’s about 24 years old. There’s nothing about his life beforehand that would let the player wonder how his past life affected his current decisions. Marr ultimately would do the best he could for the Empire, regardless, but knowing if he ever hesitated, ever had second thought, had a regret -- that would make him mortal.

And Marr is an icon, not a man, in the grander SWTOR universe, per the writers. That’s the point driven home to the player. So that leaves it to fan fic to take off the mask or not.

In “The Planter of Trees and Other Tales from Yavin 4,” Marr comes to this conclusion about the Shans’ relationship after observing two Shan chins. He then alludes to understanding Satele’s decision to conceal Theron’s existence.

After Marr had gained his seat on the Dark Council (late 3680s, early 3670s), a lot of Sith families wanted him to add to their prestige. The man needed a legacy; he needed heirs. Marr had already set himself on his path, however; he understood that it was better to be an icon. If Marr was a normal man, he would be weakened by family connections, love, protectiveness, concern for his personal future. Instead, Marr’s devotion to the Empire was unmatched and pure. In the public’s eye, he was the great defender. He was the perfect Sith.

Marr never did have a public wife or a political marriage. His private life -- better secured than Imperial state secrets -- produced a daughter that did not inherit her talents from her Force-Using parent. Marr had been relieved that his daughter was not like him. It meant she would never be pressured to come into public life. It meant she was free of the burden of his legacy.

Lately, I’ve considered that, regardless of having access to the Force or not, a child of Marr was always in danger of becoming a pawn. She was something Marr’s enemies could use against him, if they ever found out about her; being Force-Null simply meant that others could not detect her as easily. That may have also have been a concern of Satele in regard to Theron, especially as she rose through the ranks of the Jedi Order. As soon as Marr could let his daughter fly away from Dromund Kaas, he did. She was free.

She died shortly before the Sack of Coruscant. Marr did not go to her. The Empire had to matter more. That doesn’t mean he didn’t love her. He just never could prioritize her over the Empire.

In my fic universe, Marr understands Satele’s choices. He can keep his mouth shut. For now.

Theron is far more dangerous to the rival faction than Marr’s daughter ever was, however; he is an active player in the war, while she... just got caught in the middle, in the end....

Revan and Emperor now. Shans later.

#swtor #shadow of revan #darth marr #satele shan #revan #theron shan #lana beniko #swtor fan fiction #headcanon #pragmatic sith

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missdawnandherdusk · 3 years

Text

No Place Like Home

Draco X Hufflepuff!Reader

An Alternate Reality (read the entire series here)

Summary: In a world with no such thing as magic, or wars, or potions, what happens when you find yourself in a muggle school with an equally confused Draco... and your very alive father? It’s a perfect world... but it’s not home.

A/n: So, I watched WandaVision, and well I have a few things to say. Anyway here’s out Hufflepuff darling in the same situation and me toying with what she would choose on a much shorter time line. Let me know if this hurts you as much as it hurts me.

“Miss Y/l/n!” The loud voice woke me from my slumber, and I sat up abruptly. “Please sleep on your own time and not in my classroom!”

“Sorry, professor,” I rubbed my eyes, blinking.

The room was a bright cream color with vibrant posters on the walls. The desks were a cheap knock off wood and the chairs were plastic and metal. The floor was tile. The projector showed... chemistry. The notebook under my arms was filled with chemistry notes all done in pencil. The kids around me weren’t in uniform. They were... muggle.

I was in a muggle school.

Internalizing my panic, I started to think furiously about how in the world I had ended up in a muggle school. I should be at... and I should be with... and I had a... with... and I was planning...

A splintering agony surged through my head. I gasped and pressed against my temples, trying to ease the pain.

“Miss Y/l/n! If you are going to disrupt my class, then please remove yourself!” My eyes flashed up to a stranger. I didn’t know a face that surrounded me.

I stumbled out of my seat and out of the classroom into the hallway. Again, the floors were tile and the walls an awful plaster painted an off-white. A bulletin board gave information about school spirit and upcoming events. All of the paper was an obnoxious neon color that did not aid my headache. My hand went to my bag to get out a... I frowned. I normally had them on me. They... they were...

In my painful fervor, I ran into someone. My headache subsided at the sight of him.

“Draco!” I sighed in relief.

“Yes? Do I know you?” He raised an eyebrow at me, a cold look on his face. I took a small step back my brows furrowing. My hand went to the hollow of my neck where my locket normally hung, but it was gone.

“Draco,” I couldn’t believe it. “You don’t.... you don’t know who I am?”

“Well, I’ve seen you around school, but no.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know you knew my name,”

I know a lot more than just your name, I thought in vain. I worried my lip, trying to find the best course of action. There was no answer for me.

“I’m... Y/n,” I spoke slowly, to be sure of my words. “Could you... help me?”

“Are you alright?” He almost scoffed.

“Uh... no not really,” I admitted. “I have a terrible headache and it feels like the room is spinning a bit,”

He sighed and rubbed his face. “Alright, I’ll take you to the nurse,” I didn’t expect his kindness. I don’t think he expected it either judging by the furrow of his brow and the indignation in his eyes.

As we walked along in the hall, I attempted to memorize the route, or even find some sort of marker that differentiated one hall from the next but there was nothing. It was a maze of mundane.

The only comfort I had was walking by Draco’s side. There was still something off. I yearned to reach and hold his hand. The longer we walked along the quicker my headache subsided. I had glimpses into memories of laughing with him. Dancing, walking, kissing, smiling, fighting...

I looked down at my hands and for the blink of an eye they were covered in blood. I gasped and the pain in my head intensified.

“Hey, woah, are you okay?” Draco asked, steadying me.

“No,” I screwed my eyes shut. “Something... something’s... Merlin I wish I could remember!”

“Did... Did you just say Merlin?”

“...Yes,” I dared to open my eyes to see curiosity in Draco’s.

“Who in the world are you?” He was mystified, reaching out to steady me. As soon as his hand touched my shoulder, everything came into perspective.

A thousand memories came flooding back. Train rides and magic. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. Harry Potter and Quidditch. Wands and short hair. Robes and castles. And Draco, a thousand times Draco. In every memory, woven into every part of my psyche. It always came back to him. It always centered on him.

“Draco, something is wrong,” I stressed, pacing the hall, the pain in my head gone now that my memories returned. “This... this isn’t right,”

“Well of course it isn’t right,” His words sparked a flicker of hope in my chest. Maybe I wasn’t crazy after all. “I shouldn’t be here. We should both be in class.”

“But you should be here!” I raised my voice. “How can you not remember me, Draco! How can you not remember everything we went through together!? Why does no one remember!? Where are we!?” My hands went to my hair to run through it anxiously but the perfectly done updo constrained me. “Oh this stupid hair!” I started to pull out the pins and ties that held it into place and muss it up until it was falling at odd angles around my shoulders. “Oh, I wish I had my wand so I could chop it all off!”

Draco’s eyes flashed to mine at my final statements, something familiar in his eyes. The Draco that I knew. The one who I loved. But it was soon gone replaced by the caring ditz of a schoolboy.

“No,” I refuted, wanting that look back. “Wait,” I paused, going to him. “You remembered something. I know that look,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He stood, turning his back to me.

“Draco Malfoy,” I snapped. “You remember! Merlin all it took was me shouting at you! You arrogant egotistical little twat!” I was giddy with the fact that Draco remembered.

“I don’t—” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “I... I can’t see it all. Just... flashes. Brief glimpses... then it’s gone,” He turned to me, his brows knitted together. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “There’s just... there’s something off. Something missing. There’s supposed to be magic. And wands, and something called Hogwarts... and... Voldemort,”

Draco hissed and glared at me. “Don’t you ever say that name!” He pinned me to the hallway wall.

My eyes widened in shock at his outburst, but it was a brief moment because suddenly Draco was struggling to stand, staggering over to adjacent wall to steady him.

“Draco?” The concern in my voice was evident.

“I... I think I need to lie down,” He choked out.

“You do remember,” The revelation quelled my old fears but brought on new ones.

“I... my head hurts,”

“I know,” I comforted softly, reaching out for him. “Let’s get you to the nurse,”

“You have no idea where that is,” He muttered, leaning against me as a crutch.

“Not really,” A smile played at my lips.

“I liked your hair shorter... I can almost see it...” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Why do you remember fully, and I can’t?”

“I don’t know...” I mused. “I don’t know if I’m even supposed to remember anything. This has to be some sort of spell... a curse.”

We had found our way to the office, Draco conscious enough that he remembered the way. The receptionist eyed us, but Draco with his usual schmooze, lied elegantly. It made me smile, knowing that he was still just as clever here as back... back home.

“Alright sweetie,” The receptionist clacked on her computer and smiled sweetly. “I’ll just call your dad and have him come and get you,”

“My dad? You’ll call my dad?” I stammered out, leaning against the raised front desk for support.

“Or I can call your mom if it’s too much trouble,” The receptionist smiled kindly. “Are you sure you’re alright dearie?” The nurse asked.

“She’s had a long day,” Draco held my shoulder, giving a tight smile. “It’s her migraine. It throws her off the rest of the day, hence our reason for coming.”

The receptionist smiled kindly and made the call... to my dad. Draco and I waited for a while in the lobby, near a fake Ficus that had no hope to flourish in the florescent lighting. He held my hand the entire time and let me lean on him for comfort and strength. I didn’t doubt that he could feel anxiety rolling off me in waves. Merlin, I wish I had a potion or two on me! It would allow me to think straight even for a moment.

“Is that my little sunshine?” The voice made me jump out of my skin and turn.

“Papa?” I gasped and broke free from Draco’s grasp and ran into my father’s arms, tears stinging my eyes.

“Hey there pumpkin,” My dad chuckled. “You haven’t called me that since you were two... you feeling alright sunshine?”

I drew away, staring... memorizing him. Photos didn’t do the kindness in his eyes any justice. And the warmth of his hold was intoxicating. It was everything I ever wanted.

“Just tell me it’s gonna be okay,” I whispered without thinking.

“Of course, it is,” He smiled, petting my hair softly. “Everything is going to be just fine,”

“Dad?” I asked. He looked at me expectant. “I love you,”

“I love you too, sunshine,” His smile reached and lit up his eyes. “Now let’s get you home. You’ve had a long day,” He looked over my shoulder, to Draco. “Thank you, son, for taking care of her,”

The look in Draco’s eyes told me how much those few words meant to him, and how much Draco remembered.

“Hang on, dad,” I paused taking a step toward Draco.

It was a choice before me. Draco and a life of magic and danger and true love and battles between good and evil. Or my father and the chance at a normal, magic free life at a muggle school with no danger or fears that Draco could be a part of... that my dad could be a part of. The gravity of the situation made me reach to my locket for comfort but was met with the tangled waves of my long hair.

“This isn’t right,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t make me choose,”

“Let’s go home, sunshine,” My dad spoke as if I hadn’t. As if I weren’t crying. I looked back at him one last time.

“I’m sorry,” I was really crying now. “But this isn’t my home. I love you, dad,”

Tears blurred my vision, but I felt Draco stand firm and ready beside me. My hand reached for a wand that wasn’t there.

“You couldn’t just be happy?” A voice echoed in the now vacant office. Draco hovering beside me, my breath quickened. “I tried to give you everything! A happy ending! Couldn’t you just be happy!?”

“...Mother?” I blinked rapidly, clearing my tears. “What did you do!?” I shouted at no one, at the disembodied voice.

“Just once, couldn’t you be happy? And play your part?” She materialized in front of us. “You could have been happy, my darling,”

“This?” I gestured around me at the white sterile scene and florescent lighting. I glanced up at Draco. “I’m not happy if I’m not where I belong,”

“In the middle of a war?” My mother sounded desperate. “As the leader of all of Hogwarts? In danger!? Fatherless!?” I flinched at that.

“With Draco,” I took his hand in mine. “And my friends. And... Abby.” I gasped, suddenly recalling. “And...”

“Pansy,” Draco breathed out, struggling to form more of the memory.

“We have to go back,” There was no denying that. “This isn’t right,”

“If you want them, they can be here too. Anything you want.” She was desperate to make me stay, “You could be happy here. Walt... Your father could be here, no one could hurt you,” There were tears in her eyes. “You’d be safe,”

“I want to go home,” I choked out.

The world changed around me, and I felt a weight off my shoulders. Quite literally. My hair was short and cropped again, and a familiar weight hung around my neck. I reached up and ran my fingers over my locket.

“It isn’t safe, but it is good,” I murmured.

masterlist

more like this:

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the serpent beneath

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gaming-universe · 3 years

Text

Who We Are || Russell Adler

Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War

-PART TWO-

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY BLACK OPS: COLD WAR! IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/FINISHED THE CAMPAIGN THEN PLEASE DONT READ! Gore, violence, course language, mature content.

Summary: Betrayed and alone after surviving the events that took place on the Solovetsky Islands, Y/n ‘Bell’ L/n faces new and more dangerous threats when she learns that Perseus has other plans for his failed nuclear detonation of Europe. It was only a matter of time before Y/n came face to face with her old team. There is unfinished business between Y/n and Adler, as this operation proves to be more deadly than originally thought.

Author’s Note: So, after finishing the campaign, I needed to do Bell/Player and Adler justice. I loved this game so much, and chosing to play as the female character, I felt like there was a genuine connection between Bell and Adler throughout the game. There is a tag list open for anyone that wishes to stay up to date with the series. Simply comment below. Gif by @travelllar

|PART ONE|

For four months, you remained in the Solovetsky Islands, recovering and maintaining a normal life.

The old man that had rescued you, Viktor, welcomed you into his home, and offered for you to stay for as long as you needed. He did everything in his power to make you feel welcome, especially after you had opened up to him. You told Viktor everything; the trauma you experienced in regards to the brainwashing, the betrayal you felt as Adler turned, weapon raised, and fired that single shot which landed you here, your sleepless nights consumed by nightmares of memories you thought were long gone.

Everyone thought you were dead, and maybe that was for the best. You could start anew, build a new life for yourself, live in peace. But of course, there had to be one last cruel twist of fate.

You were sitting in the living room, reading a small novel when Viktor hurried through the door, his face pale and eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” You mused, tilting your head to the side in wait for his answer. Viktor swallowed thickly, approaching with stumbling steps. He sat down beside you, his hands trembling as he placed them gently atop his knees. “I was returning from my trawler when I heard some men at the docks talking...” He began, now turning to face you with a shaky sigh “some of them were saying that men, Russians, were returning to the ruins atop the clifface. With diggers, with machinery to rebuild the base you gave your life to destroy”.

You froze, the book in your grasp falling to the floor as your grip loosened. They were returning here? What on earth could Perseus be returning to the Solovetsky Islands for? If they were rebuilding that base, then that means that there must have been something worth saving up there.

But what could you have missed the first time?

You raised a questioning eyebrow at Viktor. “Do you still have my gear?” You asked lowly, the hidden anger within you slowly beginning to bubble. The old man nodded “It is in the attic, well hidden from prying eyes-”

“Good, I’m going to investigate those ruins tonight”.

“No, you cannot! If you are caught-”

“That won’t happen, I promise” You reasoned, standing up abrubtly before wincing lightly. Viktor stood to block your path “You are still injured. I will not allow you to do this”.

You groaned “If Perseus has returned to that base, then I need to put a stop to this before it even begins...” You spoke informatively “I can’t let him escape again. I might not know why exactly, but I can’t let him leave those ruins alive”.

With a long winded sigh, Viktor stepped to the side whilst giving you a pointed look. He said nothing as you passed him, beginning to make your way to the attic with a confident stride. Investigating that base was your best chance of figuring out exactly what was going on around this small town. You began to notice some subtle changes a few weeks ago. The people were growing scared, they were more cautious, and more suspicous of each other as days went by.

After clambering through the small manhole into the attic, you found your gear lying atop an old carboard box, neatly folded and out of sight. As you extended a hand out towards the pile of clothes, your hand faltered. Your eyes travelled to the round tear in the dark grey fabric, surrounded by a large red stain that refused to detatch itself from the fibres. As if in response, a phantom pain coursed through your chest, the ugly scar beneath your jacket aching with every awkward twist and turn of your arm, every deep breath you took. A reminder of the pain that had been inflicted.

Swallowing your fear, and suppressing the vivid flashes of you and Adler on that clifface, you changed into those old clothes. With no weapons, you would have to approach with stealth. They wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone breaking in to their new playground, especially if it were one who had been the cause of the base’s destruction the first time around. After making your way back downstairs, Viktor stood by the door. “You cannot expect to go in there unarmed...” He began, removing one hand from within his jacket to reveal a pistol, with a suppressor attatched to the end. “My son’s. It was his when he was with the Russian Army four years ago. He left it behind when he moved away with his wife. It would be more use to you than just sitting in a draw beneath old documents”.

Carefully, you took the weapon from his fragile hands, almost recoiling at the familiarity of the cool metal in your palm. You nodded gratefully, taking the firearm and securing it in the holster attatched to your right leg. Before you could leave, Viktor gently grabbed your upper arm, squeezing it tightly in emphasis to his words. “Be careful, and come back alive”.

With a light chuckle, you nodded your promise before walking past him and through the front door. You coudln’t help but feel incredibly nervous. There were two ways this night could go, and you hoped to god that everything worked in your favour.

Studying the ruins of the base atop your perch of a pile of rubble, everything seemed to be running smoothly so far.

You had watched several Soviet officers disappear through a single armoured door, only to return hours later. You assumed that that door lead either to an already rebuilt section of the base, which was heavily fortified and filled with armed guards at every turn. Or, that door lead down to subterrainean levels that hadn’t been affected in the air raid four months ago.

There was only one way to find out.

Checking that the coast was clear, you descended from your perch and kept close to the shadows. Taking the long way around was certainly not what you wanted to do, although you definitely did avoid several close calls. You only had trouble with two guards, who you quickly dispatched before continuing on your way.

You paused just out of reach of the doorway, crouching low to avoid the bright searchlight illuminating the grounds. Steadying your breath, you waited for the right moment to slip through the metal door without being detected. The door itself hadn’t suffered much damage, merely sustaining a few scratches and scorch marks against the olive green paint. When the search light moved on a second time, you took that as your opportunity to slip through, closing the door behind you with a small thunk, whilst completely unaware of the several pairs of prying eyes that watched your form in awe and disbelief.

After managing to sneak by several other Soviet soldiers, you found yourself descending a staircase that kept going down, down down. There was almost no end in sight, but you sighed with relief when a faint white light illuminated the end of the staircase. Upon entering the room, you almost swore that your heart leapt into your throat. There were several rows of computer terminals, but there was only one that was operational. As you approached, the screen flickered with two words. Two words that triggered a flicker of memory from your time with Perseus.

You were back in that bunker, the bunker with the red door. It was just you and Perseus, the rest of the room was dim, almost black and white. Perseus turned to face you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he placed a file onto the table before you. “I only trust you with this information. You are my most valuable asset, and I trust that you will keep this a secret from the rest of the table...”

You nodded wordlessly as Perseus continued, “If Operation Greenlight is to fail, I have a failsafe which I intend to initiate, Operation Hydra-”

You found yourself stumbling backward, breathing heavily as you tried to make sense of what you had just witnessed. Operation Hydra? Perseus’ most valuable asset? None of this was making sense.

You heard the heavy footsteps before you turned, perhaps a little too late. The end of an assult rifle collided with your jaw, sending you sprawling to the floor as your vision danced with violent stars. Several angry Russian voices echoed throughout the bunker, all of them shouting for someone to retrieve a General Nikiforov. Ungracefully, you staggered to your feet and lashed out at the closest soldier, tackling him to the ground with a loud cry of effort. After managing to wrestle the rifle from his grasp, and after knocking the soldier unconscious, you took cover behind one of the computer terminals as the remaining four soldiers opened fire.

You cursed under your breath, readying your newfound weapon to fire when several more shots echoed from within the bunker, this time, resonating from the bottom of the stairwell on the opposite side of the room. It soon became hard to differentiate between who exactly was shouting. There were multiple accents all at once, making it near impossible to find out just who was shooting at who.

Peaking around the corner of the terminal, you sighed internally with relief as the three soldiers were preoccupied with dealing with whoever was on the other side of the room. Wait, three?

You had no time to react as the fourth soldier appeared to your left in your peripheral vision. You released a small cry of pain as the Russian grabbed a fistful of your hair, dragging you out from behind your cover before letting go, and delivering a swift kick to your abdomen. You managed to avoid his attack, rolling away before quickly standing to your feet.

The soldier charged, swining his arms wildly. There was no rationality to his attacks. Making him vulnerable, and completely predicatble. You caught his arm mid-swing, twisting it to the side harshly before delivering a hard kick to the soldier’s stomach. With a pointed grunt, he stumbled backward against one of the terminals, giving you enough time to advance. But the soldier was ready, and produced a large combat knife from within his vest.

You hissed as the knife cut your forearm, recoiling away from the soldier as blood began to stain the sleeve of your shirt. Believeing that he had the upper hand, the soldier advanced, swiping in every which direction in an attempt to land a critical hit. Doging and weaving, you swore as your back collided with a seperate terminal, effectively trapping you between the desk and the soldier edging closer towards you. Shit, this was exactly what he wanted.

You were practically bent over backwards across the terminal, your back straining at the awkward angle as you caught the soldier’s hand in it’s downward strike, leaving the knife mere inches from your throat. The soldier was leaning on top of you, putting all his weight into trying to accomplish the menial task of ending your life. You could feel the knife’s tip pressing against your skin, the cool metal still flecked with traces of your blood a stark contrast to the warmth of your body. The knife drew blood as you tried desperately to push back with whatever remaining strength you had left. You didn’t know how much longer you could last.

Suddenly out of nowhere, the soldier was hauled away from your form and violently shoved to the ground by a figure clad in black. You forced your self to sit upright, one hand caressing your neck whilst the other was braced firmly against the desk. Taking a few deep breaths, you watched on as the figure kicked the knife from the soldier’s hand, before removing a pistol from his side and actively shooting the soldier in the chest, the single shot echoing loudly throughout the now silent bunker.

Your heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard, as you tried to regain your composure, as you tried to calm down. But four months of recovery certainly hadn’t prepared you for this. Your entire being became rigid with fear as the figure before you turned, your eyes widened with dread, you could have sworn that you had stopped breathing altogether. Those blue eyes beneath those goddamned glasses, the scars across his face...

Two other figures appeared behind him, their eyes wide, their faces pale. As if they were looking at a ghost.

“No fucking way...” Woods breathed, his eyes not once leaving your form as his grip on his rifle slackened. Mason nodded wordlessly, he too in a completely dumbfounded state. Your fear soon turned to immense anger, as Adler stepped towards you, his expression unreadable. “Bell” was all he said, nodding slightly in aknowledgement. As if what happened four months ago never took place at all.

A heavy tension filled the bunker, becoming broken when your clenched fist collided with Adler’s jaw, a sharp but impressive ‘crack’ echoing throught the room.

