#not that prayer would necessarily save anyone else… but it did for him

[blue-mood-blue]

With the understanding that this idea has an extremely limited cross-section of people who would both understand and be interested in what I’m talking about, let me share with you an idea:

The Second Citadel has fallen. Most of the surrounding land has fallen along with it - not, for once, because of the seemingly irreconcilable conflict between humans and monsters but to an infection of light spread by a false god. Or a true one. The answer to that is a matter of theological debate that the survivors don’t have time for.

Rilla is only as exiled as everyone else is. Arum is desperately fighting the sickly light away from taking the Keep. And Damien is still in the Citadel.

When they find him, it’s past a locked door - the last, fevered attempt of the people within to defend themselves from a threat that doors wouldn’t lock out. He has his bow in hand and light streaming from his eyes, his mouth, his words. He’s alone; his loyalty has tethered him in place. He’s praying while he fights, blindly, and maybe those prayers and his saint’s protection are the only reason the light hasn’t robbed him of his mind yet - or maybe those prayers are infuriating the false god, shining out through him and ravaging him. It’s not apparent if he knows that the Citadel is in ruins; he defends it as if there’s still something to defend. Damien’s words repeat themselves, over and over, like unwound tape in Rilla’s recorder: things he must have said, and thought, and did on the last day he remembers, tracing around the scar tissue of a wound in the universe. 

Arum has a knife to his throat. Damien lowers his bow. The burning light in his eyes, haloing him, dims into something… quietly alive, not alive again.

A ghost stands next to Rilla. She whispers, “My knight… at last you are freed.” And then, turning to look Rilla in the eyes, Queen Mira commands: “Take him with you.”

#the penumbra podcast #second citadel #tpp #hollow knight #in other words: Damien as the Hive Knight #i just think it would be interesting! #Damien’s duty outlasting its purpose… his prayer saving him from the infection of another god… #and finally - being taken away from there #this time with more survival after the fight! #and of course they take him with them #you better believe poor Damien is getting poked and prodded by science and magic to determine how he survived #it’s faith mostly #not that prayer would necessarily save anyone else… but it did for him

[notsogreatgamer]

On Alyssa Zaidelle

This ended up way longer than I thought it would. So, I’m putting it underneath a read more with just this: 

Alyssa Zaidelle is a woman who felt backed into a corner by a fate she couldn’t and didn’t know how to escape. She is a tragic, human character that--to an extent--cared for Hope Estheim.

I don’t necessarily hate her character, even with her plans to murder Hope or the traits revealed in the Fragments After novellas. Her motivations are entirely human and fueled by fear and need for survival. Even as she is attempting to murder Hope, I felt sympathy with her. This could have been because Hope himself was so desperate to save her. But according to the wiki when we meet her in Bresha Ruins, she is 19 years old and living through nightmare after nightmare about her own death, her own paradox source. 

She is described as popular, charming, bright, and willing to help anyone that may ask; and she does indeed present this whenever we first meet her; however, it is also revealed that she is a good liar and believes lying is an excellent tool to move her forward in life. This trait is noticeably at contrast with her previous description and we see less of this trait in the beginning. Bresha Ruins 5AF Alyssa comes across as open and earnest in her need to find out the truth and in her grief at her friend’s death; but this slowly changes over time. I believe this is because she is a living paradox, a living lie. She is conscious of this. Deep down, she knows and realizes that she did die during the Purge and that she is only alive because of the paradox. Because of this, she is constantly afraid that Serah and Noel will erase her and constantly wondering at her safety and permanency in the timeline. What her character boils down to is fear.

She is driven by it and her actions reflect it, but I don’t think Alyssa truly wants to live this way. She says to Noel and Serah during parting at the gate where she ultimately betrays them: “Sometimes, when it looks like all hope is lost, people can turn against each other. They end up full of hate. But really, when they stop and think about it, they’re making themselves sad for no reason.” I think this was about her. It was her warning to Serah in a way and her inner reflection. 

She has proven that--even if her motivations are somewhat different and more selfish than Hope’s--a good heart is hiding somewhere in her. In Final Fantasy XIII-2 Fragments After, she sets a trap for Hope but allows him to read her journals that exposes her inner most thoughts and fears and she begs him not to forget her as she fades from existence as the paradox is solved. Her journals reveal a certain soft spot for Hope, despite her anger. 

Upon discovering this, Hope does something I feel not many people would have when they are being threatened, he thinks this: 

It must have been so hard for her--all alone with her fear of vanishing, watching this clueless man advancing his research “for the future of humanity.” [...] Alyssa wasn’t even sure if she would be allowed to exist from one moment to the next, and yet, there he was, believing in the future without a shadow of doubt. Just watching him must have offended her so much. He must have driven her crazy. 

Every single thing he said and did probably felt like nails on a chalkboard to her. That was why she was making him erase all these duplicates of her. They wouldn’t actually bleed, but he had to watch people with her face and her voice vanish, over and over. Each one was a wound left behind in his heart. 

-p. 101, Fragments After

He sees her pain and her fear; and instead of being angry that she is trying to murder him, that she has betrayed Noel and Serah, Hope attempts to reach out to her.

“That’s why we’ll look for a way!” Hope yelled desperately. “We just have to identify the paradox connected to your existence, keep that timeline running as close to the distortion as possible, and stabilize it. We should be able to stabilize it even with a partial paradox. And we have travelers who can help. If we can get Serah and Noel to work with us, then I know--” [Insert her revealing that she has betrayed Serah and Noel] If they had known of Alyssa’s plot, though, Serah and Noel could still be safe. Maybe they wouldn’t want to help someone who had tried to harm them, but Hope could manage to convince them somehow. Alyssa had made all his research possible. They couldn’t turn him down if he begged them to help save her. 

-p. 102, Fragments After 

And it goes on and on like that--with Hope so desperate to save her, constantly making pleas to her and trying to convince her to trust him, to work with him. Even after her full betrayal is revealed, Hope still tries to save her, but she must not have even considered his help an option. She has spent so long lying and being generally distrust of people around her that she doesn’t even think to confide in Hope. 

What really kicks me in the pants is this: 

The gun and Alyssa’s fingers around it were already mostly gone. Tears were streaming down her face. Hope tried to wipe them away, but his fingers just slid through Alyssa’s cheek.

“Why are you being kind to me? I tried to kill you,” she said. 

“Because I’m still grateful to you. You were an excellent researcher and a talented partner.” 

She was two-faced and selfish and kept her true feelings buried deep inside. She lied as if it was second nature. But Hope had known all that for a long time. Nevertheless, her research was the real deal. No matter what her motivation had been, the results she had created were genuine in every way. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry--for everything.” Alyssa said. She smiled. “And I mean it for real this time, okay?” She was smiling through her tears, but he could hardly make it out anymore. “Even if I never existed in your new future...if you could remember me just a little---” 

The wind seemed to whisper her last words: I’d be so glad.  

-p. 103, Fragments After

The end of Alyssa Zaidelle is tragic and made even more so because Hope does forget her, even if he feels as though someone else should be there with him. Alyssa, in return, reveals that she holds some affection for Hope in the Lightning Returns Canvas of Prayers quest. Lightning is tasked to find an old photograph of Alyssa and Hope and return it to Alyssa who then stares down at it. She regains her memories and requests that Lightning tell Hope that it was an honor to work for him--even if their time together was never real. 

Alyssa Zaidelle is a woman who felt backed into a corner by a fate she couldn’t and didn’t know how to escape. She is a tragic, human character that--to an extent--cared for Hope Estheim. 

#final fantasy xiii-2 #ffxiii-2 #alyssa zaidelle #hope estheim #final fantasy xiii-2 fragments after #lightning returns #ffxiii-lr

[unstoppableforcce]

ghosts

—CHAPTER TWO: little things

pairing: Javier Peña x f! reader

previous part | next part | masterlist

a/n: a little look back in time, a little insight into what’s going on, a lot of pain and angst but maybe some hope ? these two a easily carving out a place in my heart, I hope y’all are as invested as I am bc there is def more to come

Falling in love with Javier had happened pretty fast. 

It wasn’t the exact moment you saw him, but it may as well have been. 

There was a gorgeous kind of levity to him as he hid his laughter behind the neck of the bottle of beer dangling so casually from his grip, a beautiful kind of stoicism to him as the mood around the table died off and the blonde man sat beside him pulled himself to his feet, tossed a few bills down and shuddered him with a sturdy hit to the shoulder. He surveyed the crowd out of what seemed to be genuine curiosity, scanning the field just like all the single men seemed to be, but there was a reverence in the delicious color of his deep eyes, something you didn’t know how to quantify as they landed on you. There was a depth to him that words could just never come close to describing. 

Maybe it would have saved you a lot of hurt if you had turned away the second you caught sight of him across the bar, but even at his worst, even as you cradled yourself, desperate for warmth beneath the thick woven stitch of the dark tones of the afghan blanket thrown over your shoulders, you couldn’t really imagine doing it different. 

No one made you grab your glass and meet him at the bar. It was all you. 

You just couldn’t help yourself. You just had an eye for beauty, you couldn’t look away. 

“Would I mind if you took a picture of me… I’ve got to be honest, baby, that’s quite a line.” His chuckle was like honey and god, two second in and you were ready to drown in it. 

He didn’t leave you an inch of personal space and you wouldn’t have it any other way as he crowded you into the bar counter, a hidden smirk growing beneath his distinct mustache. A fleeting touch along your back as you laughed into his radiating warmth, a graze of his knuckles against your knee and thigh, the careful brush of his hand against yours as he forwarded your newest drink your way; this man knew what he was doing and who were you to fight what you wanted. 

Another sip, another gasping inhale. “I’m serious… there’s something about you.”

“Something about me… you look in a mirror recently? If anyone here is special, it isn’t me…” He knew what he was doing. 

It should have bothered you how practiced it sounded, how easy it was for the words to leave his lips, but his presence was practically a drug, leaving you just short of catching your breath, leaving your head floating on another cloud. 

It had been a long day, a long exhausting day of being alone, and yeah, he looked like a mistake on two legs from a mile away, but it was just too easy to lean into him instead of standing on your own. 

Another drink. Another touch. He moved his stool impossibly closer, pressing the length of his jean-clad thigh along the length of your own, his hand resting heavy and without hesitation on your knee. 

“How about this…” He hummed, sipping at the last dregs of his glass as he heard the bartender signal for last call across the bar. “You come home with me and I’ll let you take as many pictures of me if you want…”

“Promise?”

The two of you didn’t even make it to the parking lot. 

His hands were everywhere. Firm and resolute on your hips, pinning you back into the wall. Adventurous and grounding, scaling the length of your thighs and up your sides. Warm, gentle, comfortable and… and absolutely intoxicating, like the drinks you had been steadily drowning for the last few hours had meant nothing. Lightheaded didn’t come close to adequately describing it anymore, your head was floating away from you but his hands were everywhere else, keeping you on the ground and keeping you steady even as each press of his lips threatened to send you soaring. 

“Javi…” his name was new on your tongue, but you could get used to it, letting it fall like a prayer from your lips. You wanted more of him, as much as you could get your hands on. His shoulders, his neck, his hair, his back, his waist—

He stopped your hands inches from the gun in his waistband. “Baby…” 

“Hmm?”

His head pulled back, lazily, deliriously enticed by the taste of your lips but not so much so that he wasn’t aware of where his gun was, where the two of you were. “Let me take you home.”

