#like…. the implications. the fact that out of all the companions you could have chosen to accompany our frail sad protagonist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohheyitsokay · 3 years

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earn

pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x reader

wordcount: 2k

warnings: implications of an abusive household/family

summary: this started out as a fic about the fact that the Razor Crest was destroyed, and ended up being a fic about the reminder that your value to a person should not have to be earned

You needed to sell your cousin’s ship.

Well, you didn’t really need to – he had given it to you when he settled down. A gift, he said, for the only other adventurer in our family. Your mother hadn’t heard, or she would’ve glared even more.

Since you could remember, she had not liked that you yearned to search and explore the stars. She did not like your desire to help people, to be your own, to change.

She hadn’t liked that you’d chosen smaller adventures on your planet, either, but you had finally learned that she could not stop you, even if you still avoided extra conflict. You helped and narrowly escaped the local authorities depending on the day, and tried not to resent the mediocrity of both.

The ship should’ve just been yours. It could’ve been, would’ve been, had your grandfather not held your hand with his frail fingers asking you to stay a little while longer. It was a big ship too, flown better with another person, and you had no one who understood your desire to leave your little planet. And you couldn’t stand the beautiful thing nestled under tarps, mocking you. If you sold it, you could at least buy a more modest one for yourself later.

That’s what you told yourself, as you spread the word all around that you needed a buyer. Selling it bought good favor it bought with your family, which you used to take your time as you looked for a suitable sale, searching for stories as to warm your heart.

When the two Mandalorians created a stir a town over, and you were there immediately, drinking in the interesting shapes and veiled voices hungrily, wishing the excitement of their lives could rub off of them onto you.

They had a woman with them, tall and lithe and wary and you saw your future in them, and ached. Tucked in a corner of the gathering area, you watched for awhile before averting your eyes, knowing they were like your ship all those miles away. Just salt in the wounds left by your invisible shackles.

The night was lovely, too beautiful to be fair, as you walked towards your home town, and you kept your eyes off the sky.

As your crossed into the outskirts of town one of the Mandalorians was standing at in the shadow of a tall plant, as if he was waiting for you.

“Why were you watching us?” He moved into the light and his armor gleamed and it was distracting, how unmarked it was.

“It does not matter,” you said stupidly, carelessly. He wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t matter, and his straightened shoulders snapped you back into reality. It should have been muscle memory by now, to watch yourself around a dangerous person.

“I have a ship to sell,” you corrected yourself quickly. A half truth.

“So I hear,” his voice rumbled, but it was amused. “You’re lucky I was the one who noticed you, little one.” You flushed, out of embarrassment and just a little bit of pride.

“It just so happens that I need a ship,” he stepped closer to you and you stood frozen as he drew up his full height, forcing you to bend back to meet his visor as he added, “and the whole truth.”

You told him a little too quickly for your pride. About needing to get out, wanting to make a difference, do something with your life, and seeing that in his little party. His posture changed again, when you spoke of your family’s control over you, and again when you spoke of staying, for your grandfather. The reputation of cold, stern, self-interested warriors did not match the understanding and instinctive protectiveness he was demonstrating. It was fascinating, baffling, almost too good to be true.

And he made you an offer before he even saw the ship.

At your grandfather’s house, you whispered it to him, as you smoothed the blanket over his stomach.

One boney, loving finger traced from the apex of your forehead down, over your nose and lips, to your chin. He was letting you go, and you swallowed, willing yourself not to ask twice. You kissed his cheek, and took the deal.

The other Mandalorian and his companion had looked you over and shrugged as you defended your usefulness, and left the planet before you and your new… boss? Comrade?

You did not know. You were still afraid of him, just … less than you were of staying, and it was your single chance. To take the ship and the adventure and not look back.

The agreement was that he would take you with him, and he would pay you for it over time. You’d get your shot at adventures, at freedom, and he got a near free ship for his use, a strangely perfect fit.

Despite such a dubious beginning, it didn’t take long for you to adjust to the life.

It was amazing, to see the bits and pieces of his work, to help him set up carbonite for his bounties and rearrange to make the ship more effective. He didn’t speak much at first, but you craved knowledge of the galaxy and he quickly realized you learned from the stories, soaking in information and connecting context like a sponge in water. Slowly he shared more and more, and realized beyond making you more useful, he enjoyed it.

Feeding you information paid itself back, as you always gave him eager, bright smiles in return, or helped him process information that even his sharp mind hadn’t thought of.

Sitting side by side as you shot through hyperspace felt more like home than either of you had bargained for.

Your first job on your own coincided with a longer hunt of his, when a mechanic offered you a quite high amount of credits to be an extra set of hands. In the morning you would roll out of your cot, set up the protocols for the ship, and trudge over to carry boxes and bins and hold tools and wires and panels of sheet metal. Part of the deal was that you would smile and make nice with the more advanced workers, as well as his clients, and you provided as best you could. At first, it was enjoyable, your learning curve was steep, and you liked to see creatures with lives from all over the galaxy. But you quickly began to understand you had little time for that, and were forced to duck your head down and, as always, do what you were told.

It was worth it, you told yourself, to be doing something productive while he was away. Already it felt like the ship was almost his, and you were grasping at your new freedom like an eel in the water. If you were useful, and brought in your own income, it would help you and least find your footing in the mud.

When he returned, you told him proudly of your work, showing him the credits like they were your first piece of beskar. His voice had a smile in it, as he watched you, and his gloved hand had touched you cheek gently. It was good, he told you.

Din liked the feeling he got in his chest when you were around him, when you looked at him, and especially when you smiled his way. He went out of his way, from then on, to create similar opportunities for you, to try new things and use your skills. For once in his life, he wasn’t hurting for credits, but it was lovely, to see you be proud of yourself. The missions were shorter than that first one, though, because he preferred being with you to almost anything else.

It made him feel lighter, after the chaos of the last few months, to work, and come back to a ship where you were waiting for him. He had never met anyone like you – selflessness disguised as ambition, as smart and careful and kind as you were strong and capable. After the child had been taken from him, he didn’t know if he would ever open himself up again, but he couldn’t resist.

After you came into his life, ship aside, there was no going back. You found ways to make rations more interesting, took the time he never had to scour the markets for tiny improvements, always kept a hand free when he needed something to hold on to. It made him feel like man, not simply a bounty hunter or even a Mandalorian.

There was no other feeling in all his travels, that compared to that of your weight against his side. It startled him, even though he had been the one to pull you there as the two of you stood, staring at the cargo bay, but it became as necessary to him as his armor. Din would reach for you, hand finding your opposite hip, and tug you against his ribs and you would melt into it. Your warmth seeped through the cloth, and the tension would ebb out of his muscles so much he could almost sleep standing up.

He tried to tell you sometimes, but words rarely felt necessary or like they actually communicated what he wanted to. And the way you touched his arm or hugged his clunky armor made his heart full, so he could only hope his touches and actions did the same, for you.

Still, you asked for words sometimes, so he told you stories of the Mandalorians, his childhood, and his adventures with Cara and Boba, and even the child. Once, he pulled your forehead against his helmet and told you his real name. Those were the words that sunk in like the roots of your relationship. The grounded you both, the foundation for understanding between two healing souls.

When he returned from a shorter mission to find you glossy eyed and frustrated in the kitchen, and you dropped his hand after a single squeeze, he was lost. Moving through the area, he grabbed food, trying to put it together the way you did, clumsily trying to show you he cared, how you did, to him.

It coaxed out of you the story of your day – the problem and the fall out. On the surface, he didn’t understand.

You had tried to get work and it fell through, everyone was feeling grumpy and you didn’t have the skill set they were looking for. Din wanted to shrug – it happened, and ask you if you enjoyed your day off.

But there was something more, of course there was, or else you wouldn’t be here with storms in your eyes, flinching from his touch.

“I’m sorry,” you concluded and he reeled. You were sorry?

“It’s fine,” he didn’t know what it was, but he was sure of it wasn’t already, it would be. You flinched, like he had confirmed something was wrong, and Din was even more confused.

Then it dawned on him.

All this time, he thought you knew. Not really one to say things so plainly, he thought for long moments over the exact right words he wanted.

“You… don’t have to earn your right to belong here,” his voice was sincere as it filled the dry air.

The tears slid down your face, and he rushed over to you, cautious but concerned. You were sitting in a chair and he knelt by your side, not touching you yet, but watching and listening closely.

“Really?”

If you could see his face, then you would see his unruly dark eyebrows draw together.

“Of course,” his hands reached for you then, brushing off your tears, and willing his honestly to sleep into your skin through his gloves until you believed it. “You do not have to earn your right to belong here, in my life. My family.”

There was a quiet crack in his voice, and it broke something in you, but the break was good. Like a tree you’d seen once, split open to let the poisoned sap ooze out a litter quicker. Din moved his hands to hold yours and you let him and the air was quiet, and for the first time fully peaceful, content.

Someone once told you “unhappiness cannot stick to a person’s soul if fit’s slick with tears” and you knew it was true when you rolled out of your cot the next morning. It would be a long process, to unlearn lessons you’d been taught grow, but as you walked into the cockpit, you felt for the first time you didn’t need the strength for it. He would help, and you would help him.

“Good morning, Din,” you murmured, and he looked up at you, warming you all the way through. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer you for a moment, just checked that everything was in place, and you waited. Then he stood his full height, and you almost had to bend to meet his visor - but you weren’t afraid. Pulling you into him, you could almost hear his smile when he spoke.

“Somewhere where there’s nothing to do, mesh’la.”

His forehead found yours, and it helped you not to ask are you sure?

After all, he wouldn’t have said so if he wasn’t.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179

#resisting the urge to apologize for this #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #maybe i don't know people

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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Title: soon you’ll aim up at the sky and I’ll watch you float away Summary: Anakin was by no means falling in any of his classes. No, the issue was that Anakin wasn’t as good as he wanted to be and Obi-Wan did not have the time to read up on Check’chualik’s theory of ‘four-dimensional mathematics within a suspended room of an aircraft’. Or, Obi-Wan doesn't do space math but his Padawan does. AN: New part of my light fix-it AU! Written for @thenegoteator.

There were no words to describe how proud Obi-Wan was of Anakin. His apprentice was growing in leaps and bounds, going from being at the bottom of his classes to rising to the very top within just a few months. His determination and ambition were Anakin’s greatest assets. He trained harder than anyone else Obi-Wan knew – besides himself, maybe, but Obi-Wan was also still in the process of switching fighting styles, so he felt like he deserved to be pushing himself to the edge.

Obi-Wan just also, kind of, hated the fact that Anakin’s final exams aligned so well with his own.

He didn’t mind it too much concerning Anakin’s language classes. Those were easy enough to handle. Anakin resented the various High Standard dialects of any given language and had chosen to study the many trader languages spread across the galaxy. His Ryl was better than Obi-Wan’s own, but he took that good-naturedly and let Anakin run circles around him, reciting Ryl chants. It was Anakin’s third language or so – Obi-Wan didn’t know in what order Anakin had learned which language, but Anakin didn’t seem to be too sure about it either.

He had just said that he used to speak it nearly daily on Tatooine and that had settled it. If Anakin didn’t change his language track, he would probably not end up doing many of the diplomacy missions Obi-Wan usually elected to take, but he didn’t mind that either. Anakin was more well suited for the open skies than pompous dining halls.

Anakin’s literature classes were a bit more of a disaster. He was not particularly fond of interpreting texts. Obi-Wan always enjoyed those lessons most, thinking that engaging in such an exchange with authors of the past was the highest form of evaluating the thoughts of an inaccessible period. Anakin preferred biting conversations with his Master or his friends, the kind of quick wit needed for verbal sparring. While some of Anakin’s replies were not the smoothest yet, the words being more appropriate in Huttese as the boy claimed, he was doing well. He was on his way to becoming a suitable companion for tedious negotiations that made somebody to trade snarky comments in the privacy of their rooms with a necessity.

Galactic history was also about as alright as it could be. Anakin was more interested in the Order’s history than that of the Republic, but those usually went hand in hand, so Anakin could get invested enough in a given topic.

Anakin was by no means falling in any of his classes.

No, the issue was that Anakin wasn’t as good as he wanted to be and Obi-Wan did not have the time to read up on Check’chualik’s theory of ‘four-dimensional mathematics within a suspended room of an aircraft’.

Anakin had said that sentence and a bunch of other very important sounding words while biting his lips in frustration, looking like he was going to start crying in anger any second. Anakin hardly cried, his eyes not even hazing over. Obi-Wan had seen him shed tears maybe once or twice since Anakin had become his apprentice. Anakin called tears a waste and while that was certainly not a mentality Obi-Wan wanted Anakin to keep, he hadn’t quite had the chance yet to address that topic in a meaningful way.

So, instead, he was looking at Anakin’s math paper, sighing.

It really wasn’t like Obi-Wan was going to get any of this. He knew he wouldn’t because he had never taken the elective Theoretical Mathematics of Hyperspace Travel. Obi-Wan took all the courses necessary to get his piloting license and not invested any extra hours into it, especially not within his mathematics track.

Obi-Wan also knew that these kinds of electives were more for senior Padawans and not a pre-teen, but Anakin was also intensely more familiar with ships and droids than most Padawans. Obi-Wan had already given up on attempting to make any sense of Anakin’s level of knowledge when it was all over the place.

Rubbing his eyes, Obi-Wan reached for his tea, enjoying the sweet taste of it. One glance at the chrono told him that Anakin would be back from classes soon. Obi-Wan had meant to read over his paper as a distraction from his own, but, evidently, that hadn’t turned out.

Neither Anakin’s theoretical maths paper nor Obi-Wan’s thesis on the inhumane implications of the Yavin code in light of the end of the New Sith Wars was going to get written or corrected this afternoon.

Obi-Wan felt just a little like dropping his head on the table and taking the day off. Though, perhaps, that really wasn’t such a bad idea. A break from this would maybe clear his head and Anakin…

Anakin would not be happy. He would work himself up because of his frustrations and then Obi-Wan would have to deal with a Padawan too stressed to calm down, which, depending on how his day had gone, would not end so well.

Obi-Wan deliberated whether he should just decide for the both of them that they’d take the day off, but eventually decided against it. Anakin reacted better to all situations if he was given a choice. Knowing that Anakin would be home in ten minutes, Obi-Wan cleared up their living room table and got lunch out of the oven. He had felt like baking today – okay, no, that was a bold-faced lie. He just needed another distraction from his paper and cooking had seemed like a good enough choice – and not like eating in the mess hall.

By the time he had laid the table, the door to their rooms opened and Anakin rushed inside, still full of energy after a morning filled with lessons.

“Obi-Waaaaan, I’m hungry. This smells nice, what’s for lunch?”

Anakin threw his arms around Obi-Wan’s middle, becoming liquid and relying on Obi-Wan to hold him up from beneath his arms.

“I made lasagna,” Obi-Wan said and carried Anakin over to his chair. “Yes, with that cheese you like.”

Anakin’s face lit up and he fist-bumped the air. “Yes!”

Dinner was a loud affair, something Obi-Wan had yet to get used to. Eating with Qui-Gon was always silent while the snack pauses were used for heated debates. Anakin worked exactly the other way round. He wasn’t one for eating quietly or slowly. He told Obi-Wan about his classes, what they had gotten up to, and, of course, the topic of his paper came up.

“Have you finished looking through it?” Anakin asked with big eyes.

Here it was, the moment of truth.

“No,” Obi-Wan replied honestly. “I tried to, but the topic of your paper is nothing I’m really informed on. I checked your grammar but not your calculations.”

“Oh.” Anakin’s face immediately fell. “But I need this paper to be right and I can’t quite figure it out and I don’t want to fail!”

Anakin’s outbursts, when expected, were a lot easier to handle.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, “which is why I thought of two things. One.” He held up his index finger. “The two of us need a break from these papers. I know yours is due soon, but you are smart and one day of not working on it will do you good, so I’d suggest taking the day off. Two, I’m pretty sure there’s a Jedi Master, who can look over this and help you out, coming home tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Anakin blinked. “Who?”

“Master Plo Koon. He’s an excellent pilot and I think you would have a lot of fun talking to him. He’s a Kel Dor.”

“Oh, I know him!” Anakin interrupted, looking a little star-struck.

Obi-Wan hadn’t expected that reaction. “You do?”

“Yeah! He’s in the crèche lots because he brought a Youngling there around the same time I arrived at the temple. Her name’s Ahsoka. She’s gonna be badass someday.”

Anakin enjoyed spending time in the crèche and going by the way he talked, Obi-Wan assumed that little Ahsoka was one of the more talkative kids there with no hesitation about challenging Anakin to a fight. Obi-Wan smiled. “And you know that how?”

“She bit me once,” Anakin replied and nodded as if that explained everything.

He then swallowed the last piece of his meal, not elaborating any further.

This was… nice. Obi-wan had honestly expected this conversation to be more chaotic. Perhaps that said more about his own mental state than it said anything about Anakin’s.

“And what are we gonna do today then?” Anakin asked. “If we’re not working on papers.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan made a show out of pondering when he had already decided to let Anakin pick a while ago. “Well, where do you want to go?”

There was only one possible reply to that answer.

“Can we go to the markets again?” Anakin said immediately. “We’re running out of sunbeetles and we can visit Dak’lana and maybe get you a new hairpin too?”

Obi-Wan had to smile at Anakin’s genuine excitement. Few things were as comforting as seeing your Padawan happy.

Except, maybe, finishing your thesis.

“That is a wonderful idea,” Obi-Wan told him and watched happily as Anakin ran off to get everything ready for their trip.

Time to wash up and spend money on food and jewelry.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #jedi #fanfic

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years

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Phew! This one gave me a bit of trouble to get out! Here we have our second big reveal of the story! Let’s see what happens.

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Five: Timely Assumptions

Tang gets more than he expects at the start of one cycle. This leads to a few startling realizations.

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Tang looked up into the frightened expressions of the much younger Sun Wukong and Macaque as his body continued to disappear.

“I-” Being erased scared him. Would he wake up in a new cycle or simply cease to be?

Tang weakly lifted his hand, desperate to do something, grab something to ground him. Anything. Anyone!

“I don't w-want to go-”

He faded out of existence, not hearing anything else they might have said after. The last thing he saw were their horrified faces.

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The cave. The voices. The light.

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Tang woke with a gasp, his heart racing.

He had died before, but accidentally erasing yourself using a time-traveling peanut cactus was a new and terrifying experience.

The scholar took a few deep breaths, grounding himself with the fact that he was still here and hadn’t been deleted entirely. He had never been so relieved to be stuck jumping between timelines before now.

Tang winced as he remembered the anguish on the faces of the two monkeys he had befriended. He hoped his vanishing hadn’t traumatized them too much. If they were lucky they wouldn’t even remember anything now that the version of himself that had gone back in time had never existed in the first place.

God, time travel was confusing.

He glanced around his room and noticed a book on his nightstand. Picking it up, he was slightly disappointed to find it wasn’t the one on constellations he had used to teach the younger Macaque how to read.

With a sigh, Tang got up and prepared for the day. There was no point dwelling too much on what couldn’t be changed. Once dressed he stood in front of the mirror and began his little remembering ritual.

He first checked the date on his phone. It was still a few days before MK would get the staff so nothing of real consequence should be too different yet.

Taking a deep breath the scholar began reciting what he remembered about himself this time.

“I am the immortal monk Tang Sanzang-”

Tang choked as he doubled over in pain.

Hundreds of years of memories flooded through him. He collapsed to the ground and clutched at his head as it pounded in agony from the onslaught of innumerable experiences.

Tang crawled over to his bed and leaned back against it, his eyes shut tight and hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the rushing thoughts.

Living humbly as a monk. Being chosen by Guanyin. The journey. Sun Wukong. Bai Long Ma. Zhu Bajie. Sha Wujing. The many, many demons they encountered.

(How had he ever been so naive?)

Completing the journey. Becoming immortal. He, Bajie, and Wujing choosing to live on Earth instead of in Heaven.

(Pigsy was Zhu Bajie and Sandy was Sha Wujing!)