Tag List (Tags with lines aren’t working as of yet): @pookolokon @travelllar @basicwhiteasian @shellshockedbell @inteligentecat @staryozora @quietblogs-2-rd @lovinggooppalacebanana @ktdragonborn

#russell adler x reader #russell adler #russell adler imagine #call of duty x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #call of duty black ops cold war

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princekoo · 3 years

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goodnight n go | one | pjm.

pairing. single dad! jimin x female teacher! reader

synopsis. jimin was a single dad of three and one unfortunate mishap caused him to meet you: his best friend’s coworker and daughter’s teacher. will feelings of petty loathing develop into something more?

genre/prompt. fluff, angst

word count. 4.3k

content. jimin is a pole dancer and has 3 kids as well as is 9 years older than oc. even if they’re both well over legal age, if that makes you uncomfortable, please consider not reading. thank you <3

writer’s note. I deleted it originally because I was unhappy with it as I wrote it when I was younger and didn’t have much experience in writing and my approach to it wasn’t as elaborate as the one I managed to develop all these months of practicing. so! here she is! she’s longer and has less parts so you won’t be annoyed with the constant changing haha. an important thing to note is that the oldest son’s name Songyoon was changed to Haneul, the little girl’s name Sooyeon was changed to Eunbyul, and the youngest’s name Sanghoon was changed to Hayun as their names were too similar and made it difficult to remember who was who. There was also many major plot changes as well as small ones, so it’s somewhat completely different to the earlier version. Anyways! Enjoy :)

parts. one / two

The window curtains glittered under the moonlight’s loving, motherly kiss, this gentle caress closely similar to the unnaturally blond man’s embrace of a little girl–his precious little girl– in his arms. She was quite positively almost a copy of himself, down to his natural jet-black hair and plump, pink lips. The expensive curtains—most notably one of the most expensive things in the vicinity as what his little one wants his little one gets— danced with the wind let in by the open window softly, bringing the loud car horns and yelling of bustling city life with it. They’d been rendered to a simple ambient hum, considering how high up in the building they lived, however. The glitter scattered all throughout its length caused it to look like various constellations spread gracefully, causing his little one to refuse any other option that wasn’t it, unfortunately for his bank account. The neon lights of signs outside their New York City apartment, which would otherwise be annoying, entered only carefully tonight, as if to not disturb the gentle moment between the father and daughter.

“And so, the little princess was elated! The dragon had taken her to his cave filled with shiny little things all around, away from the princess life she hated.”

The raven-haired girl’s little eyes had shined in anticipation; the blonde man often mused it seemed like the night sky was trapped in her gaze since her birth, hence her name. She practically shook from excitement, her little brain unable wrap itself around how the princess pulled it all off so effortlessly! She didn’t know what to do with herself, so she clung to her dad’s silk night shirt as tight as her little fists would let her (which kind of hurt but he wasn’t going to stop her, he loved her too much to repress her). She liked to think of herself as close to that of a big, scary typhoon. He begged to differ with the more accurate description of the whirlpool one makes when circling their fingers in water repeatedly.

“The dragon taught her all she came to know! He taught her to read and write. Taught her to do basic things and they lived happily for just a few months. Then, the guards in the palace found her and came to get her! Do you know what they assumed, my beautiful little star?” Jimin had started looking at her fondly, the term of endearment coming out in their native tongue of Korean, accent prominently and endearingly laced in his English, soothing into every word he spoke. The nickname made her chest fill with warmth and her cheeks puff in reluctant happiness. No matter how many times her dear daddy would say it, it was her very own little term of endearment. Just for her and no one else. She loved it.

“That he was a big scary mean dragon! Right, daddy?!”

Jimin beamed at her intelligence. Then again, he does read her this story whenever she asks—and that’s nearly every weekend. He tickled her and held her tightly in his arms, her soft giggles reaching his ears just as the melodies he would dance to as a young boy would. Although he could still fit her in his arms, she was getting big. Give it two more years and he couldn’t do this anymore with her, hold her without difficulty and discomfort. The thought of such a cruel future made his heart sink a little. He had to stop himself often from thinking about how she would act when she became a teenager, it would be too much for his fragile heart to handle.

Jimin had always chastised her, as he was the only parent she had left. He took care of her and taught her valuable life lessons, sang her to sleep, and learned to make pretty hairstyles “just like a princess”, she’d say. He corrected her when needed as well as took on the role of both mother and father to her younger brother, Hayun (she preferred to call him Sunny after Jimin told her the meaning in English, which always made his heart melt), which was only a month old when their mother decided to pack her bags. Her older brother, although still a junior in high school, helped as much as he could to alleviate the toll that taking on both roles took on Jimin.

He was a great father, as one wouldn’t really expect. He was the right mixture of incredibly compassionate, well-humored, and empathetic with a dash of sternness to go along with it. He wasn’t a tyrant ruler, he listened to all three–well two, Hayun hasn’t even been able to string together a coherent longer-than-3-words sentence, only simple sentences, as a toddler does– and implemented all change that was agreed on by the majority. He always tried to pay equal attention to all of them, although most of it went to her younger brother. She didn’t mind though, she enjoyed playing with her older brother, Haneul. Jimin always packed him lunch, even as he whined that he didn’t have to do that, but he always enjoyed when he did it. She knew, noticing he always left to school with a small smile on his lips after.

Jimin has to assume complete responsibility once their… “mother” … turned up one day and decided she wanted nothing to do with her kids anymore. After taking her routine every night visit to the bar, she found someone older. Wealthier. “Much more fun” and “like you used to be before they showed up” she also gracefully added. Not like it was his fault he’d grown up once his first child was born, unlike her. Always looking for convenient fun, never tied down to anything. Proposing to her would just be in vain since it’s not like she would’ve accepted marriage anyway. Even during high school, when she first had come to him announcing her pregnancy, he knew how little care she held for him. She always thought of him as harmless fun, a man on the side and he couldn’t say the same of himself. The first child was purely an accident, the other two was him desperately trying to convince himself it could all work out and she could change. After their third, he knew how wrong he was. He held feelings for her at one point, although, with time, it all disappeared. He could only hold feelings of loathing towards her at that point. She thought of the kids as nuances. She got sick of it. Sick of him. Sick of having just one person to kiss. She couldn’t be tied down, but just because he knew that, it didn’t mean it hurt any less. She’d left once Hayun was born, but Eunbyul didn’t know why. She always thought she didn’t love them anymore after seeing her mom with a man that looked uglier than her daddy for sure, but she seemed happy. Her mom said something to her before she’d left, looked at her weird, and screamed at her dad some more, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Often, she’d ponder when her mommy was coming back. Well, not like she could, anyway. They did move across the globe after, from Busan to New York, with no way to contact them. She didn’t mind not having a mommy for now, though, it’s not like she was ever home before anyway. It was always comfortable with daddy.

“Daddy! Please continue the story! Why’d you stop?! Pleeeeeeease…!” She pouted and looked up at him with those puppy eyes children knew to use when they wanted something to make their parents cave in fast in response to his hesitance to continue the story, her fake tiara skewing just a little to the side. One day, he’ll buy her a new one. One with diamonds and various other gems. His features seemed to light up and playfully mirror her own, his nose scrunching up as well. She, of course, as a sensitive, princess-y 4-almost-5-year-old, did not know how to differentiate someone being mean between someone playing, so she smacked him on the shoulder as hard as she could in her blind anger. Jimin yelped at the contact and sobered up, expression turning stern. Had she messed up? Did she do something wrong? Daddy’s face did the same face he always did when he was mad at her for doing something wrong. Eyes sharp. Lips in a straight line. Eyebrows drawn together.

“Eunbyul, you can’t hit anyone ever, you hear me? Especially me...” His voice was stern, but less confident as he trailed off. One look in her eyes and one could easily tell she was on the verge of tears. Why had the atmosphere changed so much? Why did the breeze still? Why was it so hot all of a sudden, but just on her face? Her tears were almost spilling out of her doe eyes, so his expression softened and panic flashed through his face. He had too soft a spot for her.

“...Not without expecting payback!” He announced out as a save and initiated a tickle attack by removing his arms supporting her back and wiggling them on her sides, causing a sea of reluctant giggles and laughter to erupt from her lips, tears of sadness now turned into ones of happiness. A wave of relief passed through her consciousness. He wasn’t mad at her anymore!

After he stopped tickling and her giggles piped down, he took her in his arms again and minimally rocked her back and forth again, attempting to continue the story. She gazed into his eyes. There, were two crescent moons filled with stars picked carefully right from the universe. They held warm nights of him wrapped in a blanket and always holding her in his arms while rocking her back and forth, looking back at her like she was his most valuable treasure. Nights of drinking lukewarm chocolate and sharing it with her while telling her countless stories he remembered or made up, her brother’s occasional snorting making her giggle. Those crescent pools of love staring right back at her with so much fondness, she couldn’t not trust him. He loved what he created with every inch of his being, even if she resembled her mother somewhat. She never felt so safe in any other person’s hold, even in Haneul’s. She felt safe and happy, sure, but not to the extent of her dad’s.

Pouting and closing his eyes as well as lifting his head up high in mocked snub, he opened one of his closed eyes.

“Well, if you’re done being rude, I’d like to finish this story for this week.”

A beat of silence went by as she looked at him with slight shame and tucked her head against his armpit. He sighed, breathily chuckled and shook his head slightly.

“You were right, princess. They did think he was a big, mean, and scary dragon that took the pretty little princess as his own treasure! The princess came back from getting berries just before the guards decided to kill the dragon!”

A gasp. A smile.

“She explained what happened and the guards decided to keep to themselves that they had seen the princess. The dragon and the princess lived what, my little star?”

“Happily ever after, right, daddy?!” She looked at her dad excitedly, completely engrossed in the story despite it being probably the hundredth time he told it to her since her birth.

A pause.

“That’s right, my love. The end…”

Although little Eunbyul understood simple Korean, she could barely speak it. Jimin planned on teaching her a little more down the line. Now, she barely understood some of the words, any longer than two syllables being too dang hard for her little brain to grasp at this late hour, right before her bedtime, but she didn’t care at this time. Not when his soothing voice graced her ears with the background noise only that of the far away beep of cars, the rhythmic rumbling in his chest every time he’s uttered a word soothing her to sleep. As she laid there in his arms, fast asleep, little snores leaving her nose, all that was in his mind was how he could never bear losing her.

He felt absolutely heartbroken and stressed, raising three kids on his own was unbearably hard. He loved them so much he had to look for a job in this new country. A job that paid well but let him work while the kids were asleep so he could care for them while they were awake.

He also made friends with his co-workers and shift manager, so it wasn’t too bad re-adjusting. They barely hired new employees since they had a very high criteria, so he barely had to deal with new hires that made his job harder. His kids are growing up, though. He knew that. He feared they would leave like their mother did almost two years ago, so he’d decided to enjoy them and raise them as well as he could while it lasted. He was scared they’d decide they were sick of him just like she did. Irrational since his kids shared a strong bond with him and each other, but valid.

Jimin got up, arms still wrapped around her, she was growing and he could no longer able to hold her like how he used to. He moved the covers to make place for her and gently laid her down, taking her plastic tiara off her head. Covering her and laying a gentle kiss on her forehead, tears dangerously threatened to spill. The moonlight hit his face, making his eyes’ shine intensify into thousand galaxies in his beautiful, soft chocolate eyes as he got up to turn off her mermaid lamp.

“Sleep tight my little universe,” he chokingly whispered as tears freely fell from his eyes.

An abrupt sound made way to his ears and he turned around, finding his sixteen-year-old son holding Sunghoon. Jimin vigorously wiped his tears and gave Haneul a weak and quivering smile. The boy moved to put down the toddler he was holding in his crib and turned on the mobile, then mouthed to his father if he was okay, used to him being bubbly and strong for them, though it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen him cry. He took the role of confidant, listening to his father whenever he let himself be anything less than closed. He always looked so small, like a little boy. It always scared him. This wasn’t his big and amazing role model of a dad, was it? The one he bragged about to all his friends and anyone who would listen? Would he become like that, too? Out of the three kids, he was the one who remembered his mother the clearest, having been fourteen. He despised her, to put it nicely. He was the one that got to see to the extent that that woman caused their father to feel anguish, he got to know what not being loved by his mother was like.

Nodding, he ushered his oldest son out the room, more unrestrained tears rolled down his tear-stained cheeks. No matter how vigorously he wiped at them, they’d come back anyway, so maybe he should give up on wiping his tears just as he’d given up on trying to make his relationship work. It didn’t help that Haneul was the spitting image of his mother, either. Haneul wanted to press on, to question him and help him, but he decided to leave it. Glancing at both of his younger siblings sleeping, he decided maybe some things were better left unsaid. He slowly made his way to the door and once he reached it, pat his dad in the back and continued to his room. As Jimin tried to control his upcoming violent sobs, he shut the door behind him.

He couldn’t do this alone anymore. It was too much. He needed someone there.

The cool autumn wind blew against Jimin’s cheek as he shook his hair to clear his fringe from his eyes. He brought his dainty hands into his jacket pockets as he puffed out air. While his breath may not have been visible, it sure as hell felt like it could be.

It was cold as fuck, to put it simply. Having a car would be absolutely beautiful right now, but circumstances really don’t line up with his wishes on the regular. He always kept forgetting to look into which car he would like best and to go purchase it, but the subways facilitated his route home and to work somewhat. His life would improve tenfold once he remembers to buy a car. He was very forgetful since there’s only so much he can keep up with, his brain take up with his three kids and problems. He could do that in the three days he had left, he guesses. Maybe tomorrow if he sets a reminder, even, would he be able to get a car. Before he left, he had saved up money for a living space able to hold all 4 of them and a mode of transportation. He could get rid of his subway card and buy a car or something, anything but dealing with the surplus of rats and drunkards at the time he used it. His credit wasn’t bad either, which could probably lower his purchase a little. His oldest used the same transportation he did, but he just wanted to drive his kids to school in the mornings and drop them off. Even more so, Eunbyul was starting school in just a few days, so he couldn’t afford to just walk her to school as it was half an hour away from their apartment building or even use public transport. It just didn’t feel right to him. All those cute hairstyles he planned on doing on her would be ruined by the time they got there.

Jimin kept pacing along the sidewalk towards the apartment complex where his kids are expected to be sleeping. Expected. It was 1:05 A.M., after all. A father can only hope his children listened well to him. He could probably assume Haneul was studying or something and the other two were knocked out, children being unable to be awake for very long.

He sighed as he scratched his itching nose and gazed around the well-near-empty streets, save the occasional drunk or workers of the same hours as himself.

Work was everything but slow, as always. Obviously, as an exotic dancer, he should’ve expected that. He really thought he’d made it clear to the manager that he had to be home early to put his kids to bed and give Eunbyul her first out of five pep talks before she starts kindergarten for the first time ever in a week, but maybe he didn’t remember. He’ll put his money on that, Seokjin was always preoccupied with everything in the club and the additional two other locations. Being a considerate manager and good owner is hard work, after all. His forgetfulness caused Jimin to be overbooked and end his shift two hours later than he’d requested. At least he was getting paid very well for that, anyway, so he had next to no complaints.

Checking his phone, he saw 5 collective texts from his friends, Yoongi and Taehyung. These were two childhood best friends of his, every summer when he would visit his grandma in Seoul he would hang out with them. They were both neighbors from Daegu and would go to Seoul for the summer for the same reason Jimin did which caused his grandmother to meet them. A chance encounter leading to a life-long friendship. Taehyung, however, moved away to become an art major at NYU and Yoongi had followed behind, falling victim to Taehyung’s prettily warpped descriptions of the city. He was a kindergarten teacher and assumed the same role in the states and Taehyung became a critically acclaimed, wildly successful painter. Taehyung actually had children of his own in his time in New York and his twins were the same age as Eunbyul. He, however, was married to their mother, and happily too. For that, he always felt jealousy, despite not wanting to.

Tapping the notification to see all the texts displayed, he saw Yoongi whining about the fact that the first day of school is way too close for comfort and Taehyung’s smiley face reply to Jimin’s own “i’m going home now, if i don’t text you that i’m home within 20 minutes, use find my friends to go after me”. Nothing out of the ordinary. He lived in a crime-filled part of town. He was saving up to be able to buy either a nice enough house close to the school or an apartment of the same caliber in cash. Mortgages seemed messy to him, in all and he was frankly scared to do it.

Now, Yoongi’s whining is normal, but now it has increased tenfold as the news of him getting an assistant teacher was broken to him. Yoongi felt as though the school was insulting his ability to teach by putting another adult in the classroom (they’d assured that he needed an extra hand in the classroom as there were more kids than before in his class–he called bullshit though), but nonetheless, all Jimin could hope for is that he doesn’t “accidentally” show up to class with vodka in a water bottle again. Not after what happened last time.

Locking his phone and walking faster, his longing for the warmth of what he liked to call his “luxury” apartment shining through and suddenly beginning to be extremely prominent which resulted in a whine of I-have-to-walk-like-five-more-steps-to-get-inside-so-life-isn’t-fair escapes Jimin. He stared ahead, gaze landing on the once-silver gate. It was once beautiful, but since the new owners bought it, they paid no attention to outside view, or so he was told by the old lady next door, Janet. They knew everyone went there for the cheap prices anyway, she’d sigh. He really had to move into a house or something. He already had the money for a nice enough house or better apartment where all 4 of them could live happily though his job. Maybe he could look for a house only a few minutes away from the school. Mental note: look for house around school.

Quickly opening and speed walking to the elevator, he checked his phone once again. More drunk texts from the absolute best friend that he loves so very much in this very moment, Yoongi. He really did take his devastation seriously, as he shared a selfie with him and vodka with a text after saying “my news befrenddf!!!!!!!!”. Jimin let out a huff of amusement and disbelief. The man was almost in his late 30s and he still acted like he could be the age of his students.

The unlocking to the apartment was bittersweet. Suppressed memories always seemed to float into his conscious one by one when coming through the door, when silence and darkness met him. That house of cards-like mirage he’d fabricated all on his own tormented him because how could he be so stupid and naïve to believe two children would fix their doomed relationship. He was never happy, not after she barely showed up at home after giving birth. Not after she’d come home often with the stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and sex on her. She was the one who could never be a parent. The one that selfishly left when offered money and riches. The one who didn’t even think twice about accepting the offer. The one that left him for a richer man despite their various kids. The one he’d had to lie to his daughter about when asked of. The one that never thinks of her own kids and has started a new life with brand new kids and husband. The one that’s too late to fix things. The one he and his teenage son loathe with every fiber of their being.

He really had to move away to a nicer place. Sighing, he dragged his boot cladded feet along the living room towards his room to begin his night routine. His two jobs relied on his face and his body, so taking care of both was extremely important, mental stability somewhat important too. He kicked off his shoes and snaked out of his clothes, took his pj’s, and padded towards the bathroom. The most relaxing parts of the day for him were most simply when he saw his kids in the morning and taking a shower after being in a packed and hot night club, full of dried sweat which gave him a not-so-pleasant stench. Eunbyul just knew her daddy was a dancer; she didn’t need to know the explicit details. At least not until the age of thirteen, or maybe older (he hoped), when her very own older brother found out.

He scrubbed every inch of his body until his skin turned red because god, he could not stand the stench just rolling off him in waves. Now, he was fine. He was happy, scent of the bubblegum body wash Eunbyul insisted on buying filling his senses. He was finally home, and his daughter was turning a new chapter in her life. She was going to learn how to read and he would teach her the same things he’d taught her brother. How he loved that, the feeling of satisfaction reached after your child now knows something they didn’t before. He loves the way her eyes light up when she learns something. He loves it all, and he hopes it’ll last forever.

He remembered he should probably invest in a car and a house closer to the school, a 30-minute walk was no joke. He finally dragged his fatigued fingers to set the reminder.

#btsghostie #jimin x reader #pjm #jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin angst #dad jimin #single father jimin

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revengerevisited · 3 years

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So I’ve been kinda dancing around my original story idea for a little while, and I got this idea in my head of ‘what if I release chapter 1 and then get feedback without telling anyone what the story is about first so it’s more of a surprise?’ But honestly? I’m realizing since I already released a preview-of-a-preview for chapter 1, and it might be a little while until I finish chapter 1, plus I honestly kinda feel like I’d rather work on sketches of my character designs than write at the moment, I might as well go ahead and tell you guys. X’3

So! I watched a couple anime recently both centered around the premise of... monster girls! These being Monster Musume and Monster Girl Doctor, but then I noticed there’s also Interviews with Monster Girls, A Centaur’s Life, and the infamous Interspecies Reviewers, and I asked myself... Monster girls are pretty popular right now, yeah? But where’s all the monster boys?! And that’s how I got the idea! I re-watched some of my favorite anime based on Otome Games, Kamigami no Asobi and Uta no Prince Sama for inspiration as well, and a few ones I hadn’t seen before like Dance with Devils and Magic-kyun Renaissance for inspiration as well.

So now I’ve got my premise that I shared earlier: This is the story of Millie, a young woman down on her luck who happens to live in a world where monsters aren’t just real, but commonplace. She started working as a maid in a mansion-turned-art-school whose students are a group of very attractive monster boys. The twist is that these aren’t just any monster boys; they belong to various rare and exotic species with deadly reputations...

Note that character and place names are technically place-holders for now and may change if I come up with better ones. Now, I don’t wanna spoil anything story-wise, but I think I can introduce my setting and some of the characters that you’re gonna meet. The story is set in a modern setting, though it’s vague if it’s actually Earth or just some generic world similar to it, as I try to avoid referencing real-world places or events. This is a world where humans and monsters live together after a Great Interspecies War happened in the past, but tensions have mostly relaxed by the time the story takes place. The war could be thought of as the equivalent of our own World War One, one in which there was a truce decided after many years of stalemate fighting.

The city everything takes place in is tentatively named Dullahan, and was built directly after the war to commemorate peace between human and monster kind. It’s considered an artistic cultural center, and it’s got a lot of interesting entertainment places to go to, arcades, theaters, aquariums, etc, that the characters can have a lot of different shenanigans in. The other main setting is the Beaufort Academy of the Arts, which was actually a mansion that was converted into a small private school. This is where all the characters live, and our main character Millie works as a maid there.

Before I go into the characters, I should start with the various monster species. There are 12 species, divided into 2 groups: common monsters and exotic monsters. The common monsters are centaurs, harpies, lamias (snake people), kobolds (dog people), ogres, and merrows (mermaids). These species are all pretty standard, and will be mostly background characters and npcs. The main characters, and love interests for Millie, will be of the exotic variety: arachnes (spider people), sirens (deep-sea mermaids), mandrakes (plant people), dragons, manticores (with a liontaur body-type), and scyllas (octopus people).

So what differentiates a common monster from an exotic one? Well, while the Interspecies War was between humans and monsters in general, some monsters were already at least partially integrated into human society, and the rest followed soon after the war ended. These monsters were almost as common as humans, and either herbivorous or omnivorous, with the exception of the carnivorous lamias who prefer to eat eggs over anything else. On the other hand, the so-called ‘exotic’ species were not only much more rare, but they had a very different food preference... one which earned them the now derogatory nickname... man-eaters.