Things were never supposed to get serious. It was meant to be one night, maybe two, a few rounds of mind-blowing sex, a few pictures stolen in the moonlight, maybe even in the morning light, but nothing more. If you knew what you were getting into, maybe you would have thought twice, maybe you would have hesitated before you let him undress you in the backseat of his car, and again before you let him take you on his couch, and in his bed… It was never supposed to be real. 

He was never supposed to be a man you lived with, a man you trusted. 

You were never supposed to be curled up on the couch, equal parts furious and desperate to be held by him just one more time. There was never supposed to be any pain or heartbreak, not like this. It was supposed to be mindless fun. 

You had just felt so alone, and the way he held you tight told you he felt the same. In that moment, that was all that seemed to matter. It wasn’t supposed to be real. 

“What’s your favorite picture?” The words swirled from his lips in a smoky kind of honey, rough around the edges but almost gentle as they floated through the air, following his stare to find you perched by the window, camera pressed to your eye. 

“That I’ve ever taken?”

“Not necessarily.”

He hadn’t struck you as the type for mindless small talk, not at the bar where he eased your mind with simple answers about who he was and why he was in Colombia, not in any of the quiet moments in between rolling off of you and lighting a cigarette. But he sounded serious. He was seriously asking. 

With a languid turn back to where he sat, perched upright against a mountain of pillows, a collection of sheets covering a meager amount of his lap and legs, with a cigarette dangling carefully from his lips, you turned the lens hesitantly his way, snapping a picture before he could protest. “This one.”

His smirk quickly upturned, jostling the cigarette. Amusement was a good look on him. “Yeah?” 

Maybe everything was a good look on him. 

“No, wait…” you snapped another picture, “This one.”

No. It wasn’t a smirk, it was a smile. You took one more picture, and he just chuckled into the smoke billowing from his lips. 

It was a good smile. 

In that moment, you didn’t know he wasn’t really one for smiling. You didn’t know what he did for a living, not really, you didn’t know what the gun was for beyond what you could assume, you didn’t even really care. You didn’t have to. It wasn’t supposed to be serious, he could just be fun for the night, anything more than that didn’t matter. Not in that moment. Not as he waved you back over with the quirk of his chin. 

“I want the pictures when they’re developed… and the negatives…”

You chuckled, crawling back under the sheets and cuddling in effortlessly to his side, like you two had known each other for years, been lovers like this for a lifetime. “But I just told you they’re my favorites.”

“Well… at the very least, it gives me a chance to see you again.”

It was never supposed to be serious. But you brought him the pictures after you developed the roll, and when he asked you to stay for a drink, you did. Eventually you just didn’t leave. 

Maybe you should have. 

Was there some kind of metric for gauging whether or not the love and happy memories outweighed the heartbreak and honest-to-god agony that was tearing through your chest? How many kisses, soft or otherwise, how many late-night conversations in hushed whispers, how many nights when you just held each other until the sun came up in the morning… how many good moments did it take for the bad moments to disappear. 

The way he snapped when you asked about his day…  he didn’t raise his voice or put any real anger in his tone, he saved that side of himself for work and tried as hard as he could to never bring it home, not to you, but he did snap. He was curt, dismissive, shorter than short, like he was hardly even there. The way he looked at himself in the mirror when he thought you couldn’t see him… like he was some kind of monster, he couldn’t even meet his own stare. Mirror days were the kind of days where he wouldn’t utter a word, wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t let you touch him, not even to squeeze past him reaching for your coffee in the kitchen. The way he flinched… you couldn’t hurt a thing and he knew that, but he flinched, out of your touch and away from you like your hands were a flame and he had just been burned. 

“Javi, baby…”

“I’ve got to go to work.”

He didn’t raise his voice, no shouting, no heat, but god, you might as well have been burned by the heat as he dashed from the kitchen leaving his coffee behind on the counter. 

How much love did it take to outweigh that kind of cold?

“Talk to me…” you pleaded to him, night after night. 

“I’m fine.” He snapped, again and again. 

There was something missing in your heart when he wasn’t himself. Day after day, you wandered the city and hiked up mountain tops, framing beautiful waterfalls and vibrant buildings with your camera’s eye, and you still couldn’t find it, whatever it was that was missing, it was just gone. The photographs paled in comparison to the ones you were taking when you first met him, when you were riding the high of an electric connection you thought would have been impossible to dull. There was something missing. 

Honestly, you had to wonder why you even got the call about the Brazil contract, it wasn’t like you had anything they would want… Not anymore. 

“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t even heard him come in the room. 

His shoes were in his hand, like he was afraid to wake you. It was a courtesy, he was trying to be respectful but… if you were being honest, it felt condescending. Did he actually think you were going to sleep when you left him in a huff in the middle of the night and found your way to the couch? Maybe he didn’t mean for it, but it just felt insulting. 

Maybe you were just on edge, not sleeping tended to have that effect, but you couldn’t help but scoff as he continued his way to the kitchen without even sparing you a glance. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Yeah.”

His mug clattered on the counter as you sniffed back your first tear. 

“Baby—“

“Do you still love me?”

Javier Pena wasn’t the kind of man who said “I love you”. He didn’t leave you in the dark, you would have left a long time ago if that were the case, but it wasn’t, he just wasn’t the kind of man to say it. 

There was a picture of you. A case of strawberries tucked beneath one arm, a bag of assorted groceries over your other arm, and the strawberry you had taken an adventurous bite out of still held between your lips, he called out to you just in time to snap a picture with your smile pulled tight around the bite. It disappeared from the stack of newly developed film the second you sat it on the counter and you hadn’t thought twice about it really, not until Steve told you he kept it in his wallet. 

It had been late one night and since you had cooked, Javi was cleaning and since Javi couldn’t truly be trusted, Connie was keeping an eye on him in the kitchen while you and Steve sat back, sipping your wine and mindlessly chatting.

Chatting about nothing. Nothing until your curiosity got the best of you.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry too much about him, darling.” The southern blonde had chuckled as you mentioned Javi had a bad day. It really wasn’t anything, you knew that now that you had truly seen him on his bad days, but it was still early, you didn’t know then what you knew now. Still, Steve talked you down with an easy smile. “Saw him smiling pretty bright when he opened his wallet to pay me the five bucks he owed me this morning.”

“His wallet?”

Steve quirked his head, realizing just how quiet Javier kept his love. “Yeah, he’s got that picture of you in it, folded up, with those strawberries and that smile.”

The smile you tried to hide behind your bottle.

He didn’t have to say it for you to know. 

He used to leave his gun out on the counter, but the second he realized you didn’t like having to navigate around it, he never left it out. When a picture from your semi-weekly batch of freshly developed photos struck him a certain way, he’d pull it from the stack and tape it to the fridge, sometimes replacing one, sometimes just adding another. And every single time you went out with him, meeting him after work at the same place you always did, there was always a drink waiting for you when you got there, your favorite drink. 

It may have sounded cliche and Javier was anything but a man who dealt in cliches, but it was the little things. For a man who couldn’t vocalize what he was feeling, he had no trouble showing it. 

Even at his worst… but god, it wasn’t supposed to be this hard. 

“Baby…”

“It’s a simple question, Javi.”  Your hand reached up, futile against the beginning wave of tears breaking at your lashline. “Say ‘yes’ and I’ll stay. Say ‘no’ and I’ll take the job in Brazil.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Okay, mind telling me where you’re getting stuck because to me—”

“I have to go to work.”

The scoff that tore out of your chest was broken, even your annoyance couldn’t come out whole. You were shattered, broke to the bone and he… he hadn’t even left the kitchen. “Fuck… then go.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t be surprised if I’m in Brazil when you get back.”

“Baby—”

“I thought you had to go.” You scoffed one final time, wiping the tears away as you fought to keep anymore from falling, wrapping the warm blanket even tighter around your shoulders despite the suffocating heat boiling in your chest. 

Without his shoes on, you couldn’t hear him step around and out of the kitchen. Maybe it wasn’t his lack of shoes, maybe it was the ringing in your ears. This was it, wasn’t it? 

Over a year and—

“Baby…” you flinched as he settled down beside you on the couch, not necessarily away from his touch, nor into it. “Look at me… please baby.”

“It’s a simple question.”

His hand found your shoulder, running up to the back of your neck as you refused to even come close to his stare. “Look at me.”

“Answer the question—”

“Baby, I am out of my mind in love with you, will you please just look at me.”

He had these beautiful eyes. A reverence in the deep, dark color. A levity in the golden speck that sparkled when morning light hit them just right. 

“Baby, it’s not that easy...” he caught himself as he held your stare, something on his tongue that he just couldn’t get out, not until he pressed a soft, barely there, kiss to your lips. “I have to go, I’m sorry, if you want the job, then… just please don’t go yet, be here when I get home.”

If you had the breath, you would have countered him, you would have told him that it mattered what version of him came back home. But he had your breath. 

He had your whole damn heart. 

And there wasn’t a damn thing you could seem to do about it. 

Three aggressive knocks echoed out throughout the whole hollow apartment, the brutish southern violence shaking the door, shaking both of you out of your empty, silent trance. “Let’s go, Javi.”

He couldn’t even give you a moment, one simple moment. It was never supposed to be this complicated, he was never supposed to drag you down with him like this. He needed to let you go, to free you from the mess he was making with his life every day he poured every inch of his being into his work, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t let go. 

With his hand on the back of your neck, he just couldn’t let you go. Gentle in his touch, as grounding as he’s always felt, even as a stranger that first night. 

“Now, Javi. We’re going to be late.” Steve hit the door again, from the sounds of it, he was just a few seconds away from breaking down the whole damn thing. “Javi—”

“Just a minute please, Steve…”

You didn’t need to be able to see through the door to know that the sound of your voice had frozen him on the spot, backing him away from the door in a red-cheek kind of embarrassment. You could hear it in the seconds of silence he let hang between the door and where the two of you sat in a similar kind of quiet, you could hear it in the way his voice cracked when he finally came back to his senses. “Yeah, ‘course, sorry ‘bout that.”

Steve was a good man. Javier was a good man. It just wasn’t a good world. 

It just wasn’t that simple. 

Your lips pressed gently to the corner of his mouth, a brief moment of indecision catching you between kissing his cheek in stubborn defiance and hitting his lips in effortless routine. “You can’t keep him waiting, you need to go.”

“Baby, I’m not leaving if you’re in Brazil when I get home—”

“I’ll be here.”

“Baby—”

“Just go, Javi.”

That was the last thing he wanted to do, didn’t you see that? 

He wanted to wrap his arms around you and never let you go, to hold you until nothing else mattered. The mere idea of you leaving, taking a contract in another country, no matter how much you deserved it, made him sick to his stomach and not being able to do a damn thing about it made it even worse. Of course he loved you, how could you even ask him that? How bad was he if he couldn’t even do the simplest thing right? He couldn’t even love you right… He couldn’t even talk to you about the simplest things, he couldn’t talk to you about anything, he couldn’t even talk. 

All he had were his actions, and leaving you…. What did that say?

“Javi, go…” 

“Baby…”

If he wasn’t going to go, then you were making the decision for him. If he couldn’t get up, you were just going to have to get up for him. 

Fighting your way out of his grasp didn’t end up being as difficult as you expected. The second you sucked in your last shaky breath and wiped away your last tear, his grip grew loose around the back of your neck. The second you got to your feet, he fell back into the worn creases of leather, catching the blanket as you pushed it back off your shoulders, moving for the door and giving him no choice but to follow you. 

“Baby—” you put his shoes in his hand. You wouldn’t touch his gun, but the shoes were the last push he needed to snap out of his head. You’d talk when there was time. 

That had to be enough for now. 