Wukong sealing away the Demon Bull King and vanishing. The three of them searching for him tirelessly. Never finding him. Giving up and living the next five hundred years without him.

(He should have never given up. He should have kept looking until he found his beloved disciple.)

It was all too much to handle. Tang needed time to process everything.

He called in sick to work, which with his short breath and trembling voice wasn’t questioned too closely. After sending a text to Pigsy (Zhu Bajie!) so he wouldn’t wonder about his absence at the shop, Tang pulled himself onto the bed and pressed his face into the pillows.

The headache and whirling memories prevented him from falling asleep, so he tried to focus on one thing at a time.

In this cycle he was the immortal monk Tang Sanzang, sometimes also referred to as Tripitaka.

There was still just so much to unpack in that single thought it made him a bit dizzy.

Tang had never been anyone other than himself in all the timelines he’d been in. His roles may sometimes be a bit different but he had always been Tang. He had theorized once that it had something to do with how every soul was unique so he literally couldn’t be anyone else.

His breath caught as he realized the implication that brought.

Tang’s soul was unique and thus he couldn’t be anyone other than himself in the various timelines.

In this timeline, he was the monk Sanzang.

In order for him to be both himself and the famous monk simultaneously, their souls had to be exactly the same.

That meant he wasn’t the monk in just this timeline, but in all of them, including his original time.

Oh Heavens, he was the reincarnation of Tang Sanzang.

Tang gulped in several breaths of air as his mind blanked out. He needed to focus. One thing at a time.

Pigsy was Zhu Bajie and Sandy was Sha Wujing in this timeline.

After the previous revelation, this one was much less earth-shattering.

He had always known that his group of friends mirrored the original journey’s group closely. Pigsy and Sandy also being reincarnations of their historical counterparts in his own time wasn’t much of a stretch.

Tang’s breath slowed as he began to calm. What was next?

Wukong disappeared and the trio searched for him. They never found him and gave up, assuming the monkey to be dead.

This was upsetting in an entirely different way. Tang knew Wukong was still alive thanks to the events of the original timeline, and that made the guilt of giving up even worse. He’d have to fix that.

Tang sighed in relief as his thoughts finally slowed and the pain ebbed. He still had a lot to work through, but that could wait for later. Going back to sleep sounded heavenly at the moment.

He had just started to doze off when an errant fact suddenly popped into his head.

Wasn’t Tang Sanzang already a reincarnation of one of the Buddha’s original disciples, the Golden Cicada?

With a groan Tang shoved a pillow over his head and attempted to beat back the thoughts from whatever that implied about him.

He didn’t sleep very well.

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“So what’s this all about Tang,” Pigsy asked grumpily as he accepted a mug of tea from Sandy. It was late at night, a few days after the release of the Demon Bull King, and the three of them were meeting privately at Sandy’s ship on the scholar’s request.

Tang took a sip from his own mug as he studied the two other immortals. Had it not been for his own memories on the matter, he would have never guessed that they were two of the five companions of the legendary Journey to the West.

Zhu Bajie had been, no pun intended, pigheaded, crass, and ornery. He seemed to be contrarian whenever he felt like it and relished in trying to get one over on Sun Wukong. Tang couldn’t deny the pig demon’s ability to rise to the occasion when the chips were down however. For as much trouble Zhu Bajie seemed to cause, he’d been invaluable a fair number of times as well.

Sha Wujing lived to fight. His rage and battle-lust had definitely caused their own share of problems. Other than that, the large river demon tended to be the quiet one of the group and didn’t open up until the latter half of their journey.

Tang wasn’t blind to his own faults though.

Tripitaka, (after some meditation, Tang had decided to refer to his past self as such to avoid confusion with the name Tang Sanzang), had not been ready for such a perilous adventure. He had been too trusting of strangers, too proud to believe Wukong’s warnings. It was his own incredible naivety and insistence that he knew better that had led to the vast majority of the dangers they had found themselves in.

It was hard to reconcile who the three of them had been with who they were today, but Tang supposed five hundred years would change most people.

Pigsy still had a gruff exterior, but his desire to start trouble had long since faded. His discovery of a love for cooking had unlocked a surprising work ethic within the pig demon as well as a silent form of affection that he treated any he cared for with.

Sandy had sought out a therapist and took anger management classes. His love for battle long since extinguished, the river demon now spent his time taking care of his cats, making tea, and being supportive of his friends.

Tang was certainly not naive to the ways of the world any longer. He still did his best to treat any strangers he met with kindness and respect, but he never fully believed anyone new to be trustworthy until they showed themselves to be. He always listened to the advice of his friends as well, knowing that he didn’t know everything and those around him might have insights he did not.

Tang placed his mug down and steepled his fingers together.

“We need to tell MK, Mei, and Wukong who we really are.”

“What?!” Pigsy's angry reaction hadn’t been unexpected. They had made an agreement some time back to not reveal themselves to anyone. It was less to do with having to deal with annoying fans and more with avoiding the painful memories their identities brought with them.

If it wasn’t for the fact he had been hopping through timelines and saw first hand how hiding things from people hurt them, Tang was certain he wouldn’t have been making this decision.

“I said we-”

“I heard what you said,” Pigsy interrupted. “No way! Nuh-uh! Not happening!”

“Now hold on brother,” Sandy soothed, placing a comforting hand on the chef’s shoulder. “Let’s hear him out first.”

“This better be good,” Pigsy grumbled and slouched back into his chair.

“Which do you think will go over better? Us being honest with them about our pasts, or them discovering the truth on their own?”

“They won’t find out if we’re careful about it,” Pigsy countered.

“They will find out,” Tang stated with absolute certainty. “Whether it’s the kids putting the pieces together themselves or Wukong recognizing us, there is no doubt that this isn’t going to stay a secret for long.”

Sandy seemed thoughtful but the pig demon simply huffed and crossed his arms stubbornly.

Tang stared directly into Pigsy’s defiant eyes. Looks like he’d have to pull out the big guns.

“How do you think MK will react once he finds out that we, that you, have been keeping something this important from him?”

With a sharp intake of air Pigsy froze, his expression changing from defiance to horror. He leaned over, placing his face in his hands and groaned.

“Oh god. He’d- he’d feel like I didn’t trust him. Like I didn’t care about him enough to tell him.” The chef seemed miserable at the thought as he looked up. “Okay, we can tell the kid. Mei too, I guess.”

Tang shared a glance with Sandy. Neither had missed the exclusion of Wukong from Pigsy’s concession.

(When did he stop being the Monkey King to Tang?)

“So, uh, will we tell big brother before or after we tell MK and Mei,” Sandy asked, eyeing the pig demon warily.

Like a switch had been flipped, Pigsy’s anger returned in full force, his face twisting into a hateful scowl.

“We ain’t telling that bastard nothing,” he snarled.

“Pigsy,” Tang scolded, shocked at the amount of venom in his voice.

“No! He doesn't deserve it! Not after letting us think he was dead-” Pigsy’s voice broke slightly as he continued his rant. “Not after avoiding us for five hundred years!”

Tang took a steadying breath and pushed down the irrational emotions and hurt that wanted to agree with Pigsy’s stance. He needed to be calm if he was to convince one of his oldest friends to go through with this.

“Assumptions, my dear friend, are very dangerous things,” Tang said.

“Huh?” Pigsy looked confused at the seeming change in subject. Good, that meant he was paying attention.

“We never found Wukong after he disappeared, so we assumed he was dead. We continued to assume such for five hundred years,” Tang began, speaking clearly and with emphasis to be sure he was understood. “We now know our assumptions were wrong. Now you are falling back into the same mistake.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You are assuming that Wukong knew we were looking for him. You are assuming he hid from us intentionally. You are assuming that he knows we’re still alive.”

“Wait, what,” Sandy exclaimed. He had seemed to be following along with the conversation up until that point and now looked alarmed.

“How do we know Wukong didn’t fall into the same trap we have,” Tang explained. “That he didn’t just assume we were gone, either through death or reincarnation? With that assumption in mind, why would he ever think to go looking for us?”

There was a tense silence as Tang let his point sink in before finishing his argument.

“We can no longer assume things. That only leads to misunderstanding and hurt feelings. If we are to learn the truth we must actively look for it. To do that we must be honest with Wukong.”

Pigsy stared at him for a few moments before sagging and plopping down into his chair.

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Tang breathed a sigh of relief as Sandy chided their friend about drowning your feelings in alcohol. That was the first hurdle down.

Now for the hard part.

----------

In the end they decided to tell all three of them at the same time. Just to rip the whole band-aid off in one go so to speak.

It hadn't been too hard to convince MK to get Wukong to invite them to his island. He hadn’t welcomed them into his sanctum however, so they had a picnic on the shore near the waterfall curtain instead.

The food had been quickly forgotten once they began their explanation.

MK was upset at first at having the truth withheld from him, but some heartfelt reassurances and a teary hug from Pigsy had earned them his forgiveness. He bounced back rather quickly and immediately began launching questions excitedly at the trio.

Mei had simply accepted the revelation with great enthusiasm. She had pulled her phone and began live streaming a “Q&A WITH THE JOURNEY TO THE WEST CREW!!!”. So much for anonymity.

Tang gave an amused chuckle as the young adults pestered Pigsy and Sandy as he glanced at the uncharacteristically silent Wukong.

The Monkey King could have been carved from stone with how still he was, his expression frighteningly blank.

“Wukong?” Tang swallowed nervously as his first disciple turned to him with that empty look. “Do you want to say something?”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to ask.

“Do I want to say something? Do I want to say something?!” The empty stillness was immediately replaced with restless agitation as Wukong leapt to his feet and began to pace back and forth angrily. “Oh there are a lot of somethings I want to say to you three!”

“Hey Mei? Stop streaming for a bit,” MK said quietly as he pulled her a little ways away from the group. Tang would have been extremely proud of the emotional maturity the kid was showing, but he currently had a very pissed off monkey taking up most of his attention.

“How could you do this to me?! How could you even think of leaving me to be alone for five hundred years,” Wukong shouted at them, confusion and anger and hurt pouring from every word.

“Big brother, we-” Sandy tried.

“Don’t you ‘Big Brother’ me, Sha Wujing!” The way he spat out the name like a curse made the river demon flinch. “You all abandoned me! I thought I was never going to see any of you again! Yet here you all are!” Wukong clenched his fists as he glared at the three immortals. “WHERE WERE YOU?!”

“Where were we? Where were you,” Pigsy threw the question right back angrily. “We looked for you! For a century we searched! That’s more than what you can say!”

“And then when you got tired of it you gave up! You gave up on me!”

“WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

“I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE BEEN!”

The anger bled out from the air at that confession and Wukong seemed to crumble into himself. Pigsy looked stunned, Sandy was nervously wringing his hands, and Tang’s stomach was twisting itself into a painful knot.

“I was alone, Bajie. My brothers were gone and I was left by myself,” Wukong trembled as he hugged himself. Tang had never seen the proud warrior look so small before. “For centuries I had nothing but my memories and grief. Sometimes I wanted to be dead. Maybe then I’d see you again.” Wukong fell to his knees as he looked up at them with tears running down his face. “I missed you all so much.”

Tang felt his own tears falling as he rushed over to embrace Wukong who began to openly sob. Sandy and Pigsy soon joined in and the four of them simply held each other as they let their pain free.

“We’re so, so sorry Wukong,” Tang said. “I promise you we would have never hurt you like this intentionally.”

“I- I know,” Wukong hiccuped, clutching to the three of them tightly.

“We won’t ever leave you alone again big brother,” Sandy vowed.

“We’re stuck with each other from now on, no matter how much we may get on each other's nerves.” Pigsy’s joke earned a choked laugh from Wukong.

Two more pairs of arms entered into their group hug as MK and Mei joined them on the ground.

“Please don’t be sad Monkey King,” MK said. “You have Mei and I now too. You aren’t alone anymore.”

Wukong just began to cry a little harder and held on a bit tighter at that.

The six of them stayed like that for some time, holding each other up in silent support and comfort.

As they sat there, Tang was a little overwhelmed by how right it felt to be holding onto the others. Love burned in his chest as he enjoyed the warmth of being this close to his family.

Oh.

They were his family, weren’t they?

That wasn’t just another assumption. These five, across any timeline, were family to him, and he would always care for them as such.

Any lingering doubts about being Tripitaka melted away. It didn’t really matter who he was or had been in the past. All that mattered was the real love he felt for these people that were precious to him.

As long as he had that, he could overcome anything else that came his way.

----------

You didn’t think I would write a Tang-centric fic and NOT have him be Tripitaka did you? It was inevitable honestly.

I'm not sure if I characterized Sha Wujing correctly here, but Sandy canonically went to anger management so I made some (hehe) assumptions.

Speaking of! Count how many assumptions are made in this chapter! There might be more than you think~

The story referenced in this chapter is Tang’s Time Adventure by Poddlebud. It’s a fun little romp with a unique ship. It’s a shame we didn’t get to see the conclusion played out here…

Until next time!

#Ink Writes #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Tang #Tang Monkie KId #Tang Sanzang #Tripitaka #Pigsy #Zhu Bajie #Sandy #Sha Wujing #Sun Wukong #MK #Mei #Macaque #LEGO Monkie Kid

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

Text

A Dangerous Game

part 10

masterlist

Hello darlings! This one goes out to @the-darkest-starr ! She was my first like and my first follow. Love this girl so much, and hope it brightens her day! This one’s for you babe!

The weeks of isolation had made her ready to climb the walls. Jin came to visit when he could, but he was still a doctor and that kept him very busy. They no longer had the excuse of her stitches to prompt a visit. This left Namjoon as her only constant companion, and she didn’t know what was worse, the isolation or the fact that she was beginning to look forward to Namjoon’s visits.

They had established a sort of routine. In the mornings Namjoon would come and have a light breakfast and tea with her bringing her new reading material, and then she’d be left alone to her own devises for the day. She’d read whatever book he had brought her and play solitaire. If she had to play another game of solitaire she was afraid she was going to lose her mind. It had gotten to the point where she was even beginning to debate throwing another vase at Namjoon, consequences be damned. And then he would return in the later evening and share late supper with her. This was her life now, every day the same, and it was driving her insane. That was the point though wasn’t it?

The isolation was a punishment, but it was also a very effective tool for breaking down the will of your opponent, and Namjoon was nothing if not a smart man. He knew exactly what he was doing. She had to give him credit for that, the sneaky bastard. That was the game though wasn’t it? It was a new game and an old game all at once. And Namjoon had one the first round. She couldn’t allow him the final victory though.

It was a waiting game now. Who could hold out longer? Namjoon unfortunately had the upper hand. He had all the resources after all. He held all the power. And she wasn’t stupid. She knew that he would only put up with her insolence so long before he took to more drastic measures. It all depended on how patient of a man Namjoon was. If she was lucky, and recent history had proven that she wasn’t, she could outlast him. He’d grow tired of her, of this game, and he’d let her go. Or maybe she’d just annoy him into killing her. It wasn’t a great plan especially considering she would much rather make it out of all of this alive, but isolation can make people do and think crazy things. And maybe Namjoon sensed that. Maybe that was why he came to her room that afternoon.

“Jagiya,” He began watching her with a smirk playing on his lips.

“What do you want?” She groaned from her position sprawled across one of the sofas with her arm thrown across her eyes, a position she’d taken out of boredom upon finishing the latest book Namjoon had brought her. “Don’t you have other things to do than to pester me?”

“It’s the weekend, jagi, and you’ve been left to your own devices all morning. I thought we might go for a stroll in the garden, but if you don’t want to…” He trailed off watching with veiled amusement as she perked up.

“The garden?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Outside? Outside this room?” Her eyes were blown wide as she gazed at him hoping beyond hope that this wasn’t some cruel trick on his part. She wouldn’t put such a trick past him, but he nodded a small smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re not shitting me are you?”

“You’ve been so good, and you’ve taken your punishment so well. I could do without the attitude, but we can work on that.” He definitely had plans to rid her of the attitude.

He could practically see the cogs turning in her head as the realization hit her, when the hope settled in. “I can leave this room. I won’t be locked in anymore?”

Namjoon couldn’t have been more pleased by her reaction. There was something so fragile and vulnerable about her in this moment, having those doe eyes focused on him filled with so much hope. And he was the one who gave her that hope. “That depends on how you behave today.” He mused. “If you behave well, I see no reason why you can’t have free reign of the house and the gardens. But if you don’t behave I have no problem keeping you here in these rooms.”

The effect of those words was almost instantaneous. Her eyes grew even more impossibly wide and her face paled at the implication. It was clear to him that her punishment had been effective. Even if she didn’t realize it, there was a shift, the smallest of change. He was wearing her down, settling her into her new role.

“Do you understand, jagi?”

She nodded quickly scrambling up and scampering to the closet in search of shoes. As much as she hated depending on him for anything, especially her freedom, she wasn’t about to give up the chance to go outside. She would be the sweetest girl in the world if it meant she was going to be released from her god forsaken house arrest.

She emerged shoes in hand and a bright smile on her face too big to conceal. The excitement of being released from her room outweighed her will to remain grumpy in the face of her captor, and in this minute she couldn’t bring herself to care even taking his hand without a fuss when he extended it to lead her out of the room.

She was practically vibrating with excitement by the time they had reached the door that would lead them outside to the garden. Freedom was just a few steps away, or at least a semblance of it was, but before she could step outside, Namjoon pulled her back, and she couldn’t help but look at him in confusion.

“This is a privilege, Y/N.” He repeated, dark eyes serious as he stared her down. “If you pull any sort of stunt today, I will lock you away for so long you will forget how the sunlight feels on your skin. There are worse prisons than your rooms, jagiya.”

The threat kept her frozen in place as she stared up at him. How could he speak such harsh words so sweetly?

“Jagi?” He prompted squeezing her hand tightly. She nodded slowly unsure of how to respond to him after that. The man was giving her whiplash. “I need words, jagi.”

“Yes, Namjoon.” She sighed impatient to get outside and put his disturbing smiling threats out of her head, at least for the moment.

“Good!” He smiled brightly dimples popping out in full force. “Let’s enjoy the garden then.”

To say that the gardens were beautiful would have been an understatement. They were gorgeous, enchanting even as they sprawled out from the house. Clearly someone had put a lot of time and effort into them. It looked like something out of a fairy land to her, but then again, she was used to cramped city apartments with rag tag parks filled with litter. This was another level entirely, and she was instantly in love.

Namjoon didn’t even protest when her hand slipped from his as she wandered further into the garden. While she was enamored with the garden, he was enamored with her. He’d never seen her this soft. Her eyes had a sparkle to them that he had yet to see as she trailed her fingers across the petals of some of the flowers almost reverently. Everything about her in this moment seemed gentle.

Her eyes wandered further into the garden as she took everything in. It was sculpted into a very traditional fashion with bridges and gazebos and what appeared to be a large koi pond further from the house all connected by a series of winding paths.

“Can we go there?” She asked her voice filled with breathless wonder as she looked out towards the koi pond.

“Of course, jagi.” He replied just as softly placing a gentle hand on her back to lead her down to the pond.

He was almost afraid that if he spoke any louder or made any sudden movements that the moment would shatter and she would return to the acid spitting hellion he had come to know. He would have to savor this more gentle version of her while he could. He knew it wouldn’t last long. She would be a fierce little hellion again before long, but he enjoyed seeing this softer side of her as well.

He had chosen because she was intriguing, because she was strong, but this was something he wanted to see from her more often. As much as he enjoyed sparring with her, her constant venom was beginning to become tiresome. Yes, she’d followed his rules, but she had done it with a bitter reluctance that didn’t sit well with him. He was a man who was used to complete obedience without question. He was lenient for now though as she was still adjusting, but his patience could only hold out for so long. But for today he would enjoy the softer side of her while it lasted.

They reached the bridge that stretched across the koi pond, and settled there. Y/N leaned over the rail to gaze down at the fish that milled about in the pond a soft smile playing on her lips. She was entranced by the fish, wishing she had brought something out to feed her with. Next time she told herself. If she played her cards right, she’d be able to go out into the gardens as much as she’d like. All the while they stood there in peaceful silence, Namjoon stood guard just to the side his attention solely focused on her.