Naturally, most ‘man-eaters’ weren’t exactly welcomed into human --nor common monster-- society with open arms, not that most of them wanted to. For the most part, species as powerful and dangerous as them didn’t want to play nice with those they had once --and in some cases still do-- regard as prey, and so hid away into the furthest reaches of the world. Which of course makes them perfect material for all our leading men and Millie’s various love-interests!! Oh yes, while all of these monster boys are perfectly civilized --well, for the most part-- they still belong to species that many both human and monster alike continue to fear to this day. While they aren’t exactly fish out of water (well, except for the siren) there’s still plenty of awkward misunderstandings and interesting scenarios that can be played out.

So! Let’s have a quick run-down of the characters, keep in mind that none of these names are final and could change later on. First there’s Millie, a hardworking young woman who’s had a recent streak of bad luck. Through a misunderstanding she gets hired as a maid in a mansion-turned-art-school. She’s very sweet and tries her best to help others, but she’s not as innocent as she appears; she’ll understand your innuendos just fine, even if she doesn’t really say any herself! Next is Richard and Lara Beaufort, a husband and wife who run the school. Richard is rather laid-back, yet he’s also a master of all kinds of art, painting, sculpture, photography, dancing, singing, you name it! Lara is his arachne wife, a rather boisterous woman who owns a high-class fashion company. The secret to her clothing’s success?? Arachne silk, of course! The school was her idea, a way to help better integrate exotic species into society. Will her mission succeed? Only time can tell.

Richard and Lara have a son named Simon, our first love interest and a human-arachne hybrid who takes almost entirely after his mother in the looks-department (hybrids tend to look like one species or the other, rather than a mix of both). He’s a bit withdrawn due to dealing with bullying as a kid; most people --human and monster alike-- are afraid of his spider-like appearance, so he doesn’t get out much-- to the point his parents worry about him being a shut-in for life! He’s also a gamer boy, and has a secret soft side for gothic poetry, although he doesn’t want to join his parents’ art classes. He actually disapproves of his mother’s exotic species integration plan, as from what he’s experienced he feels it’s a waste of time.

Simon’s best friend and Millie’s second love interest is Louis, a mandrake who lives in the woods behind the manor. Louis is extremely shy and more than a bit lonely, even more so than Simon, and he doesn’t speak very often out of fear that the sound of his voice will hurt others around him. Mandrake screams can induce insanity or even kill those that hear them, hence his fear. Being part plant, Louis has mild shape-shifting abilities and is able to transform between child and young adult forms at will, although he’s actually the oldest of the group. He also isn’t a student at the art school, although he has an interest in floristry.

Now for our actual students! Forrest is a manticore, which in this world means he has a body similar to that of a centaur, but with the lower half of a lion instead of a horse, and a scorpion-like tail tipped with a deadly venomous stinger. Despite his species’s name literally meaning ‘man-eater’, Forrest is extremely friendly and cheerful, and is very sporty too. His passion is photography, and he also loves eating food-- any sort of meat dish is fine by him! He’s also a fan of fantasy tabletop roleplaying games, and will often make references comparing them to everyday life; he always plays the knight who saves the princess!

Anthony is a childhood ‘friend’ of Forrest’s, though he’s loathe to admit it. Highly intelligent and highly snobbish, Anthony fancies himself an intellectual-- and he’s not exactly wrong. Being a dragon, he likes to hoard things-- in his case, knowledge. Anthony loves to read, and is most often found in the library. His skill is in drawing and painting, and all his paintings’ invariably morose subject matter worry Millie. Still, this haughty dragon could definitely learn to loosen up a little, and be a little more kind; perhaps his stay at the academy --and his interactions with Millie-- will open his mind to appreciating the feelings of others. He does, at the very least, greatly respect Master Beaufort as a master of the arts.

The other two students are denizens of the sea, and have been friends for a very long time. Emil is a scylla, and like all scyllas he’s a little eccentric, and just can’t seem to keep his tentacles to himself! While Forrest is obsessed with eating, Emil’s true calling is cooking, and he loves making all kinds of dishes, especially anything seafood and/or foreign. Emil also is highly appreciative of women’s fashion, and absolutely adores everything to come from Madam Beaufort’s clothing brand-- so much so that he actually wears them himself! His pretty-boy looks and penchant for wearing women’s clothing actually has Millie mistake him for a girl at first, though he’s very much unafraid to show her his romantic side, or at least what he interprets as romantic...

Keeping Emil’s pervy antics in check is our sixth and final monster boy, Oswald! As a siren, Oswald spent most of his life in the sea, and still has a lot to learn about humanity. He’s a pretty cool guy but gets a bit embarrassed about his species’s troublesome past as the cause of many shipwrecks at sea, and would prefer to not discuss it. His passion is rock music, and his main instrument is the guitar. He also loves to sing, but refrains from doing so due to the hypnotic effect it has on other species. His lack of legs, tentacles, or a snake-like tail means that like other merrows and sirens he requires a wheelchair to move around on land, and often feels frustrated that he can’t show off how adept he is at traversing water. He’s also easy to embarrass and obsessed with not allowing anything to ‘ruin’ his manly image, including allowing Millie (a girl!) to help carry him around.

So there you have it, all my monster boys! I left out a few things, as those would be major spoilers, but those are my ideas for the characters for now! I’ll try to draw and post some sketches of their designs later. Hopefully I haven’t forgotten anything, but this won’t be the last time I talk about monster boys. Any questions or comments would be very much appreciated! Nsfw questions are allowed (all the boys wear pants for a reason, after all), though I’m currently not sure if this series will be 16+ or 18+, if you catch my meaning. Lemme know how interested you are in this story, or if you’re not interested please let me know that too!

#writing #monster boys #maddie's monster boys #if you ever wanted to see a merman wear pants... here's your chance XD

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di-kut · 4 years

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Baar Bal Runi: Chapter Two

Series Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Words: 4k

Summary: (Body Swap AU) You wake after a terrible few days on the mysterious green planet, disoriented and confused. At first you can’t make sense of what is happening, but when you do, reality is worse than what you could have imagined.

Rating: T (I believe?)

Tags: body swap, force sensitivity

A/N: Welp here it is. The moment we’ve all been waiting. This is just chaos and I make no apologies for it. Enjoy.

I’m trying to find a planet.

Pieces. Fragments. Jagged shards of memories and thoughts.

You feel like you’re being crushed.

I’m trying to find a planet.

Your head is throbbing, your back aches. One of your arms is beginning to tingle and you realise you are lying on it. It’s too hot. Too cold. All at once. There are storm troopers which patrol outside your window, you’re sure you see the flash of their helmet lights as they pass. A helmeted face looks down at you against a blue sky. There’s shooting nearby. Dust everywhere. The blinking lights of a control panel. The smell of rich spices. The chanting of a thousand voices.

Maker, your head hurts. Your bed feels strange, too hard, and the room is so dark even behind closed lids. Pieces slip and tumble, chase each other around in your mind. Memories which must be dreams, you realise. Faces of people you have never known. Places you have never been. The sounds of the other children in the bunks around you. The smell of melting metal. A man and a woman, their memory filled with fear and aching. The eyes of the kid. Hundreds of people, the dead piled at your feet. It’s hard to differentiate the ones which are real and the phantoms of a forgotten dream. You realise you aren’t in your bed on Coruscant at all. Or in your quarters Batuu.

Maybe you should try a map.

Slowly, painfully. Things sharpen. The fog, the giant trees; larger than the petrified ones on Batuu. The darkness, never ending. The taste of fear in the back of your throat like bile. These are solid, more real.

The planet I’m looking for isn’t on any map.

You jolt. The floor of the Razor Crest clangs beneath you. At first you think you must still be sick because the effort of trying to get off the ground is like fighting against the tide. And then you realise you are beneath something heavy. A crate in the hull must have fallen, you think dazedly. You can feel your left side throb, your ribs hurt like they’d taken a hit bad enough to break them. Your breathing is impossibly loud, echoing back at you, warm air condensing around your mouth.

You open your eyes, but your peripheries are blacked out, and what you can see is hazy, like looking at static. You taste panic again, not some confused memory, but real and tangible. You manage to swing an arm up above your head and you suddenly know there is no crate holding you against the ground. As the world starts to grow clearer you realise you aren’t in the hull anymore. You can see the back of the co-pilot chair, the blinking dials of the controls. The darkness outside the ship. Did the Mandalorian move you to the cockpit? He was sick too. A hazy memory, his voice in your ear, asking you for help. I can’t lift you. You’re awake enough to know the feeling of his lips brushing against your ear is an illusion you must have created later. But you can’t place the scene in the jumbled mess of the last two days. Everything feels like it is swimming right at the edge of your grasp.

You manage to roll over. “Kriff, what…”

Something is wrong with your voice, or maybe your ears. It comes out so deep, it reverberates around your head and chest and echoes. Almost familiar. You lift your hands to try and touch your ears, touch anything, ground yourself from the strange floating feeling of being separate to the world around you.

Gloves, you notice. The Mandalorian, he’s here. Your heart kicks up, until you realise it isn’t the Mandalorian’s hands reaching for you in the darkness of the cockpit, they’re your own. Wearing the Mandalorian’s gloves. And then your heart leaps into your mouth and you’re scrambling, the scraping sound of metal on metal, you slip, push yourself onto your hands and shuffle backwards. Something yanks at your neck and you swing, thinking someone has caught you by the collar, someone was here with you in the ship. But your hand closes around air and your head clangs hard against the wall of the cockpit. It rings, like a mallet on durasteel, but the sound is lighter, clearer. Except it’s all around you and your breath is fogging against your mouth and nose and you can see your peripheries but you’re wearing the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Mando!” You yell, hoarse and thick and deep. If your stomach weren’t empty you would heave again, just like outside that Maker cursed cave. “Mando!”

You get up. You don’t know how. You don’t look – can’t look – at the gloves or the boots or the holster on your hip. It just doesn’t – your brain cuts out thought. You almost slip twice coming down the ladder to the hull. The gloves make you clumsy. The space feels too small, too tight. You slam your head on the way down, overestimating the height of the guard at the bottom. Part of you is glad for it, thinks it might wake you out of this nightmare.

The crib is in the corner, still sealed. The child is crying inside it. You wonder how long he’s been in there. How long you have been lying unconscious on the floor of the cockpit. In the corner, by the door, there’s another shape. You want to look away. Feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. Maybe you already have. You want to run, go back to the cockpit, close your eyes. Hope it all goes away. But you know it won’t. So instead you edge forward, shuffling your feet sideways. You find yourself with a hand outstretched, ready to repel some sort of attack. You aren’t sure if you expect it to come from the slumped body in the corner or somewhere else. Hysteria is beginning to tinge the edges of your thoughts.

You aren’t sure what makes you ask, exactly. It’s an impossibility but – the arms stretched in front of you are not yours, and ceiling was never this close before, and your footsteps never this heavy. And there is a body slumped in the corner of the hull, head to the floor where you had fallen getting back to the ship. You are close enough now to see the sickly pallor of her skin, the shallow breathing, the sunken eyes. The braid of her hair has come mostly undone. A braid you know, and braid you remember tying nights before. A face you know, although it looks different, not facing it in the mirror. Abstract somehow. And even though the question is impossible. You don’t know why you ask, but you do.

“M-Mando?”

It doesn’t move – she. She doesn’t move.

You inch closer, lean down. The knee pads you can now feel protect your knees from the worst of the hard flooring digging into you. The armour clangs as you move. You get close enough that you could touch her. You reach out, pull your arm back again. Your breath is fogging up the inside of the helmet. You can hear it in your ears and hissing through the modulator in the hull around you. Finally, you settle for a gentle nudge of the shoulder.

“Mando?” You ask. Your voice is deep. It crackles through the Modulator. “Mando?”

Suddenly her eyes are open. They stare blankly, misted with sleep, and then her face contorts into a snarl. Before you can get out of the way her hand strikes out, but its slow, groggy. Misses you completely. She shoves against your chest plate with her other hand. You try and grapple with her, grab her hands and stop her from hitting you, but you’re shaking too much to really stop her. She lets out a sound, something between a growl and a yell.

“Mando!” You yell, and it comes out too harsh. Too loud. You sound angry, threatening, but you realise it too late. The woman in front of you is already reacting. “No, wait – “

She swings hard. She doesn’t miss this time. Her hand hits the helmet with a splintering crack. You stumble backwards and get to your feet, dazed from the metallic ringing but otherwise unhurt. You almost trip on the cape around your shoulders. The woman is cradling her fist, the knuckles already beginning to swell and darken. But she doesn’t make a sound, she’s rolling, pushing herself up to stand. Her eyes slide across the room wildly until they land on the sealed crib. And then she looks back you. She looks almost feral now; lip curled, eyes wide. Still terribly silent. Quiet even when she had broken her hand on your helmet. She moves towards the crib, towards the weapons compartment you’d left open before you went out to search for the Mandalorian. You move back a couple of steps.

“Just…” You don’t know what you’re meant to say. How you’re meant to put the pieces together. Say out loud what you know. Staring down at your own face staring back at you.

“Who are you?” She asks. Her voice is grating in its familiarity and you wince.

“I…”

“What did you do?” She snarls. Her eyes dart to the crib and back to you. Listens to the baby crying in the silence of the ship. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing! Nothing I swear by the Maker. Please, Mando, listen – “

“Who. Are. You.”

“I…” Nothing comes. Just blankness. Emptiness. It occurs to you that like this you probably don’t need to fear so much if the Mandalorian decides to settle this in a fight. This thought is chased quickly by the knowledge that he, she, would probably still win anyway. All the Beskar on you would amount to nothing anyway. “Mando, just trust me. Please. For – for five minutes.”

“No,” she, he, growls.

“Your son –!” And she stops the step he had been about to take, straight at you. “You’re looking for his home! For his people. They… they… you don’t know where they are, or who they are. We…” Your voice drops to almost a whisper. Watch his reaction. “We’ve been looking for them for months. After… After Batuu.”

He goes completely still. So still you think he might have gone into shock. And then he ducks, snatches something from the edge of the weapons compartment he can reach. He lifts it in his good hand, the blade catches the light along its sharpened edge. His broken fist curls over the spot on his thigh where his blaster should be. Where it’s strapped to your thigh. You stay rooted to the spot and try and lift your hands slowly as you can, palms forward. He looks like he’s gone over the other side of furious, tipped into an eerie calm. He’s going slow, off to the side, and you realise he’s cutting you off from the child. You start to shake your head and he tenses. You stop moving again.

His voice is so calm. The knife is Beskar, the same colour as the armour you wear. “If you have hurt either of them – “

You choke. “Mando, just stop! Stop! It’s me! Me! I don’t know what’s happening, okay? I can’t – I don’t – the cave, I can’t remember, I don’t know, just… but then I woke up in the cockpit, okay? I don’t get it either but something’s happened to us. We’re – we’re – “ You can’t get the words out. You swallow around them. “It’s me.”

“Where did you get that armour from?” He moves around, cages the crib with his body. The crying quietens. “Tion meg be’aliit gar? Tion gar gai?”

It takes several panicked moments for the change of language to filter through. He’s never spoken to you directly in Mando’a before, except – gotabor. You know it well enough from the soft sounds of him speaking to the child, swearing under his breath, muttering it as he works. It takes longer than it should to realise what’s happening. What he must be thinking.

“What?” You almost trip. “No! No, I’m not a Mandalorian! It’s me!”

His voice gets dark. You would never think your throat was capable of making such a threatening sound. “Ne shab’rud’niÖ.” He surges forward.

“You smell like lemon after you shower!”

He stops dead.

“You never talk to me, you just go straight back to your quarters, but you pass my bed from the ‘fresher and I… I always notice.” You aren’t sure how you manage to find the space in your chest to feel the burn of embarrassment, admitting that guarded secret to him as he is about to gut you. Somehow the hot feeling of shame creeps up your cheeks. But he isn’t moving, so, “The little guy, he… he sleeps better. When you’re gone, I mean. He sleeps better if he can smell it. So sometimes I give him the bottle while you’re away and I put it back before you… before you come ho – back. Before you come back.”

He stares at you like you’ve kicked him in the stomach. His calm, even face crumples into something like pain and he sucks in an uneven breath. Mutters a quiet word. “Me’ven?” You aren’t even sure you’re meant to hear it.

“You don’t like the sweet flavoured rations bars, but I do. And you always give them to me.” Your heart is beating so hard against your chest you think you can feel it against the Beskar. Head spinning. “It annoys you when I forget to switch off the extra lights before I go to bed, but you never say anything. I try, I promise I do, but I just… don’t like the dark. And – And – And you – “

“Stop.” Now he sounds like he’s been kicked in the stomach as well. “Stop!”

So, you do. You keep your hands up, wait for him to move. You see everything play out over his bare face. Your face. You watch the same realisations which had occurred to you as they happen to him. The confusion, anger, abject horror. He looks down at the hands which are now his, but used to be yours, and drops the knife to the floor with a clatter. You think for a moment he’s going to keel over, so you jump forward. It only makes it worse. He throws up a hand between your bodies, makes a raw sound in the back of his throat. For the first time you watch him notice that the voice coming out of his throat is wrong. That everything is wrong. He stares at his empty hands, one swollen and blooming purple. Down at your body which he us now inhabiting, and then looks up at you. You know very well what he sees, so used to the sight of your dark, blurred reflection staring back at you in the Beskar. Your stomach lurches at the feeling of yourself looking back at you, the body you should be in being worn by a different soul.

“How?”

You deflate. The helmet drops to your chest plate. You think you might fall over yourself. The Beskar is just so heavy. Your voice cracks. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

He stares at you, looking as sick as you feel. Then abruptly turns. He reaches for the controls on his armour, lets out a shuddering breath when they aren’t there, and ducks under the child’s crib to unlock the crib manually. He’s scooping the child out before its even fully opened, holding him up to his chest. The child grabs at his face and the collar of the jacket your body was still wearing, at the tangled mess of hair long since fallen out of its braid. You feel your legs buckle and manage to lower yourself onto a crate. The Mandalorian keeps his back to you, stares down at his son in his arms, making soft noises to the snuffling child. Your eyes are burning. Being knocked unconscious certainly didn’t make up for the three days before. You want nothing more than to curl up in your own bunk and close your eyes. Be somewhere that wasn’t here, stuck with the Mandalorian in his body, and him in yours. You want to say something, anything. Need to speak to him. But you have no words. All you can do is stare at the back of your own head.

“H-How long…” He stumbles with the words.

Yours hands are shaking. “I don’t know,” you whisper. You brace them against your helmet, try to hold yourself together. “I don’t know.”

“My armour – my helmet – “ But he cuts himself off. He turns finally, walks blindly until he finds a crate to sit on as well. The child turns his head towards you and makes a noise. You lift your head and smile at him and then it drops immediately. He can’t see you. The Mandalorian’s voice sounds strangled. “The Way.”

Of course, you think. The implications slam into you, close around your lungs. You have to wrap your arms around yourself to keep the sudden wave of distress at bay. A Mandalorian without his armour. He’s staring at you – not quite at you exactly. At a spot on his helmet. You can see the flurry behind his eyes, feel a flash of such distinct fear through your system which you know does not belong to you. It makes your shudder. The child shared his emotions with you willingly, but the Mandalorian was as impenetrable as his armour. But this – this was his. It makes you nauseous, the strength of it.

“Mando…” His eyes – your eyes – dart down to the visor. “I won’t take it off,” you offer quietly. “I know what it means to you. I – I promise.”

His face twists. “Does it matter? I’m not wearing it – I’m not – “

“I haven’t seen you. That’s the rules, right? I haven’t seen you. And – and I won’t. I’ll never look. I swear by the Maker, Mando, I won’t I’ll – “

“You have to eat. To sleep.”

“I don’t know, I can’t think, but I would never…” Yours hands are shaking so badly now its sending tremors up your arms. “Never do that. To you.”

“What does that matter?” He snaps. “W-What does any of that matter?”

There are tears burning the backs of your eyes. “What else do you want me to say?”

He clenches his jaw. Stares at you. You feel a hot tear slid down your face. The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring. A myriad of emotions chase each other across his face. You want to apologise; you want him to apologise. You are just so tired. The panic bleeds away into numbness, bleeds out through your shaking hands. You stand, you might say something, but you can’t remember what it is. You must cross the hull to your bed, climb into it. You hear the Mandalorian moving but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t remember falling asleep. It’s dreamless.

Mando wakes you, forces you up to eat. The hull is in complete darkness all around you, only the flashing emergency light above the carbonite chamber still on. The blinking orange allows you to see ghosts of movement, the shape of your own body walking through the ship, so unsettling you feel as though you can’t hold on to the reality of it. Mando helps you take the helmet off in the darkness, his hands brush over the spot on your neck where your pulse throbs through the skin, around the edges of the Beskar. When it comes off its like coming up for air. He hands you rations bars and lets the child sit in your lap, cooing quietly. Tells you it had been too long since you had eaten.

“We’re moving today,” he says when you finish.

“Where?” Your voice is coarse from disuse, burns your throat on the way out. You wonder how long he let you sleep.

“Away from here.”

He helps you back into the helmet and leaves you. Climbs back into the cockpit and takes the child with him. The engine powers up not long after. The further you get from the planet’s surface the easier it is to breathe. The tight twisted lump which had become so permanent under your ribcage finally loosens, dissipates when the hyperdrive whirs to life and the Crest is swallowed in a tunnel of light.

The planet you land on is uninhabited as well. The surface is grey, and a continuous rocky plane in every direction. He powers the engine down again as soon as you touch down. A dead planet, home only to the three of you. The galaxy feels so quiet, quieter and more lonely than you have ever known it. The Mandalorian moves around in the tiny upper deck, you hear footsteps between the cockpit and the captain’s quarters. Some occasional metallic clanging and scrapping. Just above you and yet untouchable. Wearing your skin. Living in your body.

You know you are hiding from him. You cower in the hull, drift from your cot to the other side of the small space and back. Unable to face him. Unable to look at your own face looking back at you. The weight of the Beskar slowly becomes familiar, but never comfortable. You sleep often, never fully, always drifting in some in-between limbo. Mando reappears eventually, before you go to seek him out. He turns the lights out again and takes off the helmet and you eat in darkness. The third time you sit together in the blackness of the hull you hear him eat with you. A small tendril of relief works its way through you. The silence slowly eases into something – not companionable – but no longer harsh. It makes it better. Easier. In all the time you had known him never once had your relationship with the Mandalorian been a difficult one. The feeling of constant tension was a new one. Days slip by.

“We must be getting low,” you say. His voice without the helmet is different. It’s not deeper exactly but richer, fuller. Feels strange rumbling through your chest when you speak.

You can’t see him, but you can hear the rustling of his movement not far from you. “In what?”

“Everything.” You hold the bar you’re eating up and then remember he can’t see it. Drop you hand into your lap again. “Food. Fuel. How much water do we have left?”

He doesn’t say anything, and you sigh. Lean back against the wall behind your crate. The horrible question has lingered between you, unsaid for days, but always on the tip of your tongue. So, you talk around it. Barely. The Mandalorian tries not to talk at all and you wonder if he hates the sound of your voice coming from his mouth, if it disturbs him as much as it does you. You talk about the child, about the planet outside, and now about the inevitable need to restock and refuel the Crest. Don’t ask what you will do if whatever has been done to you is irreversible. Don’t talk about how to fix it.

“How long do we have before we need to leave?” You ask.