He slipped his shoes on and pocketed his gun while you moved for the door. “Sorry about that Steve, he’s coming.”

The blonde pocketed his hands, folding in on himself as he halted his pace in your doorway, and as he took in the sight of you hanging on the door handle, he quickly flushed red again. “No, darling, it’s nothing to worry about, sorry about the knocking… you doing okay?”

“Yeah, just not sleeping well…”

“I’m sorry about that, darling—”

“Let’s go.” Javi shouldered his way into the doorway, placing a careful hand on your back as he wedged his way into the conversation. “We’re late.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

One stern look from Javi and Steve just melted away, back down the hall. You weren’t folding that quickly though. The second he stepped the rest of the way through the door, you caught him by the shoulder and held him back, just for a second, just for the kiss you missed earlier. He was the one who held you in a second longer, even as the chime of Steve’s impatient fingers tapping on the building’s doorjam echoed through the hall. “You’ll be here?”

You nodded against him. “Yeah.”

Yeah. Yeah. That was enough for now. 

But the second you shut the door behind him and he heard the lock click, Steve gave up on trying to hold his tongue. “Is it even worth me asking?”

“Nope.”

Steve unlocked the jeep and climbed in, but it did nothing to help him bite his tongue. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah.”

He scoffed into his chest, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You don’t deserve that woman, Javi, you’ve gotta fix that.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

Javi moved his elbow to the window, directing his attention anywhere but towards the infuriating man beside him. “Good thinking, Murphy, why didn’t I come up with that.”

—

tags: (let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged) @tiffdawg @gravegoth @xjaywritesx @leonieb @burnt-august @doodlingbreak @mistermiraclee @theocatkov @lovinglokiforever @friendscall-me-mom @lazybeeches @sesamepancakes @rogueonestan @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @paperbag33 @witchyavenger @littlevodika @hoodedbirdie @nominalnebula @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thehippiequilter @anu-simps @republicansithlord

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier Peña x fem!reader #narcos #pedro pascal #fic: ghosts

[andawaywego]

Your fics are my favorite! Could you write one where some guy hitting on Dani too aggressively and won’t leave so Jamie has to step in? Maybe punches him, Dani takes care of her hand after and has a lot of feelings

okay! so i also got a more recent prompt for someone asking for Jamie to defend Dani, so this is for both of you guys. i hope you like it!

(check it out in my prompt collection for a bonus ending written by my hilarious bud, Julia)

..

Growing up, the storybooks always made Dani think that heroes come in suits of armor. Broad-shouldered, tall, handsome strangers who wait for you at the bottom of the tower asking you to let down your hair, give them your heart, just let them save you and they’ll love you forever, promise. And there was something about that she never wanted—she’s never seen herself in that throne room or glass coffin or anywhere else where a princess might need saving.

Because, no. She doesn’t need any saving that she can’t provide for herself. And she knows that. Really, she does.

But then again, she’s never had anyone knock a guy on his ass for her. At least, not until—

_____________________

Rewind.

The last night of Owen’s visit, they go to a bar in Burlington for drinks. It’s not a place they frequent, no, but it’s nearby and always seems busy. Certainly that can’t mean it’s unliked.

And it is nice enough. Clean booths, even if the benches are cracked vinyl, nice enough waitresses, good lighting and, importantly, not too loud. It’s a Friday, so it is fairly packed and it’s late, too, what with them having decided to come last minute after letting Owen cook them one more meal (“You’ll have plenty of leftovers,” he’d said, “so you won’t have to do take-out for a bit”; always trying to take care of them, even when he lives on the other side of the ocean).

He and Jamie are trying to outdrink one another, though neither of them had said this aloud. Dani sits beside her girlfriend, arm around her waist, and watches them fondly as some of Jamie’s beer dribbles down her chin. Somehow, she manages to finish before Owen does, and then she’s slamming her glass back down on the table in front of her, liquid spilling into her lap and Dani laughs.

“Oh my god,” she says, reaching across the table for the napkin holder. “You’re a mess.” She grabs a handful of them and turns Jamie’s head her way, mopping her face up while Jamie smiles and laughs at her own ridiculousness.

Owen stops drinking with just a splash left and sets his own mug down, shaking his head as he makes himself swallow. “I refuse to look like that,” he says, gesturing to her beer-stained flannel. “You win.”

“You refuse to look like what? A winner?” Jamie counters, a triumphant gleam in her eye that makes Dani sort of feel like swooning, even though that’s silly.

“A wet winner,” Dani amends and Jamie must be buzzed because her smirk only gets wider and she wiggles her eyebrows at Dani. “Stop.” Dani pretends to push her away as Jamie darts in quickly to plant a kiss on her cheek. 

“God, stop being so bloody happy,” Owen complains, not an ounce of animosity in his voice or his expression. “You’re making me ill.”

“That’s probably because of the beer you just guzzled down,” Dani tells him and Jamie cackles.

“She’s got your number,” she says. She lifts her hand up then, burping into her fist and then apologizing and Dani rolls her eyes.

Sometimes, it’s a wonder that this is the same woman who could make her weak-kneed with just a look. More than anyone Dani has ever known in her life, Jamie contains multitudes.

“I’m gonna get you two some water,” Dani says, getting up. 

Jamie throws her a happy grin and Owen gives a sincere, “Thank you,” that Dani waves off. She’s only a foot away from the two of them resume their childish bickering. 

Slowly, Dani weaves her way through the other patrons and makes her way to the bar, keeping to herself as much as possible. It isn’t as if she’s been in many, but it seems strange, almost, how the atmosphere of the place can change with the types of people who choose to inhabit it. When they first arrived, the place seemed warm and friendly—lots of clean lines and light greys. A modern-looking chandelier strung above the main tables past the bar. An exposed brick wall beside the booths. Without too many people in it, the space had seemed almost bonhomous. Welcoming.

Now, as the evening grows later and people are getting more and more into their cups, it’s begun to lose some of what made it convivial. 

So she tightens up her posture, holds her shoulders and head higher, and finds an empty space beside the bar to wait while the bartender assists someone else. There’s a song playing from the jukebox in the corner, but she can’t make out any of the words or even tell what key the melody is in. All she can hear is the distant, seemingly random scatter of an asynchronous beat.

“What have I done to deserve this?”

It takes Dani a moment to realize that, despite the phrasing, the question is being asked in relation to her presence. There’s a man sitting on a stool beside where she’s standing and he’s looking at her with dark eyes that make her feel even more on display. He’s smartly dressed, like he’d come to the bar directly from his office, and his tie is loosened around his neck, the top buttons undone in a blatant show of after-hours leisure. 

There’s something to the way he’s looking at her—the parting of his chapped lips—that makes her feel trapped. Makes her heart speed up in her chest.

“Excuse me?” she asks. Wanting to ignore him. Knowing in her heart of hearts that he will likely only persist even if she does.

“What brings a girl like you to a place like this?” he asks, eyes dancing with slight intoxication. Leering at her. 

Dani taps her fingers against the bartop, a quiet prayer of, “Come on, come one, come on,” escaping her lips as she stares down the busy bartender. Wanting a rescue. Wanting a way out.

“Did you hear me?” the man asks, and there’s a quality to his voice now that makes her feel even more on edge than before. 

Dani decides that the best course of action is to simply play dumb. “Sorry?” she asks, turning his way again with a stiff smile. 

He smirks. “I asked what a girl like you is doing in a place like this.”

“Um…” She clears her throat. “Waiting for the bartender.”

“Why don’t you sit down and stay a while.” He gestures at the empty stool beside him. “Let me buy you the next one.”

Dani presses her lips together. Takes a deep breath. “Thank you, but I’m uh...here with people.”

His expression darkens even further somehow. “Boyfriend?” he asks.

Her immediate reaction is to deny it because no. There is no boyfriend. Just her beautiful, silly, and very, very far away girlfriend. But then she thinks of Owen, also with them. Not necessarily intimidating, no, but another man at least. 

She grits her teeth. “Yes, actually. Right over there.” She points to the booth where Owen and Jamie are still talking amongst themselves. The man follows her gaze and stares them down. As he does, Jamie perks up, frowning at the sight of him and catching Dani’s eyes.

If there were a way to send for an SOS, Dani would have done it already. Instead, she has to settle for hoping that, after three years together, Jamie might be able to simply read her mind.

“Him?” the man asks. He turns back around and fixes Dani with a hard look that makes her skin crawl. 

“Yes,” Dani says. “Him.”

“He looks a little busy with your friend, wouldn’t you say?” He leans a little closer, and Dani jumps when she feels his hand touch her waist, trying to pull her in. “Come on, baby. One drink.”

“No, thank you.” Dani pulls away from him, anger flushing up her neck and chest. “And don’t call me that.”

He grips her arm next, a little too tightly, and Dani’s certain her heart is going to pound directly out of her chest. “What?” he asks, showing his teeth in a way that is so, so different than a smile. “Baby?”

Dani wrenches herself out of his grasp and pulls away. “Yes,” she says, a note of slight hysteria tinting the word. “Now—”

“Somethin’ the matter, Poppins?” 

It’s as if her lungs can finally expand when Dani hears Jamie’s voice, feels her warm, gentle hand on her waist. Immediately, she leans into the touch and turns to meet the worried, heated gaze of her girlfriend. She opens her mouth to say something, to ask for Jamie to please, please get her out of here, but she’s cut off by an irritated, “Oh,” coming from the man on the stool.

When she turns, he’s looking between them knowingly, eyes tracing the way Dani has turned herself into Jamie’s touch. 

“I didn’t realize you were one of them,” he spits.

Something hot and panicked shoots through Dani’s chest at his words, like lightning, like a bullet. She feels rather than sees Jamie stiffen beside her, pull herself up to make herself seem taller.

“What’s that?” Jamie asks, teeth bared and feral, already pushing herself in front of Dani to stand between him and the man.

He scoffs, and rolls his eyes. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have wasted my time on a d—” 

Thankfully, he doesn’t even have time to finish the thought. Instead, there’s a sickening, fleshy thump as Jamie’s fist collides with his cheekbone. 

Hard.

Caught off guard, the man falls off his stool and lands on the floor with an even louder noise. As he does, his arms flail out and knock his glass off the table, and it lands beside him, crashing as it breaks apart upon impact. 

Immediately, the entire bar goes quiet as everyone turns to stare at what’s just happened. Owen is standing by the booth, mouth agape and wide-eyed as he looks between a seething Jamie, fist still cocked, and the man on the floor clutching his face.

Dani is clutching Jamie’s other arm, pulling at her and trying to let her mind catch up with the quickly-unfolding events that have just taken place. 

“You bitch!” the man yells. He turns to look at the shell-shocked audience around him. “She hit me! You crazy bitch!”

“You’re lucky that’s all I did you fucking dickhead!” Jamie shouts back. “When a girl tells ya’ no thank you, keep your greasy fucking hands off her or I’ll—”

“Jamie,” Dani says softly, tugging at Jamie’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s just—”

Jamie is wild-eyed when she turns to look at her, as unhinged as Dani’s ever seen her and she looks so angry and beautiful that it’s a wonder Dani keeps standing at all. “He fucking—” she begins, but Dani shakes her head.

“I know, I know.” She throws a look at Owen who is already making his way towards them. “We need to leave, okay? Please.”

It’s the final word, perhaps, that finally brings Jamie back into herself. Her expression softens and she lowers her fist, nodding and letting herself be pulled toward the exit before anyone wises up enough to call the police. As they go, whispered conversations start trickling through the crowd again, muffled shock cupped behind hands as the man begins to pull himself to his feet, deflated and looking very much like a child.