Looking at her now, Namjoon found her to be the most lovely woman in the world. Illuminated in the afternoon light with the late summer breeze stirring her hair, Namjoon considered himself very much in love with her, and he had to congratulate himself on his catch. Summoning her to that late night meeting all those weeks ago had been on a whim, purely out of curiosity to see who he was dealing with, and now he was grateful that he had. She was a dangerous woman to have around. She was capable of tearing down the empire he had built from the ground up if he wasn’t careful. But that made their game all the more exciting. It made her all the more exciting, and once tamed she would make an exquisite queen for his empire. All that was left to do was to break her to his will.

part 11

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #mafia namjoon #rm #rm x reader #mafia #dark romance #mafia au #soft yandere #fanfic

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the-sole-macgyver · 4 years

Note

This has been rattling in my brain for a while and I didn’t know what react blog to bring it to and I just found yours and well- romanced companions finding out Nate was abusive to F!Sole? Either physically or just emotionally/mentally or both but like it’s been haunting me

Is that so? Well, don’t you worry Anon, I’m here to exorcise that little angst ghost haunting your brain with my sweet ass writing skills.

Prompt:Romanced!companions react to finding out F!Sole was abused by their husband.

Excluded companions:Codsworth,Dogmeat,Strong and Ada. For obvious reasons

Notes: 1.if there are any characters, e.g. : faction leaders or let’s say synth!Codsworth that anyone would like to be included please feel free to ask!

2. i dont know anything about old american law pertaining to abuse other than a quick google search.

3.I have tried to be as respectful as possible regarding this subject, but if anything i have written here comes off uninformed or disrespectful in anyway please let me know, thank you.

Warnings: mentions of abuse- both physical and mental, alcohol use, drug use, swearing under cut, this has also been tagged for easy avoidance.

Cait:“what did you mean when ya said ya was proud of me?” usually Cait wouldn’t bat an eye at Sole’s use of words when they were complimenting her or giving her affirmation, she’d flush, but she was used to it enough by now that it didn’t catch her wholly off guard like it used to. But Sole’s encouraging and somewhat wishful smile as she’d said that to Cait had always left her wondering, there was something there and what better time to broach the subject then while they were getting ready to call it a day from building defences, the new turrets they’d installed for the Abernathys humming in the background.

Sole sighed then, looking out at the scorched landscape in apparent thought, before she glanced back up at Cait and looked away just quickly “I just, I wish I’d been as strong as you, back then. With Nate.” the last part was said in a hushed, shamed little voice, her hand going to touch her face as if to wipe away some unseen blemish - in a way that had Cait’s hackles raise in indignation “Darlin’? Look at me.” she waited for Sole to come back to herself, to look her in the eyes, and hopefully not notice how she shook with rage at the implication. “Sole. You are one o’ the most fooken’ strongest people I ‘av ever met, whatever he did to you, however he made you feel, know that it don’t define you, that I don’t think any less of you, you hear?” that earned her a slight nod from Sole and, with a strained smile she led Sole back to the farm, it was getting dark and Sole had been working non-stop. There’d be time later, when they had more privacy and Sole was more rested to talk.

Curie:She was always fascinated with Sole, the way she talked and fought for what she believed was right, the way she could move around the battle field so stealthily and cared enough and took the time to teach Curie how to as well always left her with that fluttery feeling in her stomach that was what she believed to be called “butterflies”. Stealth didn’t come naturally to her, not being used to having legs and feet that could make a suprising amount of noise if placed wrong - unlike the quiet continuous hum of a thruster - it had her hyper-aware of Sole and the advice she gave while they were out exploring the Commonwealth, it was on one of these outings, while they were sneaking passed a group of raiders that were holding Caravan Traders hostage that they came across some old, dilapidated wooden stairs, Curie was sure this would pose a problem for them but Sole simply told her to stick as close to the wall as possible while ascending. She marveled at the surprizing lack of noise when they reached the top without a squeak and hid so Sole could plan their next move. She hadn’t meant to ask how a woman who was a lawyer was so good at being quiet, she supposed it was just another quirk of her new body- asking questions unconsciously.

Sole had frowned then, biting her lip and looking at Curie the way she did when she wasn’t sure if she should say something in front of her, it took a moment before Sole finally gave in “Nate was an….unplesant drunk, it paid in the long run to be able to move around the house quietly, especially the stairs…untill we moves to Sanctuary that is..” Sole said this in an even tone, the kind she used when dodging details or putting families at ease over the state of their loved ones passing, though Curie understood the implications she hadn’t understood her own emotional response, was it panic? she wasn’t sure and by the time she had collected herself the conversation was over, Sole already going over their next move- the way she did when she was dodging questions.

Deacon:“You know” she’d laughed, the hoarse kind of laugh that comes from the chest and had Deacon looking at her dubiously. They’d both been drinking - not quite five-sheets-to-the-wind drinking but tipsy enough-, sharing stories and jokes up in the steeple of the old north church, away from the rest of HQ but close enough to make a quick appearance if they were needed. The perfect place for that false sense of privacy.

“You know, Nate he- Nate used to say, he used to say to me- he’d say ‘Sole, you can’t do anything without me’ and that I ’needed him’ but, look!” She gestured wildly at the world below them and didn’t elaborate on what she’d done, he’d been there from day one more or less and had a pretty good grasp on her current list of accomplishments, so to be fair she didn’t need too. “Isn’t that just- isn’t it funny?” She laughed then too, the kind of wet laugh that came from the bottom of the throat and had his stomach twisting, he didn’t know what to say, what could he say? Jokes wouldn’t make this better. In the end he opted on pulling her into an embrace-not a hug- so that his chin rested on top of her head. It was the kind of laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all, it was the kind of laugh Deacon would do anything not to have her make again, for as long as she’d have him around, and probably longer.

John Hancock: He’d felt like scum the first time it had occurred to him that he was relived Nate was dead, because there was no way Sole would have chosen him over her husband. He’d promised himself he would never mention that to Sole though, he didn’t want to upset her or, God forbid, chase her away with his own insecurities regarding her late husband. And he didn’t have a problem with keeping it to himself, even when they were chemed out and lounging on the couch in his office, he’d used long enough to keep his thoughts to himself when he needed too. Sole, on the other hand, had not and as she was blissed out, head lying on Hancock’s chest and body pleasantly heavy she’d murmured something into the ruffles of his dress shirt.

“Hm?, What was that sunshine?” he nudged her gently so she’d lift, or rather roll, her head to the side so he could hear her. “I said, I love you so much” her lazily mumbled confession put a dopey smile on his face that he couldn’t blame the chems for “I used to love Nate too, but now I don’t think he loved me as much as he said he did” and that wiped the smile off his face just as quickly “Whaddya mean by that?” he scooted up the couch slightly as he said this, just enough to get a better look at her face “He used to say he loved me, but then he’d, he’d just hurt me, and then he’d say that it was my fault, that I made him do those things. You say you love me, and you don’t hurt me, so I think maybe he didn’t love me all that much” she said this in that matter-of-fact way people do when they’re out of it and come to a seemingly obvious conclusion and with that revelation, He held her tighter-snuggling further into the couch and placing a kiss on her cheek.

Hancock wasn’t ashamed to admit he was glad that Nate was dead now, he only regretted not being able to put the bastard down himself.

Nick Valentine:There had been whispers back when the old Nick was alive and though Sanctuary Hills was a bit out of his jurisdiction, and he was drowning in his own grief with the Eddie Winter case, he’d still heard the rumours. He’d heard about how an ex-military type, a supposed war hero had been brought in for a “Domestic disturbance”. But those were different times and though the old Nicks heart had bled for the poor soul this apparent “hero” was going home to, there was nothing he could legally do and, as it often was the case back then, no charges were brought against the man- the whole thing bar the rumours being swept under the rug.

Nowadays Nick usually felt a sense of accomplishment when putting a person to a case, like things were slotting into place, letting him see the bigger picture. But seeing Sole, eyes red and body shaking as she poured out her past lives grievances to him, he felt tired and restless at once, and angry. Mostly he was angry, though whether that was at Nate for doing it or old Nick for not doing something or at the whole damn system for letting it happen he couldn’t say. What he could do now, though, was be there for her, he could try to help her through it now, and he would, he would do something.

Paladin Danse:He’d noticed early on that Sole couldn’t look him in the eye when he talked to her, how she’d shrink away if he stepped too close to her or moved too quickly. At first he simply thought she was intimidated, as the Brotherhood’s presence in the Commonwealth was new and to be fair a man in full power armour was an intimidating sight if you weren’t used to it. Then she’d done the same with Rhys, then later on with Elder Maxson himself and though it had been odd in the paladins opinion that such a capable woman, a woman who had flung herself into a hoard of ferals to assist strangers without batting an eye, would recoil the moment someone talked to her, yet he found himself making excuses for her, after all, Rhys could be abrasive and Elder Maxson had a presence about himself that took some getting used to. And eventually she did get better, with him at least, not good but better.

When his..Synthetic truth had been revealed, and, despite the situation they were in as she stood between him and certain death,her head held high holding Maxson’s gaze, her voice firm, he felt proud that she’d managed despite the fact such things did not come easy to her.

Things were better between them now, much better in fact - without rank making things awkward they could finally treat each other as equals without favoritism being a problem. It was in one of their rare moments alone that she told him, she told him of Nate and his military presence, of his authoritarianism. Dance had once been sure that he could never hate a man more than he did ghouls and mutants and synths, and later he had been sure he could never hate anyone as much as he hated himself. Now he was certain he’d never hate anyone, living or dead as much as he hated Nate.

Porter Gage:”Nate used to hit me.” she said it in that nonchalant way she said most things, but Gage had been around her long enough to know some of her tells, like the way she set her jaw and squared her shoulders. Still the Overboss, still intimidating, but there was an opening, a vulnerability that only he was privy too, the kind that only came with the trust that who you were talking to wasn’t going to stab you in the back the minute it was bared to them.

He snorted, even the idea of someone trying that shit on the woman standing next too him seamed absurd, there wasn’t a raider in Nuka-world that wouldn’t cower at her feet“ Yeh?, bet if he tried that now you’d splatter ‘im up the wall, there’d be nothin’ left of him, ‘sept pulp!” that got a smile out of her, and from the way her shoulders relaxed he could tell he’d hit the nail on the head, her entire demeanour changing to one that said she owned the place, and he wasn’t going to argue with it, “Fuck him.” he affirmed, nodding his head to really get his point across. “Yeah, fuck him.” her voice was stronger this time, and Gage was sure that any residual anger she had over the subject would be put to good use on their next raid.

Post was getting long, Piper, Preston, Old Longfellow and X6-88 will be added on as a re-blog! ( I just have to proof read them first!)

{EDIT} I’ve just noticed half of Maccreadys has been cut off, I’m taking the rest away and will re-post the whole thing later on the re-blog!

Addendum:I do not have a beta reader and I am dyslexic, I do proof read everything but am bound to make mistakes- and I would like to apologise in advance for any I have missed.

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randomfandomimagine · 4 years

Text

I Still Love You (Jaskier x Reader)

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt

Fandom: The Witcher

Tags: Angst, songfic

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury

Word Count: 3k words

Requested by @caritobbg: Hello! Could you write a ficlet with Jaskier and a Fem!Reader where they are with Geralt in a tavern and, as she saw Jaskier flirt with other women, she was encouraged to sing a song that she would have written (it occurred to me Love of My Life by Queen) and then she runs from there to the woods when she finishes singing it and is attacked by a werewolf. Jaskier goes off to look for her alongside Geralt who was also concerned and had given his friend reasons to realize how she felt about him?❤️

A/N: This is angsty and bittersweet but I quite like how it turned out, hope you like it!

Jaskier x Female Reader

Everything about him seemed absolutely flawless. You were so madly in love with Jaskier that you found even his flaws endearing. For this very reason, you couldn’t help staring at him and admiring his handsome face, and the way his soft brown hair fell over his piercing and beautiful ocean blue eyes, which fondly stared at you.

He seemed to have noticed you were quite absent, because he chuckled and tilted his head at you in an adorable way.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Jaskier asked you, gently nudging you and accompanying the gesture with a bright grin. “Are you tired, love?”

“A bit” You admitted, still lovingly staring at him. “Although it’s nothing that your company can’t fix”

“You’re such a flatterer” He fondly wrinkled his nose, leaning in to tap his finger against your nose. “As if your lovely company isn’t a blessing”

You stared at each other in silence for a moment. Seeing his bright grin stirred something within you, reminding you how beautiful it was and how smitten you were.

“If you don’t mind…” You started, trying to confess what had been eating you inside for such a long time. “I wanted to tell you something, Jaskier”

“I’m all ears, love” He absently leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms and intently listening to you. “What is it?”

“You may know already…” Although you nervously chuckled, you truly hoped he had noticed something. As perceptive as Jaskier could be, he seemed completely oblivious to the nature of your affections. “But the truth is I see you a certain way”

“Uh-huh… go on” He nodded his head, even if his eyes were now focused on something that seemed more interesting to him than you. “Sure, right…”

“I have stopped talking” You told him, even if you knew he wasn’t listening at all.

“You’re absolutely right, Y/N” Jaskier continued to nod his head as though he was catching every word you said, which he clearly wasn’t. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to tend to”

Like moved by an invisible force, the bard quickly scurried off to the other end of the tavern. The murmur that surrounded you filled your quietness, though it was not enough to fill the true void of the silence.

Jaskier had found an attractive blond woman who he started enthusiastically talking to. The mere sight was too painful to stand and so you turned your head away.

He seemed to find her to be better company despite the fact that he had never seen her before. Somehow, she was more enticing than you even if you and Jaskier had known each other for so long now, even if you had traveled together and endured countless hardships with each other.

Your eyes suddenly stung with unshed tears. In an attempt to distract from that woe, you searched Geralt with your gaze. Soon you spotted him sitting at the table still, enjoying his solitude in peace as he calmly drank is ale. For the first time since you started traveling together, you understood why he isolated himself in such a way. It was the only way to avoid getting hurt.

With a will of their own, your eyes searched Jaskier once more. He was dedicating her that smile, the one he usually saved only for you. Or so you thought. You could have sworn you felt how your heart broke, as though it was made out of glass and it shattered into a million pieces, causing the shards to consume you from the inside. At the same time, however, a burning anger erupted inside you. Did he not see how much it hurt you? Did Jaskier not realize how deeply in love you were? Or did he just decide to ignore it and continue courting other women? Whatever the case, you were tired. Tired of waiting for him, of holding on to hope that he might reciprocate someday, that he could love you back.

Forgetting about the pain and trying to hold on to that anger, you walked directly towards him. Not paying mind to the woman he was so bluntly flirting with, you shoved him a little.

“Oi!” He complained, watching you up and down in a mixture between confusion and outrage. “What’s the matter with you, Y/N?”

“I’ll tell you in a way you can finally get it through your thick skull, bard” Even if you were still angry, your voice only held all that pain that you felt inside.

Jaskier frowned sadly, frozen in place even as you took the lute hanging from his back and claimed it as your own. You felt his eyes follow you as you adamantly stood on a table and began strumming the chords, gathering the attention from everyone at the tavern. Geralt’s golden eyes fell on you as well, and you paused as you exchanged a glance with him. Recognizing the resignation and empathy in his eyes, you continued on. Ready to finally pour your heart out to Jaskier, or at least what was left of it.

That song had been hidden for too long, locked in your heart and in your mind. You were never brave enough to bring it out into the world, especially not when the bearer of your affections was unbeknownst to it all. It had been a difficult decision, but you had chosen his definite friendship over a possible romance, but you couldn’t handle the consequences any longer. That romance would never exist. It was but a mirage, an impossible daydream.

Moved by the sorrow that made your chest hurt, you began singing the ballad you had composed, that one which so perfectly explained your feelings as he hadn’t been able to recognize them on his own.

Love of my life, you've hurt me You've broken my heart, and now you leave me

When your eyes met with Jaskier’s, a lump formed in your throat. His saddened frown had only deepened as he intently listened to your every sung word. His face, however, blurred as the tears inevitably arrived to your eyes. In spite of it all, you pushed through and carried on.

Love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me Because you don't know what it means to me Love of my life, don't leave me You've taken my love, and now desert me

It all suddenly became too much. The song was interrupted by your strong sobs and you felt unable to continue. The world became a place too hard for such a hurt girl like you. Shaking your head, you jumped down the table and returned by his side. Your bottom lip trembled as you reached him, and yet you still tried to lift your chin up in pride.

For once, Jaskier was rendered speechless. He observed you in silence, and the distress in his beautiful lively blue eyes somehow was yet another blow to your bleeding heart.

“You’ve broken my heart” You repeated as though the song hadn’t ended, angrily pushing the lute against his chest and facing your back to him.

“Y/N… did you write that?” He finally asked once you did. When he realized you weren’t turning back to him, a sudden urgency arrived to his voice. “Wait, h-hang on!”

His heart wildly raced, bringing a dull ache to his chest with every beat. Jaskier felt guilty and stupid, having been too frivolous to truly understand. You had been trying to tell him something important, and he only got distracted by a pretty face. As if you weren’t beautiful and right in front of him all along.

He blindly followed after you, yet a strong had pushed against his chest to keep him in place. Jaskier tried to pass the witcher by, but Geralt was adamant on intercepting his friend.

“Leave her”

“N-No! She’s upset and-“

“She doesn’t want to talk to you right now, Jaskier”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you really that fucking stupid?”

“What?”

“You really didn’t realize her feelings?”

“Well, now I do… She was trying to tell me but-“

“She’s been trying to tell you ever since she joined us”

“Come now, Geralt… If I were to truly believe every woman I talk to is enamored with me…”

“Yes, but that one really loved you. And she just walked away”

Jaskier froze in place, quitting his attempts to go over the witcher’s block. He gulped, realizing the implications of what Geralt was saying. It made your behavior all the more understandable while at the same time all the more heartbreaking. And it was all his fault.

“Jask… you stupid, stupid man…” He chastised himself under his breath before looking back up to his friend. “We should go after her, should we not?”

Geralt’s expression suddenly shifted, from utterly annoyed to alert. The bard had seen that expression many times, and a nasty feeling arrived to the pit of his stomach.

“W-What?” He uttered in fright. “What is it?”

“The woods” Geralt clenched his jaw as he retrieved both his swords. “It’s filled with werewolves”

“Shit” Before the witcher could say anything else, Jaskier began running.

He ran outside of the tavern, leaving behind his long forgotten female companion. He ran like he had never run in his life, completely ignoring the way his heart hammered against his ribcage or the feeling of not having enough oxygen in his lungs to breathe. Jaskier run as though the most important person in his life was in danger, because she was.

Perhaps he had been too blind or too stupid to realize you were the person he cared for most, but you were. Perhaps he had been completely oblivious to the feelings you harbored for him, but you did nonetheless. And it was his reckless behavior that gave you such spite, caused by him, that threw you to venture into the lion’s den.

As he ran breathlessly, not caring to wait for Geralt, Jaskier realized… he would never forgive himself if something happened to his dear Y/N. _

By the time they arrived into the woods, it was nighttime. The pair had looked for you in many other places, being sure to check quickly in case the worst case scenario was the reality: you had ventured into the dangerous woods on your own, feeling sad and miserable and being more vulnerable to an attack.

Jaskier couldn’t breathe, he could not focus as his mind could only return to you. He heard it just as he immersed further into the woods, with Geralt closely following behind. A woman was screaming, and he shivered at the thought that it was his beloved Y/N, who was in deathly peril.

“Y/N!” The bard yelled back, already moving to go to your rescue.

“Jaskier” Geralt stopped him, pulling back at his doublet. “Wait”

“What?” The aforesaid replied in outrage. “Y/N is out there, probably scared out of her mind right now, and it is all my fault, and you want me to w-“

Another sound interrupted him, one that took his breath away. It had sounded like a wolf howling, but the bard had enough experience thanks to the witcher to realize it was no ordinary wolf. No, that sounded far too strange to be a normal creature.