There’s rustling from his spot in the darkness. “A week. Maybe.”

“Where will we go?”

“Somewhere close. We don’t have enough to fuel to do another jump to hyperspace.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. You hear Mando stand and move around the hull. He’s quicker on his feet now, getting used to moving through the darkness without his helmet. It makes you feel even more useless. You finish your paltry meal and pick up the helmet, suck in one last deep breath before you pull it back on. The weight of it on your neck and the pressure around your skull is immediate and suffocating. You have to close your eyes and count backwards from ten, clench your hands around the crate so tight it hurts. The light switches back on.

For the first time he doesn’t disappear straight away, doesn’t immediately clamber up the ladder and back to his own separate world. He stands in front of the control panel, arms folded across his chest. Stares at you, eyes finding yours through the visor. You stare back. The longer you do, the less the woman’s face across from you feels like yours. Mando is still wearing the jacket you were in the cave, the same boots and trousers. The braid had long come undone. He looks tired. Your eyes caught the wrapping of bandage around the purpling fingers of his right hand. You need to shower; you need to talk to him. Relieving yourself was a problem you tried to put off for as long as you could, dealt with it only when you had to. Everything feels like an awful invasion of privacy, even just living. You hate that you are taking something away from him, hate that he’s taking it away from you. Hate that for the first time since you’d met him you felt as though you were disconnected from him. You feel something shift, an opportunity maybe, rise between you.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. The moment passes. The Mandalorian turns and climbs up the ladder and is gone.

Tion meg be’aliit gar? Which clan are you from?

Tion gar gai? Who are you?

Ne shab’rud’niÖ Lit: Don’t mess with me, extremely strong warning, usually followed by violence

Me’ven? Expression of disbelief (Huh?)

Gotabor Engineer

Tag List: @btillys @vercopaanir @sistasarah-sallysaidso @adikaofmandalore

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #force sensitive reader #mandalorian fic #mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #self insert #body swap #Baar Bal Runi

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vaguely-concerned · 3 years

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The Mandalorian Chapter 11; the rewatch edition

I have found a bit more enthusiasm for this one on the rewatch, so here goes!

- din snapping ‘I’m trying my best here!’ in a vaguely annoyed tone as his entire ship is going up in flames around him because he mostly doesn’t get angry as much as sulky... the height of cinema

- I love frog husband’s clothes, because they’re in a very similar style and colour scheme to frog lady’s but also incorporate the knitwear we see on the people of trask, so it both underlines his belonging with her and implies that he’s been on this moon for quite a while, they may have been apart for some time

especially his scarf is a darling detail and there’s a bit of contrast in texture to it next to his wife’s, it’s nice. he’s wearing a similar kind of vest to what we see on the fishermen later, too

- I think my favourite part of this entire episode (well second after din cradling the baby against him after nearly drowning) is just the design and Vibe of the planet and especially this harbour

for one I LOVE that it’s shown that even in the middle of the day it’s dark enough that the electric lights are still on when it’s overcast (it reminds me a bit of norway during the winter, actually, when dawn just never quite breaks and then slinks off in embarrassment before it’s even noon). and there’s also the... sails? nets? hanging around looking almost like flags, which are very Aesthetic but god knows what they’re for. maybe for drying fish on in the summer?

I think the building in the distance behind frog husband’s back here is a lighthouse? or it could be one of those towers for loading you see when they scout out the empire ship too, I suppose!

and one for my strange obsession with Texture on this show: these fabric-covered crates!!! they look exactly as dingy and moldy as you’d expect them to be in this climate, I wonder what they’re for (& I vaguely want to touch them)

- from the sound of it din’s vibroknife is uh ‘on’ when he pokes the squid thing, and he also goes for the tentacle the furthest away from the baby <3

proof the calamari flan have been scratched up a bit during all that time in din’s pockets! (the attention to detail in this show sometimes istg)

- this is 100% me reading too much into things again, call the overthinking police I’ll do my time meekly lol, but the boat looks a little bit like the mudhorn signet from this angle:

again din keeps his hand on or sooo close to his blaster in this entire scene, he knows this is sketch as all hell

a) once again I want to praise the effects team for how GOOD the aliens look in this episode holy shit and b) the hell is this dude wearing on the straps of his overalls tho

- the dude mando (axe woves) uses his little... wrist launcher thing to shoot with to finish two off the fishermen, so my theory that they can be loaded with other things than the whistling birds for slightly less effective use (maybe without the level of honing we’ve seen din’s be able to do?) is looking good!

- din actually has quite good form when diving into the water, I’m guessing he can swim at least tolerably when not in full armour, being stabbed at from all directions, having just had his son eaten by a sea monster and also being trapped in with said sea monster (I’m a strong swimmer and I can tell you that there’s a reason they make you swim with clothes on from time to time to see how hard it is, it sucks. with metal plates strapped all over you as well? yeah good luck) people don’t tend to hit the water that gracefully without some kind of training in my experience lol. might be some of the training with the jet pack has carried over too, considering he throws himself off that cliff in chapter 12 with similar confidence?

it’s interesting that they’re once again showing us a threat where the armour doesn’t help and even hinders him. we’re so used to the ways it can make him near-invincible, but it can also drag him down (literally, in this case. aha ha ha. well if I’m not here for my own entertainment then what am I here for honestly)

- din’s voice sounding like he’s just on the verge of crying as he cradles the baby (and the sound he makes as he realizes the baby’s alive) is my kryptonite, turns out. fucking breaks my heart into tiny pieces every time, I would die for this man and he wouldn’t let me

- in support of din’s paranoia: so far this season we haven’t been able to go five minutes without someone talking about peeling the precious beskar off a mandalorian corpse, I can see why his mind was primed to move in one particular way there

- I think the fabric of din’s cape has been treated with something that makes it waterproof; the water seems to pearl on top of it rather than soak in! can you imagine how heavy it would get if it did absorb water tho christ

(a bit hard to see at this size but that’s what it looked like to me close up anyway! could also be that it’s wool and that’s why it looks that way but I prefer an elaborate sci-fi explanation here, because it doesn’t look particularly weighed down afterwards) might also explain why he doesn’t seem worried about it catching on fire when he uses the jetpack haha, maybe this is something the mandos do with fabric they’re going to use for a long time

I also enjoy part of the gambeson/undersuit thing poking up from under the shoulder pauldron and cape; I think this is about as disheveled as we’ve seen him since immediately post-mudhorn

- the sound mixing in this scene, where din’s breathing is layered a bit over everything else so you almost feel like you’re in the helmet with him listening to what the others are saying........ oh my GOD, it embeds you so deeply in his POV but so subtly

- not to be biased or anything... but din and the armorer’s armour design is so vastly superior to these guys it shouldn’t even be a competition lol

din looks like an honest to god knight in shining armour except also sci-fi western and the armorer looks like a fucking war goddess from a time beyond memory; the clone wars mandos look like high end cosplayers (eh maybe it’s just my dislike for the boobplates that has me so 😒 lol. also a lot of dudes were very shitty about that whole thing and I don’t say anything but the ‘vaguely-concerned will remember this’ telltale message pops up in the corner every time)

moment of saltiness over: I do like the differentiation between their individual character designs

the differences in body type and helmet design is nice! they look like a unified team, but with individuality. I suspect the ladies have those belts and their armour plates on the hips instead of the front of the thighs to emphasize the ‘female’ silhouette, which. okay fine whatever

- bo katan looks very pointedly down at the baby after saying ‘a group of religious zealots who want to return to the ancient ways’ which makes me VERY nervous for reasons I can’t quite articulate

- the mournful guitar version of the mando theme as din watches the sunset...... hmmmmngh (this might be some Symbolism happening to us folks strap in for the identity crisis he still hasn’t processed)

- I Cannot get over din being so unimpressed by and uninterested in bo katan’s ‘retake mandalore’ sales pitch from literally the first moment dfhasdkjfhsad sorry lady kryze this man just does not do main quest shit, he’s all side quests all the time and that’s why I love him

- as someone who after chapter 8 wrote a whole-ass fic that was wholly & exclusively about din telling the baby he’ll always come back for him... some of the shit he’s been saying this season does feel like it’s been written to mercilessly victimize me, personally and specifically

- guessing this structure in the background is the traffic control tower! doesn’t really matter, I just thought it was neat

- this part of the soundtrack is called ‘ship o hoj, mandalorians!’, which I found incredibly charming haha (it’s ‘ship ahoy’ except how you write it in swedish, good one herr göranson)

- bo katan is vague about who exactly the new mand’alor would be if they took back mandalore to begin with, she doesn’t specify she is planning to be the ruler until she’s already got din on the ship and in no position to refuse to help. gotta respect the grift at least lol

I do love her voice, though, it reminds me a bit of jennifer hale as shepard

- “I need to get back to my ship, with the foundling” your honor I uh love him so fucking much

- frog lady stroking the baby’s back a bit as she holds her hand behind him to make sure he doesn’t fall backwards while playing with the tadpole ;___________;

and also frog husband and frog lady reaching out to hold hands and frog smooching as din and yodito leave ;____________________________________________;

- when din says the exasperated “mon calamari. unbelievable” line, the baby makes that little blowing a raspberry sound he does as if to agree ‘uh-huh unbelu -- unbelly -- unbelievable dad smh’ and it is very very adorable

- there’s quite a bit of Stuff in the concept art that didn’t make it in this time around; I wonder if maybe they cut some stuff for pacing or whatever and that’s why this episode is so short? water leaking into the cockpit of the razor crest, something that looked a bit like whaling going on on the docks and more spaceships taking off (maybe there were originally meant to be some smaller ships defending the big empire one?), there’s quite a bit here

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta

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yoonjinkooked · 4 years

Text

Kitchen Confidential | Jin (2)

banner: @casuallyimagining

PART 2

PART 1

Pairing: Seokjin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Enemies to lovers, chef AU

Warnings: slow burn with explicit sex later, cursing

Word Count: 5k+ (Part 1 - 5k+) Summary: After years of annoying the life out of you, your rival, Kim Seokjin, pushes you a step too far and he knows it. As angry and resentful as you are, you don’t realize that something has been brewing under the surface for years. This weekend, that will change.

Last night was not nearly as bad as you had thought it would be. The drive to the lake was long, but you were carpooling with Jungkook, so it wasn’t dull for a single moment. Getting there in the late afternoon, all you’ve had time for was dinner and drinks. A dinner which you did not make, for a change. With every single staff member of both respective restaurants, it was very easy to avoid Seokjin – not like he was looking for you either. Drinking wine and reminiscing your school days with Jungkook, Taehyung and Yoongi took the bigger part of your night and made time fly. For a few hours, you thought this weekend teambuilding getaway might not be so bad after all.

That changed this morning at ass crack of dawn, when Namjoon knocked on your door to wake you up and give you a schedule for today. As you read through all the activities listed, your eyes still sleep crusted, you have realized that today was going to be torturous.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

You have tried, you truly did. Kept an open mind and all of that, ready to put your best foot forward and do what is best for your team. But 10 minutes into the group meditation, you’ve had enough.

“Shush,” Mina hisses at you from your left side, her eyes closed. “You’re making me lose focus.”

“Don’t you think you’re losing focus because there are 15 other people in the room pretending not to hear each other breathe? This is ridiculous,” you sigh, but still keep your voice fairly low when talking because you don’t want to make anyone else lose focus. Meditation requires peace and doing it with a bunch of people kind of kills the point.

“Come on Y/N,” Jimin chuckles from your right. “Don’t you want to become one with your team?”

“You will become one with my fist if you don’t shut it,” you whisper back.

“I will sauté both of your asses if you don’t zip it,” Jeongguk warns from in front of you, obviously annoyed by your bickering. “The sooner you shut up, the sooner this shit will be over and we can go outside and grab a damn beer.”

“Please remain quiet!”

You lower your head in shame – as ridiculous as it is, you did not want to piss of the instructor or whatever the hell she is. Judging by the glare directed towards you, you did just that. So, you close your eyes and shut up and let your mind wander over nothing and everything all at once.

With fall around the corner, you’re going to have to update your menu. Seasonal menus are a joy to work on, giving you an option to rebrand everything every couple of months. With all the fresh fall produce you’re going to have at your disposal, the next few weeks are going to be a lot of fun.

Your tricked worked – you were still on the appetizers by the time meditation was over.

“Remind me to never listen to him again,” Yoongi cracks open a beer as he sits down on the grass between you and Jeongguk, with Jimin and Hoseok following him. He has been complaining about Namjoon ever since you guys left the hall where the group meditation took place. “I’m all for teamwork and shit but how the hell is group meditation going to help with that?”

“You know how these things work,” Hoseok shrugs. “Someone makes a plan, sells it as an experience that will unify your team and most people don’t ask questions. Meditation is good, but it has zero to do with teamwork.”

“Paintball makes more sense,” Yoongi mumbles, pausing to sip his beer. “Sure, it’s an unusual choice but if we work in teams, which we obviously will, at least we get to exercise teamwork.”

“Or violence,” Jeongguk chuckles. “If I were Seokjin, I wouldn’t want to be around Y/N with a gun.”

“Easy there, you moron,” you hit him over the shoulder. “Just because I am angry doesn’t mean I’ll turn to violence.”

“What, you’re going to spare him?” Jimin laughs and your eyes narrow at him, remembering that he is on the opposite team. Sure, you don’t know how you’re going to be divided in the actual game but he is one of Seokjin’s best friends. The same way Jeongguk would come running to you with information, you can imagine Jimin doing the same for Seokjin.

“Oh, if he’s on the opposite team, he’s going down,” you sound sure of yourself, which may or may not be a result of having a best friend who is an adrenaline junkie. Despite it not being your thing as much as it his, you’ve accompanied Jeongguk on many paintball, bungee jumping and zip line adventures.

“Here’s to Seokjin’s balls and whatever will be left of them later,” Yoongi raises his can of beer.

“Here, here!”

It is a disaster, a complete and total disaster and the only reason why it’s like this is because Namjoon refused to listen. Taehyung and Jeongguk, who were chosen as team leaders, both tried to explain to him that it would be best if we go restaurant against restaurant but the man did not listen.

And that ended in pure and utter betrayal left and right.

Hoseok, who was on Taehyung’s team, straight up shot Catnip’s waiter, who was on the same team as he was. Jimin, who was supposedly on your side, ended up chasing you for god knows how long before Jeongguk shot him, sacrificing his own team member for your sake. Poor Mina didn’t even bother trying as she stood behind Namjoon, who was standing in the middle of an empty field and yelling at you all to at least try to be loyal to your temporary teams. Someone shot him in the shoulder, and although you have no proof of this, you have a feeling that it was Yoongi.

And you? You were out for blood, specifically Kim Seokjin’s blood. Once Jeongguk got Jimin of your back and the two of them started yelling at each other, you were free to run and chase after that all, wide-shouldered son of a bitch.

You could see him from a mile away – it was tunnel vision, with you blatantly ignoring both your team members and your opponents as you run through the woods, hoping to catch up with him. None of it made sense anymore anyways, with no one even being sure which team they are actually on, despite the blue and red vests that were supposed to differentiate you.

You were not even close to him when the inevitable happens – with your eyesight solely on him, barely registering your surroundings, you trip and fall into a ditch – an actual ditch, meant to be a hideout. And it was, to one of the commis chefs who was on your team by vest, on Seokjin’s team in reality. You ended up rolling into the ditch and falling on top of the poor guy, hurting your ankle in the process.

It hurt, it really did – the only reason you did not wail is because you didn’t want that bastard to hear you. You found the little dignity you had left and you grab a hold of your injured ankle with all the strength you have.

“Are you okay?” the guy asks you once he finally managed to move around and free himself from the weight of your entire body.

“No,” you shake your head. “Are you?”

“I’ll live,” he sighs. “Let’s get you some help.”

Bless him, he truly is a sweetheart. Even though you obviously didn’t fall on him on purpose, he still could have gotten pissed. He did not hold it against you – in fact, he helped you get up and once he realized your right ankle is the source of your troubles, he let you lean on him as he struggled to get the both of you out of the ditch. One minute that felt like an eternity had passed with the two of you still struggling to get up before someone in a blue vest showed up.

Of course. It just had to be him. Out of all the people around you, it had to be him.

“Are you okay?” he asks and before either one of you could answer, he was diving down, offering you a hand. The last thing you wanted to do was to accept his offer but with the way you and the boy have been struggling for the past few minutes, you knew that you did not have much of an option.

You don’t answer his question but you do take his hand and you let him drag you up from the ditch, with his commis chef pushing you from behind. The moment you stood up, you realize that you can’t do that – your right ankle cannot handle the pressure of your body weight. You flinch and crouch down, with Seokjin trying to keep a hold of you – it doesn’t work but it does annoy you. With how close he is, you can smell the cologne he uses.

It’s ridiculous. How can one smell good after running in protective gear for half an hour? How?!

“What happened here?” he asks you as you give up on everything and simply sit on the ground, bending your leg so that you can try and take your shoe off to see if there is any visible damage.

“What the hell does it look like – I fell!” you snap at him in annoyance, taking a deep breath while you remind yourself that even though he’s an ass, he’s not the one to blame for this. “Thanks for your help, you can leave now.”

“Do you need me to carry you back or-?”

“Go away before I shoot you,” you are tempted to throw your shoe at him but you hold back the urge. “The game is still going on, I have a gun and I’m pretty sure that a paintball shot at close range will hurt like hell. Just leave.”

You can see the annoyance on his face as he gives up on you completely. He walks away, leaving you with a very confused guy who by now must be feeling very uncomfortable. “I’m going to go get some help,” he tells you and you nod – his help you are ready to accept.

“Fucking hell,” you examine your ankle for the hundredth time, shocked by how bloated it has gotten. The hotel doctor has assured you that there is no fracture but he also promised that you will be in pain for the next few days. Being bedridden for the rest of the trip didn’t seem like a bad idea but come Monday, you’ll have to be in the kitchen again and you don’t know if you’ll even be able to stand.

“Does it hurt?” Mina asks, looking slightly appalled at the sight of your swollen leg.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to work next week.”

“I’m going to get you more ice,” Jeongguk sighs, looking at you in worry. “You’re going to rest that leg as much as possible. I’ll keep you company and we can watch a movie or something, but you’re not leaving this room,” he orders. Not that you needed someone to tell you that. It’s a perfect excuse to avoid Namjoon and his hippy movement, as well as Seokjin and his stupid face.

“I’ll be here,” Mina reassures him and with one final look of worry, Jeongguk leaves the room. Two seconds of silence later, Mina snaps back to life and turns to you. “Y/N, I need to ask you something.”

“Huh?”

“I need you to do me a favor,” she tells you, looking back to the door, as if she is expecting someone to burst through it in the middle of her telling you some state secret. “Can you please make Jeongguk join us tonight? Like… tell him to not stay with you? If you’re okay with being alone, of course,” she backtracks almost immediately as she realizes that you might actually need someone to keep you company. “Ugh, just forget I said anything,” she shakes her head.

“Mina, chill,” you chuckle. “I hurt my leg, I’m not dying. I can be alone. But… why?”

You can guess, but you still want to hear it from her. It’s pretty common knowledge that Mina has a crush on Jeongguk, and after all this time, you are pretty sure that Jeongguk has noticed it too. He’s not always the brightest cookie in the box, especially not when it comes to women and their subtle flirtation tricks, but Mina has been getting more and more obvious lately.

“I just want to talk to him one on one,” she sighs, looking at you like a kicked puppy. “He’s not going to figure out anything on his own, he’s dumb. I have to draw it and explain it and if that’s what it takes, that’s what I want to do. I’ll never have a better chance than tonight.”

“Not a problem,” you smile at her, willing to help. “I’ll just tell him to join you guys because I want to get some sleep. He’ll listen to me. But hun, it wouldn’t be fair of me to not warn you. Jeongguk is not a passive guy. He can be dumb but if he’s into someone, he won’t hesitate to make a move. If he hasn’t made a move yet, it’s likely that he doesn’t see you that way.”

You feel horrible, but you have to warn her. Jeongguk is a go getter by nature and you’ve seen him not hesitating with women ever since you could remember. Yeah, he’s dumb but he’s not that dumb. You don’t want to see Mina get her hopes up and then have them crashing down because he’s not into her.

“I know,” she sighs. “I also know he’s still a bit hung up on his ex,” you shiver, annoyed at the very mention of that bitch. Mina would have been a much better choice than any of his exes, if you’re being honest. “But I need it over and done with, one way or another. I will tell him I’m into him and he’ll either reciprocate or he won’t. By the end of the night, I’ll either write a new chapter or close the book.”

“Then go for it,” you encourage her. “Get your closure. I’ll kick him out as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” you let her hug you, even though she leaned on your injured leg a bit too much.

Kicking Jeongguk out was more of a challenge than you had originally expected. Being an amazing friend that he is, he just didn’t want to leave you alone and miserable, not to mention unable to walk. You had to insist multiple times that you want to be alone, that you will not move around unless it was absolutely necessary and that you will call him if you need his help.

Once alone, you were left with a bad selection of movies and thoughts about the telenovela going on downstairs. Mina and Jeongguk would truly make a good couple, you think. But Jeongguk… he is hard to predict. You can only hope that whatever happens, it doesn’t end in tears.

Halfway through a pathetic Lifetime Christmas movie and two steps away from sleep, a knock on your door rouses you from your daze. “Come in,” you call.

You expected Jeongguk, maybe Mina, coming to inform you of what had happened. Maybe Namjoon, who would be worried sick about whether or not you’ll be able to do your job in the days to come. Hoseok even, coming to check on his friend. The last person you had expected to see was Kim Seokjin.

“What are you doing here?” you’re too surprised to sound defensive.

“Hi,” he lifts his hand up in an awkward wave. “I just… I wanted to check and see how you were doing. And bring you some food,” it’s only then that you notice that he does have a plate of food in his hands.

“Is it poisoned?” you ask, and although you were joking, it wouldn’t be the first time that Kim Seokjin added a bit extra into your food. Before, he’d go overboard on spices and serve the food to you with an angelic smile. After the events of the past few days, you wouldn’t be surprised if he raised the stakes.

“I did not poison your food, Y/N,” he tells you and you notice that there is no humor in his words. Normally, when you accuse him of doing something you definitely won’t like, he teases and pretends you’re right, whether or not he actually did it. Now, he is as serious as you are. Another instance of him showing you that he knows he took it too far. “It’s atrocious, though. I hate hotel food.”

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose in disgust, almost tasting the overcooked scrambled eggs that you’ve had this morning. Last night’s dinner was passable but this is not a fine dining location, that’s for sure. “What did you bring? Does it have any-“

“Peanuts? No, I checked,” he pipes up. You are left dumbfounded for a moment, wondering how his memory is good enough to remember your allergy. “How do you go about being an executive chef if you can’t eat a certain kind of food though?” he asks as he approaches your bed, handing you the plate of food. Steak, asparagus and mashed potatoes. One look at the steak is enough for you to know it’s most certainly going to be too well done. Seokjin moves away from you, choosing to lean on the wall as he waits for your answer. Well, it looks like you’re on talking terms now.