The front door squeaks loudly as they step out into the bitter, November air. It’s shockingly sobering, despite the fact that Dani hasn’t had a drop to drink all night. Her cheeks are flushed with the emotion of the last few minutes and she realizes that she’s trembling, even as she’s gripping Jamie’s wrist.

Fortunately, it seems to have the same effect on Jamie, who’s begun to calm herself down and breathe normally again. The normal sounds of the evening feel otherworldly now—the rush of cars and voices and regular life crashing down on each of them.

The door squeaks again and then Owen is there, coming towards them with a still-surprised gleam in his eye. But there’s something else there, too. Something that Dani thinks might be pride.

“What happened?” he asks, looking between them both.

“Bloody wanker grabbed Dani,” Jamie mutters and she’s inspecting her punching-fist now, eyebrows furrowed.

Owen’s eyebrows raise in even more surprise. “You okay, Dani?” he asks, turning his worry her way.

Dani nods. “I’m fine, I just—”

“Yep,” Jamie says. “It’s broken.”

“What?” Dani squeaks and Jamie looks up at her with a wry smile, clutching her hand to her chest.

“My knuckle. It’s broken.”

“Oh my god,” Dani breathes.

“It’s okay.”

“You broke your hand. How is that—”

“I’m fine. It’s not like I—”

“Jesus, Jamie, why did you have to—”

“What was I supposed to do, Dani?” Jamie asks. “Let him touch you like that when you were trying to get away from him? You looked so scared and he was just...I just...I’m sorry.”

Dani blinks. Tries not to cry. “You big, dumb hero,” she says softly and Jamie looks hurt for a moment until she realizes that Dani is smiling. “You broke your hand defending my honor.”

For a moment, she forgets that Owen is there at all. It’s just her and Jamie and Jamie’s battle wound, wrapped up in a bubble of their own design. Jamie smiles a little, clearly in pain as her adrenaline drains away.

“So out of character for me,” Jamie breathes, laughing a little. “I’m sorry that I—”

Dani cuts her off again, but differently now. Leaning in, she cups Jamie’s face and kisses her, hard and heart and i can’t believe you did that. Jamie lifts her good hand, resting it on Dani’s shoulder as she kisses her back. It lingers for a moment, just long enough for Dani to feel like the earth has stopped spinning beneath her feet. 

When she pulls away, Jamie breathes shakily against her lips, resting their foreheads together as they each try to settle down.

Owen clears his throat, bringing them back into the moment. “If you two are done, I really think we should get her to the hospital.”

Reality washes over Dani like an icy ocean wave. “Oh my god, Jamie, your hand.”

The last evening of Owen’s visit, they end the night in the emergency room; Owen buys them food from the vending machine, Jamie makes too many jokes about being temporarily handicapped (“Handicapped,” she says, smiling at herself. “Get it?”) and Dani holds her good hand, remembering all of those heroes she never wanted to be rescued by.

Jamie’s nothing like them. She isn’t a knight or a prince or anything like that. She’s the hard-headed, unbelievable, wonderful love of Dani’s life. And that’s better than any hero she could have ever wished for.

..

#seriously tho #check out that alternative ending #it's iconic #damie #damie prompt #dani x jamie #dani/jamie #thobm #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie fanfic #andawaywego fanfic

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Somewhere in the Middle

Darth Maul x Jayna Dar, Darth Maul x OC

Light Smut, Pillow Talk, Fluff, Angst, Character Decontruction, Vulnerability

Summary: Jayna and Maul begin to discover just how alike they truly are and what that means for both of them in the future.

Warning: Mild NSFW elements

Word Count: 2.5K          

          Of all the things that came with working alongside Maul, this was certainly the one Jayna enjoyed the most.

           She let out a long moan.  The mounting pressure inside her was becoming almost unbearable as her nails dug deeper into the flesh of his back. 

          She could practically feel his smug smile against her ear. His grip tightened on her hips.  The headboard pounded hard against the wall, keeping in perfect time to the thrust of his cock.

           “That’s it little hunter,” he growled.  “I want to hear you. Moan.  Fucking beg for me.”

           She started to roll her eyes, but they changed course to the back of her skull the moment he found her G-spot.

           “Fuck yes,” she rasped.  “Right there. Don’t stop. Please!”

           He hummed in satisfaction picking the pace, hitting the same place over and over again.

           She unraveled in seconds, cumming hard and gasping with Maul following quickly behind.

           He collapsed on top of her.  For a moment, neither of them could move, their muscles still shaking from the pleasure of it.

           Finally, he let out a breath.  Kissing her shoulder, he slowly pulled away and rolled onto his back.

           The sudden rush of cool air woke Jayna from her post-orgasmic haze.  Her skin still buzzed, but at least now she could form coherent thoughts.  

           A smile came to her lips as she pushed her long dark hair out of her face. There really was no replacing a partner who could consistently make you cum.

           She felt Maul shift beside her.  The warmth of his body came back to her as he draped an arm across her torso and settled his lips to the crook of her neck.

           “What are you thinking now, little hunter,” he asked, nipping playfully at her skin.

           This was a side of Maul she had encountered on occasion.  Less so now after the death of Savage, but still a familiar face; one that could forget Death Watch and Crimson Dawn, and all the rest to focus on the present moment.  It was odd, but not unwelcome.  She might even say, she enjoyed it.

           “Just musing on the advantages of having a literal magic cock,” she said, airy. “You’d be surprised how many men claim to have one.”

           He chuckled.  It came from deep in his chest and sent a pleasant shiver through her.

           “And did any live up to their boasting?”

           “Of literal magic? No,” she answered.  “But not all of them needed it.”

           She morphed her lips into an almost wistful smile.  The effect was immediate.

           A low growl came from Maul’s throat.  Moving further up her body, he claimed her mouth, taking her bottom lip in his teeth and kissing her with a vengeance.  

           Jayna let him, reveling in the mixture of pain and pleasure that was his true specialty. This was the second thing she enjoyed; how easily she could get under his skin.

           He pulled away.  His breath hot and harsh against his lips as his hand rested almost lazily around her throat.  

           “I don’t think I need to hear the rest,” he said, his voice dark and utterly seductive.

           She couldn’t stop the lopsided smile. “You’re the one who asked.”

           His face took on an unamused expression as his thumb brushed against the column of her throat.  He didn’t put any extra pressure, just a subtle reminder.  

           Despite this, she smiled on, even rolling her eyes as if the hand around her neck wasn’t the same that had killed so many and for much less.

           “Fine,” she relented.  “We’ll save the “how many people have you slept with” conversation for another day.”

           His brow furrowed.  “Do we need to have that conversation?”

           She shrugged.  “Not necessarily.  If knowing I’ve slept with other people doesn’t bother you, the reverse doesn’t bother me.”

           He nodded in understanding, but the uncertain crease didn’t fully disappear.  

           “Does it bother you?” she prompted, curiously.

           He took a moment.  His hand moved away her neck and traced down her body with the smooth motions of an afterthought.

          “No,” he answered.  The word was spoken with such confidence she had to believe it.  Still, something clearly nagged at him.

           “Do you think it would bother me?” she asked.

           He shook his head.  “I rather doubt that.”

           “I take it, it’s a nice round number then,” she teased.  

           He averted his gaze.  If she didn’t know any better, she would have called his expression embarrassment.

           She quirked an eyebrow.  “Do you?”

           He scoffed but there was no denying it now. The intent to evade rippled out of him. Anyone with a pair of eyes and mild force sensitivity could feel it.

           “We don’t need to have this conversation,” he said, firmly. “I can’t see it benefiting either of us.” To make a point, he rolled back onto his back and away from her.

           Jayna wasn’t letting him get away that easily.  She moved toward him, draping her leg over his thigh, effectively pinning him under the weight of her body.  He could push her away if he really wanted to, but that would only make things worse for him.

           “Well now I am curious,” she said, enjoying herself thoroughly.  “Tell me, how many beings has the great Lord Maul led to his bed?”

           He kept his mouth shut, looking directly at a specific part of the ceiling.

          She could practically hear the cogs turning in his mind as he decided how to answer.

           “Two,” he confessed, solemnly.

           Her eyes widened.  “Two? You mean two beside me?”

           “One,” he amended.  “I was brought back to Dathomir when I came of age. One of the Nightsisters took me to her bed.  It was part of the ritual symbolizing my transition into manhood.”

           She blinked, her mouth forming a perfect “o” in surprise.

           “Surely it can’t be that shocking,” he said, defensively.

           “Yes,” she countered, easily. “Believe me when I say, I would not have guessed.”

           His lips pressed into an annoyed line, still refusing to look at her.

           She gave a dry laugh before shifting so her lips hovered over his own. “Personally, I’d take it as a compliment.”

           “Would you?”

           She hummed a yes. Reaching out a hand, she traced her fingers along his jaw line, taking special care at the edge between the red and black of his skin. “The Nightsisters may have taken your virginity, but that’s not exactly experience.  I can’t say I’ve met many men who can make a woman cum on only their second try.”

           He let out an airy laugh.  “And you’ve been with enough to know?”

           “Only my share.”

           He met her gaze with a raised eyebrow.  “And how many men would you consider your share?”

           “Just men?” she countered wryly.

           “Beings then.”

           She laughed, before looking away, allowing herself time to run the numbers.  

           “Well I will say they’re a bit skewed considering my current position,” she said, thinking aloud. “Do you want the numbers of just the past year or…”

           Maul cursed as he dropped his head back dramatically.  “Impossible woman.”

           “I am,” she agreed.

           “Insatiable.”

           “Of course.”

           He shook his head in frustration. “Doesn’t that go against your Jedi code?”

           She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I think it’s pretty clear I’m not much of a Jedi. Besides you’re one to talk.  I thought the Sith were all about indulging their passions.”

           “Yes and no.”

           Her eyes narrowed.  Carefully, she crawled just a little further onto his body as if to make sure he couldn’t get away.  “Oh, you can’t just leave it at that.”

           He met her eyes.  For a brief moment, she thought he might refuse her, given his guarded expression. But then something shifted.  A small spark appeared and Jayna had to wonder who, if anyone, he had spoken to about the Sith besides his own master.  

          “Passion is the foundation on which the Sith are built,” he admitted. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power.  Through power, I gain victory.  Through victory, my chains are broken.  The force shall set me free.”

          Something warm and unknown seeped into her veins at the words.  Like hearing a familiar prayer. She became aware of the arms wrapped around her body.  One hand held her by the waist keeping her pressed against him while the other trailed the line between the back of her leg and inner thigh.  She shuttered involuntarily at his touch.  She doubted this was what the Jedi meant by seduction to the Dark side, but it was certainly effective.

          “The purpose of passion is strength through the force,” he continued, staring deep into her eyes as he did. The timbre of his voice was dark and secretive, but not directed completely at her.  It was as if he was fighting something within himself as his grip tighten around her skin. “Physical passion sates the body, but it does not strengthen the will. In some way, it lessens it.”  

           Her throat was dry. Her mind spun at how his words and actions contradicted each other so completely.

          “How so?” she managed.

          He took breath.  His eyes closed.  The grip on her skin loosened and he seemed to come back in control of himself. “The possibility of love becomes a risk,” he answered, opening his eyes again. “My Master warned me of its dangers; how love could force one to lose oneself in another, how it weakens you, and forces you to give up your own power.”

          She expected him to push her away but he kept her close, caught between the words and something else he refused to give voice.

          “True power cannot be attained if you are not fully your own,” he finished, keeping his gaze fixed directly into hers.