“A werewolf” Geralt muttered, pulling out his silver sword.

“How can you be so sure?” Jaskier stuttered, intently looking at his friend.

With no need for words, the witcher only pointed a gloved finger upwards. Following that direction, Jaskier realized what he was saying. There was a full moon looming over them, magical and mysterious as well as intimidating, if not for herself, for the creatures that lurked in her name.

“I’ll get the werewolf” Geralt whispered, finally letting go of him. “You circle around it and find Y/N”

Determined, Jaskier nodded his head and stepped away from the place the howling sound had originated from. He was adamant on his mission, as finding you seemed the most important thing he would have to do in his life. He only prayed that you weren’t injured.

Searching for any signs of your presence, he moved slowly, too afraid to miss any of the signs that you might be close by. The dry leaves crunched beneath his boots, yet no sound seemed loud enough to overpower that of his racing heart and his erratic breathing. His hands nervously closed and opened as his fingers nervously fidgeted.

“No…” Jaskier suddenly felt dizzy when he spotted something crimson staining the leaves. “Y/N?”

They were only a few droplets of blood, but it was more than enough to have Jaskier stop in his tracks and bend over weakly. His stomach churned, his mind was racing with terrible thoughts of what could have happened to you.

“Y/N? God, I hope you’re alright” He whispered. “Where are you, love?”

Just as he took another step, something caught his attention. A whimpering noise sounded to his right, and so he didn’t think twice to head in that direction. What he found was a figure, huddled behind a tree trunk, hiding her face on her knees and bawling her eyes out.

“Y/N!” Jaskier threw himself to his knees, gently laying a hand atop your shoulder.

“No!” You moved away from his touch, waving your hands in the air as though trying to swat him off you. “Don’t hurt me, please!”

“It’s me! It’s me, love, it’s Jaskier!”

When you dared look up, he paused. You were still breathing rapidly, tears rolling down your cheeks as your bawling started coming to a halt.

“T-The werewolf!”

“It’s alright, Geralt’s gone and get it”

The air turned cold as you grew silent. Jaskier watched you in anguish, wanting to ask if you were alright but nearly fearing he had lost the right to even ask that. It was his fault that you were there on the first place. Bearing heavy thoughts of your own, you remained quiet. You locked eyes with Jaskier as contradictory feelings overwhelmed you.

Love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me Because you don't know what it means to me You will remember, when this is blown over And everything's all by the way When I grow older, I will be there at your side To remind you how I still love you

Back, hurry back, please bring it back home to me Because you don't know what it means to me

“I’m sorry…” He whispered, even though his voice came out strangled and it was barely audible. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I’m-“

Much to his astonishment, you threw yourself to him. Your arms urgently wrapped around his neck as you cowered into his shoulder. All possible unwell within you both seemed to vanish as you collided in an urgent embrace.

“Oh, thank the gods I found you…” Jaskier sighed in relief, cradling your head as he held you tightly against him. “Are you hurt? I saw…”

“It scratched me…” You pulled away, holding your arm up to show him the garments torn to shreds and the superficial wound still pouring blood. “But it didn’t bite me”

“Thank the heavens…” He embraced you again, being taken by such relief that he now experienced an entire different kind of dizziness as he gingerly pressed your frame against his chest. “I’m so sorry, love, none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been so bloody stupid”

You were silent as you let him hold you. While your fresh wound was a duller ache, your head hurt as your love for Jaskier as well as your resentment for his demeanor fought for dominance within you.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” He uttered, knowing how to interpret your silence. “I don’t blame you, honestly, I would-“

“Now you know” You interrupted him, realizing he was about to ramble as he usually did. “What do you have to say about it?”

“Yes, it is absolutely my bad” Jaskier vehemently nodded his head. “Had I realized what your true feelings were, I could have saved you so much pain and… I suppose I just didn’t see the signs that you-“

“Jaskier” You only called him, bearing unshed tears in your glassy eyes.

“I don’t know” He honestly replied, feeling more genuine and vulnerable than you had ever seen him. “I don’t know if I love you back, I just know that I care about you”

“I still love you…” You stuttered, letting out a nervous chuckle to hide the fact that your tears had overflown and were now rolling down your face once more.

“And I… I love you too, but… I don’t know in which way I love you, I just know I was terrified out of my mind when you ran away” He sighed, passing a nervous hand through his thick brown hair. “I might realize I hold romantic feelings for you soon or I might not, but… I want you to know that you hold a special place in my heart one way or the other”

Not knowing what to do or say, you only nodded your head. Feeling uncomfortable, you instead tried to stand up and Jaskier didn’t lose one second to help you to your feet.

“I promise you one thing, though” He tenderly held your hand. “I won’t ever allow myself to hurt you like this ever again”

“Okay…” You could only mutter, still recovering from the pain that day held for you.

“Come here, love” Jaskier wrapped his arms around you a third time, this time never wanting to let you go. He clung on to you, just like you were. Perhaps you loved each other in different ways, and whether that would change or not, you had each other at the moment.

The bard looked up when he thought he heard something. In the distance, he spotted Geralt standing there, carrying the blood stained sword. The two looked at each other as they were facing one another, and nodded their heads. They didn’t say anything, only resigning themselves to the way things ended. There was nothing to say anymore after all.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @kingniazx / @greeniemoon / @they-call-me-thewildrose / @jasper-the-stan / @v3nusc3 / @breezyfails / @squirrel-saloli / @saveatruckrideoptimusprime / @ultracolorfulnerdcollection / @creativemayhems / @bands-messed-me-up / @pantrashtic / @buckyness-intensifies / @drunkonbuckybarnes / @kkcline123 / @designfailure56 / @this-is-whump-dammit / @anderfelll-s / @x-joie-x / @waitingtobeimpressed / @legallyblindgamer727 / @goldenhoney-cas / @bravelittlesunflower / @lilyevans1 / @imaginealllthefandoms // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

#rfi writings #ficlet #jaskier x reader #the witcher #the witcher ficlet #witcher #witcher ficlet #jaskier #geralt #geralt ficlet #geralt of rivia #reader insert #requested

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pl-panda · 4 years

Text

Damienette arranged marriage: part 26

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 part 14 part 15

part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

part 25

Damienette arranged marriage: part 26

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“Hold still girl if you want to see your friend and yourself walk out of here alive!” Mayura threatened her. To enforce the point made by his partner, Hawkmoth pressed the blade closer, drawing some blood. A single droplet traveled along the edge and hit the floor. The heroine felt her whole body go stiff with fear. She silently accepted her fate when suddenly there was an ear-piercing cry of pain behind her. The blade, together with hand that was holding it, fell to the ground. Hawkmoth stumbled holding the stump that used to be his hand. Behind him Damian wiped the blood from his blade.

“Leave. My Wife. Alone!” He barked and turned to Mayura. “The game is over.”

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Hawkmoth was really glad that his miraculous stopped the bleeding immediately. But at the same time the pain was almost making him see stars. So she married a batbrat…

Mayura immediately let Luka go and rushed to Hawkmoth to help him. She tried to lift him, but she was stopped when a cold blade was pressed to her neck.

“I wouldn’t try it. He will need immediate medical attention once his transformation wears off.” Robin said through the gritted teeth. “Try not to join that list.”

Marinette was still in shock of the events that just occured, but she grabbed her yo-yo and tossed it up. “Miraculous Ladybug!” A swarm of magical energy traveled everywhere around and fixed everything, including Hawkmoth’s hand, but he was still without his weapon while Mayura was at the sword’s pointy end. The heroine walked to the defeated pain. “Gabriel Agreste, Nathalie Sanscoeur, As the Great Guardian of Miraculous I hereby renounce your right to miraculous you have abused.” With that, she plucked their jewels away. The two Kwami were ejected from them and looked at the girl with clear relief. She then turned away to collect other miraculous when suddenly a knife went through her. Adrien was standing there with fury in his eyes.

“You’ve chosen some random american hero over me?! What does he have that I don’t!? You are a monster!” He spat at the girl. He was about to grab her miraculous when a chakram hit him and pushed him back. He stumbled and fell on the ground. Damian was about to rush him and gutter him open, but Nathalie used the distraction to tackle the hero and looked at the blond boy.

“Run! Run and don’t look back!” She shouted and turned back to the wrestle match against Robin. She was winning until other heroes didn’t come at her aid. Adrien grabbed the Butterfly and Peacock miraculous and run as fast as he could. He jumped into the platform and traveled to the underground compound. Spoiler was about to jump after him, but she turned her attention to where Ladybug laid.

Marinette had a knife going through her chest, about right where her heart was. Damian punched Nathalie hard enough for her to get knocked out cold and run to his wife.

“Angel! Can you hear me?!” He held her close.

“Dami…” She was too weak to actually say his full name. “Did… did…”

“You did it angel!” He cried loudly. “Hawkmoth and Mayura are both no more! Everything is going to be fine.”

“I… thank… you…” She managed to spit out. While she was not bleeding, having a pierced heart would still kill her slowly. He also suspected her lungs were damaged given her irregular breath and troubles with speaking.

“Save your strength. The help is on the way I am sure.” He tried to comfort her. The certainty in his voice almost convinced him that it will be okay.

“The t-time… with you…” She had to make a break in the middle of the sentence, but she grabbed his hand tighter. “was best… in my life…” She pressed his hand to her stomach tighter.

“And we will have more time together angel. Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me damn it!” He cried.

Gabriel took advantage of the commotion and tried to sneak away, but the Gorilla stepped in his way. “Nuh Nuh.” He grumbled while shaking his head before he hit his former boss on the head like a whack-a-mole game.

Finally, the transformation surrendered and Tikki was forcefully expelled from the earrings. Blood started to fall from the wound.

“Oh Marinette! I am so sorry! I…” The kwami moaned.

Damian stopped speaking. He just looked at his wife. She was so little, smaller than even him. He contemplated pulling the knife, but it would be pointless.

“Can you… Can you heal her?” Sabine asked the Kwami.

“I don’t know. Oh Marinette!” Small goddess of creation nuzzled into the neck of now passed out girl. The pulse was still there, but it was getting weaker with each passing second.

Damian took off his mask. Screw secrecy! He looked at the girl he came to adore and tightened his grip on his hand. “Don’t leave me habibti. Please don’t do it…” A single tear fell from his eye, mixing with the blood around her heart. Then the next one. And another. He allowed his emotions to surface. He didn’t care who saw what. It was his moment, his wife, his damn business and no one’s else.

Tikki saw the pain and suffering and cursed. Cursed the laws, cursed the balance, cursed her own limitations. She was the most powerful kwami... scratch that, most powerful thing in existence. She created this whole damn world. Marinette was her greatest companion and true friend. She would not watch her Ladybug pass away so young. The Kwami floated above the girl and focused her energy. An orb of white formed around her and she launched it on Marinette. As the energy connected with her, the knife was destroyed and wound closed immediately. There was a flash of green light for just a moment, but it was quenched with another green light that came from where Damian’s tears still remained.

There was also another pulse of energy. This one was much bigger and came from near the ring of Black Cat where Plagg just awoke after he was exhausted. Doing evil was much more tiring for Kwami. And him potentially hurting Tikki like that made the lazy cat pass out for some time. Now he sensed the balance shifting. He acted almost on instinct, but retained enough awareness to change one thing. This pulse hit everyone in the room, but it looked Like Gabriel and Nathalie got the worst of it.

Marinette opened her eyes and graped for air, looking at Damian confused. “W-What… What just happened.”

“You are alive!” He shouted and pulled her in deep hug. She was confused at first, but embraced her husband as well.

“Marinette! You are healed…” Sabine lost her voice. “Thank you Tikki. Thank you so very much. You can have any sweets you want whenever you want!” She shouted before jumping to pull both Damian and Marinette into embrace.

“That is indeed a great news to see Mari-hime well, but what exactly happened.” Kagami asked, voicing what everyone thought.

“I can answer that.” Plagg floated closer to them while carrying his own ring. “When Tikki used her power to heal Marinette, she disturbed the balance. Normally, it would require someone else to surrender his life force to heal her.” It was unlike the Kwami of destruction to speak in such academic tone, but most seemed to ignore this fact for now. “But since she was still alive and I was conscious I instead took some of the life energy from everyone. For next few weeks, maybe months I would advise you to avoid strenuous activities.”

“Since when do you know the word ‘strenuous’ Plagg?” Tikki giggled while looking at the other Kwami.

“I have other interests than eating cheese!” He shouted. “Besides this mogger hid my cheese behind encyclopedia and I read it while eating at night.” He murmured. Tikki would have probably laughed if not the implications behind this. She floated to her companion and pulled him in a hug. There were no words spoken, only the two of them comforting one another after so much things happened in such a short (for a Kwami) time.

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Next week was hard. The defeat of Hawkmoth caused severe backlash. The public swarmed Ladybug wherever she went and questioned her about details. The chaos in the city caused by the news was close to riots. People were overly ecstatic. On the bright side, the school was canceled for the time of celebrations.

Before the heroes managed to turn their attention to Adrien he was long gone. He also wired all the funds from his father’s account somewhere. It was clear that the older Agreste had safety mechanisms in place just in case something like this happened.

Marinette didn’t care. She would later, but for now she was just happy that she could spend some time with Damian. Since the time she almost died, the two were inseparable. Even crowbar would not help here, so back off Jason!

The trip to America came sooner than expected. Marinette’s flight left on Monday, but Damian had to return by Saturday to have everything prepared. She wanted to go with him, but Madame Bustier firmly protested, saying that all students must travel with her because she is class representative and some other utter bullshit (Damian’s words).

Still, the bluenette came to the airport to say goodbye. It was about five in the morning and they were in private longue while waiting for the jet to be ready. Marinette kept forgetting that she was married into the richest family in the world. Then again, she did not care. Damian would mean no less to her if he was broke.

“It’s only two days, but I will miss you” Marinette said to him when the message came that everything was set.

“Me too habibti.” He said while looking into her blueberry eyes.

“I… Thank you. For everything.” She smiled. “If I didn’t meet you, I would probably still be fighting a losing war against Hawkmoth.”

“It was nothing.” He shrugged it off. “I did what I had to. To keep you safe I would do more.” He paused for a moment, taking another look in her beautiful eyes. She also starred back at him, the two whirlpools of emerald were mesmerizing in the morning light. They were really mesmerizing at any time of the day or night. “Marinette… Before I go. There is one more thing I wanted to tell you. The last months I spent with you were amazing.” He forced himself not to close. Damian decided that he would do it today and he would. No matter how embarrassed he was feeling right now. There was only the two of them and he turned all the cameras into loop so his family could not hack them. “For the first time I could really be myself. I am grateful for that.”

Marinette looked at him funny. “Damian? What are you…” She didn’t finish the question because he interrupted her.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng Al Ghoul Wayne. I think I love you. No. I know I love you.” He said with an emotionless expression. It took every bit of his willpower not to run away.

She blinked. Then she blinked again. The weight of this words almost crushed her. Suddenly her legs felt weak. She tried to avoid his gaze while her mind was getting overheated. But then the courage she always showed as Ladybug filled her. She straightened up and looked him deep in his eyes again. “Damian Al Ghoul Wayne… I love you too.” She said. there was a relaxed smile on her face, but the most important part were her eyes. Damian saw only one thing in them. Love. He never saw anything like that before, but he knew that this was love in purest form.

He grabbed her in the waist and looked at her with question. For a moment, she hesitated, understanding where this was going, but then she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled himself closer. For a moment their faces were just inch apart. This was her last chance to back away. Yet instead, she closed the distance between their lips.

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THE END

KONIEC

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Taglist (sorry if I missed you)@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman @tired-butterfly @shizukiryuu @floralfi @imanerddealwith @northernbluetongue @krispydefendorpolice @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @bluesoulblueheart @theatreandcomicfreak @disneyfoxuniverse @mindfulmagics @alwaysnumberonetruth @nyaabinch @jardimazul @lenamau @rosep16 @dramatic-squirrel @sonif50 @daminett4life @lulutheawkwardess @weird-pale-blonde-person @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @mochegato @moonlightstar64 @dragonflyswing @silverwhiteraven @shamefullove @magic-miraculous @valeks-princess @heaven428 @mlbchaosqueen @winter-gardenflower @spicybelladonna @emo-elaine13 @vetilora @karukofox21 @my-name-is-michell @sturchling @lokiifriggasonn @redscarlet95 @melicmusicmagic @interobanginyourmom @the-fusionist @razzledazzle247 @miss-mysterys-blog @darkthunder1589 @i-is-mysterious @catthhay @the-one-woman-army @zestyzealot @dahjokester @write-for-your-life2 @mermaidreject @peachedpocky @sassakitty @dahjokester @crazylittlemunchkin @novicevoice @justafanwarrior @eliza-bitch @schrodingers25 @tired-butterfly @toodaloo-kangaroo @redscarlet95 @miukiiu @sassakitty @corabeth11 @vixen-uchiha @lilypos03

#miraculous lb #miraculous ladybug #Miraculous!Sabine #fanfiction #fanfic #tiger miraculous #Superhero!Sabine #maribat #maribat au #marinette x damian #arranged marriage au #maridami #damienette #batman #mlb #league of assassins #order of the guardians #mlb x dc

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sailorgreywolf-german · 3 years

Text

Our Secret

Ship: RusPru

Summary: A private carriage ride results in a few secrets when longing becomes action.

Words: 2.7K

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There was a blanket of snow outside the windows, covering the countryside and making it seem perfectly pristine. They were somewhere between Moscow and Petersburg, and if Russia thought about it long enough he would have been able to identify the place.

But, he was not interested in that given that his closest ally was the only other person in the carriage. Prussia was sitting right next to him, and their legs were touching under the thick fur covering their laps.

It was the depth of the winter, and Russia could have put up with the temperature. His blood ran colder than most, and his natural temperature was comfortable to him. But he knew that Prussia did not share that particular aptitude, so he had made sure that there were enough blankets.

The other man seemed perfectly content and warm, which had been the goal. Prussia was still wearing his thick, fur lined jacket. Like everything he owned, it was a handsome dark blue. Russia sometimes imagined that Prussia had full rooms of nothing but blue cloth, and it amused him.

The blanket had also been a useful way for him to convince Prussia to sit next to him. He had hoped that offering to put fur over both of them would get Prussia to choose closeness, and he had still been surprised when the other agreed to it.

It had been a shock when Prussia accepted his proposition that they share a carriage on this trip. He had felt that it was going to be a step too far in their relationship, even with the years that they had known each other and been close.

It had been over a half century since they had cemented their relationship in the wake of the Napoleonic wars, and he still felt like he had to be careful when he made requests. There were things that he wanted, but he felt like it would be a terrible mistake to voice them.

He was not certain what exceptional courage had possessed him to ask for the chance to be alone together for a long journey, but it seemed to carry over. He had been bold enough to ask for Prussia to sit next to him.

He was allowing himself to indulge in this closeness, and enjoying the way their legs were pressed against each other. It seemed that the snow and the privacy was tempting him to be bold. He had a long ride across silent snow to decide if he wanted to ask for more. If he did, then no one but the driver would know. It was almost a perfect solitude to finally ask for something he had craved for years.

The thought occurred to him that Prussia may have chosen to be alone with him because he wanted it too. But that seemed far too much like hopefully thinking.

Russia glanced at his companion, trying to figure out what his intention was. As ever, his face was impeccably hard to read. Prussia had a book on his lap, which he had brought with him to read on the trip.

He had not looked up from it while Russia contemplated, and he seemed to be fully engrossed in what he was doing. In the quiet, one could easily assume that he did not care about the fact that they were alone together. But, Russia was not so easily fooled. He was certain that Prussia had thought through all the implications.

He decided to test the waters, and said, “I am glad to have your company, Gilbert.” Prussia closed the book with a crisp snap. He looked up at Russia and said, “Then I won’t be so dull. I wanted to speak to you anyway.”