“It’s not that bad,” you tell him as you start cutting the food. “Worst reaction I ever had was a strong rash. I carry an epipen with me at all times and if something that has peanuts in it needs tasting, Jeongguk gets a go at it.”

“You trust him a lot, don’t you?” he asks, making you stop mid-chew.

“Of course I do,” you mumble with your mouth full. “He’s my best friend and my sous chef. He’s been my second in command for years, I’d trust him with my life. Don’t you feel the same about Jimin?” you ask, wondering if the friendship between them doesn’t run as deep as yours with Jeongguk, because you weren’t kidding – the dude has his moments, but you would trust him with your life.

“Of course I do,” he frowns at you. “It’s just that you and Jeongguk look like… two piece of a whole.”

“We are, we’re Dumb and Dumber,” you laugh, turning back to the food – at least the asparagus was grilled nicely.

“Are the two of you like… a thing?”

If your mouth was full, you would have chocked, without a doubt. Looking up at Seokjin, you find him looking away from you, almost bashfully. First he brings you food. Then he starts a civil conversation. And now he’s questioning your relationship with Jeongguk?!

“No, we’re not. Never were. Well, other than two days sophomore year, that is. But we realized quickly one of us would be murdered in cold blood if we upgrade from the friendship level,” you rant, wondering how it’s possible that you’ve actually forgot about having Jeongguk’s dick inside of you, once upon a time. In your mind, it just goes to show how your friendship truly is superior. “Wait, why are you even asking me that?”

“I’m just… trying to be friendly.”

“I’m sorry, but you being talkative and friendly is making me uneasy,” you tell him the truth. The last time the two of you have had a civil conversation… it was so long ago, you don’t even remember it. Was it freshman or sophomore year? And even back then, you never went past casual chit chat. With everything that has been happening recently, Seokjin being friendly is a huge red flag.

Whether it was malicious or not, it has become second nature for you to expect the worst from him. And in a very strange way, that is actually quite sad. A person who could have been a great friend or even just a colleague you enjoy working with, ended up being someone who annoyed you. Yes, at the beginning, it was funny, charming in a weird way too. It didn’t take long for it to turn sour and with the events from last week hanging above you, as much as you want to see the good side of your longtime rival, you just… can’t.

“I understand that you don’t want to be friends or anything like that,” he shakes his head and looks down at the ground, almost as if he’s frustrated with you but is too kind to show it. That has nothing to do with kindness because in your eyes, he’s holding back because he know he has messed up, big time. If you ever did something to him that could be considered mean, which you did not, it simply pales in comparison to him flat out stealing your recipe. “If I apologize as Seokjin to Y/N, you won’t listen,” it feels as if he’s talking to himself as he continues to avoid looking your way. “The only option I have is to apologize as a chef to another chef. You have every right to be angry with me. The recipe was not different enough for it to be considered my own creation. Had I known it would end up in the review, I never would have done it. But even if it did not, I shouldn’t have done it. And whether you can accept it or not, I truly am sorry.”

You don’t know him well enough to be certain whether his words are true or not, but he looks as if he is truly sorry. And while that definitely counts for something, it’s not enough, not really.

“I forgive you,” you sigh, choosing to move one lone asparagus around your plate instead of looking his way. “As long as it never happens again, I am willing to put it behind us. But that doesn’t change the humiliation I felt when I read that review,” finally, you muster the courage to look up at him, just in time to catch him swallowing a lump. “I can accept that you had no ill intent, but I have never felt more humiliated than I did the day that I read about someone else making my dish better than I did. And that’s not your fault. You’re a brilliant chef. That’s entirely on me.”

“Y/N, you know you’re an amazing chef, you know that…”

“I know,” you interrupt him, not exactly wanting to listen to him praising you. “I know I’m good. I don’t need your reassurance to be aware of that, but thank you anyways. I accept your apology and I’m willing to be cordial to you, if you can do the same thing. That being said… we’re not friends, Seokjin. We never were, you’ve made sure of that a long time ago.”

He looks dejected, and for a second, you feel like a bitch. You feel bad for not picking your words carefully, you feel bad that you’re the cause of the sad smile he offers you. The guilt doesn’t stay long, because as soon as you feel it, you remember the way you felt when you read that review. As much as you can forgive, your ego and self-respect will not let you forget.

“That’s okay,” he tells you, despite actually looking sad. It leaves you baffled because you can’t recall, not for the life of you, a time where he ever offered a friendly word or a helping hand. You know there were moments, you’re sure of it, but no matter how hard to try, none of them comes to mind. “I’m fine with it being a truce and not a friendship.”

“Okay,” you nod, wondering if you’ve ever felt this awkward in your entire life. There’s a fine line between being cold and plain rude and you feel as if you’ve walked very close to the wrong side of it. “Thank you for the food, that was very nice of you,” you add, wanting to at least appreciate the gesture.

“Don’t mention it. Have a good night, Y/N,” he says, giving you one final, small smile before turning around and heading towards the door. His hand is already on the doorknob when you speak up.

“Hey, I have a question,” it’s almost as if you had no control over the words that left your mouth. It’s too late to take them back now, because he turned around and is looking at you curiously. “Why?” you ask, feeling a complete idiot with asking him something so damn vague.

“Why did I make that dish?” he asks in confusion.

“No,” you shake your head, making an effort to sit up straighter, knowing you’ll be able to see him better from this angle, seeing as he’s still standing in the hallway. “You made the dish because it’s a damn good dish,” you say through a chuckle, feeling a little bit better about yourself when you see him grin and shake his head at your comment. “I’m just wondering how it got to this level of animosity between us. I can’t pinpoint when it started but at some point you took the regular teasing and jokes and just made it… too much. And I don’t really understand why.”

You normally didn’t think about it. You have a life, a job, a whole load of problems and your friends’ problems to take care of. You don’t spend your days wondering why Kim Seokjin could be such an ass sometimes. Now you are. Now, when you’re stuck here on the bed, unable to move because of your damn leg, you have more than enough time to wonder about his behavior. And with him being in your company, it’s easy to ask.

You’ve never seen Seokjin act this humble, shy even. Never before in your life, not even during the peaceful period between the two of you. You watch in amazement as his ears go red, him looking away from you and acting ashamed about you calling him out like this. You’re honestly baffled.

“I guess I just wanted to make you laugh.”

You’re too surprised to even come up with an adequate response. The middle school level pranks that turned into a full blow rivalry and competitiveness during your final years of school only to fully develop to straight up animosity in recent months? Because he wanted to make you laugh?

“Are you serious?” you ask, unsure if you should be angry or just stay confused. It makes zero sense.

“Sadly, I am,” he lets out a humorless chuckle. “I gotta get going. Enjoy your dinner, Y/N. Hope you recover fast,” he tells you and leaves without giving you a chance to say goodbye, although you’re not sure you’d been able to even say a single word. Staring at the wall in front of you, you are lost in thought when your door snaps open. Startled, you jump up, only to sigh in relief when you see it is Jeongguk.

“Did I hallucinate the whole thing or did Seokjin leave your room like a moment ago?”

“Nah, you didn’t,” you answer, still confused about the whole ordeal. “He brought me dinner.”

“You serious?” Jeongguk laughs as he plops down on the other side of your king size bed. “Your leg good?” he asks and you just nod, focusing back on moving around the sad little asparagus on your plate. “I guess tonight is just full of surprises. First Mina corners me to tell me she likes me, now Seokjin’s being nice… I swear there’s something in the water here.”

“Mina told you she likes you?” you ask, taking an opportunity to change the topic to something that isn’t about you. He nods, moving in to steal a piece of meat you’d cut up earlier. “What’d you say?”

“That I’m flattered but not interested,” he responds. Well, damn it. You can only hope Mina sticks to the mindset she had earlier: it doesn’t matter what the answer is, as long as her dilemma is over. “Don’t worry, I was very kind. She’s a friend for crying out loud, I’d never hurt her,” he adds, noticing the look of worry on your face.

“No, I know that,” you sigh, finally giving up on the food completely and leaning over to place the plate on your bedside table. “Why’d you say no? She’s a great girl. Smart, pretty, nice and hot. Full package.”

“She’s also a coworker,” he raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t shit where you eat. I’ll never have anything with someone I work with, I promise you that. Plus, I don’t feel that way. I adore the girl but not like that.”

“No, I get it,” you nod. “It’s better that you were honest with her. It’ll hurt like a bitch, seeing as she’s been hung up on you for a while. But it’s way better than dragging her along.”

“You knew?” he gasps at you.

“Of course I knew,” you roll your eyes, deciding to kick him in the shin with your healthy leg. He whined, even though you didn’t kick him hard at all. “I think everyone knew except you. She was heart eyes around you, 24/7.”

“Well, damn,” he sighs. “If I had known I would have said something to her, to stop her for wasting time on me… I guess it is what it is… So, what did Seokjin want, other than to feed you?”

“Feed me?” you snort. “At least someone remembered to bring me food, thank you very much”

“I was gonna,” he pouts at you.

“Sure you were,” you ignore his whines. “He wanted to apologize for the recipe theft. And I did forgive him for it. I’m still pissed and I’ll probably be pissed for a long while but it’s not going to change anything, is it? I’ll just drown in negativity and that review will still be there.”

“True. But it’s nice of him to apologize. Maybe even too nice,” he adds, suddenly frowning in suspicion.

“Oh god, you’re not going to believe what he told me,” you laugh, going back to the end of your awkward conversation with Seokjin. “I asked him why he did the things he did over the past years and his response was that he wanted to make me laugh.”

“To make you laugh?” Jeongguk asks with his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. I mean, I did laugh at the beginning, it was funny at first. Then it just… spiraled.”

“He wants to fuck you.”

“No,” you snort out, but the moment you see your best friend with his eyebrows raised, giving you a knowing look, you frown. “You think this was his version of ‘I like you so I’ll pull on your pigtails’?”

“I didn’t before but now I do,” he tells you with a shrug. “Honestly, that explains half the shit he did. If he’s not lying about doing it to make you laugh, he definitely has the hots for you. At least he did, back in school. That would also explain why Jimin teases him about you even when you can hear him.”

“You do have a point,” you mumble, remembering every damn time Jimin suggested that the two of you should fuck to solve your problems. Jimin is one of his closest friends, it’s not a stretch to think he knows something you don’t. “It sounds incredibly immature but also very Seokjin.”

“I know,” Jeongguk laughs. “You could recognize Mina’s behavior, I can recognize his. I’m honestly amazed that I did not figure it out sooner… I knew that it was an option but he never really gave me solid proof that my hunch isn’t wrong.”

“But it’s weird, isn’t it?” you ask, frowning at the thought. “Seokjin liking me? The two of us together?”

“Why would it be weird?” Jeongguk shrugs, as carefree as always. “He’s hot, you’re hot. You got along well before he pulled out his immature flirting tactics. Jimin might be onto something, with the two of you. Maybe you do need to fuck it out of your system,” he repeats the same words Jimin had used only a few days ago. Back then, it pissed you off. Now, they just confuse you.

“The guys hot, but his personality is shit,” you shake your head. “Not to mention that he failed to put two and two together when he did not make me laugh with the shit he pulled. Maybe he wanted something then but it’s too late for entertaining that option now.”

“If you say so,” your best friend laughs. “But if he’s suddenly acting this nice, maybe he wants to show you a side of him you might actually want to see.”

“You watch way too many romcoms.”

“And you don’t watch them enough,” he counters. “As smart as you are for some shit, you sometimes truly don’t see beyond what’s already in front of you. You’ll see it tomorrow. Now that it’s directly in front of you, you’ll start to realize that the dude just didn’t know how to flirt. Anyways, are you gonna eat your dinner or can I dig in?” he asks, looking at the plate of already cold food.

The man is an endless pit. “Knock yourself out,” you mumble, too last in your own thoughts.

Is this all your imagination or did Jeongguk have a point? If all he wanted was to try and flirt with you, Kim Seokjin is… dumb as fuck.

A/N: Hope you like it! Currently writing Part 3! Let me know what you guys think!

#jin smut #bts smut #jin scenario #bts scenario #jin x reader #jin x you #jin x y/n #jin au #bts au #jin fanfic #jin fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jin writing #glitter-kookiedough #glitterkookiedough

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dongiovannaswife · 3 years

Text

Family matters and hopeful wishes; the Giovanna’s.

!! twin’s birthday piece!!!! :D

CW: pregnancy mentions, talk about abuse (psychological; had to add this because not only helps with my mental health, it also adds to the storyline uwu ), brief mention and consumption of alcohol. Aside from that, happy moments!

July 13, 8:05 PM. Giovanna’s mansion.

With a satisfied sigh, Lena places the notebook in the coffee table, leaning back into Giorno’s hold —he hums in the same tone, settling in with his wife in his arms, bringing her closer.

“We’re all set, it seems?” Mista stretches his arms out, humming in the process when his bones crack and his back straightens with the action. “I wanna see their little faces —they’re gonna love this!”

Giorno nods, smiling. “That’s for sure: it’s their first birthday party,” he looks at his wife, eyes softening. “We wanted to make it extra special.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Westwood joins in. “Dude, the only thing that kinda bothers me, in a good way, it’s that uh… They will want me to be the other bear.”

Lena laughs, shaking her head. “I mean, we knew that from the start, didn’t we? But they love this show, so… Someone will have to be the third bear.”

Giorno chuckles, “After all, you introduced them to it.”

Westwood laughs, dropping his hands into his thigh. “In my defense, Vittorio and Lorenzo watch it regularly —I just knew your mini Giogio’s would love it.”

“Aha,” Lena smirks, “And now you’ll be the third bear, right?”

Rising his hands in playful defeat, Westwood nods multiple times. “I’ll watch a marathon of it before the party —gotta be in character.”

The couple laughs and Westwood chuckles, looking down at the invitations on the table; the theme chosen by his bosses had been the boys’ favorite show, We Bare Bears. At the moment, the invitations laid in the table wrapped up and ready to be delivered to the respective families and friends. Underneath the notebook, the boy’s outfits for the day were ready and carefully displayed to show off: with their personalities starting to show and differentiate them from the other, Giorno and Helena had been quick to notice their preference.

Jovi, quiet but curious, had developed an interesting liking for Ice Bear, trying to mimic his talking. Of course, he was still his own person: he had no problem with trying to communicate with those around him, and would join his brother in his moments of excitement.

Dante, bubbly and friendly, would jump and agree (with little nods) with each decision Grizz expressed in the show, laughing hysterically. He’d start most of the conversations with his brother, would call for his mom when she’d tried to kiss his dad before him and his brother; a little jealous but always a loving and warm little boy.

Both of them were, in Westwood’s eyes, little Giogio’s: they could show some of Giorno’s personality, basked in Lena’s warmth and kindness. They truly were their parent’s blend; not just physically.

“Hey hey hey hey.” Mista interrupts just when Westwood’s about to ask for a costume shop, “If they love the show so much and you know they’ll ask for someone to be Panda then why don’t you give them a sibling? You know,” he raises his eyebrows multiple times, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Double the fun.”

Giorno shakes his head, smiling; Lena, trying to hide her blush, can only clear her throat and look around.

Westwood snorts, looking at his friend with a wrinkled nose. “What makes you think another baby would be ready around this time, Mista? Besides, do you remember that time we went out looking for horchata and elotes at four in the morning?”

Giorno’s laugh starts to fill the room, making Mista look back.

“Guys, please.” Giorno speaks up, smiling and letting his voice show how funny the conversation is. “I wouldn’t mind going out looking for those cravings —but right now, even if we do plan on giving them a sibling, we’ll take our time.”

Mista snorts now, “Okay, too much information.”

Westwood shakes his head, “You started it, Guido.”

Lena joins in after a moment of composing herself. “But seriously, we’re kinda worried about their stands so… While we see how they do, we’ll wait.”

The room goes silent for a second before Westwood asks back.

“How are you so sure they will be stand users? I mean, both of you are born stand users, yeah, but… Bocelli has said that’s not, like, the ultimate factor.”

Giorno hums, twisting his head when his wife shifts on her seat to plant a firm kiss into her forehead —her anxiety would sometimes manifest with her inability to keep herself under control; while it didn’t always happen, he could recognize the situation as a high stress inducing one.

He takes a deep breath before he replies, “Ever since we knew we were expecting, our stands have been there: first, when Gold Experience recognized their presence a few days after we both knew we were expecting twins. The day they were born, he was there, and so was Wire. From the moment we noticed they started to look around them, they’d always stare at the spot we knew our stands were.”

Westwood gulps down. “The boys have always sensed them.”

Lena hums. “They’re starting to see them now.”

Both Westwood and Mista look at each other, with Mista nodding multiple times. “That’s reasonable. I mean, waiting for another baby.”

Westwood cracks for the first time after the serious moment. “Dude, what if you end up having another set of twins.”

Mista shakes his head frantically, face contorting in fear. “Shut the fuck up, Carvelli! Four kids can’t be a good thing!”

Lena smirks —her smirk wide enough to show the row of white teeth, “I mean, if that bothers you, we can always try for another one.”

Giorno, sensing her change of demeanor in the way she leans into him, all relaxed and warm joins into her joke. “She’s right. Does five or six kids sound good to you, uncle Mista?”

Mista shakes his head rapidly, standing up. “You know what? I’m gonna go now, too much information about someone else’s babies.”

The couple laughs; between peals of laughter, Lena still speaks up. “Just kidding, Mista. Please stay for the night, it’s late.”

“Only if you promise I won’t hear anything more about this —just don’t.”

Giorno shakes his head, “You won’t. We were joking.”

Mista sits down again, huffing. “I just hope you end up with three kids and not four.”

Westwood facepalms. “Dude, shut up. Just do it; these two will keep teasing you.”

July 25. 8:09 AM.

Walking around the garden, hand in hand and coffee on the other hand, the couple makes sure every little detail is set before the boys’ party starts; the balloons hang around, held down at a reasonable height by the tables, where food and drinks are already set.

The chef, a man who owed Giorno a favor, sets the last details to the food, making sure to set the two themed cakes (although one could be enough, they wanted to make them feel equally special) in the middle.

Stopping by the cardboard cutout of the stack of the three bears, Lena sips her coffee, looking up at her husband. “I can’t believe they’re turning one-year-old.”

Giorno holds the cup from the lid after taking the last sip from it, looking down at his wife. The softest of smiles pulls at the corners of his lips, accompanied by the soft green of his eyes; pupils dilated from the sight of the woman by his side. “Yeah. So much has happened since they were born.” He looks back, off into the distance. “They truly are our blessings.”

Helena hums, setting her cup on the table besides them before she comes back to her husband. Passing her arms around his waist, she takes a deep breath before looking up, finding his eyes already on her. “Here’s to hoping they grow up healthy and happy.”

Giorno nods, closing his eyes for a second —praying to whoever who’s above; praying to anything that controls the world, that his little boys grow up better than he and his wife did.

And then he’s looking back at her, hope renewed and resolve shining through. “Let’s make it happen, then.”

Helena smiles, nodding. “Kissy first.”

He laughs, leaning down.

July 25. 10:54 AM.

The guest’s cars gathered outside the Giovanna’s mansion in a line, waiting for their turn to go through the security measurements: every car had to be scanned so no weapons of any kind would get in, even if all the guests had been selected thoughtfully: mostly friends and Lena’s closest family.

Once the cars passed through security, the next stop was Westwood, who took the keys from the guests and parked them in the underground parking lot. With Vivienne finally leading them into the mansion’s garden where they would be greeted by a waiter who’d give them a drink of their choice. Alcohol free, of course.

Standing by the entrance, with Giorno holding Jovi and Lena holding Dante, the small family greets the guests.

“Hellowww!” Dante grins, offering a bracelet with the date and a bear’s face in the front to Matteo, who stops right before him.

“My, my, look at you, aren’t you a little gentleman?” He smiles at the little boy, taking the bracelet from him. Next he looks at Giorno, who’s grinning down at his son. “Glad to see you again, Giogio,” he looks back at Lena, giving her a nod. “Mrs. Giovanna, thank you for the invitation.”

Helena smiles, returning the nod. “Please call me Lena, it’s okay.” She looks down at Jovi when she feels him shift in her hold. The little one now holds a bracelet with another design; instead of it being a panda, it has a polar bear’s face in the front.

“Hellowww, siwr!”

Matteo melts, laughing as he takes the bracelet from him. “Thank you, Jovi. You’re so kind.” Ruffling the boy’s hair, he takes a look from afar, leaning back slightly. Noticing something, his mouth hangs open for a second, directing his words to the twins’ parents while his eyes go between the toddlers. “Hey, what do you feed them? They’re so big! Can they walk?”

Giorno snorts, “We feed them the usual, Matteo —but I guess it’s all genetics; we both come from families with tall people, so… It might be that.”

“Mhm.” Lena joins in, nodding and chuckling when Dante mimics her nodding. “They’re starting to walk, but we wanted to greet everyone together.”

“I see,” Mateo nods to himself, smiling gently at the couple before him. “Do you think we could help them walk around? We can keep them around so they greet everyone but…” he rubs the back of his neck, turning around to make sure no one’s waiting to come inside. Once he’s sure no one but Angelo is there, he turns back to Giorno, eyes shifting to Lena in the process. “It’s hard to say this, and I understand if it comes off as weird but… Gio, when we met… You were just a kid and now… Getting to see you like this, a gentleman with a family, I just feel like these boys are my grandsons.”

Giorno gulps down, blinking rapidly to try and process Matteo’s words.

His wife, sensing his astonishment, replies first. “Thank you, Matteo. I believe you’re part of this family… So, it’s okay to me. Will Angelo help you?”

Before he can reply, Giorno reacts.

“You know I grew up without a father, right? You are saying that… After everything you did to keep me safe… I just can’t say no. I’d be honored if you help them walk around for a bit.”

Matteo nods, gulping down —words are caught up on his throat, too much emotion makes it hard to speak. But as he takes Jovi from Giorno, both men relax, feeling the boy connect them.

Angelo steps in, muttering a whispered thank you to Lena as he takes Dante from her.

“Okay, friend, where do you want to go?” Setting him down, Angelo almost melts when Dante looks up at him; the picture is just too much. Dressed in a bear onesie and grinning with innocence in his eyes, Dante soon points at the center of the garden, where the fountain and the birds are.

“Okay, here we go.” Standing behind the little one, he places his hands on his upper arms, helping him maintain a standing position; like this, he makes a small movement, like a mimic so he gets the clue —and as soon as the boy senses it and realizes what’s going on, his little feet start moving fast, making him walk up to the fountain.

Lena smiles from her spot, holding onto Giorno’s arm: then, both turn to look at Matteo, seeing him do the same with Jovi, but instead of going up to the fountain, his destination is Lena’s brother.

“Gio, are you okay? He just said something quite strong.”

Giorno hums, looking down at her. Almost like she grounds him, he gets lost on her for a moment; her dress, of the same color as his eyes, makes her skin stand out, even if she looks paler, he thinks it suits her. The Giovanna’s family crest hangs from the necklace Ariel and Rohan made —she looks calm, ready to help him out.

“I’m okay.” He finally speaks up, slowing down when she blinks slowly, mesmerized with the sharp trace of her eyeliner. “It’s just that… A father figure was never present… To have him saying that… It hits home. Especially because I never met him.”