          She met him, still not able to fully understand.

           “You talk about loving another person as if it’s selfless.”

           “Isn’t that what the Jedi taught you?” he countered.

           She shook her head. “They taught me the only safe way to love was through compassion; impersonal and dispassionate.”

           Now it was his turn to be confused. “But aren’t Jedi encouraged to care about one another?”

          “Of course,” she said, “but compassionately. Loving just one person is inherently selfish. Yours and their happiness takes priority above all others and the fear and anger that comes with the inevitability of losing them becomes overpowering.”

          She looked away unsure of how she felt about the lessons coming out of her own mouth. They were no her experience with love. In truth the way Maul described it felt closer to her reality than what she had been taught. Still she continued on.

          “For a Jedi, love isn’t weakness, it’s destruction.”

          Maul’s hand came to her cheek, turning her back to face him.

           “You were taught to fear it’s power,” he murmured.  He spoke the words not as a confirmation of her experiences, but of his own.

            “And you were taught to fear it’s control.”

           The realization came over them slowly.  Both their masters, the Sith and the Jedi taught them to fear the aspect of love which gave strength to the other.

           Jayna wanted to laugh. It was all just another form of control. Whether or not they could love, how they did it and why; it was all about keeping them in line with their Master’s will.

          “You have to wonder if they made it all up,” she said, dryly.

           Maul didn’t look nearly as contemptuous as she did.  His fingers traced her skin absently as he remained deep in thought.

           “Perhaps,” he said, softly. “Or perhaps they were both right and the truth lies somewhere in the middle.”

           She titled her head curiously to the side. “Bold words for a Sith to agree with a Jedi.”

           He shook his head.  Moving away from her face, he ran his fingers down the length of her soft hair.

           “I don’t know if that word applies to me anymore,” he whispered.  “Not in the way it once did.” His eyes stayed on hers as he let his fingers absently play with the tips of her hair.  

          She held the soft gasp pressing at her lips.

          This was probably the most intimate she had ever been with anyone, even more than when he had been inside her just moments ago. The way he was looking at her made her heart race. She couldn’t remember if anyone had ever looked at her like that.  To be honest, she wasn’t even sure what it was.  All she knew was it both thrilled and terrified her. His touch had no other priority than the comfort of the gesture and his words spoke to an understanding.

          Both of them were something different from what they had been told to be. Something in the middle, however that presented itself.

           “I should go,” she heard herself saying.  It was instinctual, something she had developed over the years to keep herself from this exact situation.

           He didn’t let go, his eyes keeping her there just as firmly as his grasp.

           “Do you wish to go?” he asked.

           Her first instinct was to say no, but she couldn’t let herself say it.

           “Do you want me to stay?”

           He searched her face, trying to find that crack surely forming in her armor. “Only if you desire it.”

          She could feel her resolve fading.  If he had demanded she stay, it would have been easier.  Her instinct to run would be justified.  But he kept giving her to option to leave of her own free will.  She needed something, anything.

          “That doesn’t answer my question,” she said.

          He eyes softened, as if understanding what she was trying to do.  Cupping her cheek, he placed his final card on the table.

           “I want you to stay,” he confessed, with a vulnerability at made her heart ache. His thumb ran down her cheek, taking pause at the corner of her mouth. “Do you wish to go?”

           She broke.

          “No.”

          He let out a breath of relief before pressing his lips to hers.  The kiss was deep and aching and utterly unknown to either of them.  But it was the truth.  

          He pulled away, keeping a ghost of a touch against her mouth.

           “Then stay.”

           She nodded, unable to do anything else.  Slowly, she moved further down, allowing her head to rest against his chest.

           He held her there in a way she didn’t think him capable of.  She had felt his passion, his anger, his fear, his annoyance, his amusement, and even some happiness.  But this was different.  It was vulnerable and raw.  And if that was how he felt pressed against her, she can only imagine how she felt to him.

           It was terrifying.  He or she or both of them could regret it in the morning.  But as she drifted off the sleep with the sound of both his hearts in her ears, she knew deep down, she would need to change her list of things she enjoyed.

#darth maul #maul #jayna dar #darth maul x oc #maul x oc #star wars #the clone wars #star wars oc #sw oc #my oc stuff #lemon

[walviemort]

hidden blessing (6/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

rated T | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | AO3 | 2.5k

a/n: I didn’t realize it had been so long since I updated—apologies! Hopefully I haven’t lost you, and hopefully the next one will go up sooner. Dedicated as always to the amazing @sherlockianwhovian​ <3

“If you must know,” he started, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Emma stared at him for a moment, then scoffed. “Seriously? This is no time for jokes.”

A spark of anger quickly ignited within Killian; he wasn’t sure if that was his normal temper, or the hormones playing a part. “Why the bloody hell would I make something like that up?”

“I don’t know; some weird attempt to lighten the mood.”

“Am I lying?” he snapped back.

She opened her mouth a few times, trying to come up with an equal retort, but he saw the realization of his truth wash over her. She finally came up with, “That’s impossible.”

“Afraid not.” 

She blinked in disbelief and looked him up and down, her gaze eventually settling on his midsection. His bump was still mostly hidden by the bulk of his vest, but if one knew to look, they could see the way his stomach curved just above his belt. “Wait, for real?”

If it weren’t for the taste of bile on his tongue, he probably would have found humor in her reaction. As it was, he simply longed for a drag from the waterskin Snow was carrying and his temper was wearing thin. Impulsively, he reached out for her hand and placed the back of it against his stomach, against the spot where its inhabitant was currently moving about—not strongly discernible kicks, not from the outside, but definitely noticeable, especially (hopefully) to someone who had been through this before.

Emma’s eyes grew wide in shocked recognition and she snatched her hand back. “Holy shit; you’re pregnant.”

“Aye; and if you don’t mind, I’d like to wash my mouth out with something other than rum.” And without another word, stepped around Emma to join the rest of the group.

Emma only paused a moment before rushing to catch back up to him. “But...how?” she stammered.

“Well, when a man and woman love each other—”

“I know that,” she cut off. “But like...is that a normal thing in the Enchanted Forest?” She cast a worrying look in the direction of her father.

And as quick as the anger had come, it was replaced with sympathy just as fast; he couldn’t fault Emma’s confusion, when it evidently was an impossibility in her realm. “Not necessarily; it’s rare—only runs in certain families—but it does happen. Obviously.”

He hoped that might be the end of it, not quite wanting that revelation to drop on any unsuspecting ears just yet, but Emma had more questions. And honestly, it felt nice to talk to someone about it, however briefly, and equally nice to have someone take an interest.

“How far along are you?” she continued.

“About sixteen weeks, the doctor says.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Just Regina.”

“Is she the...mother, or whatever?”

“Heavens no.” Though he could see why she’d think that.

She grew silent for a bit. “You should have told me,” she finally scolded.

“I know,” he agreed.

“I can’t afford to be worried about you, too.”

That honestly took him aback; it had been centuries since anyone had any concern for him. “I’m flattered, love, but you don’t have to; I can take care of myself,” he assured her. Her focus needed to be on Henry—not his sorry arse.

She was about to say something, but David’s voice interrupted. “Up here! We made it!”

They jogged ahead to join the rest of the group at the ridge, which gave an unparalleled view of the island, specifically the Dark Jungle—or at least, it had; it appeared to have grown over quite a bit in Killian’s absence. They heeded his warning on going through it, at least, and agreed to his recommendation to make camp with only minor protest.

He thought sleep would claim him quickly—while he wasn’t as fatigued as he had been weeks ago, he still found himself needing more than in the past; given the excitement of the last day, he knew he needed it. But the island wasn’t quite ready to let him. 

The crying—how had he forgotten it?

The sound of the Lost One’s wails echoed in his skull, and if he wasn’t careful, his own would likely join them; it certainly had in the past. Regardless of the number of decades that had passed since his father deserted him and his brother, the cries never failed to bring up the feelings of hurt and abandonment that lay buried within.

But now it wasn’t just for him—gods, what if that happened to his child? For not the first time (and likely not the last), he worried that one or more of his enemies, or even just his penchant for ending up in life-threatening situations, would leave his child parentless.

He rolled from his back to his side, away from the others, and curled in on himself, hoping the fetal position—and feeling of fetal movements under his palm—might calm his thoughts and mind, but it was to no avail. He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, but all that did was force out the tears that had been brimming at them. It had been many years since he’d silently cried, but as a lad, it had been a lifesaving skill; thank goodness he still remembered how.

Gods, how was no one else reacting to this? Even with the echoing sobs in the foliage, he could still hear the prince’s snores, and the general silence told him everyone else was equally still.

He let his crying jag run its course; he’d need the waterskin again soon, but hopefully he would at least cry himself to sleep. Alas, he did not, and the rhythmic sounds of the others in the camp did nothing to lull him, either.

Sighing, he returned to his back, hoping the stars might give some comfort—but they were invisible through the foliage. He quietly sighed again and let his head fall to the other side, glancing at the rest of the camp. The first thing he saw was a blanket lying in a heap and Emma’s jacket—but no Emma.

He sat bolt upright. He had no doubts she heard the voices, too. He’d known her for a lost girl from the moment he’d locked eyes with her. But why the bloody hell had she gone off alone?

His jacket was on and he was ready to search for her when she returned on her own, a blank sheet of parchment in hand that he could immediately tell was anything but harmless.

It was Pan; of course it was. A shiver went down his spine at the thought of the demon child being close and he not being aware of it.

After rousing the others, she explained: the map would lead them to Henry, but first, she had to stop denying who she really was. Regina scoffed at the idea and questioned its validity, but he set her straight: Pan loved his games, and this is just another they had to play.

(Surprisingly, he had the Charmings on his side. “I’m winning you over; I can feel it,” he teased David; he took the responding roll of eyes as progress.)

Of course, Emma coming to terms with her identity was much easier said than done. It took a certain kind of confidence—and many years—for most people to fully own their selves; for Killian, it had taken a handful of decades to achieve that kind of self-awareness. That was time they didn’t have for Emma. 

In her typical impatience, Regina decided a quicker plan: use a tracking spell on the parchment itself to lead to Pan. Again, he found himself in agreement with the Charmings, that using magic was a risk. But Her Majesty wouldn’t hear it, and off they went into the jungle…

...Right into an ambush. He should have known that would happen; alas, the only warning he could give was of the danger hidden in the Lost Boys’ poisoned arrow tips. He said a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that he and his child would manage to avoid that fate; and, to his surprise, a warm wash of magic ran over him—shielding him, it felt like. He caught Regina’s eye from across their circle and she nodded at him. Well, at least she’d done that.

They somehow made it through the altercation relatively unscathed, though David seemed to have had a too-close encounter with an arrow, and Killian really did not want to deal with Felix ever again. Pan repeated his smug instructions to Emma, and then their foes retreated...leaving them no closer to finding Henry.

He took small comfort in the gentle movements he felt within while he subtly rested his hand on his belt on their trek back to camp. They may not have come out ahead, but at least they weren’t behind (he hoped).

He and Regina hung back at the campsite while Emma and her parents continued at the map. His adrenaline from the fight was starting to fade and his interrupted sleep was calling for him—but at the same time, he was too spooked to sleep. Regina’s pacing seemed to suggest the same thing.

“Thank you for the protection,” he said quietly; his voice seemed to startle her from her thoughts, but she recovered quickly.

“No problem. I wasn’t about to risk anything happening to...you know.”

“I appreciate it. But I’d also rather we not find ourselves in that sort of situation again.”

She nodded. “I know; I was hasty. I just...I hate not knowing where he is.”