Russia heard a promising undertone in the words, which intrigued him. It seemed that he was right about there being some other intention to this solitary ride together. He wondered if it was political, or if he had the luck for it to be something else. Had their closeness possibly started to pay dividends?

In his heart, he felt that it must be political. But, he decided that it was better not to think of it as a lost cause yet. He replied, “I guess now I know why you accepted this ride with me. What do you want to talk about?”

Prussia nodded subtly, and responded, “I would rather that this conversation really be private, and the walls have ears in Petersburg. You won’t deny that.”

Russia chuckled, because he knew that Prussia was right. The tsars had never trusted even their allies, and he was sure that there was a book somewhere with exactly what Prussia said during the negotiations written down in detail.

Russia replied, “I don’t deny it. But what is so important that the tsar should not know?”

He was less upset than intrigued. If Prussia was going to tell him a secret, he was flattered. If it was a more personal confession, then he was glad that it would really be private.

Prussia smiled at him, and it made Russia feel slightly more emboldened. The only thing staying his hand was the distance to Petersburg. If things went badly, then there would be a long stretch of awkward silence that he was not prepared for. On a political level, it might even imperil the relationship with Prussia that he held so dear, though he doubted Prussia would be one to take it that far over a sexual rebuff.

Prussia answered the question, “It is not that I do not trust your emperor, but this is a closely guarded secret. Graf von Bismarck said that I was not to tell anyone yet. I wouldn’t want him to find out that the tsar knows.”

He paused a moment and gave Russia a truly seductive look of conspiracy, like he was about to be disobedient and he relished in it. Then he licked his lips and continued, “But I trust you, and I think you should know before it happens. I think you can keep one secret within this carriage.”

Russia was truly, deeply excited by the prospect that Prussia was about to go against his Iron Duke for him. It felt deeply intimate to be so deeply in Prussia’s trust. If anything, it gave him further motivation to make his proposition once the secret was divulged.

He replied shortly, “No one will know what you tell me. I promise.” Prussia nodded like he was deeply reassured by the promise. Then he said, “I am planning to go to war with Denmark when they inevitably lay claim to our duchies. The German Confederation will make the declaration, but it is my war.”

Russia could not pretend that he was surprised, because he had seen the developments brewing like storm clouds on the horizon. But he was a little shocked to hear how easily Prussia talked about starting a war.

He had the calm confidence of a man who knew that he was prepared for confrontation. Russia found himself glad that this formidable man was his ally, and not someone he had to confront on the battlefield. Bismarck's machinations seemed very well planned.

He replied, “I thank you for telling me, but I did guess that it would happen. If you are worried that I will intervene, then I can reassure you that I won’t.” Prussia gave him another smile, this time with a hint of respect. Then he continued, “If I thought you would take anyone’s side but mine, I wouldn’t be telling you. But that isn’t all I wanted to tell you.”

He took a moment to leave a long, intriguing silence before saying, “Once I have dealt with him, I plan to usurp Roderich in the German confederation."

That piece of information was a fantastic insight that Russia had not expected. He had not expected the power structure within the German Confederation to change. It would certainly be beneficial for him to have a certain ally in a position of power, and for Austria to be weakened.

From the perspective of politics, Russia could understand why this was very good news for him. But, he wouldn't help but feel bored and slightly disappointed. He had hoped for something more personal, and it was frustrating to hear politics as usual.

He tried not to let his irritation be obvious in his voice as he said, “Is that why you wanted to be alone with me? So you could tell me that you are planning a coup against Austria?”

Prussia’s smile fell slightly, and Russia was certain that he had let his irritation show. The other replied, “Well, yes, because I wanted you to know, and I wanted to have your support.” He sounded like he had been expected a better reaction. Russia decided that he at least owed him that affirmation, and said, "Of course I will support you.”

Prussia was momentarily silent, before he raised a quizzical eyebrow and said, “And why don't you tell me why you asked to be alone with me? You must have wanted something too.”

Russia could think of so many excuses for why he had asked, but in the moment he felt brave enough to be honest. He didn’t want to pretend that he had anything important to discuss. He would much rather be physical.

He laid one of his hands on Prussia’s thigh under the blanket. His heart beat a little faster already at the contact and the anticipation. He swallowed any anxiety and said, “I wanted to ask if I could touch you.”

He saw Prussia’s ears turn a delicate shade of pink. How cute his blush was. How uncharacteristically cute for a military man.

Prussia answered, and his voice sounded like it was sticking in his throat, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Russia felt his anxiety completely subside. Something stronger, and more dominant in his mind seemed to know what to do. If he was assertive, then he could get what he craved.

He slid his hand up Prussia’s inner thigh. As he did so, he leaned in and said, “Does this make it clearer? Or do I have to say that I want you carnally?”

He was saying the words in Prussia's ear, which meant that he was close enough to hear the sensual groan that escaped the man's lips. It stirred the arousal in his gut.

Prussia sounded much less controlled when he said, “Hnnn…Vanya, wait.” Russia didn’t remove his hand, but he did meet Prussia's eyes and said, “What is it?"

There was the most beautiful dark red blush in Prussia’s cheeks which made Russia certain that his advances were working. He had never guessed how easily the pale skin showed arousal.

Prussia drew in a breath and said, “This has nothing to do with you supporting me, right?” Russia leaned even closer, so that his lips were almost touching Prussia’s ear, and he said, “No. Shut up about politics. Now.”

He felt a shiver go through Prussia’s leg in response to the commanding tone. It made him smirk, and want to see how Prussia would react to a kiss on his neck.

Prussia met Russia’s eyes, and held his gaze for a long second. His eyes were full of desire, which Russia longed for him to act on.

Then Prussia leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

It was surprisingly sloppy for such a careful man. Between kisses, Prussia said, breathlessly, “Do you have any idea how long I have wanted this?”

Russia put a hand on his face and guided his face into another, deeper kiss. Prussia tasted better than he imagined, especially when he slipped his tongue into his mouth.

When Russia broke the kiss, he replied, “Not nearly long as I have.”

It felt like a dam had broken for both of them, and they were both acting on a long held desire. It was almost frenetic.

Prussia groaned as Russia kissed him again, this time on the neck. The sound was glorious, and Russia wanted to hear it over and over again. The book hit the floor with dull thud as Russia pulled him into his lap.

Prussia said, between little moans, “Don’t stop. Don't you dare stop.” It sounded more like a plea than a command.

Russia chuckled and said, “Be a good boy and I won’t.” Prussia responded so quickly that it seemed like an instinct, “Yes sir.”

Russia was surprised by how thrilling it was to hear those words. It felt intoxicating that the other was giving him such control. He was free to take what he wanted, and the next thing he wanted was to see Prussia naked.

He started on the jacket. The buttons were slippery in his fingers, and they were even harder while he was occupied leaving kisses down Prussia's pale neck.

He finally managed to get the jacket off, only to be confronted by a double-breasted uniform. He growled.

Too many fucking buttons.

Russia impatiently ripped open the uniform far enough that he could have access the man’s collar bone. Buttons clattered across the carriage.

There were pale scars across Prussia’s skin, marks from hundreds of years of battle. Russia thought about stopping to touch them, but his lust was burning far too hot. He needed to touch Prussia. He needed to have him.

He pressed Prussia firmly against the side of the carriage, which earned him an adorable whine. Given such provocation, he did not waste anymore time.

He pressed his whole body against Prussia, and silenced his moans by kissing him deeply again. One of Prussia’s hands grabbed a handful of Russia’s hair and seemed to be trying to urge him to kiss even deeper.

As he began to work off Prussia’s pants, the other man arched his back.

His other hand failed to find purchase on the side of the carriage. It pushed back one of the curtains, and left streaks on the steamed window.

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

Russia was holding Prussia against his chest enjoying the afterglow. He still felt shocked that his offer had worked so well. All the nightmare scenarios he had imagined over the years had come to nothing.

Prussia chuckled and said, “I can’t believe that we just did that. I’m not supposed to sleep with my allies.” Russia pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and said, “It has nothing to do with that. I have wanted to do that for at least two hundred years.”

Prussia ran a finger in a circle on the back of Russia’s hand, which was placed protectively on his midriff. He said, “I know that. I’ve wanted you for a while too.”

A slight crease appeared between his eyebrows like he was thinking about something troubling. Russia had a sinking feeling that the conversation was about to return to politics in earnest.

Like clockwork, Prussia said, “But many people will think that I just paid for your neutrality if they know what we did. Especially with the war I am about to start.”

Russia was deeply troubled by the thought as well. He would like to proclaim his love from the rooftops, but it was not so easy. He said, “Are you about to ask me to keep this a secret?”

Prussia nodded, and Russia couldn’t help but feel deeply disappointed. He had hoped for more than a solitary fling in secrecy. Prussia looked crestfallen when he said, “We must for both of our sakes.”

Russia sighed, and said, “I can do that on one condition.” Prussia chuckled like he knew that the condition would not be anything difficult. He said, “And what is that?”

Russia kissed him on the forehead again and replied, “This cannot be the last time we do this.” Prussia gave him a smile and said, “After what you just did, I would be quite sad if this was the last time.”

He tilted his head far enough back that Russia could easily kiss him on the lips. Russia took the invitation and kissed him again. He was certain that he would never get tired of kissing the man. He had permission to, and he would gladly do nothing but kiss and cuddle until they reached their destination.

But, Prussia said, breaking the kiss, “How long do you think it will be before we get there?” Russia answered, “A couple of hours. Why do you ask?”

He half-hoped that the man was going to ask for another round. Prussia smirked and said, “I have to sew those buttons back on before we get there.”

#hws prussia #hws russia #ruspru #this was really just indulgent #the idea was originally for an event #but I've been so behind on the writing

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star-birthmark · 4 years

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Better: Formaggio x Reader x Mista (18+)

To that one anon that asked, “Uwu if you could throw us some more of that juicy formaggio and mista being in love with the same s/o it would be muy greato” It’s finally done, the NSFW part 2 to my Formaggio x Reader x Mista fic . It took me a while, but it is finally done. This is my first not sfw post on this blog, so go easy on me everyone!

CWs: drinking, dirty talk, slight degradation, threesome, slight cucking (lmk If I should add any other tags)

Without further ado: Better (NSFW) (6k words)

You had a strange relationship going within Passione, two men at once. One of them, Mista, a teammate of yours in Bruno’s gang. The other, Formaggio, a supposed “rival” of yours from La Squadra. Though you figured things were going smoothly enough, both men had certain complaints about the arrangement. Formaggio, not content to be your little secret, wanted to claim you for himself and himself alone. Mista, younger than both you and the older mafioso, still felt inadequate against his male companion. One fateful night, the three of you were spending time together, and things soon escalate. Catching you and Formaggio together, Mista embarrassingly asks the older soldato for advice on how to please you... Together, the two of them give you the rough, degrading night that you had long hoped for.

- - -

Formaggio leaned back in his chair, staring up at the night sky. He reached over for the bottle resting on the table nearby, taking a sip of the drink and stared out to his view of Naples. It was his week off, the week Risotto gives all his men, so the assassins can clear their heads from the mafia, and this week happened to be his. He was spending his evening alone sitting on his apartment’s balcony. Trying to forget about work, the young man lounged in a warm red crew neck and sweatpants. It was a perfect night to relax, spend some time unwinding, and mess around with something. Formaggio wiped his mouth after taking a sip and frowned. A perfect night, except that you weren’t there with him. And he missed you, but you were out with Mista that night.

His phone rang from inside the house, and he rushed to pick it up. Prosciutto was on the other end of the line, quick to start speaking, as usual.

“Hey man. I know it’s your week off but the group’s having a poker night. Melone got a little extra from a recent hit and he’s feeling lucky enough to bet it. You in?”

Formaggio shook his head. “Nah… I’m watching the game with (y/n) tonight.”

“Is that Guido guy gonna be there?”

Little Feet’s stand user huffed, not wanting to be reminded of that. “Yeah… he will.”

When Formaggio had initially agreed with Guido Mista that the two of them would “share” you, he didn’t quite realize that agreement’s implications. He hadn’t realized that “sharing” meant you would still be dating Mista, meanwhile he’d be regulated to your secret “side piece”. It was frustrating, especially given the fact that you dated him first, and the fact that he was forced to agree with this arrangement because you’d hate for your precious Capo, Bruno Buccellati, to find out you were in bed with a member of La Squadra. It wasn’t fair. Formaggio had you first, and how he was regulated to the sidelines as your little skeleton in the closet.

The whole situation would be so much easier if he actually hated Mista, then he could just kill him, but he didn’t. Ever since meeting him, the two mafiosos had become incredibly close friends, even going so far as to spend time together without you even being there. They both knew that if it came down to it, they’d be willing to kill each other, but for now, they enjoyed each other’s company. Formaggio wanted to hate Mista so badly, but he couldn’t ignore the smile that came to your face whenever you looked at him while the three of you were hanging out. He supposed he should take it as a compliment, in a sick kind of way. He and Mista were very similar in personality. And since Mista was two years younger than you and Formaggio, the younger soldato often asked the older for advice on how to better survive in the mafia. So perhaps, in that way, Formaggio should feel complimented that you’re so taken by someone so similar to him. But it wasn’t him specifically, though, and that ate him up inside. Formaggio stood up from his chair and got ready to drive over to your place.

He missed you. He missed calling you his. He didn’t like that the only reason he was allowed to sleep with you was that Mista was a chill guy that happened to be cool with it. He was the superior mafioso and he wanted to claim you for himself.

Good thing he’d soon get his chance.

- - - -

The three of you had been planning a night together for a few weeks now. Just a chill night spent together, watching a soccer match, a couple of drinks between you all and nothing intense. Formaggio was finally on his week off from La Squadra, Mista was open for the night and you were just happy to see them both in the same room. You knew perfectly well how odd your situation was, to simultaneously be with two mafia men, one a teammate of yours and the other a supposed “rival”.

But you’ve fallen in love with Mista and fallen back in love with Formaggio, and you were incredibly grateful that the two of them liked each other. The only issue that arose was with the mafia itself. Bruno knew how dangerous La Squadra di Esecuzioni could be, and both you and Mista knew that Bruno shouldn’t find out about your little outings with Formaggio.

Thus, even if the assassin didn’t love the idea, you decided it would be best to continue dating Mista, and Formaggio would be your little secret. Though, you couldn’t help but want it to more than that. The Formaggio you used to date back in the day, paled in comparison to the man that you spent time with now. He was stronger, more confident and assertive, and well… hotter. You could tell how much he hated being your side piece while Mista was your main, but you didn’t want to lose either’s company.

You heard a car horn blast near your building and looked out the window at the sound, seeing Formaggio’s car parked near your front door. Rushing out, you entered the car. Formaggio gave you an up and down and smirked.

“You’re looking good, baby.” You turned over to him with a smile.

“You think so?”

Formaggio grinned, placing a hand on your upper leg and giving you a teasing squeeze there.

“I know so, babe.”

You gave him your own flirtatious giggle. You knew it was odd to have two “boy toys” as Mista called it, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Are you excited about tonight?” You asked your driving companion, and his hand went further up your leg.

“Yeah… should be fun. Napoli’s playing Roma. Should be an exciting game.”

“Too bad Mista’s rooting for Napoli though… only the smart ones root for Roma.”

“Well you and I grew up together in Roma, dolcezza, don’t forget.”

Formaggio grinned, giving your inner thigh a teasing pinch, before he suavely took your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it romantically. You rolled your eyes at him, slapping him on the arm.

“Nothing funny tonight alright? I just want it to be chill, the three of us.”

You watched as Formaggio’s mood visually soured as he nodded and made a sharp turn onto a new street.

“Yeah yeah, the three of us… Why? Did Mista say he wanted that?”

You look at him confused. “No… I want that.”

Formaggio gave you a quick glance and you soon realized what he meant. You shook your head, giving him an annoyed huff. Why did he have to act like such a baby?

“Oh dio mio, are you still on about this whole thing?”

Formaggio gripped on tighter to the steering wheel. “Yeah… I am. I had you first.”

You gritted your teeth, angry with him. “Oh, you had me first huh? So? Mista was around when you weren’t. Moron, I’m not some object. I’m a human being you know?”

However, your face softened away its annoyance when you saw how genuinely upset Formaggio was, even if he wasn’t showing it outright. You knew he didn’t like being hidden away like this. You sighed, a sad smile on your face.

“Oh… Formi… caro, cuore mio…”

Formaggio gave you a stabbing glance. “Stop it with the pet names (y/n).”

You saw right through that toughness. “You know you still have a special place in my heart amore… No one can change that. This whole thing is just to save face alright? I joined Passione to find you, and Mista was there for me… I thought you were dead. But I still love you too. I love you both…”

Formaggio gulped. “Why can’t you transfer to La Squadra? Your stand would be better used there anyway.”

“Formaggio, you know that’s not how that works. And besides, Mista won’t give me up that easily.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smile on your face. Formaggio shook his head, a low chuckle taking over him. He couldn’t stay mad at you, his own emotional Achilles heel. You were just too important to him.

“If I were Mista, I wouldn’t give you up either. I’m not giving up on this though.”

Finally, the car pulled up in front of Mista’s place, the chosen location for the three of you for that night. You often rotated the three apartments for your hangouts, and this night fell on Mista to host. You and Formaggio stopped right before Mista’s front door, the assassin hesitating to knock. Your hands were full from holding things for the night, so you couldn’t knock either. Formaggio looked over his shoulder back at you and you shrugged.

“Formi, knock already will you? My hands are starting to hur-”

Formaggio cut you off by turning to you and planting a deep, passionate kiss on you. You let out a surprised whimper as the young man took your face in his hands. You had expected a normal, quick, loving kiss from him, just a show of affection before keeping it more platonic for the evening. But this was far from sweet and loving, it was needier, more desperate. Formaggio moved his hand down to the small of your back and pulled you flush against him. It was almost as if he only wanted you to think of him for that moment. He finally broke the kiss briefly, letting you breathe. You looked up at him, eyes hazy.

“Umm… uh... Dante I-”

Formaggio cut you off again with another kiss, smirking to himself. You only addressed him by his real name when you were super infatuated by his actions. When it felt like you two were back in Rome together, just normal people. He must be doing a real number on you with this kiss. But before you could drop your things and kiss back more forcefully, Formaggio let you go and quickly knocked on Mista’s door, leaving you bright red in the face as you straighten yourself out.

Mista opened the door, incredibly excited to see you two. You’d been gone on a mission for the past week and he hadn’t gotten a chance to spend time with you, and he was antsy about it. Being younger than both you and Formaggio, he felt that he needed to prove himself to you both, given that he was a sort of addition to your already existing relationship, but you kept assuring him that you valued him just as much as anyone else.

Formaggio was the first to walk in, giving Mista a small hug before collapsing onto the couch in front of the TV. The pregame programming was starting and Mista and him were already wearing their jerseys. Mista took your supplies from you, putting them in the fridge before returning to your side, taking your coat from you, and hanging it up. You could tell what was going on, from his jittery movements and him nervously wiping his clammy hands off on his jeans. When he finally went to speak to you, you instead pulled him in, giving the younger member of Bruno’s team a quick peck on the lips.

“Calm down alright?” You said to him sweetly, and he nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a while since anything’s happened between us.”

“I’ve been busy… why? Did you think anything’s going to happen tonight?”

Mista blinked at your overly direct flirt, suddenly getting even more excited. “Do... d-do you want something to happen?”

“Hmm… nope. No funny stuff tonight. I already told Formaggio.”

Mista thought for a moment, relieved. “Thanks… You know I get self-conscious when he’s around with us...”

“And you shouldn’t be. You’re perfectly capable on your own.”

“Yeah but… he’s better than me at um… you know. You know he’s better.”

“Well you’ll get better. I-”

“Can you two stop talking in the doorway and come sit? I can hear you…”

“Yeah, we’re coming Formi! One sec!”