Dio Brando. The tales told about him would put a scowl on Giorno’s face, bring tension to the Joestars’ he knew, but to him, thinking of him as his father was strange: even more with the fact that, biologically speaking, he was the son of two men and one woman. Joestar and Brando blood ran through his veins: sometimes, when he had to stain his hands, the thought of his Brando side slipping further than the predominant Joestar one would terrify him.

Not to say that both Matteo and Bocelli seemed to think of him as their son —then again, it seemed curious but overwhelmingly heartwarming.

“Yo, Gio!” Josuke’s voice brings him out of his thoughts as he and Krys walk up to the entrance. Lena squishes his arm, giving him a loving smile that ends up grounding him as they turn to greet the couple.

“Kryyys!” Lena grins, letting go off him to embrace her friend. They sway from side to side between giggles before pulling apart. When Krys gives her the bags with the twin’s gifts, Lena turns to the table, taking a bracelet for her.

“Thank you for coming, Krys! I know you’re both busy, but we’re truly happy to have you here today.”

“It’s nothing, really.” Krys looks on, seeing Giorno and Josuke seize their strength in the way men always do —grinning now, she looks back at Lena. “We’re so happy to be here —where are the birthday boys?”

Lena nods, turning to gesture at both boys from their spots in the garden. “Ever since they took their first steps, all they want is to walk more. Of course, they still need help.”

Krys squeaks, “Can I help them, too?”

Lena chuckles, “Of course, I’m sure you’re not the only one: everyone has said the same.”

“In our collective defense, they’re just too cute.”

Helena smirks, tilting her head to the side as Josuke waves at her, trying to make Krys follow him in his excitement to greet the little ones. “I know.”

“Well, look at you, proud parents of twins, aren’t you, Giovanna?” Rohan Kishibe speaks up, walking up to the garden’s door with his arm around Ariel’s shoulders: in her arms, Ellie takes a nap, grasping at the blanket draped over her.

“Kishibe.” Giorno nods acknowledging him, a smirk tugs at his lips; playful. “What can I say? I’m sure your little girl makes you weak too.”

Rohan chuckles, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”

“Ariii.” Lena mutters as she gets closer, careful with her approach so Ellie doesn’t get startled by her sudden presence. Greeting her friend with a kiss on the cheek and a small squeeze to her forearm, Lena leans over, looking over Ellie with the softest of looks.

“She’s so cute, Ari.”

Ariel hums softly, looking down at the baby in her arms —the calm and love that radiates off her is magnificent, pure love at its finest. Looking up at her friend, Ariel blinks back tears, “I know, thank you.”

“Come inside, yes?” Lena murmurs her response, taken aback by Ariel’s reaction. Guiding her inside, she makes sure Ariel takes a seat, bringing a glass of water and her respective bracelet with the bear’s face. “We’ll start soon, yeah? I’ll send Rohan to you.” Winking playfully in an attempt to cheer her up, Lena goes back to Rohan and Gio.

“Han, I think Ari needs you.”

Looking back at the table she’s in, Giorno hums in approval. “Yeah, man. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? We can reserve the boxing for tomorrow if you decide to stay over.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” Rohan waves off, walking up to Ariel as fast as he can —not without noticing the twins walking around: Lena’s brother helps Jovi and Pietro helps Dante.

Rushing to their table and shifting his chair to sit directly next to her, Rohan passes an arm over Ariel’s shoulders, eyes full of concern when he searches for her eyes. “What’s wrong, love? Did she—”

“I’m okay,” she wipes a single tear with her thumb, carefully so she doesn’t pick her eye or skin. “Just got emotional.”

Rohan nods, leaning to kiss her forehead. A lingering kiss that makes her sigh.

“Helloooooww!” Dante almost runs up to them, making Pietro sweat nervously as he tries to keep the little boy safe.

“Baby, it’s Dante!” seeing the boy greet them, Ariel’s mood lights up, eyes shining when the boy tries to walk up faster. Rohan, seeing the desperation in his little face, stands up quickly, meeting him halfway.

“Hi, little friend.” Exchanging a look with Pietro, both agree on letting the mangaka take care of the little one.

Taking Dante in his arms and walking back to Ariel, Rohan sits down again, helping him sit on his lap.

“Hi, Dante, how are you?” Ariel murmurs as soon as he’s settled down, eyes softening when the boy grins up at her., nodding in affirmation.

“Bidday!” he signals himself, grinning from ear to ear: his green eyes seem yellow for a moment as the sunlight hits them when the wind blows, lifting the canopy enough to let a small ray of sun pass through. As soon as it happens, though, the canopy’s fabric goes back to its place and Dante’s eyes look green again.

Mesmerized but keeping it together, Ariel grins, speaking up. “Yeah, it’s yours and Jovi’s birthday! How old are you turning?”

The boy shrugs, searching for his parents —turning around, he soon finds his dad. Giorno is not facing them, busy welcoming someone from the Foundation, but he seems to recognize him and, pointing at him, Dante looks back at Ariel with big question eyes. “Dadda?”

Rohan speaks up this time. “You want to ask your dad?”

The boy nods, looking up at the mangaka.

Rohan softens, combing his hair carefully. “You’re turning one-year-old.”

Dante’s mouth hangs open as Rohan holds up a finger to explain to him, wrapping his hand around his —then, he giggles just as the sound system comes to life, keeping a happy tune at a comfortable volume as the microphone comes to life too.

“Thank you for joining us today.” Lena’s voice comes through the speakers and Dante looks on, trying to see his mom. “We’re here to celebrate our boy’s birthday, we set a variety of games —food will be served soon. Enjoy and again, thank you for your presence.”

She gives a smile to everyone, turning off the microphone and setting it at the table where Pietro is already taking care of the controls for the sound system.

Giorno walks up to the Kishibe’s table, Jovi in one arm.

“Ari, Han. May I take my little man over there?”

Ariel smiles, nodding multiple times. “Of course,” she waves at the little one as Rohan gets him closer to his father, “See ya, little one!”

Holding both boys, one in each arm, Giorno walks back to the center of the party, where the first game is already set and ready. Jovi fiddles for a moment, holding onto Giorno’s deep purple shirt, but let’s go soon when his mom shows him the cardboard cutout of his favorite character.

Sitting them down at the center of the game zone, in the white blanket, Giorno soothes both boys as Lena walks up to the game.

Hidden under a white blanket, she soon pulls the fabric aside, revealing three cardboard figures standing before them, with sectioned body parts: the goal in the game is to complete the bear in question.

“Anyone volunteer?” Giorno asks the crowd, grinning when some adults seem to go back into their childhood, raising their hands.

“’Kay, ‘kay, two volunteers then; Lorenzo and…” he looks around the crowd, laughing when Mista jumps from his spot, arm raised high. “Mista.”

Both Lorenzo and Mista rush to the front, each kneeling besides one boy.

“Okay, friend, who do you want to do?” Mista mutters, watching the boy grin and clap his hands. Throwing up his arms in excitement, Jovi replies with a high-pitched tone. “Panda!” he points at Westwood, who stands nearby, “Uncwe Wes’!”

Mista laughs at Westwood’s face, helping the boy walk up to the cardboard box. “Let’s do this, buddyyyy!”

The evening goes by between games, food and finally, after the cake, the boys crawl into their parent’s laps, hugging them and sinking into peaceful slumber.

“Well,” Rohan chuckles, looking at the couple. “I guess they’ll open their presents later.”

Ariel nods, chuckling low as she looks back from under the blanket draped over her shoulder, making sure Ellie’s correctly latched. “They’re just one, dear, they might be full of energy, but you know… Kids tend to get all worn out soon.”

“Mhm,” Rohan hums, lifting his glass to his lips. Settling it down, he reaches for Ari’s glass, offering it to her. “I guess you’re right.”

“Look.” She calls, taking her glass. Following her eyes, Rohan looks back, just in time to see the beautiful scene evolve before them.

Giorno and Helena had never been the type of couple to kiss publicly. Never a fan of PDA, but the few slow kisses exchanged between them were proof of just how comfortable they felt surrounded with the people in that party.

It felt good to see them let go of the stress for a while.

“Should we imitate them?” Ariel murmurs and Rohan looks back at her, confused at first; but as soon as he locks eyes with her, the way she blinks so slowly and calculated makes it all come together.

Humming low, Rohan leans closer, lips barely an inch from hers when he whispers, “I love you.”

In the back, slow music starts to play: a moment for all the couples there to dance and embrace each other in the orange sunshine from Naples’ sunset.

Leaning onto his chest with Jovi in her lap, Helena’s eyes shine when she tilts her head back, finding Giorno’s gaze already on her. Even when he’s keeping Dante’s plush there so the boy doesn’t wake up in case it falls off, his gaze still holds all the attention and love he has for her; his arm, draped around the backrest of the couch, drops slowly until it rests around her shoulders, bringing her closer —his hold around her unifies the small family physically. With the boys sleeping in their hold, Giorno and Helena look down at them, leaning into each other when the boys sigh happily.

It’s only when Giorno leans into her ear to murmur something that Matteo pulls out his phone, pointing the camera at them carefully, his eyes show only pride: happy to have saved and have helped that little boy back then, just to get to see him turn into the man he’s looking at now.

Leaning closer, Giorno’s eyes go between her eyes and her lips, seeming to take her in before he steals a slow first kiss; pulling back, a goofy smile takes over him when she chuckles into his lips, stealing a kiss of her own now.

Matteo snaps a picture just when both smile into each other’s lips. Now, the boys look up at their parents, seeming to sense the change of atmosphere around them, their little faces full of wonder when their parent’s love radiates off waves from them.

“Whatchu doing, dude?” Mista murmurs, taking a seat in Matteo’s table. He, silent, points at the couple with his eyes. Soon after, when Mista’s already seeing the commoving scene, his phone is out and recording.

“Mamma, dada!”

The couple pulls back, looking down at their sons.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Giorno asks, combing Jovi’s hair. The boy, grinning from ear to ear, shifts on his mother’s lap until he’s standing in her lap with her hands on his waist supporting him. The little one laughs before he’s hugging his mom, shoving his little face onto Lena’s —only to get smothered in little kisses afterwards.

Giorno laughs, turning to Dante just in time for him to stand up on his lap, and throwing his arms around his neck, the little one rests his head on his shoulder, humming happily.

From behind the camera, Mista sighs, ending the recording. “Dude, those boys are... My heart, I can’t take it.”

Matteo nods, snapping another picture, one so perfect it shows all the members of that family grinning from ear to ear. For a fraction of second, an image flashes before his eyes.

There's a third kid, a girl. A girl with light brown curls and gems as eyes.

He smiles to himself —his stand did it again: showed him the future.

“Trust me, Guido.” He looks back at the gunslinger, nodding when the younger man looks at him. “They’re full of life.”

Mista nods, but as soon as he looks back at the couple, his smile turns into a slight scowl.

“Uhm, not for so long… Her mom is asking Gio something.”

Giorno’s eyes shot forward, directly into Mista. Almost like he knew he was looking the whole time; when Lena’s parents leave, Mista reacts.

“Holy…” the gunslinger stands up quickly, impressed with the Don’s action —as soon as his surprise comes it goes away as he walks up to the Donna, taking the sleepy boy from Giorno. Matteo, sensing Lena’s discomfort with the sudden event, walks up to her, standing by her side.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure he can handle it.”

Lena looks up at the older man, eyes full of worry. Her voice reduced to only a whisper: Matteo can barely hear her.

“That’s the issue, you never know what will happen with them.”

Matteo gulps down, seeing Giorno follow his parents in law. The way he walks makes him know Giorno’s guard is up… And he doesn’t like it.

“¿Qué pasa?”” ‘what’s wrong?’ Giorno asks as he gets in the kitchen from the back door, the one that leads to the garden.

Helena’s mom, a short woman with jet back curly hair crosses her arms under her chest, standing in the middle of the kitchen. Her father, a tall man with light brown hair slicked back, leans on the counter, eyes fixed on him.

He had heard his stories multiple times: a former soldier who kept the look. That look they’d carry during work. He had seen it in the eyes of one of his men. He knew it by now, and it didn’t have an effect on him.

“Comprendo que están molestos, pero si no me hablan no podré hacer nada.” ‘I understand you’re upset but if you don’t talk to me I’m afraid can’t do anything about it.’ Crossing his arms over his chest too, Giorno stands before them, chest puffed out and back straightened to stand to his full height. It’s an involuntary movement, but as soon as he finds himself in that position, he knows there’s no way back.

The woman before him is smart, knows how to intimidate with her voice. But he’s having none of it. Two can play a game.

And so he waits for her to talk; his silence says more than a million words.

After a moment of silence, María speaks up. “No tienen idea del daño que le están haciendo a esos niños; no saben cómo criarlos.” ‘you have no idea of the damage you’re infringing into those kids; you don’t know how to raise them.’

Giorno arches an eyebrow, voice perfectly calm when he replies back; his accent slips for a brief second, but it soon goes back to a neutral accent. “Con todo el respeto que me merece, pero no creo que usted sea la indicada para decir eso. Además, ¿quién nace sabiendo cómo ser padre?” ‘With all the due respect you deserve, I don’t think you’re the right person to say this. Besides, who’s born knowing how to parent?’

María huffs, dropping her arms to her sides in exasperation. “No me hables así, Giorno. Lo único que dije es que están malcriándolos. Te repito; no saben criar a un niño.” ‘Don’t talk to me like that, Giorno. I only said you’re spoiling them way too much. I repeat; you don’t know how to raise a kid.”

Giorno’s façade falls right there, letting his bottled up rage escape: all the nights he stayed awake, holding Lena and hearing her talk about all the things this woman had said and done, all those times he had to reassure her it was okay to feel, to be human.

All the times she had asked if they had enough money, all the times she wondered about overworking herself. He wasn’t mad about losing sleep or wiping her tears; he was mad with her. With them. All those times, all he could feel as sadness and rage: at that moment, his rage was about to escape; and he wasn’t going to let them go away without giving them a piece of his mind.

And so Giorno scoffs, looking around the kitchen. Disbelief falls into his eyes when he looks back at the older woman. His accent, now a mix of rough and soft vowels and consonants, comes off stronger as his emotions start to blend in. “Ah, ¿estamos hablando de cómo no criar a un hijo? Entonces permítame cuestionarla, María. ¿Qué clase de madre insulta a su hija? Mejor aún, ¿qué clase de padres tratan a su hija como la terapeuta familiar? ¿Por qué hacerla sentir como una máquina, presente sólo para servir y no sentir?” ‘Oh, are we talking about bad parenting? Then, let me question you, María. What kind of mother insults her daughter? Better yet, what kind of parents treat their daughter like the family therapist? Why making her feel like a machine, only there to serve and not feel?’

He looks between the couple before him, a dangerous smirk settling in. “¿Por qué se burlaron de ella cuando lloraba? ¿Por qué traumatizarla?” ‘Why did you mocked her for crying? Why did you traumatize her?’

The woman laughs, bitter and venomous. “¿Qué tanto te mintió? ¿Le vas a creer?” ‘How many lies did she tell you? Are you gonna trust her?’

Giorno doesn’t stutter, frown increasing when he looks briefly at the older man before him; the way he looks at him makes him know the conversation is a win for him. “Sí, le creo. ¿Sabe por qué? Porque por mucho tiempo la vi llorar y sufrir por eso.” ‘Yeah, I trust her, wanna know why? I saw her crying and suffer about everything for a long time.’

The door to the kitchen opens and Helena steps through it, lips in a tight line; expression unreadable. Giorno can sense her empty calm from his spot.

“¿Por qué sigues criticando todo lo que hago? ¿no te fue suficiente con lo que hiciste hace años?” ‘Why do you keep criticizing everything I do? Wasn’t it enough with what you did in the past?’ She walks up to her mom, stopping before her. When the older woman moves slightly to step back, she quickly puts distance, coming to a stop besides’ Giorno, where she reaches for his hand.

Giorno’s hand envelops hers in a second, squeezing slightly to make her know he’s there, ready to step in.

“Sólo decíamos que están criando mal a los niños. Se van a lastimar, ¿qué no tienen dinero de sobra como para comprarles lo que necesitan?” ‘We were just saying you’re rising them the wrong way, don’t you have enough money to buy them what they need?’ her father interrupts, looking between her and Giorno.

Lena shakes her head, “Él ya les explicó. Si de criar mal a un hijo se trata, entonces yo no debería recordarte a ti insultándome ni a mi papá ignorando necesidades económicas. Y antes de que digas algo más, no tengo ganas de seguir discutiendo esto; por favor, ya saben dónde está la puerta.” ‘He already explained it. If it’s about how not to raise a kid, then I shouldn’t remember you insulting me or dad ignoring economic necessities. And before you say anything else, I’m not in the mood to keep discussing this; please, you know where the door is.”

The older woman turns red, turning around and storming out of the kitchen, followed by her dad, who makes sure she’s looking at him so he can shake his head disapprovingly.

The silence in the kitchen barely exists with the music still in the background. But as she turns to him with a trembling lip and a prominent frown, Giorno can hear in the silence of her lips the pain of her soul.

“Perdón.” ‘sorry’ she murmurs, blinking back tears so she doesn’t ruin her makeup.

He, along with the rage of his soul, can only squeeze her hand. Voice dropping a few octaves; accent rougher. “No es tu culpa.” ‘it’s not your fault.’

The door opens again and this time, Ariel and Rohan show up —the latter keeps Elllie in his arms, cradling her closer as they step into the kitchen.

“Is everything okay, Gio, Lena?”

Giorno shakes his head, trying to dismiss his anger for later; to try and find a simple explanation to what just happened. “Some people never change.”

Ari presses her lips together for a second, noticing the way Lena’s still shaking, hand clasped around Giorno’s in an attempt to ground herself to the present as her eyes stare at a point in the ground, filled to the brim with tears that don’t fall. Stepping closer, she makes sure to let her know she’s there, “Hey, let’s get your makeup fixed, should we?” extending a hand out, Lena takes it quickly, letting go off Giorno’s hand automatically as Ariel starts to lead her out and into the bathroom upstairs.

“Man,” Rohan leans into the counter, looking down at Ellie with sad eyes. Giorno’s silence starts to get terrifying as time goes by. “I’m really sorry. Had we know this would happen…”

“We thought they were changing. We wanted to give them an opportunity.” Giorno gestures at the door their wives just crossed. “But as you can see, now she’s having…” he passes a hand down his face, huffing in exasperation. “If it wasn’t for Ellie I would be cursing in languages I don’t even speak. And I don’t even… Curse.”

Rohan sighs. “Should I use Heaven’s door on her so she forgets about this for a while?”

Giorno shakes his head. “Sadly, that won’t work. Every time she remembers that exact moment, when her mother insulted her for the first time, it… Just breaks her. I’ve tried to help her sort through it, but it’s a traumatic memory we haven’t found a way to make her get over.” He throws his hair back with his fingers, pulling slightly at the ends so the pain of it grounds him. “I… knew they’d end up doing something like this soon, but not today. She was so excited for today.”

Rohan sighs again, feeling his throat close. “I could always rewrite that part of her, you know? Make that memory have another effect. Something that doesn’t leave her on the edge.”

Giorno looks at him for the first time, “Thank you. I’ll let her know. Right now…” he looks around the kitchen, walking up to the highest cupboard. He opens it, watching inside of it without even having to stand on his tiptoes. Reaching inside, he retrieves a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. He sets both in the counter before Rohan. “Sadly, she always feels better after something strong, like this one —grounds her completely.”

Rohan frowns —while not opposed to it, he’s weirded out by the way Giorno just pours the shot in the small glass. Not more, not less. “The… lime, the salt?” he asks, seeing him get the bottle back into the cupboard.

Giorno shakes his head. “She likes it pure. Interesting right? Most Mexicans I know drink their shots without the lime and salt; they’re just… like that. It’s a strong taste, I admit, but… The way it burns your throat and tongue definitely feels good.”

Rohan squints when Giorno just leans on the counter, eyes closed and muscles tense.

“Are you okay, Gio?”

Giorno sighs. When he looks back at Rohan, all his pain seems to have gone somewhere else; maybe, and just maybe, he’ll save his tears for later. Rohan could understand the pain from seeing his wife hurt, he had seen Ariel and the effects her family had left after years of abuse… And seeing Giorno react like this, fierce and overprotective, made him know he was not the only one wishing to fix it all. All because none of them wanted to see their wives suffering.

“Yes, just… Sometimes you need to use the pain… And make it your motivation.”

“You mean your fuel?”

“Hmh. One just can’t go around letting feelings take over easily. Sometimes the solution falls somewhere else.”

Rohan hums. Opening his mouth to speak, he’s cut out when Ellie starts getting fussy, moving around and smacking her lips.

Giorno walks up, standing beside Rohan and reaching out, he pulls Ellie’s blanket aside to see her face clearly. “Seems like someone’s hungry… And needs a change.”

Rohan chuckles, grinning up at the Don. “Sixth sense, Giovanna?”

Giorno nods, walking up at the door Lena and Ari crossed a while ago. “Fatherhood changes you, Han. You’ll see it soon: the pregnancy part was just the start.”

Rohan opens his mouth to reply when Giorno reaches out, opening the door for Ariel and stand beside it while he holds it open, seeing his wife come in behind Ariel.

“Lena,” he calls, closing the door and walking up to his wife. Putting his hands on her shoulders just when he’s before her, he waits until she looks up at him. All trace of her tears gone, but the sadness in her eyes still remains. Deeply and longing.

Pressing his lips in a tight line, he takes a deep breath before asking. “I poured you a shot of tequila —we can sit outside so you can drink it.”

She hums, “Yeah, that’s okay. Besides, it’s getting late. The guests will start leaving soon.”

Rohan and Ariel fiddle for a moment with Elli until she whimpers, uncomfortable.

“Ari,” Lena calls out, pointing at the direction they just came from. “You can change her in the bathroom or a guest’s rooms: please, make yourself at home.”

“Mhm, thank you, Lena. Will you be okay?”

“I will, thank you.”

Ariel and Rohan walk up to the bathroom, ready to change Ellie and probably set her down for a nap.

As they go back to the garden, sitting on the couch they were minutes ago, Matteo and Mista stay there, surrounding them as Lena gulps down the shot, exhaling so the strong liquor doesn’t burn her throat.

In Giorno’s eyes, it looks like she just drank water.

“Thank you, Mista. Matteo. Could you leave us alone?”

Both men nod, settling the boys back into Giorno’s arms so Lena can take a moment to rest.

The guests are still dancing, unaware of what just happened.

“Gio.”

“Yes?”

Settling down the empty shot glass, she twists around to take Jovi from him, laying him down on her torso: as she does, she leans back so the baby sleeps comfortably. Only when she settles down and Dante moves until he’s comfortable in Giorno’s arms, she speaks up.

“Gio,” she repeats, almost like she’s unsure of her next words. “I’m scared to be like her. To put them,” she looks down at the twins, eyes softening. “To put them through all that.”

Looking on, Giorno takes a moment to see their guests dance, taking said moment to think.