He stepped closer. “I know I’m not as familiar with your boy, but we’ve all got our motivations to get him back. You need to trust the rest of us.”

She scoffed. “Afraid I’ve never been much of a team player.”

“Well you best figure out how, because not only does your son’s life depend on it, but all of ours—including my child’s, as well.” He turned and stalked away, letting Regina brood while he did much the same. 

The sooner they worked together, the sooner they saved the lad and got out of this bloody realm, and his child would be safe again.

It seemed like the Charmings were having a moment, so he stepped aside briefly to deal with another stirring of nausea, then rinsed his mouth out with rum after. He was rather annoyed that he’d likely be dealing with that for the duration of their stay here; all the more reason to find any way to hasten it.

He’d barely returned to the clearing and pocketed his flask when Emma was running towards him. “The map is working! We know where Henry is,” she practically shouted, shoving it in his face.

Sure enough, a map of the island had appeared on the parchment—a deceptively simple one.

Emma stood at his side as he studied it, and Regina was quick to jump on the other. “Where?”

It took him aback, for a moment, that they were both willing to listen to him. “Uh...We're here at the southern tip of the isle, in the middle of the Dark Jungle,” he explained, gesturing with his hook, “and Pan's camp lies due north.” A bright red X marked the spot; but it didn’t detail the dangers that lay between here and there.

“That's where he's keeping Henry,” Emma stated matter-of-factly.

Regina clearly hadn’t taken his previous lecture to heart. “What are we waiting for?”

“Well, the terrain’s not easy,” he warned. “There will undoubtedly be some nasty impediments along the way.” He shot her an annoyed look.

“We should prepare,” David stepped in. “We only made it out of our last encounter because Pan let us. We need a new plan.”

“Agreed. It's time we stop playing his game and he starts playing ours,” Emma concurred.

Regina bristled. “And if I disagree?”

Emma wasn’t having it. “Go ahead, but I think you know our best chance is together.” Again, Killian sent a knowing look in Regina’s direction.

She swallowed bitterly. “You better be right.”

Everyone dispersed to either sulk or plan, but Emma lingered in his space. He hadn’t missed her reddened eyes, or the general sense of emotional exhaustion.

“Excellent show of patience, luv,” he encouraged her. “And that's what defeats a nasty little boy.”

“I hope so,” she confessed. He wished he knew of a better way to comfort her, but he was still on the outside looking in when it came to her walls, and had little more than a crack to peer through. That said, he knew where he usually turned in moments like that, and pulled his flask back out. She rolled her eyes as he did. “Is rum your solution to everything? You shouldn’t even be drinking that.”

“It certainly doesn't hurt. And it’s not for me; it’s for you.” She eyed it briefly in his extended hand, then took it from him and drank a very long swig. It seemed to help; she relaxed a bit—as much as she could, given the situation. Which was good, because his curiosity got the best of him and pregnancy brain meant he had little to no filter. “So just how did you unlock the map?” he asked.

“I did what Pan asked,” she shrugged.

“And just who are you, Swan?”

She smirked and handed the flask back. “Wouldn't you like to know?” 

“Perhaps I would,” he confessed solemnly. She’d clearly been expecting flirtation and not blunt honesty, if the way she was taken aback was any indication. 

But it was quickly followed by a small smile. “Ask me that again when we get home and I might have an answer for you.”

She then wandered back to her parents, leaving him in an almost stunned silence. The fact that she hadn’t shot him down was not something he had prepared for—but he was far from complaining.

Logically, he knew there were far more important matters at hand than flirting with his crush. But who said he couldn’t do both? (Especially if she was going to be receptive to the idea?)

Intense fluttering started behind his navel again; he rested his palm against it while he was still out of everyone’s sight. “All the more reason for us to fight to get home, eh, little one?” he murmured.

They still had a fight ahead—gods only knew what they’d face—but for the first time, he was feeling optimistic. 

(And hopefully, it wasn’t just the hormones talking.

(Emma, meanwhile, was starting to plan and prep with her parents, but was running over that conversation in her mind. He’d been genuine with her—as much as when he confessed his condition to her earlier. Despite his past proclamations, he really knew her about as well as she knew him: not as much as she’d like. That realization was throwing her for a loop; she was in the middle of a cursed jungle trying to rescue her son—why in the hell was she flirting with a pirate? A pregnant one at that?

And why didn’t she regret it one bit?)

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#cs ff #killian jones ff #mpreg #hidden blessing #My ff

[ellewritesathing]

Faith and Forgiveness    I

Summary: Faith was tricky, fickle. When you've been trained your whole life to do awful things, you have to have faith that your misdeeds will be worth it in the end and trust that your faith hasn't been misplaced. The Weeping Monk wasn’t so sure that he was capable of that trust.

Masterlist   Part 1

Word-count: 4.6k+

A/N: hey so originally this was supposed to be a single part fic but it was like 10k words and i needed validation so i split it up!! hope you like it anyway💕

War was a tricky business. The business of making rich men richer and starving the rest, burning the rest. Not the business of honest men; war was the business of liars and thieves, and you had to leave pieces of yourself behind if you wanted to survive. 

You had to survive because you were one of the last ones, even if you were just a watered-down version of the original. The Moon Wings were one of the first clans to be burned, but you were one of the lucky ones to only be taken prisoner, blessed enough to be chosen to be saved from damnation. 

Stubborn enough to escape from the bastards and vow to rescue anyone else who was unlucky enough to be forced into your position. 

But saving people was a tricky business. The business of making righteous men into enemies and prolonging the tragic lives of the rest. Not the business of honorable men; salvation was the business of the broken and the damned, and you had to leave pieces of yourself behind if you wanted to survive. 

Salvation was also very costly, which is why you left Squirrel in the trees and promised to take him to Nemos when you had the money to get him there. The knights of Pendragon were ridiculously oblivious targets, just like their king, so it was supposed to be a quick beating and stealing. 

Unfortunately, a few stray fey folk here and a couple of Red Paladins there had ruined your perfectly good plan. Perhaps none ruined it more so than the Weeping Monk. 

He was good, you had to admit. A truly skilled fighter, even though he was a pain in the ass. Most of the fey had gotten away while you fought with him, but so did your knights and their gold. You didn’t have time to dwell on your loss, though, because the Weeping Monk threw you against a tree and pressed a knife to your throat. 

“Stop talking or I’ll cut out your tongue,” he said under his breath. His words were tinged with danger and mint, and it was the first time he’d spoken during your one-sided verbal and double-edged physical sparring match. 

Ignoring the few drops of blood that trickled down your throat, you moved a few centimeters closer to his face. “If it made you smile, I’d bite it off myself.” He pushed you back into the tree, bits of bark digging into your back as you laughed. 

The knife dug into your throat but not enough to aggravate the wound, but it was enough to cut your laugh into an amused smile. You were about to ask if you’d struck a nerve when the first arrow flew through the air. 

Ordinarily, the Weeping Monk never would have been hit by an arrow like that, but his attention was on you and not the assailant in the dark. The arrow landed in his lower back and was met with an annoyed groan rather than a cry of pain. 

He spun around, pulling the knife off your throat to knock away the next arrow. He stalked further into the woods and your eyes caught on something shiny to the right of him. The knights had circled back and they were hungry. 

Sure, the Weeping Monk could take out an entire banner of knights by himself, but that was when he didn’t have an arrow between one of his kidneys and his liver. 

You knew that if you left him to be killed in the woods that you would probably be saving countless fey lives, but a very annoying voice in your head reminded you of a promise you made to the ashes of your village - a promise to save anyone from an unjust killing. 

To be fair, you hadn’t known you’d be saving the Weeping Monk when you’d made the promise, but Moon Wings weren’t ones to break promises and neither were you. So, against your better judgment, you followed him into the woods. 

He seemed to be doing fine on his own, though you’d expect nothing less from the Weeping Monk. He did, however, have a knight that was about to stab him in the back. The Weeping Monk turned just in time to see you knock the knight out with the hilt of your blade. 

He was about to say something, most probably not thank you, when blood spilled from his lips and he collapsed.

After your brief shock, you dove to check that he was still alive. His pulse was fading but it was, frustratingly, still there. You took your hand off his neck and grabbed a fistful of his cloak to pull him up. Looping your arms underneath his shoulders, you started dragging him somewhere safe. 

The Weeping Monk was heavier than he looked, proper deadweight in his unconscious state, but you managed to get him to the caves in one piece. He was a quick healer, too, considering that he woke up before you’d even applied the salve. 

Feeling venomously playful, you wiped the salve off your knife and moved the blade to his throat. “Don’t talk or I’ll cut out your tongue,” you warned in a rushed whisper. 

Surprisingly, the Weeping Monk didn’t fight you. He looked at you as best as he could from the position on his stomach, and asked in a voice far more venomous than playful, “What are you doing to me?” 

You took your knife off his throat and sat back down with a sigh. “I’m trying to save your life,” you said. “You’ve got a nasty wound on your back but I’ve got something to fix it. It’s going to hurt when I take the arrow out and burn after.” 

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Just leave me in the woods to bleed out.”

“I didn’t just drag you all the way in here to drag you out there again.” As you spoke, you wrapped one hand around the arrow and grabbed hold of his shirt with your other. “Just lie still and-” 

He moved so quickly that you thought the Weeping Monk was going to kill you, but all he did was catch your wrist. Not rough enough to leave a bruise, but enough to shock you to let go of his shirt. “Don’t.”

“You’ll die if I don’t,” you said. Your voice wasn't necessarily confrontational, but it told whoever was listening that you weren't willing to back down. “You’re one hell of a fighter but it looks like that��s what made it worse.” 

“I don’t care.” Maybe it was the way sound echoed in these caves, but he sounded so resigned to his fate that it tugged at your heartstrings. 

“Well, I care,” you told him. You repositioned your hold on the arrow. “Now hold still.” You tore the arrow out of his back before he could argue.

His screams echoed off the walls. It was painful to hear and even more so to watch his entire body writhe the way it did, but soon it was over and you were pressing a wad of his cloak to stop the bleeding. 

“There,” you murmured, lifting a hand to move some hair off his sweat-soaked forehead. Seeing him covered in sweat and blood did a funny thing to your chest; you’d been stabbed in your chest before but this was something else. “There. The hard part is over.”

“Maybe for you,” the Weeping Monk said quietly. He met your eyes and suddenly you realized what that feeling was: heartbreak. At that moment, all you wanted to do was fix how broken he seemed. 

Slowly, before you could do something stupid like befriending him, you pulled your hand away from his face and let it fall away from him. In a voice small enough to fit how small the cave had become, you said, “This next part will sting.” 

The Weeping Monk clenched his jaw and looked away from you again. If he noticed the sudden lack of air in the cave and space between you, he didn’t mention it. “Just get it over with,” he said. 

You flexed the hand that had touched his face and took a deep breath. Blood seeped through his cloak and onto your other hand, so you moved to focus on the wound instead of the Weeping Monk’s frustratingly imperceptible face. 

The salve was on the edge of your knife and you set the wadded up and bloodied cloak to the side to apply it. You lifted the edge of his shirt with one and hand and folded it up to assess the damage to the Weeping Monk’s lower back. For a moment, the cave lost all its air again as you took in the constellation of scars. New and old crossed over one another, marred by bruises and scabbed over lashes. 

You took a breath and reminded yourself that at least some of these scars had to come from fey that he’d killed. With new-found resolve, you glided your knife over the wound to apply the salve and watched the black smoke rise from the wound. You rubbed the salve into and around the wound as you whispered an old prayer that hadn’t escaped your lips in years and ignored the Weeping Monk’s quiet curses. 