Mista turned away from you at the sound of the other man’s voice while you shouted to him. Mista was always more nervous whenever he was around both you and Formaggio. He felt he had at least some form of superiority over you, given that he’d been part of Bruno’s gang longer, even if you were older than him. But he always felt inferior to Formaggio in one way or another. Mista had had a few nights alone with you, but when he asked you straightforwardly if he was as good at pleasing you as Formaggio was, you couldn’t help but say that Formaggio was still better, not wanting to lie to your teammate. Such honesty definitely bruised his ego, but Mista was still going to try to hold his ground in this odd relationship. He owed that to himself.

“Alright… let’s go other there.” You instructed Mista before giving him a longer kiss. You chuckled as the other’s face became bright red.

“I uh… umm... I… okay, (y/n).”

“Aww… you’re so cute, caro.” You teasingly ruffled Mista’s hair and he followed you to the couch happily.

The three of you sat together on the couch, getting ready for the game to start. Mista was quick to open three beers, one for each of you, and the drinks were soon knocked back. You rested your head on Mista’s shoulder to make him feel less nervous, running your hand up and down the other’s chest. Formaggio felt a bit annoyed at the display but decided not to do anything about it.

The soccer match soon began, the three of you too preoccupied with the excitement of the game to notice just how many of the beers you had already emptied. All three of you were starting to get rather buzzed by the time the second half of the game was coming to a close. Roma was beating Napoli three goals to two, and Formaggio was having the time of his life drunkenly making fun of Mista for his soccer team preferences. You were enjoying your time with them both, going from resting your head on Mista’s shoulder, to laying against Formaggio’s chest, to having Mista’s head resting in your lap, to snuggling back into Formaggio’s arms.

By the end of the game, you had already lost your inhibitions enough to be sitting in Formaggio’s lap, giggling to yourself while playing with Mista’s hair as he sat nearby. Formaggio kept his hands on your hips while still watching the last remaining minutes of the game, though whenever your attention would stray from him, he would grip onto your hips tightly, leading you to gasp just a bit. Mista felt emboldened enough by his drunken state to kiss you while you were still in the other’s lap, and you were more than willing to indulge him, both of you lightheaded as you kissed him back roughly. Formaggio looked up at the two of you, his face flushed red. The act of seeing you make out with someone else, especially Mista, was strangely hotter than he’d like to admit, though that could have very well been the alcohol talking.

None of you were watching the game anymore. None of you were thinking normally, you were all getting far too comfortable with each other, and the night was still young. It was a recipe for disaster.

When the game finally ended, Roma beating Napoli, you and Formaggio celebrated, meanwhile Mista went off to his room to change out of his jersey, wanting to forget the game ever existed. Formaggio watched Mista walk down the hallway out of sight, before turning to you. You turned around to make eye contact with him, still in his lap, both of you lightheaded from cheering and drinking.

Ceasing this opportunity for alone time, Formaggio eyed you up and down, enjoying what he was seeing. “Hey there bambina… Come here.”

With that, the mafioso leaned into you and began placing slow but meaningful kisses all over your neck and jaw, his hands still gripping onto your hips tightly. You looked down at him, knowing he should stop, but also not really wanting him to. You bit your lip, looking around the living room for any signs that Mista had come back from his room. There were none.

“Wait what if Mista comes back?”

“Let him. Who cares? He’s probably thinking the same thing I am.”

Your attention was soon commanded by a telephone ringing, the sound coming from Mista’s room. You heard the other male go to pick it up, greeting Bruno who was at the other end. It seemed that Mista would be gone for a bit.

You let out a small hum as Formaggio’s hands moved up and down your back. Looking down at him, Formaggio glanced back up at you, his green eyes squinting in his own unique form of mischief, even if his lips didn’t leave from your neck until he was sure he had just left a deep, blood-red mark there. Formaggio gently ran his thumb over the hickey, a toothy grin coming over his face.

“I wonder where else I can put one of these...”

Your face flushed red at such a comment, assisted by all the alcohol in your system. You felt your desire for him begin to grow larger in the pit of your stomach. You promised both him and Mista that there wouldn’t be anything that night, but you were quickly throwing that promise out the window. Turning around so your chest faced his, you leaned down and took matters into your own hands by kissing the assassin before he could tease you about your broken vow for the night. Formaggio chuckled against you, kissing you back with fervor while his hands went back down to your hips to gently work your body back and forth over his lap. You let out a small whimper into his ear and Formaggio couldn’t help but groan at the erotic sound. He turned to you, no longer smiling. Instead, a look of quiet awe swept over him, the same way it did every time you two slept together. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. That you were his. At least partially.

“Are you okay with this?”

He asked, his hands still gripping onto you. You answered him by kissing his neck the same way he did to you and at the same time, moving your hips over him without him needing to guide you. Your lips left him for a second and you muttered a shy, “yes.”

The sound of your voice, combined with you moving over the growing tent in his pants got Formaggio going faster than he’d realized, muttering huskily to himself, “Now that’s the spirit…”

Knowing you wanted it, his hands began to roam, one moving underneath your shirt to feel you up through your bra, and the other moving to roughly pinch your ass. You flinched forward with a high pitched squeal, subconsciously jolting your hips forward with one harsh movement over his pants, and causing you to moan, and for Formaggio to let out a growl deep in his throat.

He looked up at you, his lip swollen from your kissing and from biting on it.

He smiled. “You wanna do that again tesoro?” You remained silent for a moment before shyly nodding.

His hand went to your ass again, this time giving it a teasing smack, causing you to jolt forward again, much to the pleasure of both of you. Seeing that your partner was encouraging you, you kept your hips moving at the same rough pace, meanwhile, your lips returned to his, both of you getting lost in each other. You couldn’t stay mad at him, no matter how much he provoked you. Your bodily desires began to dominate your thoughts and before long, both of your shirts and your bra had been thrown to the other end of the couch and you were still grinding on him. Formaggio regained his focus when the two of you broke your kiss, eyes blown out in pleasure.

You leaned back to give him a full view of your chest, prompting the man to gasp out a desperate, “Oh my god…”

Enjoying his view, Formaggio took it one step further, now latching his hot mouth onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting at the tender bud. Your mouth hung open as soft moans poured out, your hands gently running through the other’s red hair.

The two of you were becoming impatient. With one last peck on the lips, you got off of your lover’s lap and both of you hurriedly slipped off your respective pants.

Formaggio chuckled, bringing his experienced hands up to your hips to pull you back to him. “Who gave you the right to be this sexy?”

You giggled a bit at his flirting. “I’d ask you the same.”

“Are you ready? I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“Why don’t you find out?”

You chuckled as you climbed back into his lap, resting your knees at either side of his legs to raise yourself so his face was at eye level with your chest. Getting the hint, Formaggio snaked his hand down in between your legs and placed a confident hand over your clothed pussy. You let out a small gasp, and your knees almost gave out from how sensitive you had become. Formaggio ran his thumb over your covered clit, and you gripped onto the back of the couch in order to not fall forward. Your own hand came down to stroke along your partner’s cock through his boxers, squeezing a bit just where you’d remembered he was most sensitive.

Formaggio let out a loud groan at that and bit his lip to silence himself. “You alright babe?” He asked softly, placing more pressure on the swollen bud.

You smiled. “I should be asking you.”

“Are you alright though?” He asked again, rubbing your clit a little harder.

You nodded after letting out a moan. “Y-yeah… just really wet…”

Formaggio tugged the last remaining cloth off of you, your sensitive heat now exposed to the cold air. Formaggio marveled at how wet you were, bringing a hand up to rub little circles around your clit once more.

“Yeah… you’re ready.”

It wasn’t long until you both gave in. With a quick motion, Formaggio tugged off his boxers, releasing his hardened cock. Leaning in to give him a deep kiss, your hands came down and gave the length a few tentative strokes before you leaned forward, lining up his head with your entrance. Formaggio groaned feeling your wet warmth seep over him, taking his cock in hand and rubbing its tip with your sensitive slit. You shook desperately at the teasing, your hands coming to Formaggio’s shoulders and gripping tightly. Taking the hint to finally give in, Formaggio aligns himself with your hole. You let out a loud gasp as he sunk your hips down to meet with his until he was finally bottomed out inside of you. You hissed at the brief feeling of discomfort before your hips began to instinctively move up and down to provide sweet friction between you two. You rested your head on Formaggio’s shoulder as your hips worked his cock up and down, your walls squeezing at the head for extra intensity.

“Mmm… yeah… keep going just like that dear. Oh fuck you’re so tight. You’re so good for me baby.”

Formaggio kept his hands tightly gripping onto your hips as he helped you moved along his shaft, the young man getting more and more turned on by the lustful moans leaving you for him to hear.

You could stay there forever, being this close to him, in complete bliss. It felt so good. So right. But your drunken mind had forgotten one important thing. Or well… person.

Without either of you noticing, the door to Mista’s bedroom opened, the younger man walking out, starting to talk to you.

“Hey (y/n), sorry I was in my room for so long. Fugo had called to talk about a mission next week and it took a long time cause I’m drunk and I can’t really think straight you… know…”

Mista looked up to see you and Formaggio together on his couch, the other man’s back facing him, both of you lost in pleasure and enjoying each other’s company. Hearing the sounds escaping your lips, Mista got the idea of what the two of you were doing, but he didn’t have any idea what he should do about it. He didn’t have to think long however when you glanced up and saw him in standing there, watching you and Formaggio fuck. You stiffened, stopping your hips movements and covering up your chest with your arms.

Formaggio charmingly asked, “what’s wrong sweetie? Was is feeling too good-wait what?” He snickered before turning around to where you were looking to see Mista as well, muttering an understanding “oh.”

Quickly sobering up, you tried to leave Formaggio’s lap, only to find his strong grip was holding you down onto his cock. You looked over at Mista, unable to meet his gaze, embarrassed that you were still moaning slightly at the pleasurable contact.

“Mista I’m so sorry I um… I know I promised you I wouldn’t do anything with Formi tonight but um… I’m sorry. And I’ll make it up to you I-”

“Can I join you?”

Both you and Formaggio were understandably surprised at such words, both turning to the younger stand user curiously. The thought caused you to grow in arousal even further. “Join us?” You asked.

He walked over to you two, still joined together, and sat nearby on the couch. You glanced down to see that the other man had already become hard in mere moments. Mista glanced up at you, his hand slowly going to stroke his own length through the fabric of his pants.

“Yeah… I figure I could get better at fucking you if I learn from him, (y/n). Plus… it’s kinda hot.”

Reaching over, Mista placed a tentative hand on one of your bare tits, the other hand more roughly stroking himself. You watched as Mista’s face grew bright red in embarrassment and desperation. You got the sense that he’s had the idea of joining you and Formaggio for a while now. Speaking of which, Formaggio soon took you out of your drunken thoughts by cackling loudly at what Mista was proposing. All three of you lacked common sense after a night of drinks, and it had already begun to show.

“So you think I’m better than you huh? Alright, fine.”

Formaggio looked Mista up and down, the assassin’s confidence boring a hole into the young man’s embarrassment. Mista sighed, slowly nodding.

“Yeah. I do.” He muttered shyly.

You sighed. “Or… you two could share me.”

The two men looked at each other, a smile on each of their faces. A smile came to you, leaning down to grasp Mista’s face in one hand, meeting your lips with his. The other hand brought Formaggio’s mouth to your tits. He soon figured what you wanted and resumed his ministrations there, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin.

Mista hungrily leaned into your touch, bringing the kiss deeper as his tongue intertwined with yours. The noises leaving him signaled that he was already hard enough to take you, but Formaggio was having none of that.

He placed a strong hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Sit down Mista. I’ll teach you a few pointers, but I’m going first.” He growled before grabbing your chin in one hand to pry you two apart, taking your lips for his own. Mista sat back and watched the two lovers return to their previous passions before he so rudely interrupted them. Too desperate to remain in his clothes, Mista stripped down and sat next to you on the couch, his hand going down his body to start stroking his already sensitive cock.

It didn’t take much to get Guido Mista going. The fact that he wasn’t the most experienced sexually didn’t help his case either. Just one sight of you getting fucked by someone obviously more adept than him, had his cock twitching and beginning to leak precum.

Formaggio, amidst his rough pounding of your body, eyed the other’s member, seeing how turned on he was. It gave him quite the ego boost to have the younger soldato realize that you belonged to him, the man fucking you in that moment instead of the boy pathetically watching.

Mista wanted to learn from him on how to please you.

Formaggio’s hips sped up further, the pressure in his lower half building ever closer to his release. He watched your face twist in euphoria, until an idea came to him. His hand came behind you, and in a swift motion, he slapped down hard on your ass in a loud spanking. You moaned loudly at the slap before Formaggio took your cheeks in his hand again and turned you to face Mista, who was still jacking off at the sight of you two.

“Go on dolcezza, tell Guido how good it feels for me to fuck you.”

Mista groaned at such words. He didn’t know why getting cucked like this by Formaggio did so much to him. All three of you were into it, but no one knew why.

Formaggio spanked you again, harder this time. “Go on sweetie, tell him. Tell him how much you also like it when I spank you.”

You whimpered as Formaggio lifted you up higher to bounce you up and down his shaft. “Oh god. It feels so good, he fills me so well ugh…”

Formaggio spanked you again. “Is he better than me?”

You bit down hard on your lip, too embarrassed to say. One last strike on your ass caused you to blurt out, “no… you’re better Formi!”

Mista hissed after hearing you say that, reaching his first climax, his cum running down his hand, yet his member remained hard all the same. You grabbed his hand away from his length, leaving him trembling. Making eye contact with him, you brought his hand to your mouth, sucking and licking the cum off his fingers, an act that had both men groaning in needy desire for you. Formaggio bit onto his lip hard. His cock was reaching its peak. Hurriedly, he let go of his tight grip on your hips.

“Get off (y/n). I wanna cum in your mouth.”

You quickly get off of his lap, kneeling in front of him on the floor. You were about to suck him off before he spoke again.

“Aww come on dear. Don’t you think you should help Mista too? Don’t be selfish, baby, he should find out how much you love being taken from behind…”

He grinned and Mista let out a moan, his hand already working up to his second orgasm. You smiled, sharing a knowing look with the assassin before you climbed onto the couch on all fours and began to blow him. Mista brought his hand up to your dripping heat, and ran a nervous finger over your aching clit, causing you to moan around the other man’s cock. You focused on your attention on the blow job, bobbing your head up and down the long shaft. Mista hesitated to move forward into you, wondering if he should ask for what to do.

Formaggio rolled his eyes at the other’s nerves. “Just take her already, man. She’s a big girl, she can take it.”

He teased, prompting Mista to get on his knees, lining his rod with your gaping hole. You were feeling too empty after Formaggio had pulled out, a problem Mista was about to fix.

In one quick motion, Mista plunged into you and you gasped, stopping your blow job for a moment. Mista wasn’t as long as Formaggio, but oh god was he thicker. It felt so good to have him inside you. He started off with slow, shallow thrusts, nervous that he might hurt you or that you didn’t like what he was doing. Of course, he was wrong. One harder thrust already had you losing your mind on his cock.

“Oh god… Mista.”

You whimpered before Formaggio grabbed a fistful of your hair and brought you down on his cock, its tip reaching the back of your throat.

“Pay attention to me baby, keep blowing me. I’ll teach Mista how to fuck you right.”

Humming in pleasure as you continued using your mouth on him, Formaggio leaned back, his body slick with sweat from your efforts. Both men were lost in pleasure over how incredible you made them feel. Still, the two of them were nothing if not troublemakers.

“Hey Mista, enough of this pathetic ‘love-making’ shit. You gotta do better than that. Hasn’t (y/n) told you how much she likes it rough?”

He grinned, keeping your head down as he rammed his length in and out of your mouth, gagging you slightly. It wasn’t long until, with one final thrust, the assassin reached his limit and came down your throat. You choked a bit, but managed to swallow it all down. Formaggio let go of your hair, brushing it out of your pretty, blushing face. He didn’t realize how much he’d fallen back in love with you. You were so good for him.

Formaggio smiled, still panting. “Oh god… I love you baby. Come here.”

He pulled you forward, giving you a brief kiss before you broke the contact with a moan at one of Mista’s particularly hard movements. Mista, having seen how rough the other man was handling you, threw his hesitation out the window and began to pound you even faster. Formaggio reveled in your elated expression at the quickened pace and decided to kick it up a notch.

“Hey Mista, has (y/n) ever told you how much she loved having her hair pulled?”

Formaggio joked breathlessly, still recovering slightly from his huge orgasm. Mista looked down at your moaning form as you bounced desperately on his cock, an overconfidence smirk coming to him at his new found arrogance.

“No ‘Formi’, I don’t think she has!”

He teased back, grabbing your hair in one hand and pulling it back to fuck you even harder than before. Your head came back and Mista leaned forward to make eye contact with you as he ground his hips against yours. Both of you felt your orgasms approaching.

Formaggio a little embarrassed at Mista using his pet name, nonetheless, turned to you in confidence. “Does it feel good baby? Do you like his dick?”

“Y-yeah… it feels so good.” You managed to moan out.

“Are you gonna cum from him fucking you, baby?”

“Y-yeah…”

Formaggio reached down, a practiced finger moving to rub directly on your clit. The action brought you over the edge, and soon you let out a loud gasp as your climax washed over you, causing your whole form to tremble in jubilation. Feeling your walls clench down on his length, Mista reached his end soon after, pulling out and cumming all over your back.

Formaggio set you down gently on the couch while Mista came to his senses, the three of you all panting in the thick, musky air of the apartment. You were the first to speak.

“Oh my god… that was incredible you two.”

You giggled. You tried standing up to get dressed, your legs failing you after your intense climax. Formaggio caught your fall, and you shyly thanked him.

“Umm… we should do that again sometime…”

The prospect caused the two light headed men to look at each other in shock. “Really? You wanna?!”

You grinned mischievously and each of them remembered why they fell in love with you. You were just as nuts as they were.

“Yeah, are you kidding? A girl can’t just pass up another night with her two boyfriends.”

Formaggio raised an eyebrow at the last part. “Two boyfriends huh? I thought I was just the side piece.”

You chuckled, finally finding enough strength to stand up over them.

“I’ll keep you around for more caro. I love you too much not to. Both of you. Now... I feel gross. Which one of you boys wants to join me in the shower?”

Both Mista and Formaggio looked at you in shock at your crude words, watching you head down the hall. Mista turned to Formaggio.

“How’d we get so lucky?”

“You mean how’d I get so lucky? I had her first…”

Mista rolled his eyes. “Alright stronzo, how’d you get so lucky?”

Formaggio thought for a moment, realizing how incredible you really were. “I don’t even know…”

With that, the two of them shared a grin and rushed down the hall as well to head to where you were. The fun was only beginning for that night.

#jjba #not sfw #jjba writing #formaggio #guido mista #part 5 #Vento Aureo #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #la squadra #bruno's gang #long fic #fem reader #cw drinking #cw dirty talk #cw degradation #cw cucking

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devnicolee · 4 years

Text

The Chosen Ones (7)

A/N: Enjoy! There is one chapter left, which I am really excited about :)

Warnings: Slow burn, verbal abuse (and one mention of physical abuse), angst

Word Count: 6,000 words

Pairings: M’Baku x OC

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Asha groaned as she felt something nudging her shoulder, assuming it was M'Baku's feeble attempts to wake her up. "Five more minutes," she mumbled, her voice groggy and tired. She shifted on her side, burying her face deeper into his chest, her hand sliding across his midsection to hold onto him tighter. There was no response to her exhausted pleas for more sleep. In fact, she quickly realized that all she could hear were his loud, deep snores. Yet she still felt another more forceful nudge hit her back, forcing her eyes to pop open.

Her eyes trailed up his torso and landed on M’Baku’s face, eyes closed as he continued to sleep. Her lips curved into a content smile as she just stared at him… her boyfriend. It amazed her how far the pair had come in mere weeks… from only existing in quiet, hidden moments to being able to love each other loudly and freely. She decided to lean on his advice, not to dwell on those broader implications, the details they would have to sort out back home. She knew he already gained her sister and brother’s approval, which was all she truly cared about. But the jury was still out on the Council and her mother. Asha already had two strikes against her where the majority of them were concerned.