“The circumstances are different, tesoro.” He starts, looking over at her with kind, calm eyes. “What you went through was the result of a marriage that lacked communication and commitment. I think you mean you don’t want to reflect your insecurities on them; you don’t want to hurt them like she did, you don’t want them to take on the parent role at a young age; and while you and I know that won’t happen because we are different, you don’t want to end up overprotecting them.”

He takes a moment to think again about his next words, seeing her look up at the night sky, thinking about what he just said; her face shows it.

“But guess what, you’re letting them explore without falling into the overprotective side. That says enough… We just, you know, gotta keep on like this. And I know it’s hard, because I don’t want them to be alone, but I don’t want to end up being intrusive with their personal space or their thoughts just because I grew up alone.”

Lena speaks up now, slow and holding a hint of realization. “We’re balancing it all.” She grins now, looking back at her husband: the glint in her eyes is back, and Giorno can see life running through them once more.

“We’re doing it just right.” He confirms, nodding and grinning when she scoots closer with the baby still in her arms —trying to do it fast, but slowing down due to Jovi. Holding Dante with one arm and draping the other over the backrest of the couch, she’s back in his arms, basking into his warmth.

“I’m so glad… I didn’t realize until now.” She murmurs into his lips, leaning on his bicep.

“Well, now you know it.” Mumbling back, Giorno tilts down his head, just enough to steal a kiss and lastly, whisper. “Let’s enjoy the rest of the party, shall we? I believe it’ll end soon.”

“Thank you for coming,” Giorno bows his head at Angelo as he walks up to the door, receiving his car keys shortly after. “You’re invited tomorrow —they’ll open their gifts.”

“Oh?” Angelo smiles, lighting up. “Really?”

Lena nods, swaying slightly when Dante hums, almost awakened with the sound of Pietro’s laughter in the distance. “Yeah, we know you all put a lot of effort into their gifts, so… Yeah.”

Angelo nods in excitement, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll be here —which hour?”

“Eleven.” Giorno replies this time, receiving a pat in the back from Matteo as he puts his hat on. “We’ll be here, Giogio. Count on us.”

“Thank you.”

Matteo and Angelo get into their car, waving one last time.

“Don’t fucking take our gift from them, Giovanna.” Another voice joins in, rough and pissed, but masking something underneath the tone.

Leone Abbacchio mumbles something to Mar as both come to a stop before the Giovanna’s.

With a smirk, Giorno nods, replying; “Good night for you too, Leone.”

Abbacchio huffs, rolling his eyes much to Mar’s dismay.

“Sorry,” she starts, patting Leone’s arm rather hard. “Thank you for inviting us; if the invitation for tomorrow is still up then we’ll be here gladly.”

Lena chuckles, amused. “Of course it is, thank you for coming.”

Event; the boys will open your gifts!!

#i feel like this is not my best work :/#The Giovanna twins #GioLena #i am this close )( from revealing their stands but idk yet aksjdksldj #q

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americangodstalk · 3 years

Text

American Gods: My opinion and review of season three’s finale

SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD!

I took notes while watching the episode so I can give you my exact thoughts here.

This episode has two good things. Only two.

The first was that they started to drop off some Shining vibes at the Center of America. Honestly, I was all for it. The Shining is the embodiment of the creepy hotel, and one of my favorite works, The definition of the anomalous, haunted, evil hotel. And the Center of America is supposed to be the Overlook hotel but for the gods. A creepy, dangerous place where they can break down into pure madness or oblivion if they are not careful. Too bad they did not continue and explore this more. You can see the difference between the old seasons and this one because in this one, they mix up together two different moments of the book in one episode: the Center and the vigil. In the old seasons, it would have been two different episodes to give enough screen time for each of these moments/chapters to be adapted faithfully and entirely.

Two, the Technical Boy’s storyline. It was still too short for my taste, but I admit, they handled the revelation pretty well. Not establishing him as an Old God, but as a bridge between the Old and the New, that’s pretty clever, and making him the first and most powerful of the New, I roll with it. It also makes sense given World’s identity that he would usurp and overthrow who would have been the true leader of the New Gods. My main concern with this that they would have presented Technical Boy as dating back to the prehistoric times, which would have been very problematic for the lore (especially since the New Gods are described as an American phenomenon. And among the “things” we saw in artefact 1, was the first printing, most precisely the European first printing. Anyway)

Now for the rest and the bad parts...

I was ultimately pissed off at how they treated the passing of the body of Mr. Wednesday. It is not a “Norse tradition”, or not one I know of. The vigil thing, now that is done in accordance to the laws of the divine Old Gods, true. But in the novel it was clearly established that what happened at the Center of America was something that was bound by divine rules. RULES not traditions. That was the only thing the technical boy and Mr. Nancy agreed on. It wasn’t a matter of cultural tradition.

As I mentionned before, the Center of America scene lacked tension. It wasn’t just a place where the god were “powerless” in the novel: it was a place where they could not attack each other because they were too careful surviving on their own. It was a place of danger, of tension, where the technical boy was starting to become mad. And here? Czernobog has sex with the receptionist. Which is another thing that disturbs me: not only is it unfitting with the setting (again, the gods are on such an hedge that they normally couldn’t be that relaxed or casually have sex like that), but it is also unfitting with the character - it is Mr. Wednesday that is a seducer who enjoys charming (literaly) young girls to get a bit of worship now and then. He is the lecherous guy, not Czernobog.

There are VERY UNFORTUNATE implications with Shadow’s choice between divinehood and humanity. Because here, humanity is represented as black slaves, while divinehood is represented by a white man - even more a white European entity. Very, VERY unfortunate implications here.

And what the hell is going on with Shadow’s character here? This is not the Shadow I know of, this is not the Shadow of the novel or even of the previous seasons, this is not even the Shadow of post-AG material! Since when does Shadow desires godhood? Since when does Shadow crave power and wants to become a leader? Who the hell is this?

I still don’t get the fucking point of SHARD. What the hell is that? Especially since Mr. World is clearly Loki. In the novel, the natural tensions between Old and New were enough to draw on the war. The New Gods weren’t some kind of brainwashers invaders trying to puppet humans. I don’t even understand what Shard even is. Hell, in the novel the New Gods even carefully avoided to call themselves outright gods despite being ones, to differentiate themselves from the Old ones.

On a similar note, I realized something else with Lakeside (since it reappears). Many watchers were annoyed at Lakeside, feeling it fake, not understanding why such a town would be considered peaceful or idyllic. And it makes sense, because for most of the screen time, Lakeside showed us to turn on Shadow, accuse each other and hide secrets. In the novel, Shadow spent time with more of the people in town. He bonded with more people than Chad, Hinzelmann and Marguerite. There was much more a sense of welcoming and hospitality there. So again, they rushed it. If they wanted to make a season about Lakeside, develop the town fully.

And poor Bilquis. She just doesn’t know what to do anymore. Oh, let me correct that: the writers don’t know what to do with her anymore. Ever since the ending of season 1 (which is technically the beginning of season 2, since they clearly reused the scripts left by Fuller and Green), she has been just wandering around, and even now... her character just leads nowhere. That’s what happen when you have a tertiary character of two scenes become a central one. Why not introduce some of the dozens of other divine characters, huh?

And if there is a season 4, they better up their stakes, because so far the number of gods, both Old and New, on screen, has been dwindling massively. You wouldn’t believe America is filled with deities, huh? At least for the Old Gods they’re more numerous, but the New? Media/New Media is gone without a trace, these new things of Shard we can’t even identify are also out of the picture, the Caretaker disappeared, most of the Agency are just children, Technical Boy took on the role of many of the other New Gods (like gods of radio and the telephone), Money (whoever he is since his character is still confusing) isn’t even on board... Is it just Mr. World, Tech Boy and a bunch of children now?

And I am not convinced about the Norns speaking and acting here. In the novel they were much creepier. Here, for fuck’s sake, one of the Norns looked at the ground before stepping down the frontdoor. That ruins the entire mystic mood!

Let’s talk a bit about the vigil stuff, shall we? Outside of the fact they removed a lot of what made this beautiful (Ganesh isn’t here, Ratatosk isn’t here, Jesus isn’t here either, nobody’s fucking here), they also did something I believe to have again ruined the ritual. Here, Shadow is tied to the tree by branches - not by ropes. The tree animates itself and ties Shadow. This is bad. Why? Because in the novel there was an ambiguity, and that’s what made the power of that scene. You didn’t know if what Shadow saw was supernatural events, real gods, or if it was a sun/thirst/hunger-induced hallucination. That’s what made it even holier, since it was precisely this same ambiguity that ruled the old religions (was it a drug hallucination, or truly a god speaking through the priest’s voice?),

Finally I do not know what to think of the reveal of Mr. Wednesday’s death being a con, to revive himself... The sacrifice of a son wouldn’t restore Odin to his former glory, at least no by the book’s lore, it would certainly merely bring him back to life maybe, but that’s it. We all know what he truly needs to return to his all-powerful glory. I think the reveal of Wednesday as a cruel con men is also too early. This season built up Wednesday as a figure to root for, with a good and compassionate side. You can’t just ruin it all by the end of the season. It has already been ruined by season 2 and the end of season 1. Wait until season 4 for it... if there is one.

So yeah... all in all what I have to say is. Missed opportunity. Stick to the book.

#american gods #spoilers #season 3 #finale #review #television series #stick to the book

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 3 years

Text

superhero’s

Summary: Could you do one where Freddy Freeman (Shazam) is Eddie's son and is about to meet Richie?

A/N: sorry it took me so long to post!

Eddie is nervous. He rarely lets himself admit to it, and the instances where he does have been few and far between after Freddy was born and he became a dad, but today Eddie can say it without thinking of how to hide it. Freddy can discern it, just like he always can when it comes to his father, but he either can’t conjure up the words to reassure him, or he knows tonight is not going to go well and wants to prepare his father for it.

Eddie adores Freddy to bits, unsurprisingly. His son looks like a mirror image of himself when he was a kid, and it’s sometimes eerie for Eddie to come downstairs and see his son. It’s like feeling he’s been send back into the past to watch himself from the third person view. Though their physical appearances are similar, their personalities have a few major discrepancies.

For one, Freddy is a lot more brave then Eddie was at age, a lot more brave than Eddie is today. He’s obsessed with superheroes and convinced that they’re real, and he’s been know to dive headfirst into danger out of idolatry of these heroes.

He has a leg problem that he never lets other or himself acknowledges, but that’s no setback for the power of his mind. Once Freddy is convinced of something, it’s very difficult – impossible even- to throw him of his game. That Eddie likes a whole lot, that he can stand up for himself and is able to secure boundaries no matter who they’re aimed at, he likes the impulsivity a lot less.

It’s because their way of handling things is so fundamentally different, that Eddie is afraid how he’s going to react to Richie. He’s not sure if Freddy will appreciate any of the jabs Richie makes, if he will accept a new man moving in with them, or what he will do if he deems Richie unworthy.

Freddy on the other hand is a lot more collected, to no one’s surprise. He’s been playing videogames for most of the day, and an abandoned comic book is carelessly thrown over the entry way table. He hasn’t said anything about the impending meeting, and acts indifferent, but Eddie thinks it’s just an act.

He watches from the corner of the room as Freddy concentrates on his game, fingers pressing the console so hard Eddie fears he’ll need to buy him a new x-box if he keeps it up. Under his breath, he mutters along with his actions, some words a lot more explicit then Eddie would normally allow.

His presence looming behind Freddy is unnoticed, because if Freddy knew Eddie was standing there, he would have stopped his stream of curse words and smiled cheekily his direction, the way he always does when he’s trying to get his dad to break the house rules and escape repercussions.

Eddie coughs once, but willingly waits for his son’s video game to end so he won’t have to start over. He’s not always blessed with the patience to wait, his road rage is a clear example of that, but Eddie fight hard against the instincts that his child has to drop everything for him. Myra accuses him of trying to be the favorite parent over it, but Eddie has no such intentions. After growing up with a mother like his, he’s all too aware of how fast the lines between requesting respect and demanding it get crossed. He doesn’t over want to be an overbearing presence in his son’s life that Freddy dreads coming home too.

His tactic pays off in the end, to Myra’s irritation. Where Freddy will roll his eyes whenever Myra asks him to do something, he now gets his game - Eddie doesn’t know which game he’s playing, he’s pretty much clueless about videogames in general- to a safe point, pauses it and looks acceptingly in Eddie’s direction.

‘What’s up dad?’

‘Is that your favorite game you’re playing?’ Eddie fumbles, having no idea what video game he was actually playing or what his son’s best-beloved even is. ‘The one with – spiderman?’ He guesses, judging by the eye roll that Freddy gives him he’s gravely mistaken.

‘Spiderman? Dad my favorite video game is batman arkham underworld. About batman, not Spiderman’, Freddy voice trails off and he draws out the last few words, clearly pulling Eddie’s leg about not differentiating the two superheroes. ‘I should be offended that you don’t know that. Don’t you ever listen to what I have to say?’

Eddie laughs, but it’s strained and shaky from the nerves jumping over on his vocal cords. He came up to Freddy’s room because Richie should be arriving in less than five minutes, and he get a word on how open to the conversation Freddy really was. Now that he’s up here though, Eddie can’t conjure up a worse thing but to ask.

‘Dad, I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about a videogame you’re not interested in. Spit out what you want to say.’

‘I- I need you to give Richie a chance. He’s brazen and sometimes a whole lot of weird, and he’s fucking stupid too sometimes’, Freddy doesn’t comment on the way Eddie smiles with full dimples out at the mere thought of Richie, ‘but I love him and if you could keep an open mind that would be great.’

Eddie walks deeper into Freddy’s room, on the verge of pacing around, feeling stupid for begging to his son about Richie. He can’t help it, he loves Richie almost as much as he loves Freddy, and it would kill him in the two most important people in his life didn’t get along.

‘Dad-‘

‘If you don’t like him then we can talk later. I love you and if you don’t like Richie that’s not going to change anything, but I’m aware Richie might not give the best first impression – the first time I ever met him he poured sand over me and I intended on killing him - so if you could stick it out for the entire evening then you can decide for yourself if you like him or not.’

‘Dad, it’s fine. I’m not going to judge the guy from doing different.’ Freddy chuckles, but it lacks all the normal energy and joy it normally contains.

At once, Eddie feels stupid. All he had considered was how nervous Richie was to meet Freddy, but he hadn’t contemplated how on edge Freddy was to be introduced to Richie. ‘Bud.’

‘No, it’s fine. I mean my own mom didn’t even accept me with my disability but some random stranger sure will.’

‘Freddy..’, Eddie trails off, he inches himself closer to sit beside Freddy on the floor, despite his kneecaps creaking. He’s all to aware that this is a delicate situations. Despite his resentment towards Myra for dragging him back into he’s old mindset that he was sick, she’s Freddy’s mom, and he would never do anything to harm their relationship.

‘Your mom loves you. Every part of you.’

‘No she didn’t, she liked that she could take care of me and get sympathy for it, but as soon as I tried to create some independence she hated it.’

It’s quiet in the room for a long time. It lays heavy on Eddie’s stomach, but he’s at a loss for words. The only thing he can do is to comfort his son, by hugging him close and trying with all his might to take over his sadness. Freddy asks him often what super power he would like to have if he had the change, and Eddie always responds with time travel, to have a redo of his childhood, but now he knows the actual answer is that he would like to absorb other people’s sadness and take it upon himself. Anything to get his son to stop suffering.

He can’t condone Myra’s actions, her cold behavior when Freddy managed to jump over small hurdles and she refused to see it and instead tried her best to sink his confidence by convincing him he did it wrong, no matter how much he had hoped his son would have a better relationship with his mom.

‘Richie’s not like that’, Eddie eventually settles on saying, because he knows that with all his heart. ‘And if he was I would kick his ass. If he would make fun of you’, he ruffles Freddy’s hair and is delighted to hear him laugh. ‘Then I’ll never allow him to set one foot back in this door.’

‘Okay dad, you don’t have to oversell it.’

‘Do you not think I would do it? I spend more than 300 dollars on comic books for you.’

‘Yeah cause buying comic books and beating him up are comparable.’

Freddy is back to his old chipper self, for now at least, and he reaches for his cane to help him walk.

‘Well, if what you’re saying is true, I better go check him out and see if he’s good enough for my old man. Race you down the stairs?’

Freddy doesn’t wait for Eddie’s answer before he’s off, fully ready to throw himself off the stairs if it means being the first one down. Eddie slows down tremendously, praying that he’s son won’t actually do that, but enjoying their little game anyway.

‘Flight or Invisibility?’ Freddy asks later at the dinner table, looking at Richie specifically as he asks.

Richie’s looking a little bit pale, and he glances at Eddie not understanding. Alas, he gets no help from him, Richie’s on his own on this one.

‘Euh, invisibility?’ The answer is said with uncertainty, but Freddy dismisses it as he jumps on the opportunity to talk about more superhero stuff.

‘Really? You picked invisibility? Okay wow, that’s surprising cause they once did this test where it showed that-‘ Freddy continues to ramble, but all Eddie can do is stare dreamily at his own little family.

#richie and eddie #eddie kaspbrack #eddie imagine #freddy freeman #my writing #eddie x freddy #eddie has a son #Richie is about to have a son #freddy freeman imagines #the losers club imagines #eddie as a dad #shazam

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thetypedwriter · 4 years

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Imaginary Friend Book Review

Imaginary Friend by Stephen Chbosky Book Review

This is undoubtedly the weirdest book I have ever read.

You might be thinking… but, thetypedwriter you read fanfiction! This can’t be the weirdest thing you’ve ever read! Things like ABO universes exist!

You would think that, wouldn’t you?

But no.

I shall endeavor to give you a spoiler free synopsis of the book first followed by my thoughts and criticism, but note that this is an endeavor for a reason. I have now explained this novel in depth to two different people, and both times I have found myself completely and irrevocably stuck on how to even begin, let alone end.

With that forewarning, here we go.

The novel surrounds a single mother and her young son moving to a small Pennsylvania town in order to escape the tragedies of their past that include the passing of her husband and her current abusive boyfriend.

However, while things in their new home start out well-they find solutions to unemployment, poverty, the son’s dyslexia, etc, things start to go awry when Christopher, the son, is lured into the Mission Street Woods at the edge of town by a voice only he seems to be able to hear.

As Christopher continues to listen to the voice in the form of a cloud, or a plastic bag, or even inside of his mind, he starts recruiting his friends to build a treehouse in the woods that will transport him to a different time and place. The voice, lovingly called the Nice Man, instructs him to finish the tree house by Christmas Day.

Or else everyone will die.

As Christopher struggles with newfound powers and responsibilities, coping with two different worlds, his mother struggles with her son’s sanity, the town struggles with anger, blame, and temptation, and what follows is the chaotic descent of a small town into the throes of good versus evil, love and loss, and most importantly, trying to differentiate what is real versus what is imaginary.

In the simplest terms possible (a facetious statement if there ever was one), I thought this was going to be a thriller mystery book about a single mother and her young seven-year-old son Christopher leaving their home and her abhorrent abusive boyfriend in order to start a new life with hope and potential.

And it….is?

But it doesn’t stop there. Chbosky crams so many genres, themes, motifs, and messages into this book that when you think about it, it’s unsurprising that it’s over 700 pages long with the tiniest, most miniscule font I have ever had to squint at.

However, make no mistakes like I did, this book is horror.

Yup. You read that right folks, horror.

To preface, and I might have mentioned this in another post for another book at some point, but I vehemently dislike horror of any kind. This extends to books, movies, shows, etc.

I understand that horror is a great joy and pleasure for a vast amount of people and that it contains its own literary merit, tropes, and rules, and I can appreciate that for what it is from afar, but I personally take very little enjoyment from consuming anything horror related (I apologize to all the Stephen King fans out there in the world).

I did not fully realize the extent to which this book was a true horror.

This is entirely my own fault. I was very much blinded by the rosy colored glasses from college when I first read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Chbosky’s first and only other novel.

Perks is wonderful. It is a tragic, yet fundamentally hopeful and loving bildungsroman that shows the beauty and the pain of growing up and accepting yourself. The movie with Emma Watson is what dreams are made of.

I committed author fraud when I picked up Imaginary Friend based on the pure speculation that I would most likely like it since he had written Perks, a book I adored as both a reader and a teacher.

I’ve warned readers against this in the past, but it seems like I should have taken my own advice: just because an author has written one good book or one book you like, does not automatically mean you will like their second book, or any of their other books for that matter.

This cannot possibly ring more true for Stephen Chbosky, as not only are his two books completely different in narrative and structure, but also vastly different in genre and purpose.

I should have stuck with my gut and realized that I probably wouldn’t like this book based off the synopsis, the genre, and yes, even the cover (it looks scary to me, okay?), but I said noooooo, it’s Chbosky, you have to read it!

And this is where we ended up.

First of all, I didn’t hate the book.

I can recognize that it is extremely well written, well crafted, and well developed. I can enjoy a slew of characters, and oh boy are there a multitude to pick from, and I can give credit where credit is due.

Chbosky is a talented writer. There is no doubt in my mind about this. The way he crafts words, the way he plays with texture and space, and with fonts and sizes, is nothing less of sheer brilliance.

He undoubtedly is also masterful at motifs, foreshadowing, and symbolism. Notably, there were so many recurring objects, colors, metaphors, and so on that were sprinkled out so consecutively and intentionally throughout the novel-some I didn’t even pick up until the end-that I was left reeling from how immensely talented and brilliant he is.

Things like his use of baby teeth, blue moon, and fogs/clouds/mist struck me in particular. I know this seems like gibberish, but Chbosky truly came across as understanding what he wanted to portray and how he wanted to deliver it.

However, the biggest compliment I can give to Chbosky is the sheer magnitude of his imagination and creativity. This book almost overwhelmed me through the use of ideas and concepts I had never really thought of before.

Alternate dimensions? Check.

Supernatural powers? Check.

Incredible use of diction and figurative language? Check and check.

Chbosky had so many wild and tantalizing beautiful turns of phrases, expressions, and descriptions that it left me with the same sort of gasping epiphany that Maggie Steifvater’s writing always leaves me with, the feelings that writing can be so utterly beautiful and compelling, that it can be all-consuming as well as never ending with its potential to stun, to create, and to warp to unique needs and purposes.

It definitely was a reading experience quite like any other I’ve had.

Be that because of the horror genre or because of Chbosky’s odd, yet addicting writing style and this has definitely become a book that left me more than a bit dumbfounded. Although I’ve sung its praises and admitted to my own faults at this point, this book isn’t without flaws.

To me the horror genre itself is just not my cup of tea like I’ve stated. Strike number one.

Second, the book was...abysmally long. Atrociously long. As I’ve also said before, I do not mind large books. In fact, big books when you’re reading something you love is a true blessing. Finding that fanfiction at 3am that hooks you immediately and you look up to see its 300k? Amazing.

Starting a new book series that you fall in love with body and soul and realize you have several installments left in the series to gorge and devour? Ecstasy.

Sloughing through a single book that starts to drag on and on repetitiously for what seems like forever? Borderline hell.

This book could have been 300 pages shorter and still contained everything Chbosky wanted to accomplish. It could have had the same brilliant writing, messages, and motifs, but without all of the never-ending back and forth between worlds and battles that just kept popping up time and time again. The abominable length considering its content is strike two.