All this work to save a man that you weren’t sure could even be saved. Ironic.

It was quiet for a long time as the two of you sat in the cave, him too busy trying to heal and you too focused on your an internal crisis. You knew he had eventually passed out again when the whimpering stopped. His back still rose and fell with his breathing, so you decided it was safe enough to leave him alone and find something to eat before both of you starved. 

The woods were quiet and dark, but nighttime was when the Moon Wings thrived. After a few careful words to the night birds, you had a small but decent-sized assortment of berries and nuts. One of the birds even stole some roast off someone’s fire. Plenty enough to see you through the night. 

Though you weren't gone for very long, you found the Weeping Monk awake, leaning heavily on the cold stone walls of the cave, and holding a knife in your direction. 

You muttered a curse and tilted your head at him. “This is how you thank the person who saved your life?” 

“Where did you go?” he asked. He looked frantic, still covered in the same cold sweat but his eyes were wild. No, his eyes were determined. The Weeping Monk didn’t drop the knife, but at least he didn’t try to stab you. 

“Getting food.” You lifted your bag and shook it around so he could hear the food bouncing around inside. “If you lower the knife, I might even share.” You moved closer but he waved the knife slightly. You came to a stop and your final footstep echoed. 

“Why are you helping me?” he asked. “It’s not going to help you find salvation.” 

Truth be told, you didn't have a very good reason for saving him, but he didn't need to know that. “I don’t need salvation," you told him instead. "I know I’m damned.” 

You lowered your bag of food and closed the distance between you after you reminded yourself that you could open his wound in a single kick if he tried to stab you. 

“I could kill you.” The Weeping Monk watched your every move, but he lowered the knife. Oddly enough, his eyes were filled with more curiosity than suspicion - only a small trace of the determination to kill you remained.

“Like in the woods?” You set the bag of food down and sat across from him. “I was doing pretty well for myself out there.”

“I had you pinned against a tree with a knife to your throat.” 

“I had a knife under your ribcage. One move and I could have torn open your heart, assuming you have one of those.”

The Weeping Monk gave you the ghost of a bitter smile but he didn’t say anything. Instead of looking at him, you opened your bag and did a quick inventory of the food. Water was dripping somewhere in the cave system and it was the only sound as you divvied up the food, very aware of the Weeping Monk’s eyes on you as you did.

You slid his portion over to him without a word and leaned back against your side of the tunnel wall. After a brief staring contest, you started eating. He ate in silence. You did, too, mostly. Or at least, you did until he cracked a nut under the hilt of his blade and the sound felt too similar to the sound of a snapping bone. 

You took your eyes off the knife to look at his face. “Do you have a name?” 

He looked up for a moment. “No.” 

“Do you have something else I can call you?” 

“No.” 

“Well, the Weeping Monk is a bit of a mouthful so-” you let out a breath and broke up the nut in your hand “-Sunshine it is. Since you’ve got such a chipper personality and stellar conversation skills.”

The Weeping Monk watched you carefully, probably wondering if it was too late to cut your tongue. He chose to return his attention to his share of the food instead of dignifying your taunt with a response. For some reason, his silence bothered you.

Since asking for his name had gone over so well, you decided to try an even heavier topic. “Why do you kill people?” You were careful to keep your voice level as you popped a berry into your mouth in an effort to seem disinterested. 

The Weeping Monk looked up at you again, eyes catching yours over the small fire he’d managed to get going while you were gone. “I don’t kill people,” he said. “I kill fey.” 

“Do you truly think that’s any better?” Your voice betrayed you by sounding too concerned; his face betrayed him by looking too vulnerable. His walls dropped for only a moment, but it was enough for you to see the pain behind them. “Oh, you do, don’t you?”

“I don’t need pity from a fey mercenary.” His words were laced with venom and blood. He threw the mixed nuts he’d been crushing to the side and they clattered against the uneven cave floor. 

“Well, you need it from someone,” you said, determined not to take his jab personally. Still, your hands clenched tightened into fists in your lap. “I don’t see any of your Red Paladins giving a damn about you.” 

“They are my brothers.” 

“Only in name.”

“Don’t,” he said, voice cautionary. It was dangerously soft and full of emotion, but you couldn’t figure out exactly which emotion. Fear? Apprehension? Determination?

You put your hands to the side and leaned in closer to him. “If you’re their brother, then why haven’t they come for you?” 

For a moment, all the two of you did was stare at each other and wait for the other to break. His breath was shaky where yours was calm. Both of you were calculating, you how difficult it would be to subdue him and him how easy it would be to slit your throat in your sleep. 

When minutes passed without either of you breaking, you sighed and leaned back against your wall. “It’s going to take some time for that to heal. Since we both know I’m not going to kill you, you should sleep first. We can go our separate ways in the morning.” 

“I’d like nothing more,” he said bitterly. 

Though he laid down, his hand still clutched his sword and his breathing never deepened. You didn’t speak to him again. It was clear that every word he spoke to you was against his will. Pretending to sleep was easier, and he was probably hoping it would lull you into a false sense of security. 

When he passed out earlier, he looked so full of pain. That pain wasn’t visible now and, even if it was just pretend, he looked peaceful like that. His face was expressionless, his muscles were relaxed. You wondered if he was always pretending or if he actually slept in the camps. Those Paladins might not care about him, but they would never dare harm their precious soldier. 

He didn't sleep around you because you were a threat. Even though you’d probably shown the Weeping Monk more kindness in an evening than the Paladins had in his lifetime, judging by those scars on his back, you were still fey. Still a threat. If Paladins weren’t a threat, did he sleep around them?

“What kind are you?” he asked, snapping you out of your musings. You hadn’t realized that he’d opened his eyes until he spoke. His voice was less angry now, but that didn't mean he wasn't still planning on slitting your throat the first chance he got.

“Moon Wing,” you said, looking up from the blade in your hand. “We were among the first to burn.” 

He watched you carefully as you put the sword to the side. “How did you survive?” 

“It was before the Paladins had a taste for blood. Instead of killing us all, they took a few of us who passed for humans to sell,” you said. His face remained cold and expressionless. “I was the most human-looking, so they kept me as their trophy, their symbol. Their warning.” 

The water punctuated your words. Each drop made your words more sinister. 

“They said terrible things when they cut off my wings and transferred them to some other group of Paladins. I think Father Carden still has them on display somewhere but I’m not sure.” You looked over to your sword again, just to get away from those unflinching hazel eyes of his. You shook your head and finished your story. “That night, I waited until they were asleep and cut out their tongues. Then I ran.” 

Drop. Drop. Drop. 

“They call you the Angel of Mercy,” he said. He’d been watching your sword before but now his eyes were fixed on yours. 

“I didn’t choose the name.” 

“Father Carden says mercy is a virtue we can’t afford.” 

“Father Carden says a lot of things.” You were determined not to look away. “I wonder what he’ll say to God for all his sins.”

“And to which of your gods are you referring?” he asked, angling his face up slightly. Confrontational, but he seemed more curious than venomous.

“Whichever one you’d like, Sunshine,” you said with a smile. His mouth turned up slightly, not in agreement but out of amusement. “It’s not about knowing which one exists, is it? It’s about doing good and trusting that it’ll be worth it later on. That’s faith, isn’t it?” 

He was quiet. He looked away first this time. “I suppose it depends on your definition of doing good.”

Even if he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking at him. “My definition is pretty basic. Good is not killing people when you can help it.” 

The Weeping Monk set his jaw. He was doing his best not to snap at you again - that was progress, at least. Maybe he wasn’t defending them because he knew he could never win you over, but you liked to think that it was because you were getting through to him. 

Converts were a dirty breed, or so you’d been told. Always more righteous than the born-believer. But what did the Weeping Monk believe? Was he born believing it or just trained to? 

You knew you would regret it before you even knew what you were doing, your hands moving on their own as they unclasped a small pouch on your belt. You rolled the quill back and forth between your thumb and forefinger, admiring how bright the feather was even in this darkness. The white reflected in the Weeping Monk’s eyes. 

You leaned forward and placed the feather on his sword, the edge barely touching his hand. It was the closest you’d gotten to him since you touched his face and saw his scars. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

Your voice was devoid of all confrontation when you spoke again, softness taking the place of anger. “All that’s left of my wings.”

“I don’t want it.” He lost his softness and the venomous defense returned, but his hand still twitched to hold the feather. Progress.

“Then burn it,” you said. You shook your head and leaned back to your side of the cave tunnel. “I can’t keep carrying it around.”

“Why give it to me?” he asked. “You could sell it - you might even get some silver for it.”

You shrugged. “You’re the only one that knows where it comes from.” You watched each other for a second, neither of you saying anything. Then the silence became suffocating and you glanced to the mouth of the cave. “Dawn will break soon. I’m going to sleep, but know that if you kill me then I will come back to haunt you.” 

Without another word, you slid down the wall and curled up. You used your arm as an uncomfortable pillow, more used to sleeping in trees than pretending to sleep in caves, and held onto your knife. 

The Weeping Monk was quiet for a long time after that. He must have thought you were sleeping because his hand curled around the feather and you heard him move. Instinctively, you gripped your knife in your hand and waited. 

More movement muffled with the burning-out fire and dripping cave water, and then something covered you. His bloody cloak, you realized. 

“I get the feeling you’ll be haunting me either way,” he said softly. 

With considerable effort, he made his way back to his side of the cave and winced as he lowered himself back down to the ground. He might have gotten some real sleep after that for all you knew, but you didn’t. You weren’t sure if people like you ever got real sleep anymore. 

You counted down every water droplet until the sunlight started filtering through the cracks in the rock. The Weeping Monk hadn’t moved since he covered you and you stole a look at him with the sunlight on his face. He was pretty like this, not the same way that people were attractive but in the way a like a painting that was alluring as long as it didn't burn. 

Instead of waiting for him to burn, you reminded yourself that he’d need water when he woke up and that you needed to get off the cave floor before your muscles petrified. 

As quietly as you could, you got up and followed the sound of the water droplets. You ran your hand along the mossy rocks and swallowed big gulps of air to wake up.

The water trickled down the moss and dropped onto the floor, only a tiny pothole where the water dropped over the centuries. Every drop splashed out of the miniature pool. You knelt and held your canteen under the moss until there was enough to grace each of you with a few sips. You capped it and started heading back to the Weeping Monk, wondering if he would be awake and threatening you with a knife. 

Your wonderings were unfounded; the Weeping Monk was gone when you got back. He’d taken his cloak and any trace he’d ever been there with him, even the feather. Wherever he went, you knew he wouldn’t be coming back. 

So, you sat down in front of the remnants of his fire, drank his share of the water, and ate what was left of his share of the food from the night before. When that was finished and you’d caught your breath, you set off to meet Squirrel in the trees. 

You’d told him how to get to Nemos and to leave if you didn’t come back the next night, but Squirrel was a stubborn kid. He’d found you in the woods after his village burned and he escaped, babbling about how he had to find Nimue. His sister, you thought, but he didn’t say. All he said was that he needed to find her. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was probably dead, so you told him you’d take him to a place where he might find her. 

Still, Squirrel wouldn’t go there until you came back for him. And he was probably bull-headed enough to come looking for you, too. 

While you were thinking about Squirrel, a twig snapped. You froze, readying yourself for a fight. It might have been an animal, but you doubted it. The only safe animals came out at night while the Red Paladins slept. 

There were more of them than you expected, too many for you to run away from and too many for you to subdue. You were going to start killing them when one of them caught your arms and shoved you into a tree hard enough to crack a few ribs. 