It does not matter, she decided. She seceded 25 years to the will and opinion of the Council and her parents, she refused to cower or give them a day more. She worried about the other things and how to be in a successful relationship when she had no experience. But she and M'Baku loved each other and they both had the will and desire to be together. That meant they would climb any walls, weather whatever storm, and extinguish any fires this world threw at them. She finally had the person and love she prayed for every night; she would not let him go without a fight. Her thoughts were interrupted by something hitting her yet again. She frustratingly turned around to come face to face with the same black panther as last night. Inches away from her face, the panther used its nose to nudge her shoulder, a silent demand to start the day.

"Fuck!" she yelped, sitting up abruptly. She, of course, knew it meant her no harm but was also not expecting such a jarring wake up call. Her traveling companion, however, did not have this luxury. Her loud outburst immediately pushed M'Baku out of his restful sleep. Forever the warrior, he leaped out of the sleeping bag, robbing Asha of his warm body heat, and immediately raised his knobkerrie, ready to strike. He examined the cave terrain wildly, searching for an unknown threat.

"Stand down soldier," Asha chuckled as she ran her hands through the soft, thick black fur of the now resting panther, laying down relaxed after doing their job to wake the couple up. Her heart still thumped loudly against her chest as it tried to return to its resting rate. "It woke me up and I was n-not expecting a Bast wake-up call. Sorry for screaming," she offered before standing up herself.

"Damn panthers," M'Baku mumbled angrily under his breath. But he shook off his annoyance rather quickly as Asha cleared up their makeshift camp. "What time is it?"

Asha fiddled with her beads, immediately distracted by two texts from her brother and sister. "U-u-uh just after 7. But we better get going. Brother called an emergency council meeting 2 hours before the King's Exhibition. We need to find the herbs and get back to the palace before then." The balls of light keeping them warm the night prior bounced around as the two moved about, getting ready to finish the last leg of their journey. Asha raised her hands, each instinctively moving back toward their owner as her skin absorbed them.

"Why a council meeting?" M'Baku asked as he pulled bags of fruit out of his bag for both to munch on for breakfast and swung it back on his shoulders.

"Well, we do not need to convince the whole country... just the Mining and Border Tribes. No need to wait for the King's Exhibition if we can avoid it. It is supposed to be a fun and joyous event, believe it or not."

The two emerged from the cave, the Panther waiting for them on the small cliff. They fell in step behind it as it led them back to their original trail. The morning air was crisp and cold, the sun peeked through the swaying tree tops giving them a sliver of light. It still didn’t look like morning on their path though, the thick forest blocked out most of the sun. The mountain had a new layer of fresh, undisturbed snow, which did not remain long as their footprints smashed through it.

"What is the King's Exhibition anyway?" Despite not following the Panther Goddess, all of Wakanda was invited to partake in the celebrations of the week-long Festival of Bast. This was to be the Jabari's first year and he planned on participating to show solidarity. However, M’Baku quickly realized he had no idea what was involved.

"Oh, it is just a show of our King's strength and prowess in battle. Really just a chance for my oh-so-humble brother to show off. He basically fights the Dora, members of the King's Guard and then any challenger from across Wakanda. But unlike Challenge Day, no one is fighting to the death. It is more of a public training session. Everyone loses to him, of course," she added.

"What is the point of it?" he inquired, knocking some branches out of their path.

"It shows the strength Bast gives her protector. Her power and by extension, his power to protect all of us. It is quite fun to watch, or so I have heard," she added as a caveat. Snow drifted down lightly around them from the branches and leaves above them, immediately melting to water as it connected with her clothes.

"You have never been?"

She chuckled, managing to keep at least some of the bitterness out of her voice. "You would be surprised at the amount of things I have never seen or done. I have not celebrated a Festival of Bast in 15 years. Though, I didn't much care to celebrate her in those later years to be honest." M'Baku glanced over at her and noticed a flicker of shame and regret passing behind her dark brown eyes.

"Hey," he said gently, pulling on her arm to stop her. "You don't need to feel ashamed about that. You did the best you could. Bast forgives, clearly," he said, gesturing toward the panther that stopped a few feet ahead of them to wait.

Asha nodded softly, looking up at him to find concern in his big brown eyes… concern and intense love and adoration for her. Love and adoration that made her legs grow weak and the butterflies in her stomach flutter. She couldn’t explain it but it felt like the farther they went on this journey, the easier it became to open her heart and share her soul with this gentle giant beside her. She immediately thought back to what Bast told her, how the journey of loving and accepting herself would make loving others that much easier. Bast is rarely wrong.

"Thank you. I needed to hear that... be reminded of that. T-there is just so much I would have done differently had I known what I know now… you know?" she responded as they broke their eye contact and continued uphill. Asha, being someone who did not train incredibly often, was beginning to feel the strain of this journey as the air grew thinner and the path steeper. M'Baku seemed perfectly capable and fine with the hike but she was starting to grow that uncomfortable stitch in her side that she usually got when she trained with T'Challa.

"Yes, regrets are the price we pay for living. We all struggle with that… trust me. But it is not about how you lived before, but how you choose to live now. All those things you would do differently, you can do going forward. You have a bright future ahead, Asha. You have to just decide what you want to do with it."

Silence fell over the two; the only sounds were the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots, the random babble of animals moving through the trees around them as she contemplated his words. Asha went from having no real future at all to the one she always dreamed of. However, she now had to apply those dreams to her real life. She was no longer limited, chained in darkness with small fleeting glimpses of the sun. She was fully stepping in the light and she could finally bask in its warmth, serenity, and peace. Now that she was standing in the sun, she was not sure exactly what path she should forge. But she knew, a path without M'Baku was not a viable one. Where the light took her, she was determined to have him by her side loving and affirming her.

The inner light now flooding Asha's life was only eclipsed by the darkness the forest plunged them in as they trekked farther up the mountainside. It was as ominous as the night before, possibly even more so since they both knew the sun was shining above the thick treetops. The rustles and chatter of the forest seemed to get louder as they went, M'Baku constantly raising his weapon and shielding Asha as if a monster was seconds away from emerging from the trees. Each step seemed to dial up the creepy meter of the whole journey, putting the two on edge. They were not deterred; at the top of this summit laid their destiny, their reason for being. They had no choice but to press forward, stomping out any anxiety or fear that tried to poke through their armor of confidence.

"Do you like Jabariland?" M'Baku asked out of the blue.

Asha gave him a confused look from the corner of her eye, noting the way his hands fidgeted. Was he nervous? "It is gorgeous... the people were amazing. I felt more at home there... more at peace than I ever had in the Golden City. What is not to like?"

"Yes, but could you see you-" he started to say before he cut himself off, raising his hand to stop her. The panther leading their way had stopped, halting in front of a break in the trees. Asha walked to stand behind it and saw them.

"Glory to Hanuman," M'Baku whispered, amazed that a childish dream and a hunch led them to this. The only two people in the world who could make it to this promised land. The herbs sat in the middle of the clearing, covered in thick clear ice. But nothing could diminish the distinct and almost magical purple glow of the heart-shaped herb. The purple glow reflected across the white snow as the bright sun shined down on the field, filled with more herbs than either could have dreamed of.

"Bast... M'Baku, this is it. You were right!" Asha exclaimed, clutching his thick bicep. "W-we can save T’Challa, w-w-we can save the Black Panther." She hadn’t let herself get too attached to the idea that they were right, after all, it was a longshot. But here they were, staring their and Bast’s dreams in the face and it was glorious.

The moment her foot connected with the hard Earth in the clearing, it started. It was soft initially, like faint distant whispers as several quiet voices invaded her ears. She pushed forward, ignoring them. Nothing would stop her now. With each inch forward, the voices grew louder and more unruly. Asha had no idea what they were saying, what they wanted. She knew it was all in her head but she understood why such a phenomenon would drive people away from this place. It was almost impossible to ignore and it was terrifying. A piercing pain started to spread through her skull as she tried to continue. Soon the pain, the symphony became too loud to ignore.

"Ah!" she cried out as she fell to her knees, so close that a herb was within arm’s reach.

"Asha!” He had been watching from the tree with the panther and rushed forward when she hit the ground. He was at her side in record speed. He clutched her face, rotating her head in his hands as tears streamed from her eyes. He examined her head and body finding no obvious injury, realizing that the voices they were warned found their next victim.

She whimpered slightly from the pain, unable to speak as it became too much to handle. He felt his world crumbling at her pain and distress. He wondered if his hypothesis was wrong. Had he brought her all the way here, pumping her soul with false hope with every mile only to push her into a world of pain?

"Asha... It's gonna be ok... Go back and I will get the herb. It is ok, you have done more than enough," he whispered, offering more encouraging words as he helped her to her feet. The pain had yet to subside, she was not sure if she had experienced agony such as this before. But as she started to walk back toward safety, the black panther, a casual and quiet guide up until this point, brandished its teeth at her and growled deeply. Its body blocked the way back toward the trees, forcing her to stay there. As if a cue, more panthers emerged from the trees surrounding them, pacing so neither could retreat. M'Baku, deciding that the sooner they had an herb in hand, the sooner they would be allowed to leave, reached to pull one out of the Earth. However, he pulled and pulled but its roots were unmovable. The ice casing around the herb was too thick to break and remove the herb from its flower and the ground was too hard to rip the flower from the soil. He tried everything he had in his arsenal while whatever magical properties inhabiting this mountain brought his all-powerful partner to her knees.

Asha pushed through her pain and watched him struggle with the plant, a realization dawning on her. There was a reason it was the two of them and no one else. Further proof that their survival depended on each other, that their destinies were intertwined long before they knew of each other's existence. He got them here and now, she had to do her part.

"I-I h-have to melt th-th-the ice, M'Baku. W-we can’t t-take them frozen l-like… this. I c-can do it," she pushed out, her breathing labored as she tried to overcome the pain and channel her powers.

M'Baku immediately shook his head, "Asha... you were on death's door not even a full 48 hours ago, you are not strong enough to use your powers like this yet."

Asha shook her head, "I made it up this m-mountain. This is my purpose, I c-cannot.... I w-will not fail.” She crawled closer to the herb and sunk her warm hands into the thick snow around the herb closest to her.

“Bast, give me strength," she whispered to herself. She closed her eyes and channeled all the fire, the heat in her being down into her palms and fingers. She imagined the field in her mind and pictured projecting that heat outward like a blanket. Her labored breathing grew as she fueled all the power in her body into the ground beneath her. the heat from her internal flame slowly melting the clear ice protecting each herb.

Asha grew concerned, as she tried to melt all the herbs that she did not have enough energy for this task. She could feel her steam running out. Thankfully, the ice transitioned to water on the last herb just as her body grew cold, void of any flames. As soon as the last herb thawed, Asha's eyes fell closed slowly, her body slumping into the snow as her mind succumbed to the voices and tumbled into her past.

T'Challa and Asha circled each other on a deep blue training map, the 10-year-old pushing her exhaustion aside to train with her older brother. She and T'Challa went blow for blow for a few minutes, trading hits as they danced across the training floor. She had gotten surprisingly better since they started training together, improving far more in their secret limited sessions than her actual training. She was small and quick, which helped her keep up with him even though he was clearly more skilled and stronger.

A few minutes of skillful fighting and she found herself on her brother's back, arm around his neck holding him in a chokehold. "Yield!" she demanded playfully.

"Never," he retorted as he flipped her over his head and forced her to the ground. He did it as slow as possible, as to not actually hurt her. She rolled on her back for a few minutes, catching her breath before standing again and starting the process over.

Their second fight went similarly. However, Asha suddenly felt different. She felt like another energy source coursing through her veins. She figured it was merely a second wind to help her fight. It propelled her to fight harder than she usually did, forcing T'Challa to up his game. She and T'Challa circled each other before he lunged toward her again. She raised her hand to block his first attempt when he jumped back unexpectedly, dodging with grace toward the side. Bewilderment filled her eyes until she saw a line of fire separating the two siblings.

"A- Asha... what is going on?" he asked tentatively as he pushed himself to stand.

Asha looked down at her hands to find them covered in flames. "Oh my bast!" She dropped to the ground and tried to stomp them out by banging her hands on the floor, but they wouldn't die. Her hand felt fine, she did not feel the agony of being on fire and yet she was. "T'Challa... what is happening to me??" she cried, panic setting in as she stared at this peculiarity.

"I do not know. But stay calm, I will get baba. It will be alright Asha."

Asha sunk to the ground, tears streaming down her face as she watched her hands and, unbeknownst to her at the time, her future burn right before her eyes.

The training room dissolved, her father's office replacing it as Asha sat, hands back to normal, next to T'Challa as he tried to calm her down. He rubbed comforting circles into his young and extremely distraught sister's back as they waited for their father to speak. Her father paced by his desk, throwing agitated looks at his daughter every few minutes, making her feel as though she had done something wrong.

"She is one of them. A mutant," he spat out with disgust.

"So what do we do?" their mother asked quietly from the other side of the office, keeping a healthy distance from her now dangerous daughter. "You have campaigned against mutants in our borders for years. This will look like hypocrisy."

"We do nothing," T'Chaka hissed. "We do nothing, we say nothing. No one can know about this."

T'Challa stood, a look of disbelief painted on his face, "How do you expect to keep this a secret? She is a princess? It is not like you can just hide her away."

"No, that is exactly what we are going to do. She almost killed you, T'Challa! Her powers are uncontrollable. We will find a way to suppress them until she is old enough to control them. Until then, she will not leave the palace," her father decided resolutely. It was not lost on Asha how they all spoke about her as if she were a mere object and not a person sitting right in front of them.

She shared a scared look with her brother before the scene changed again. She was now sitting on her brother's bed as he prepared for his 18th birthday party. They had been laughing and joking around, until their father appeared in the doorway.

"Yes baba?" he asked.

"You look good, strong. Please finish quickly. It is not good to be late to a party in your honor." Asha wanted to shrink herself or have the floor dissolve her as her father's eyes scanned the room. In the last three years, she found the best way to survive in her home was to simply avoid her father at all cost. At least then, he could not verbally castigate her for merely existing.

"Asha!" he barked, "What are you doing?"

Asha hung her head, "I was just helping T'Challa get ready. I will go back to my room."

He nodded, "Good. We cannot have anyone seeing you wandering around during the party. Go now."

"Yes, baba." Asha climbed off T'Challa's bed and started to walk toward the door. "Happy Birthday, T." She gave him a tight hug and a wide smile, mainly for his benefit. She did not want him worrying about her on his big birthday and knew he was already concerned about leaving her without her only advocate when he went away for university. That smile carried her until she was out of the view of his door and down the hallway to her own room.

Her brother's room disappeared as an intense argument in the royal gardens formed, Asha face to face with Hasani.

“What is the issue? It is just a date outside this Bast forsaken palace?"

An adult Asha tried to let him down easy, gave all the excuses her father outlined for her and he refused to accept any of them. It was almost as if he wanted to catch her in a lie. "I cannot leave. I would feel more comfortable if we just stayed in."

"No! I want to go on a real date outside of this palace. Today!" he demanded rudely. Asha scoffed silently. She knew the courting dates were part of the royal deal, her dad's attempt to pawn her off on someone else. However, she did not need to put up with another verbally abusive man in her life, her father was more than enough.

"Perhaps we should just chat another day? You seem upset, Hasani and I do not wish to upset you further. You know your way out, yes?" she said politely, deciding to deescalate the situation before it grew out of control. She turned away from him slightly, preparing to walk out of the gardens.

"No!" A hand enclosed around her wrist and yanked her back. His grip was so tight that Asha knew a bruise would blossom on her wrist later.

"Hasani, you are hurting me! Let me go!" she whispered, trying to avoid a scene as she failed to tug her hand out of his grip. She looked around for a passing Dora, cursing herself for telling Alexis that she did not need to watch over her during this date. She could feel the Panther beating against its cage, determined for release as someone attacked its owner. Even with the rings donning each of her fingers, she knew the flames were growing to uncontrollable levels. "Hasani, I do not want to hurt you, please let me go!" she begged, knowing that this was not headed in any good direction.

He scoffed, "What could you do to hurt me?"

As if on cue, sparks flew out of her hands, one hitting him right on his wrist causing him to jump back several feet. Fire shot out of her extended hand, drawing a line between them to protect her.

"W-w-what the fuck? I-I knew you weren't sick!" he cried, outraged.

Asha's hands clamped over her mouth in shock as she tried to approach him and make this right. "Hasani, please! I-it is not what it looks like!" But it was too late, he was off, Asha knew, to tell his mother who was meeting with her father in his office. She took off running after him, knowing that whatever happened next... she would certainly pay for this.

She was back in her father's office, Asha arguing with her father who refused to listen. "But I do not love him, baba! And he doesn’t love me! H-he hates me! H-he treats me horribly. You cannot expect me to marry him!"

"I don't particularly care if you love him or not. Sometimes arranged marriages are a necessary part of being royalty. You were the fool that showed your… disease to him. These are the consequences."

Asha threw up her hands, anger causing tears to stream down her face as she defended herself for the 100th time for the incident that thrusted her into this mess. She shared an exasperated glance at her brother and sister, the only two people who were ever on her side. "It was an accident, baba! I swear."

She knew she messed up, she regretted it everyday but she didn’t deserve this. She especially didn’t deserve the bloodied cut and bruise on her face, the reason her brother dragged her to her father’s office to demand the engagement be called off. It took Asha, Okoye and three other Dora to pull T’Challa off Hasani after he happened to walk in on an argument between the couple right as the back of Hasani’s hand connected with Asha’s cheek. It was the first time he had ever done such a thing and Asha knew it would be last since her brother made it clear he would not live to tell the tale if he touched her like that again.

"Sometimes I think you are determined to destroy this family and everything I built," he said as he settled behind his desk. "It is like you do not care if this family survives."

If he had slapped her in the face, that would have been less painful. "How could you say that?" she whispered, the hurt clear in her words.

"Baba! Please!" T'Challa said, no longer a young boy now but a grown man who refused to let anyone, even his beloved baba, attack his sister. He pushed Asha behind him as if he could act as a physical barrier between her and their father's verbal abuse. He, of course, knew it was too little too late to protect her from him but he tried to mitigate where he could. "Asha is not trying to destroy us by refusing to marry an abusive man. You did not hear the way he spoke to her. Why would you want her to marry a man who cares so little for her? Who is blackmailing our family into it? He has already proven that he has no self-control or respect for her. If you think those bruises were a one-time incident, you are mistaken. These lies have gone far enough, it cannot be worth it anymore."

"Enough!" King T'Chaka yelled, silencing his disobedient and reckless children. "T'Challa, you will stay out of it. You will be king one day but that is not today. And Asha, you will marry Hasani. You are lucky I was able to find this man for you. He is of royal blood, far better than you could have hoped for. Now, T'Challa and I will be leaving for Sokovia in a week's time. I suggest you take that time to accept this. I will not have this conversation with you again."

Asha nodded softly, her "Yes baba" so despondent and quiet that it broke T'Challa's heart. She shrugged off his comforting hand from her shoulder and raced out of the room. Asha rarely left her dad's office without tears clouding her vision, today was no different.

Asha woke among the dirt and swaying grass of the Ancestral Plane. Her second visit was far less confusing, almost as if she expected it. Bast did say she would see her again so she supposed this was that time. And this time, she knew she was not actually dead, which offered a small comfort.

She stood up and dusted the dirt off the long white dress with gold trim now hanging over her shoulders. Her bare feet sunk into the soft dirt as she walked toward a tree overflowing with black panthers. She did not need prompting, did not need Bast to lead her way. The path, the course forward, who she needed to speak to was as clear as day. She did not get very close before one jumped down from a high branch and landed in front of her.

Baba, she thought to herself. Sure enough, she watched as the panther quickly turned into a man... her father.