Last, the ending was a bit of a cluster. At this point in the novel, so much is going on, you are being exposed to so many pov’s that it’s almost stress-inducing, and events taking place are cataclysmic and 10/10 on drama. Chbosky bit off more than he could chew here.

The book choked itself at the end, which, after reading for 700 pages is not the feeling you want to have. The ending left me befuddled, disappointed, and also bereft of a conclusive end and explanation for the shitstorm that had just rained down. It was not the ending I wanted, could understand, or could even really grasp. Strike three.

This book has a plethora of merits followed by three enormous criticisms. If you like horror, then you’ve already crossed hurdle number one. If you can accept it’s repellant length (let alone have days upon days of free time to actually ingest said behemoth) then that’s hurdle number two.

Hurdle three is up to you. Perhaps you would like the ending where as I found it lacking in structure, content, and answers. I like my endings tied up with neat little bows. I don’t like to be left thinking...hmmmm what does this mean?

If I am going to read your massive book, I deserve an ending that satisfies the journey. Authors telling readers that it’s up for interpretation makes me want to strangle something. It comes across as enormously pretentious to me and oftentimes lazy.

In the case of Chbosky, I think he had given himself so many loose threads that the neat little bow I desired was next to impossible.

So he didn’t even try.

Score: 6/10

Recommendation: If you love The Shining, are lacking bouts of creativity and imagination, have lots of free time during Quarantine, and don’t mind having an Inception-esque ending where you might not get all the answers you want, while being tasked with concocting it for yourself, Imaginary Friend might be your new best friend.

Bonus: Here’s a pic of my kitty photo bombing this book shoot. Hope she brightens your day!

#imaginary friend #stephen chbosky #perks of being a wallflower #horror #horror book #stephen king #the shining #literature #books #book blog #book review #book rec #Book Recommendations #book reflection #book analysis #popular fiction #top books #booklover #book

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lemonz-and-limez · 4 years

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Grief- Year Two

A/N: This is a sequel to this story which I posted about a year ago. That story was written right before the anniversary of a death in my family, and with another death looming over my family's head I couldn't stop thinking about writing this. So, here we are.

NOTE: It's obviously sad, dealing with death and grief.

Sheldon gently swayed back and forth on the tire swing in the backyard of his childhood home. It was late in the afternoon, the sun beginning to set in the sky. The heat was borderline unbearable, but Sheldon couldn't be bothered to notice. He simply stared ahead, disassociated from reality, and stuck with his own mind.

It was two years to the day since he'd lost MeeMaw. 730 days without her. So many months, weeks, and days without hearing her voice over the phone. So many seconds where she didn't call him Moonpie. And yet, the ache in his heart felt dull now. It wasn't as sharp and stinging. He couldn't feel every excruciating breath he took nearly as much as he had in the days following her death. Like any chronic pain, it had its flair ups, but they were becoming few and far between as of late.

And that scared him. Did that mean he was slowly forgetting MeeMaw? When would be the day he would remember her for the last time? He didn't want to ever let her memory die; she was too special for him to do that. But as the pain of her loss lessened, Sheldon wondered if he was a bad person for moving on with his life. Without her. Without his MeeMaw.

He and Amy just had their first child four months ago. This trip to Texas was the first time Mary and the rest of the family met his son. As Amy had handed Elliot over to Sheldon's mother for the first time, she uttered, "go say hi to your, MeeMaw." Mary had cried. But Sheldon came to a very distinct and terrifying realization.

He hadn't thought of his grandmother since he held his newborn in the hospital just moments after being born. Four whole months had gone by, and her memory didn't even cross his mind. Those fleeting seconds as he observed his son, the beautiful creation he and Amy had made together, were all he allowed his grandmother to have. She deserved better from him. After everything MeeMaw did for Sheldon, and he was forgetting her only two years after her passing.

She would have been so proud of him… bringing a child into the world. She would have been over the moon and would have told him so over their weekly phone chats. MeeMaw never got to do that. She never got to look at Elliot the way that Mary did as she held him for the first time. She wouldn't get to beam with pride as he did with Amy every time she handled their son with so much care. On the second anniversary of her death, that saddened him more than anything.

Sheldon heavily sighed as a gust of wind blew through his hair. How he wished he could have heard MeeMaw tell him she was proud. He couldn't think of anything he wouldn't do for her to meet Elliot.

He then did something that he hadn't done for his grandmother in a long time. He cried over her absence. He let the emotion course through his body and spill out of his tear ducts. How had he survived for so long without her? How was he continuing to survive without her?

Reasonably he knew why. He had Amy and all of his friends. And now he had a whole new little person who he was responsible for. His child brought him joy every day, even when it didn't seem like joy was possible. All of these people in his life, and yet he still missed his MeeMaw as if she had just died the day before. Sure, he didn't think about her that often anymore, but deep down, continuously, he missed her.

Perhaps he would never stop missing her. Even after he thought about her for the last time. Maybe it would just get easier as life carried on, and his grandmother's life got washed away with time. Sheldon couldn't be sure. He was so confused. Remembering and missing someone seemed so intertwined, so how could he do one but not the other?

Frustrated, he wiped away his now angry tears with his sleeve. Why? Was the only thing left for him to figure out, and he was usually good with the why questions. Sheldon rested his chin on top of the rubber tire as the silent, irate tears continued to stream down his face.

He watched Amy open the sliding glass door to the house and step outside. He watched her pull her loose cardigan tighter around her body as she crossed the yard over to him.

"Hey," she greeted worriedly. "You've been out here a long time, how are you doing?"

Sheldon's voice was failing him. He knew he would just cry harder if he tried to speak. Instead, he answered her with a pathetic shrug.

Amy reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to talk about it? Or would you like me to leave you alone?"

He shook his head lightly. "I don't know what I want," he whispered, barely audible.

"That's ok. You don't have to if you don't want to," Amy told him, moving to stand behind him so she could gently massage his shoulders.

Her touch brought him back to that early morning two years ago. When she had lightly tapped him in the same spot and broke down the last of his walls. How he had melted into her comforting hug at nearly three am. Those very same floodgates that she had opened up that day, the ones he had spent every day trying to close, opened again. Sheldon shook against the swing, the heavy-hitting grief for MeeMaw punching him once more.

Angry that he had forgotten her.

Sad that he would never stop missing her.

Confused because he couldn't differentiate the two.

Without even realizing it, Amy had managed to get him out of the swing somehow. Now, instead of lifeless, hot, rubber, he was sobbing into his wife's shoulder.

Just like she had that day in the hospital courtyard.

Amy, his pillar of strength, the woman who picked him up when the world seemed to be fighting against him. She was holding him tightly now, in his childhood back yard, carefully putting him back together as he fell apart in her arms.

"I shouldn't be this upset," Sheldon muttered after his sobs dwindled back into silent tears and residue. "She died two years ago, I should be moving on."

Amy pulled back from him, her eyes staring intensely into his. She held his face in between her hands. "You get to be upset by it anytime you want, Sheldon," Amy said forcefully. "There is no set timeline here."

"I didn't even remember it was the anniversary until you called Mom' MeeMaw'," Sheldon confessed. "How could I forget, Amy? I can't forget her." He sounded scared even to his own ears.

"You're not!" Amy took a step closer to him. "You'll never forget her, Sheldon, you just won't think about her as often. That's grief. Eventually, her memory will fade, and you will think about her less. But that doesn't mean you're forgetting about her. That just means that life is continuing to move on. As painful as it is, it's moving on without her."

Sheldon nodded to that, his breathing heavy and uneven once more. He couldn't bring himself to talk.

"I think about her too, Sheldon. I thought about her a lot right after she died, but it's less now. I thought about her when Elliot was born; I'm sure you did too. She would have loved him," Amy sniffled, her own eyes looking watery now.

Sheldon smiled bittersweetly. "She would have been so proud of me."

Amy wiped his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs, smiling and nodding in agreement. "She would have, Sheldon," she said as the first of her tears began to fall. "I know what she meant to you, Sheldon. And I know the way I miss her is completely different from yours. But, please remember, you're not dishonoring her legacy by simply living your life. Imagine how sad you would be if you thought about her all the time; she wouldn't have wanted that for you. She would want you to be there for your family,… for your son."

"Our son," Sheldon corrected with a smile.

Amy's eyes twinkled at that. "Our son. You're an amazing father, Sheldon, and MeeMaw would be so proud of that. I am proud of that. But your actions remember her better than your thoughts do."

"What?" Sheldon was perplexed. "I don't understand."

"She taught you so much about humanity and feelings. She taught you basic life skills that you use every day. Doing those things and treating people the way she taught you how to treat people is unconsciously remembering her every day. In the future, you're going to teach Elliot those very same lessons. Whether he likes it or not, he will be carrying on what she left behind without even realizing it."

Sheldon pondered that for a moment. "So, in a way, I'll never really forget her then?"

"Exactly. You don't have to think about her every day to remember her. It's ok to move on, Sheldon. Don't ever feel guilty about living your life."

With her hands still holding his face, Amy pulled him down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Touched by the tender gesture, Sheldon held onto her wrists. Savoring the feel of her lips against his skin.

When she pulled back, Amy took his hands in her own. "I am still here to help you, Sheldon," she reminded him. "That will never change. If you want to talk about something, all you have to do is ask."

"Thank you, Amy… I love you."

She gave him that goofy smile every time he said that. "I love you too. Now let's get inside, your mother told me she made MeeMaw's apple pie!"

As Amy led them back to the house, Sheldon finally found like he had found some inner peace. He would miss his MeeMaw every day, without fail. But he wouldn't remember her every day. The memory of her lived on through unconscious actions and habits that she had taught him. Life would continue on, but he would still carry her lessons with him. Lessons he would one day pass on to his own son.

As painful as it was to begin to move on, Sheldon knew he had to. He was happy, and that's all MeeMaw ever wanted.

For now, on the second anniversary of her death, knowing that MeeMaw would be happy with the person he had become was enough for him.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading *love*

#shamy #shamy fanfic

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rora-s · 3 years

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The Derivative Chapter 9: Wormholes

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 8

“Apparently there’s large performance differentials between same caliber bullets from different manufacturers” Amita told Charlie walking over to him with a piece of paper with the information.

“Based on what?” Uncle C questioned looking the paper over.

“Lead composition, gunpowder packing” Amita shrugged, sitting back down in her seat.

“Just what I need more variables” Charlie muttered.

“I could help you run through the equations if you want” I offered leaning forward on the couch.

“No you’re not helping” Charlie objected turning back to his chalkboard “if Don even found out you were in here we’d both be in trouble”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my book. Just then there was a knock at the door to the solarium and Larry meandered in. “oh, some assistance in my brazen attack on the Lorenz invariance?”

“No, drag coefficient models” Charlie informed.

“Drag co- drag on what?” Larry questioned. Walking from Charlie to Amita.

“Bullets” the woman answered.

“Bullets as in ballistic trajectories defined by the Einstein Equivalence Principle, related to the Lorenz frame?” Larry questioned over her shoulder pointedly.

“As in, bullets that kill people” Amita replied.

“Oh” Larry muttered with slight disgust in his voice as he turned to join me sitting on the couch.

“There seems to be some disagreements over the sniper’s expertise” Amita explained looking to Charlie.

“Well, I’d say the public’s decided on the question.” Larry explained “I have an aunt who lives two blocks from the first shooting. She’s afraid to go out on her front lawn now.” he gestured out the window.

“Why don’t you tell your aunt that statistically she has a better chance of being mauled by a bear” Charlie explained exasperatedly.

“Actually, statistics would favor the bear being mauled by my aunt but…” Larry joked and we all shared a small laugh. “This fear, this extends beyond the reach of statistics Charles.” Larry explained sinking into the couch. “No this is about arbitrary inescapable death. No, times like these, you just wind up speculating on paths not taken, jobs left undone.”

“Larry I- I’m trying to get those equations done for you as soon as I can,” Charlie defended.

“No, no, no.” Larry objected sitting up “at that moment, I was actually thinking of a far more prosaic legacy. Someone to carry on the Fleinhardt standard”

We all looked at the physicist in surprise. “I didn’t know you wanted kids, Larry” Charlie voiced.

“Well children are wormholes” Larry declared.

“Wormholes?” Amita questioned.

“As the only minor in the room can I protest that classification?” I asked the man who sat next to me fiddling with a small bowl “or at least get an explanation?”

“Yeah. They’re portals into the unreachable future and unattainable past.” he somewhat clarified “No, as things stand now they exist only in the theoretical realm so..”

“Well, I can see where you might have some trouble selling a woman on the idea of carrying you wormhole” Amita stated and we all chuckled again.

____________

There’s isn’t anything quite as annoying as sitting at the kitchen table trying to get a look at the work your Uncle is doing for the FBI that you know you can help with but aren’t allowed to. This is where I was as I sat at the dining table Charlie working and Larry getting himself another cup of coffee.

“You know,” the physicist spoke up from the kitchen, “I have had almost no attendance at my morning classes. It’s like everyone’s afraid to set foot outside”

“Not everybody” Charlie objected as Larry came in and sat a cup of water down for the mathematician.

“Just the general populous” I commented.

“Yeah. In times like these, an empty house is not a home” Larry said taking a seat at the table. “Evaluating my immediate prospects for a conventional nuclear family, I’ve just now begun to consider adoption.”

“How long have you been considering it?” Charlie inquired.

“Three days,” Larry offered.

“Give it a few more days.” Charlie advised.

“Yeah” Larry agreed “but consider Don. He had no prior notion or plan for raising a young adult and yet here he is doing just fine.”

“That would convey the notion that my father is doing more than just monitoring me and providing me sustenance” I muttered.

“I suppose there is something to be said about a mentoring learning curve” Larry murmured. Then looked at Charlie’s work “so what? You found a pattern yet?”

“More like a pattern of patternlessness.” Charlie informed.

“Is patternlessness even a word?” I asked.

“Well it is now” Charlie stated.

“Hey, there’s an interesting metaphysical notion.” Larry voiced.

“What, whether patternlessness is a word?” I asked.

“No the interesting part it plays in this case.” Larry explained “perhaps a human element remains to be inserted”

Charlie groaned in annoyance. “You sound like this, uh, Agent Edgerton guy. He’s a sniper instructor that Don brought in from Quantico he thinks I should be out shooting rifles.”

“Well, why aren’t you?” Larry inquired.

“That would be cool” I agreed.

“It’s a poor allocation of my time” Charlie objected “in the time it takes to shoot X number of rifles, I can access ten or twenty or a hundred times that amount of data”

“No, no, no, no. there’s data and there’s hands-on experience” Larry pointed out. “These are two different beasts. That’s why you’ve got blackboards and laboratories.”

“Well you study the universe, and you’ve never been to outer space.” Charlie countered.

“Yeah, but if I had the opportunity, do you think for a moment I’d hesitate?” Larry said.

Charlie sighed. “I think it’d be cool to shoot a rifle,” I voiced.

Charlie gave me a look “you know It’s those kinds of statements that make Don worried about you”

___________

“Why’d I have to come along?” I muttered.

“Because if you hung around Larry and Charlie any longer you’d end up helping them on this crazy case and we both know it” Alan stated as we got on the elevator in the FBI office.

“So your solution is to bring me to the heart of where the case is being handled.” I pointed out.

“Point made but this is the side of it you definitely can’t help on” Alan commented. I nodded in agreement getting the point.

The elevator opened and Don greeted us. “Hey guys” he smiled.

“Hey Donnie” Alan smiled as we headed out of the elevator and into the FBI office. I’d never been here before and it was a cool place. People were all over the place in cubicles. There were meeting rooms with glass walls and doors and on one side a tall stack of file boxes.

“Thanks for bringing lunch all the way down here.” Don told us as he led us through the office “Come on, this way.”

“Oh well, you know, the drive was a pleasure.” Gramps explained. “Traffic on the 10 has never been thinner since, uh, well, since it’s been the 10”

“Yeah, it’s like all LA’s in lockdown, huh? Little eerie” Don commented. “Right in here” we were ushered into a little break room. Alan sat the bag of food on the table and started setting things out. “You guys want a water?” Don asked, leaning by a mini fridge.

“Yes please” Alan said politely.

“Sure” I shrugged watching the people through the glass.

Don set out three waters before taking his seat at the table. Alan got up to grab some napkins. “Hey kid, why don’t you sit down?” Don suggested.

“Yeah” I agreed, coming over and sitting across from him where Alan had put my sandwich. “Everyone’s really busy out there huh?”

“Yeah sniper’s a big case and it’s not the only one we have open right now so a lot going on” Don explained as Alan came back over.

“So, how, uh, how are you and Charlie managing this case?” the elderly man asked.

“Well, I mean, he’s frustrated; I’m frustrated.” Don shook his head raising his sandwich up to his face “I mean, we’re having a rough time on this”

“Is that why he’s been running out of the house late at night?” Alan inquired as we ate.

Don nodded “we got an agent on him all the time” he assured.

“I mean, I know he’s been helping you out and that he comes down to your office a lot, and I- I think that’s great. But, but now you got him going out on crime scenes.” Alan explained “I mean, there's this guy shooting people out there.”

Don made a face and I could see the argument coming. I quickly spoke up to leave the room “uh where’s the bathroom here?”

Don look to me “uh out down the hall to the left and then take a right” he gestured.

“Thanks” I replied, getting up and shuffling out of the room. Glancing back I could see the conversation continuing in my absence. Don and Alan had a strong relationship this I could tell from the beginning. However, Alan was always worried about his sons especially on the FBI side of things. It was a worry I never fully understood but then again this was my first time with male role models so maybe it was just a guy thing to constantly worry about what you can’t control.

___________________

3rd POV.

Once Abby had left the room Don turned back to his father “Dad. you really think I would put Charlie in danger?”

“No,” Alan objected “you know what I really think?”

“What?”

“I think you have to understand that Charlie can never say no to you,” Alan explained. Don let out an exasperated breath putting down his sandwich “I mean, I mean. All you have to do is to ask him something and he’s there for you.”

“Yeah, and I’m there for him.” Don insisted.

Alan sighed “look, he’s not a cop. Now, come on, I mean, he’s better off with chalk in his hand than a gun.”

“You know, you got to stop this; he is a grown man, and he’s capable of-”

“Who still seeks the approval of his older brother” Alan cut Don off. “Whether his older brother likes it or not. And- and more than that Abby, Abby is just like him I had to bring her out here with me just to keep her from trying to help anymore on this sniper math of his.”

“Abby’s fine alright” Don objected “she just needs to learn to leave that stuff alone”

“Yeah, and who’s job is it to teach her?” Alan pointed out.

Don sighed and was about to reply when his phone went off he pulled it out to answer, muttering an excuse me. Meanwhile Abby returned hesitantly but determined the argument was over as she saw her father on the phone.

“Gotta go” the agent declared gathering his food and getting to his feet “another shooting”

“Oh my god” Alan muttered.

“Yeah, I promise I won’t call Charlie till we roll the tanks out.” Don stated stopping in the doorway. “And I want you two to stay here until I call you, okay?” Alan nodded in understanding “all right, thanks for the sandwich”

With that Don was heading off into the bullpen. “I barely got to say two words to him” Abby muttered, sitting down with her food.

“Well, I suppose when duty calls” Alan sighed, turning and watching his granddaughter eat.

__________________

Abby POV.

I left off a loud sigh as Larry and my grandfather began their chess game. “Come on Abby, you like chess,” Alan said.

“I like playing chess, not watching it,” I replied, turning the page of my book.

“Well how about you play winner” Gramps suggested and I shrugged in reply. “And would you mind sitting like a normal person we are in public” I raised my hands in an annoyed gesture as I sat sideways in my chair, my legs dangling over the arms rest of one side. Alan gave me a stern look and I sighed shifting in my seat. “Thank you”

“Yeah, yeah” I sighed slouching in my chair and turning another page of my book.

“Oh. The Ruy Lopez opening” Alan commented on Larry’s move. “I see I’m dealing with a classicist here.”

“Look, I warned you I was a little rusty” Larry pointed out with a slight laugh to his voice. “My game is also a little undeveloped.”

“You know I had to stop playing with Charlie when he was eight years old.” Alan explained.

“Yeah, more precociousness in the biography of professor Charles Eppes.” Larry sighed “yeah you know, among mathematicians, isn’t that just such a cliche, the playing chess?”

“I didn’t mind losing” Alan explained leaning forward in his seat “it was that bored expression on his face, like he was playing out of courtesy. That’s what got to me”

“That’s why I keep my poker face up when I challenge you” I muttered, not looking up from my book. “It’s just common courtesy”

“Oh is that so?” Alan asked and I could hear the amusement in his tone as I smirked. “Perhaps you should remember who your ride home is then” we both chuckled lightly amused.

“Oh yeah? Well, try Scrabble” Larry suggested ignoring my and my grandfather’s banter. “He’s a horrible speller”

“Really?” Alan inquired.

“Oh, he’s horrible,” Larry insisted.

“I didn’t know that” Gramps sighed leaning back in his chair again. “You know quite a bit about my son.”

“I don’t know” Larry murmured “I know he’s been a delight. You know, observing him all these years. You know, a star pupil’s ascension to such extraordinary heights I mean, yeah, that’s perhaps the most rewarding aspect of being a teacher.”

“Come one, we both know you’ve been a lot more than just a teacher to Charlie” Alan pointed out.

I glanced up to see a small smile grace Larry’s features “well, thank you for saying that.”

I caught sight of the board and scoffed turning back to my book as Alan spoke again moving one of his bishop “oh, by the way, uh you’re now in check”

“Oh you distracted me” Larry exclaimed, sitting up as Alan chuckled to himself.

“Smooth Larry” I murmured.

___________

“Here I found a tarp” I called tossing the bundled fabric at my uncle.

“I just didn’t think that I was in immediate danger until I was” Uncle Charlie continued to explain the story I had coaxed out of him when he came back minorly distressed from the scene where the serial sniper was stopped.

“Well yeah no one expects to die when their life has never been threatened before. Unless they’re paranoid” I muttered.

“You seem far more calm with this then I would think” Charlie muttered as I climbed down the step ladder and we went to go outside.

“Well I have experience around guns” I mumbled as we stepped back into the yard and was grateful to see my father there to draw away Charlie’s attention.

“You told him?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah about the gun range” Don muttered with a pointed look “that you shot a rifle. He shot a rifle, did a great job” Don rambled slightly.

“I fired the rifle,” Charlie parroted.

“Yeah, see i’m perfectly fine” Alan pointed out, wiping his hands with a rag “I didn’t fall off the ladder, I didn’t collapse. I certainly hope you got that out of your system now.” he muttered the last line at his youngest.

“Definitely” Charlie agreed.

I scoffed slightly and struggled to suppress my laughter at knowing the full knowledge of what happened as Gramps went to talk to Don about the stain they were putting on the house. Uncle C gave me a slight shove at my poorly suppressed amusement and I bent to help him spread the tarps.

Chapter 10 ->

#don eppes #alan eppes #charlie eppes #larry fleinhardt #amita ramanujan #terry lake #david sinclair #numb3rs #numb3rs season 1 #Episode Related #episode per chapter #ian edgerton #abby calvin #also on quotev #also on ao3

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