The two simply stood there, feet apart and stared at each other. He looked smaller than he did in life. He was never a big person, but his presence made up for what he lacked in stature... strong and intimidating. She never got to see the gentle King everyone else adored and worshiped. She had always only gotten the worst of him. She could not deny the small part of her that was filled with the urge to rush forward and hug him, the part that was still desperate for his approval and his love. But the larger part forced her feet to stay planted like a tree firmly in the same spot. She expected there to be more resentment toward him. What once was a burning inferno seemed more like a small contained fire, still present and noticeable but not all consuming.

"Why are you here... again?" he asked.

"That seems to be a question for Bast, not me... I found a new garden of the Heart-Shaped Herb and when I thawed it, I passed out. And I guess she brought me here."

"You found a new garden?" He did not even try to hide the surprise in his voice.

Asha scoffed, bowing her head slightly, turning away from him to study the horizon and the pale yellow and orange sky. "Always a tone of surprise. Apparently, Bast doesn't hate me or my kind as much as you did."

"I never hated you Asha."

"Really? You could have fooled me. 15 years... 15 years, you treated me like a prisoner, like I was nothing to you. If you did not hate me, you certainly didn't love me. It does not benefit either of us to pretend otherwise," she added coldly. If she was going to speak to him, it would be rooted in honesty, not historical fiction to sugar coat his actions simply because he died.

"I did not know how to deal with a child who was more powerful than I. Bast told me you were destined for great things and I refused to believe it. I was so obsessed with the mantle of King that I lost sight of... well, everything. I have had much time to think since being here."

"Yes, I would imagine death gives you all the time in the world to contemplate your failings," Asha responded, that small fire of resentment showing in her words, regardless of how she tried to contain it. The beautiful and serene terrain of the Planes did nothing to counter the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She did not know what she expected from a conversation with her father but this was lacking. But she wondered if every conversation would; after all he could not come back from the dead and redo her childhood. His damage was set in stone and no words would fix it.

"What will you do now?"

"I will take the herb down the mountain and save your golden son and your tribe from being uprooted. That is all T'Challa and I seem to do lately, save our country from your failures. I will save your country, as Bast destined it. And then, I will find my place in that country, the place you selfishly denied me for decades," Asha responded.

T'Chaka nodded sadly, "Can you forgive me? I was not perfect in life. I made so many mistakes that forced you and T'Challa down paths that almost led to Wakanda's destruction. If I could go back, if I could have a chance at life anew, I would do so much differently. I did not hate you, I hated your powers and what they represented. But for you, I am sure that distinction means little. I failed you as a father... I failed you as your King and unfortunately, my realizations came too late. I can't fix it; I can't make it up to you. But I can apologize… and I am so sorry. Truly."

Asha did not hate her father, that was true. She did not know if she loved him either. But she had finally lost almost all the anchors of her past life, this was the final one. No amount of harbored resentment would fix his mistakes. Hating him until the end of her days, refusing to forgive until she was in a tree in the Planes next to him would not give her the life and childhood she desperately had wanted and deserved. She knew she needed to learn how to move on, to stop being weighed down by the past. She did not need to love her father to forgive him. She could not carry this pain, this resentment into her new life. She deserved to be light, not weighed down by someone else's failures and insecurities.

"A king who admits his faults? Quite the rarity." She refused to look at him, still studying the horizon, "You know I used to pray to Bast to take my powers, take my life, take everything so that you could love me. So that you could look at me as you looked at T'Challa and Shuri, with love, adoration, and hope. I wanted that so bad for so long that it almost killed me. Everyday felt like a festering wound that just would not heal. Your ego allowed me to wake up every day without hope, without light. Y-you caused that and, to be honest, I never thought I could forgive you for it. For planting seeds of hatred so deep in my heart that I started to believe them to be my own thoughts, my own insecurities."

She turned to face him finally, "But I cannot live that way anymore. I have finally started to uproot those weeds and my soul is so light," Asha sighed as tears sprung to her eyes, "that sometimes it feels as though I could fly away. I will never again be weighed down by the hatred you sowed nor the hatred your actions sowed in me for you. I will never feel for you as your other children do, but I do not need to hate you. I appreciate your apology and I forgive you."

"Thank you. I wish I could be there... to see the new garden," he whispered. "I wish I could be there to right so many wrongs."

"You are right where you need to be, T'Chaka," an angelic voice interrupted. They both turned to find Bast behind them. T'Chaka bowed slightly, stepping aside so the Goddess could approach. Asha stood tall as Bast stood directly in front of her, her face beaming with pride and joy.

"So, you solved my riddle?" Bast asked.

"Yes, but you couldn't have made it easier?"

"Well... There is just no fun in that. I am so proud of you, Asha. You fulfilled your destiny and Wakanda's future, that was once destroyed, is now like that garden: overflowing and teeming with life and hope. That is because of you and Lord M'Baku. Now I have a few final requests of you before you return to your life, if you do not mind?"

Asha raised her eyebrow, knowing the only acceptable answer was yes. She just nodded and waited for Bast to proceed.

"One, keep the Garden where it is. There will be a desire to move them to the Hall of Kings. But that mountain will serve as the bridge that connects the Jabari to Wakanda and the Black Panther. It must stay where it is to thrive. Two, you are learning about your powers, finally understanding and controlling them. Do not let another living soul limit them again. Three, love is overflowing in your life. It has not always felt like it, I know, but I hope you feel it now. Do not lose sight of the love you have, the family you have, as you settle into the mountains with your new one. There is space for it all."

Asha wrinkled her nose, laughing lightly. "Family in the mountains? M'Baku and I certainly are not there yet. Besides, I still need to find my place here."

"Of course... your place in Wakanda just may have a bit colder climate than you think, Asha Udaka," Bast mused. "It is time to go now. I expect I will not be seeing you again until your life has run its course, but worry not. You have a long and vibrant life ahead surrounded by those you love and who love you immeasurably."

Bast wrapped Asha into a hug so loving, so tender that only a Goddess could conjure such a thing. So much waited for her on the other side, and for the first time, she could not wait to get back to them.

***

Tag List: @destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @jellybean531 @skysynclair19 @ashanti-notthesinger @gloriousgam3r @archivistofwakanda @leahnicole1219 @mygirlrenee @dramaqueeenamby

#black panther fandom #black panther #Black Writers #black panther fanfiction #black panther imagines #m'baku x reader #m'baku imagine #m'baku x oc

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thedinanshiral · 4 years

Text

On Solas

Decided to try to organise some of my thoughts on Solas, so here it goes.

What we first know of Solas is that he’s an elf and a mage, the elven hobo apostate. From the game we can learn he’s an electromancer (in autolevel he prioritises the Storm tree abilities), and later on a Rift Mage, one could assume because he’s the “Fade expert” but further on we learn is because he’s the one responsible for the creation of the Veil.

There have always been elements linking him to Fen’Harel and then to the Fade and the Veil, as seen in the Fade Wall Shield dropped by Gaxkang (one of the Forbiden Ones) in DAO, a shield with a name that basically means Veil (what’s the wall in the Fade?) and has a wolf head design on it, design that somewhat resembles the Mask of Fen’Harel as seen in DA:Redemption. That Mask of Fen’Harel can be used to open portals on the Veil and into the Fade, and is activated in Redemption through an ritual that includes blood ( in the miniseries it turns out to be an elven girl’s blood).

Considering his stance on blood magic (remarkably similar to Merrill’s, by the way), I think it’s safe to say he has used it before. That’s possibly why the Mask of Fen’Harel is activated with blood, and that’s why in order to break the Veil open time and time again we’ve seen big bloody sacrifices must be made. First record of this is the Magisters Sidereal using blood magic and almost all lyrium available in Tevinter to rip the Veil open (lyrium also being blood, and elven slaves prefered for sacrifice for their special elven blood, this means a lot of blood with magical properties of one or other nature is required to break through the Veil), second instance of some form of blood offering meant to grant one physical access to the Fade is when Corypheus kills Divine Justinia during a ritual we only saw a glimpse of and was never explained. Thridly, we have repeated mentions of how spirits feel drawn to the Veil there where there’s been bloodshed, particularly battlefields. So it’s safe to assume blood in enough quantities weakens the Veil enough to make an opening.

The red lyrium idol is his. In Tevinter Nights he claimed it so, and i’ve already discussed this idol at length in a previous post. In TN however we get other bits of information, like how the idol seems to have a self-regenerating property (when it’s found intact inside Meredith’s red lyrium statue after she had used the idol to craft a sword), and most curiously, how it seems to be hollow and have some liquid inside that makes it feel like when one holds a bottle. We also learn in the Mortalitasi account that the idol may have a hidden blade and become a ritual knife. Perhaps the value of the red lyrium idol is not in it being made of red lyrium, but on its content. Say the idol we see is a hilt, it can produce a blade, and it’s filled with ...blood. I think it’s possible its content is blood.

As per Cole’s comment in Trespasser, “the wolf chewed its leg off to escape the trap”, that sounds more like he sacrificed a big part of himself, most likely his power, that he may have concentrated and stored in the very same idol used for the Veil ritual. It would also explain why the one who created the Veil would wake up from Uthenera so weakened. There’s his foci as well, but I think that one mainly held memories, and in those memories there was knowledge that could grant great power (rather than containing actual power). Why he’d be after the foci first and not the idol could be because the foci was the safest option, or the one he already knew the location of. Clearly, the Anchor was plan A, and the red lyrium idol seems to be plan B.

Then I suspect Solas has what I call Word power, a form of influence or manifestation magic. I’ve found two distinct instances where Solas seems to use this, the first being when at Skyhold he tells the Inquisitor to “wake up”, revealing their conversation was taking place in a dream in the Fade. Upon realising “this isn’t real” the Inquisitor doesn’t wake up, they only do it after Solas gives the command. The other instance is after Solas leaves the Inquisition, when the Inquisitor can talk to Cole and he speaks Solas’ words, a message Solas delivers through him.

Solas is also a Dreamer, possibly why the Inquisitor walks in on him while dreaming at Skyhold, and surely how Solas can manage to kill people in their sleep in TN (granted, those were dwarves and dwarves allegedly don’t dream, but as far as we know they may still have a presence in the Fade while asleep, just have no memory of dreaming, no awareness of it). In fact the first appearance of Solas in DA media was in TME where he meets Felassan in the Fade, while he dreams to contact him. It’s widely believed that Solas killed Felassan then and there.

Then he is clearly an artist. Seems murals are his primary medium for storytelling. He adorns the rotunda in Skyhold with murals depicting the story of the Inquisition as it unfolds. Trespasser has several more murals telling stories of what happened, and I think it’s safe to assume there’s more than one self-portrait in them.

He’s a shapeshifter, as pointed by some codex entries that imply the Evanuris took dragon forms on ocassion, and in the Evanuris propaganda against him found at the Vir Dirthara. He is twice the shapeshifter or perhaps not a good one, depends on your perspective, if we consider his chosen form, the Dread wolf, is described as either a giant wolf with dragon-like scales, or a dragon of some lupine features. Is the Dread Wolf a wolf that looks like a dragon, or a dragon that looks like a wolf? I found it kind of funny how in TN his appearance description includes spirits forming as wings of fire to fly him around. Personally I don’t consider Regret’s description here because that was a particular demon feeding off what he had left behind, not his actual image.

He is, in a way, the Maker. Of present Thedas, shaped by his creating the Veil. The implications of this interpretation brings forth many more questions i’m not currently dwelling on.Let’s ignore this for now and possibly forever, it gives me a headache.

He was a warrior, as expressed in his banter with Blackwall. Considering how in post-Arlathan wolves were guardians to the Emerald Knights, and how in Trespasser’s Deep Roads his statues are described as guarding alongside Mythal’s, it’s possible he was once one of Mythal’s soldiers, perhaps part of her personal Guard, becoming a friend -or more - favoured enough, maybe rewarded for his service reaching to a point where he became almost an equal? From this analysis it could be that Solas ascended to Evanuris status after his contribution in the war against the Titans. He was rebel fighter too, as evidenced in his banter with Sera, he possibly started as part of a large army but then started a revolution that operated in much smaller cells.

He was Skyhold’s former master. That fortress belonged to him. The very name of the place, elven in origin, hints at it being the location from where the Veil was placed, or at the very least where the ritual for it was initially performed. I suspect he also had a significant presence in the Exalted Plains, something about it reminds me of the landscape from the Elven Ruins at Trespasser, also because it’s the one and only place so far where we see a shrine dedicated to Fen’Harel. In an area with an electric dragon ( yet another hint at his electromancy). More importantly, while the shrine’s codex leads us to believe the reason why elves would make the Dread Wolf any offering would be to appease him and be spared his evil doings, this shrine depicts a black wolf figure and a white wolf figure, which are reminiscing of Solas’ tarot cards, The Tower (big menaching shadow wolf figure) and The Hierophant ( fluffy white companion wolf figure). Whatever the reasons for the Dalish to erect a shrine to the Dread Wolf it seems somehow in some way a certain knowledge of his dual nature is not entirely lost. Also, there’s the gigantic wolf statue atop a mountain in the distance, biggest one i’ve seen so far:

Which brings me to the main point of this ramble, his latest symbol depincting three wolf heads on a brooch he’s wearing in DA4 concept art.

It may be symbolic in a couple of ways. First in regards to his identity as in the elf, the creator (Evanuris), and the betrayer. Secondly as in the man, the spirit, and the “god”. As well as the three different realms he is connected to: the physical world, the Void, and the Fade. Personally I doubt this is the strange symbol used by some self-identifying Agents of Fen’Harel in TN, I think what they may be wearing could be an elven rune or ancient symbol we haven’t seen yet, hence why it was described as “strange”. I mean, if I see three wolf heads, I say it’s three wolf heads. Interestingly enough, he still wears the wolf jawbone (in this new concept art, it has some new circular designs on it as well, if you zoom in on a better quality picture) and i’m forever curious why he even has that in the first place. Did he just pick it up to use as a subtle hint of his true identity, or did the bone belong to a wolf he cared about? Why has its design changed?

So far this is what i have in mind about him.

#Solas #Dragon Age #Dragon Age 4 #what a mess of a post this is

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shenanigumi · 4 years

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Can you please, please talk about my one and only, Zelos??? Spill your magical mind tea, Alley. I love every sip.

Oh God, well,,, I wasn’t going to talk about him on this blog, but… if you insist. (Wow, I’m a pushover.) Tales of Symphonia spoilers ahoy, and warning for length and complete irrelevance to anything otome. This is also probably going to be a persuasive essay–style spiel, but don’t worry, I know you already agree.

Now, you all know that I like complex characters, and often characters with complexes, and Zelos is no exception, though not everyone might understand why. When people who know Symphonia think of Zelos, most of them think of the quintessential ladies’ man. Shallow, conceited, and not to be trusted, Zelos enjoys a life of luxury thanks to his status as the Chosen, a divinely ordained hereditary role second only to nobility. Using his good looks and his position of power to his advantage, he is a habitual skirt-chaser who prioritizes himself at all times and cracks jokes at inopportune moments (or, alternatively, ends up the butt of them). On top of all that, he’s a triple agent for the party as well as not one, but two different organizations opposing them. He appears unsympathetic to the plights of all those whom he considers beneath him, including some party members.

Basically, some players like Zelos because he’s a ladies’ man with a goofy side and they have a weakness for that. Some players hate Zelos for the same reasons. On both sides of the argument, not as many really take the time to consider his whole story, because believe me, that’s not even the half of it. See, Tales of Symphonia is one of those early 2000s JRPGs, a very long game where there’s a lot more story than the main plot actually explores, and where implications are more frequent than statements. As a result, most characters are much deeper than people might assume based on what they see from the main plot, and not everyone might choose to explore the specific events that lead to more exposition on each individual backstory. Hell, some people might not even know there is more backstory to explore. The anime goes into some of it, but not all, whereas the sequel… oh, God, what that abomination did to my precious characters is a rant for another time.

What not everyone accounts for is that, like all characters, Zelos’s past shaped who he is, and Zelos’s past qualifies as tragic. In order to groom the Tethe’allan Chosen lineage to produce a Chosen with the right genes for their purposes, the angelic organization Cruxis forced the Chosen at the time to marry another woman rather than his lover at the time. Thus, Zelos was born to be the future Chosen. As a result, from the beginning, he has been treated like a burden, his mother in particular telling him at every opportunity that he never should have been born. In fact, these were her last words to him when he was twelve and his father’s half-elven lover tried to kill him and dealt her a mortal wound instead. The lover was put to death, her daughter [Zelos’s younger half-sister] Seles was also blamed despite her youth and locked up in an abbey, and Zelos developed a prejudice against half-elves as a result. At some point after this, his father killed himself, and Zelos officially became the Chosen.

What a beginning, right? Zelos was quite literally born to assume a title, which he never asked for and consequently hates more than anything else, with the possible exception of himself. His parents loved neither one another nor their son, so he was perpetually undervalued, never given a sense of his own worth beyond the title he would assume someday. Thus, he grew up believing himself useless apart from his future role, longing for some kind of freedom and wishing people would like him for who he was rather than what he was.

So what did he do after he became the Chosen? No one cared enough to befriend him for his own sake, so he used his title, wealth, and looks to his advantage, occupying his time the way most any handsome young man with too much money to spare would. He took to hiding his self-loathing and cynicism behind a cheerfully flirtatious mask, indulging himself and some of his many admirers to distract himself from his perpetual dissatisfaction with his life as a whole. In the meantime, he also cheated his way through university since his female peers were willing to do his homework for him (even though it’s worth noting that Zelos is so sharp he’s actually better at math than Genis Sage, the resident prodigy).

Because of all this, Zelos learned to fight for nothing and no one except himself, because nobody else has ever fought for him as a person. With the exception of Sheena, whom he met and befriended sometime before the events of the game under undisclosed circumstances, he hasn’t grown emotionally close to anyone and is prepared to stay that way. He’ll make just about any deal as long as it means he can escape unscathed. The Renegades approach him and ask him to keep tabs on Cruxis? Sure, he can do that. Cruxis approaches him and asks him to keep tabs on the party? Sure, he can do that. As long as he has some guarantee of his own personal safety, anything goes, up to and including throwing his companions under the first applicable bus.

Or at least, that’s how it starts out. Things start changing for Zelos once he joins the party, even though he shoehorns his way into it based on that deal he made with Cruxis to report on their movements. The others aren’t exactly happy about this turn of events, since he acts incredibly full of himself and he won’t stop flirting with the female members, but they still treat him like a human being rather than just the Chosen. They’re the first people to openly trust Zelos and consider him a part of their group in spite of his quirks, which in turn gradually makes him endeavor to deserve that trust.

Except during the Kratos ending—or as I like to call it, the bad ending—where Lloyd, and by extension everyone else, asks the fatal question: Can I trust you? There’s a turning point where Zelos is responsible for handing the Sylvaranti Chosen, Colette, over to Cruxis. In the normal ending, this is a ploy to gain their trust so he can betray them at the last minute and throw the situation in the party’s favor. In the bad ending, this is not a ruse, and he stays behind to fight the rest of the party himself, forcing them to kill him. And this is after he already made a deal with Cruxis that, in exchange for Colette, they would release him from his fate as Chosen and give his title to Seles instead. Zelos chooses to die at the hands of his so-called friends despite already having a guarantee that the burden of his title as Chosen will be lifted. That’s how badly he hates himself.

Fortunately, that kind of extreme behavior is relegated to the bad ending. In the normal ending, he’s perfectly content to leave Cruxis once and for all and state his position as belonging firmly to the party, because they believed in him and gave him hope that he could change his situation for the better. After this point, kindly ignore everything the anime and sequel tell you, because Zelos is much less obnoxious than usual for the rest of the game, and with every indication of staying that way. This proves that his womanizing is less a fundamental part of his personality and more a learned behavior in response to the above set of reasons.

To conclude: I know Zelos can come across as annoying at times, and you’re still well within your rights to dislike his behavior, but really. Does all that sound like a shallow, self-obsessed philanderer to you?

#zelos wilder #characterization essay #not hakuōki #i used to have a tales blog #maybe i should try to resurrect that #also #magical mind tea???#i love it thanks hahahaha

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