“Stop struggling-” the Weeping Monk pushed you into the tree again when you tried to get out of his hold “-Or I’ll cut out your tongue.” 

“Don’t-” You twisted out of his grip, ignoring the pain in your wrist “-tell me-” you kicked him in the stomach “-what to do.” 

You took a breath in the moment that the two of you stared at one another.

The kick must have hurt, but you both knew that his wound had healed by now so the kick wouldn’t have caused any real damage. The Weeping Monk snapped out of the moment first, and you ducked his blow. You managed to land a few of your own before the other Paladins caught up with you.

They bound your wrists and ankles and threw you in one of their damned carts to rot. The Weeping Monk took your weapons, but he didn’t look at you or speak to you again. You were both thinking the same thing, though: you saved his life only to have him sacrifice you to Father Carden. 

The Paladins may have bound you but they hadn’t gagged you, and you were determined to make it their problem. You cracked inappropriate jokes at their expense and yelled obscenities when that didn’t give you the reaction you wanted while you struggled to undo the binds that held you.

One of the Paladins had a shorter temper than his friends, or perhaps just less afraid of overstepping his boundaries with the Weeping Monk, because he cursed and kicked the bars of your cage. “We didn’t take you for your damned mouth,” he said harshly, “so shut up or I’ll burn you myself.”

“No one is touching the Angel,” the Weeping Monk said over his shoulder. His face was ashen and angry, without a single trace of what happened in the cave - though, for some reason, you still found yourself intrigued by him. He turned to look ahead when the Paladin had drifted from your cage. With his eyes fixed ahead, he added, “Without Father Carden’s consent.”

All the harsh words in the world lay on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t bring yourself to breathe them to life, not because you weren’t angry enough but because you had to focus on something else instead. Squirrel was stubborn enough to come looking for you, but he wasn’t stupid enough to go straight into the heart of Paladin territory. 

At least, that’s what you hoped. 

Part 2

#i watch cursed for the plot #cursed #the weeping monk #reader insert

[cutegirlmayra]

Kairi Prompt

* !!!SPOILERS FOR MELODY OF MEMORY WARNING!!! *

This happens during Kairi’s exam, where Aqua was trying to prepare her but suddenly, a new enemy began to threaten some uncharted worlds.

Worried this could mean something bad is happening with darkness again, Aqua, Terra, and Ventus go to investigate through the door to darkness, while Roxas, Axel, and Xion state they’ll try looking around in the world of light.

Kairi wants to journey too, but wonders if she should go alone...

Thinking this may be from the data world, Mickey can’t abandon his research, and Goofy and Donald are sent there.

Kairi... is once again alone.

She hadn’t really snuck onto the gummi ship, she just wandered into it and no one seemed to notice.

She wondered if she should talk to Master Yen Sid... but something told her she already knew what to do.

She continued to walk over to the main chair of the ship... in the middle and in front of the other two.

She placed a loosely-bundled fist up to her chest, looking down a moment. “Why... am I here?”

She could feel something... calling... and closed her eyes.

“Sora... you’re with me, right? Hehe, I should have known.” She smiled and lowered her hand down, looking more determinedly towards the windows of the gummi ship. “If you heard what was going on, you wouldn’t just sit back and wait... for someone else to direct your course... would you?”

She tilted her head, under the impression that maybe if his voice couldn’t reach her where he was... that her voice still could.

“Right, let’s do this! Together!” She summoned her keyblade, pointing it out as it began to glow at it’s tip, and the gummi ship began to activate.

“Ohh!” Startled by the sudden wind, Queen Minnie and Daisy turned to see it floating up and a lighted beam shoot out from it. “Could it be..?” Minnie had to wonder a moment, “No, it’s Kairi! Kairi..!” She waved, joyfully wishing her off.

“Your majesty!” Daisy reached up and dropped her hand, “Should you really be so relaxed right now? She’s going off on her own!”

“I know,” Minnie smiled to her, then gently placed her hand on Daisy’s which had lowered her arm from sending Kairi off on her way. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Daisy looked amazed, her beak opening to say something, before shaking her head and smiling politely to her. She let her arms drop and remain poised in the front of her, down and over one another, “You’re right... It is...” She looked up with hope in her eyes and faith that Kairi was ready, and that she may find something the others couldn’t.

“Besides,” Minnie began, still watching the gummi ship take off in a large burst that rippled the wind back and made the two girls brace themselves. “Hmhm, she’s never alone.” Minnie placed her hands together, as though saying a silent prayer, and then with a touch of magic, her fingertips started glowing and gathering light around them.

“Ah! Your highness!” Daisy seemed to recognize this power. “A-are you sure!?”

“I’m very certain... Kairi may not need it, but I’d feel awfully worried if I didn’t at least give her a... oh, a pick-me-up! That’s a fun thing to call it!” she giggled once more in her glee and raised one hand away from the other, shooting a star up into the sky that trailed after Kairi.

“A royal blessing...” Daisy commented, and lowered her head in respects. “Ohh... without that blessing though, who’s going to guard you?”

She seemed to be hinting at the magic being somewhat a shield of somekind, but it wasn’t certain.

Minnie turned around and winked to her, and stated, “I’ll be alright! I’ve got Mickey home at last. Though he’s hard at work, I don’t want to seem like I’m slacking either.” and again, her eyes turned back to where the gummi ship was far out of sight now... the shooting-star’s trial of stardust was all that twinkled to show which way it had headed. “It’s up to Kairi and the lingering spirit of Sora’s presence in her heart to carry out the rest.” She nodded with certainty. “And if anyone can teach Kairi what she needs before taking the mark of mastery, it’s definitely going to be from a journey with Sora.” She amused over the idea, “What a lovely date they’ll have!” She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, realizing she was being a bit nosy, and turned around to think her mischievously charming thoughts to herself. “Come along now, Daisy. Let’s tell Mickey what we’ve done...”

“Y-yes, your majesty.” Daisy sighed, walking after her, “Oh bother... Do we have to take the stairs?”

Kairi went to many Disney worlds that Sora and the gang haven’t ventured to before, previously. However, many of the characters seemed to know Sora, or at least, friends of Sora by some degree.

Kairi also came back to other worlds he had visited, finding that their stories were far from over, and there was--in fact--something influencing darkness and evil in the worlds... it strengthened their foes or new ones...

For example, Kairi learned from Merida that one decides their own fate, whether it’s by their hand or some magic, you always can choose your fate... if you’re brave enough to seize it.

“This time...” She watched the ghostly wisps beckoning her to where the bears were fighting. She summoned her keyblade, gripping it strongly as though with an iron fist, “I’ll decide where my fate starts.” she took off, ready to help Merida and her mother.

In Dumbo, Kairi realized that it wasn’t her keyblade, her own personal strength, or even her friends that necessarily gave her all the power she ever needed. It was also faith in herself, what she already had, that would bring her the greatest powers yet to come.

“And you gave him that faith to fly, didn’t you?” She looked at the little mouse as it took off it’s ring-master hat and bowed to her. “And Dumbo...” She giggled, “It was never the feather that you wielded. It’s power was always your own... I think I understand now.” She looked over at her keyblade, “All my strength... or at least, the strength that I’ve always had... I’ve just yet to realize it.” She smiled, finding some confidence in herself. “I bet that’s how Sora and Riku once felt... I thought, if I could be a Keyblade Master, maybe... I don’t know,” She lowered the keyblade, looking back to the little elephant and it’s mouse friend. “I still gain so much strength from their faith in me... but I see now that I need faith in myself, my own abilities, to really succeed at being my own kind of keyblade wielder... Thank you for that, both of you.” Dumbo wiggled his ears, elated to have helped as she had also helped them so much. “Now, let’s make sure your mother’s okay.” Dumbo jumped around in a cycle, full of glee at that idea, and took off as the little mouse gripped it’s hat, ran in the air a moment, before darting after him.

“Heheh... Well, I be done seen about everything.” She laughed to herself, and for a second, her heart took her to a moment long ago lived... where Sora and Riku were laughing beside her on the dock back in Destiny Island. Riku swung a hand into Sora’s face and he tried to fight back, causing the two to tumble into the sea...

“Sora... Riku...” She gripped her heart again, “...I will join you, once I’m ready. You don’t have to worry about this world anymore... I’ve got it covered.” She nodded with a sincere wish that they could trust her with this task, and continued her journey to find the mysterious force causing so much problems.

In Lady and the Tramp, she followed a puppy with a dog muzzle on it’s mouth. Later, she helped a stray into the zoo to help follow the other dog, and watched as the two seemed to have gotten separated by the dark-influencer. They seemed to be asking her to help them escape the dog-catcher, and did so.

“These... interesting dogs... are mine, sir!” she stood between him and the two, what appeared to be in love, dogs as the dog-catcher waddled his way up to her in a goofy manner. She stood her ground though, as he commented back, “Their be laws in this fine city, Miss! Put a collar and leash’em! Or they’re heading straight to the pound!” He wiggled his finger up above her, but Kairi just sweetly nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmph!” He stomped away, and Kairi narrowed her eyes and turned to whisper back at the dogs.

“I’ve faced scarier things than him!” She joked, as the dogs yipped in thanks. “Now, you two should get out of here... I don’t know if you belong to anyone... but I can see now that you belong with each other.”

They both snuggled up in their iconic hug, and looked back to Kairi. “What a fine lady you have there.” Kairi smiled, remembering how she had offered Kairi her paw in greeting.

Lady barked with approval. “Oh? Is that... That’s your name, right?” She nodded, “I could feel it... in my heart.” She looked to the other dog. “Keep her out of trouble... ya here?”

Tramp also barked in agreement.

“...Take care of each other...” As they took off, Kairi couldn’t help but think of Sora. “...I’ll keep you safe... Sora.” She decided this world still had a mystery to solve, and continued on.

Later, She found that a Lion knew Sora, and that his daughter had gone missing. Stopping some feuding prides, she learned a valuable lesson about not judging by one’s past... She may had been sent to Destiny Island against her will, used for a terrible fate in summoning the true Kingdom Hearts, “But love find’s a way!” She knew that to be true, “And I’ll find my way!” She prepared to fight the Lioness of the Shadow lands, and finally met the misty dark presence...

“Who are you? Why are you causing so much chaos in these worlds?” She demanded to know, but it took off, and she hurriedly followed it in the gummi ship.

Pocahontas had the last key she needed to fully unlock her true potential. The dark influencer was giving strength to the fear in both people’s hearts, and while Pocahontas raced to save the man she loved, Kairi returned to grandmother willow, asking sincerely how to help.

“Listen... with your heart... you will understand~” Grandmother Willow sang, but Kairi couldn’t just sit and mediate.

“There’s a war, Grandmother Willow! And I don’t have a compass to point my way like Pocahontas does! Please, I’m begging you, why can’t I summon my keyblade here? I must help them!”

“Let it break... upon you like... the waves upon the sand~” She kept singing, as Kairi was panting from her long journey through the woods filled with the dark-influencers presence and creations, having their contentions manifest as new dark creatures she had never seen before.

“My... heart... waves... sand?” She spoke through her heavy breathing, and taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, she looked within...

Her heart seemed to open up, and she was standing before Sora... upon the stainglass of her story.

“I don’t understand,” She admitted, gesturing to him while his face looked sorrowful at her plight. “I know you can’t answer me... but you can hear me, right?” she was holding back tears, and then... withdrew her hand to crunch her torso in and shake her angered fist. “I don’t know how I lost the power to summon my keyblade... I don’t understand why! In such a critical moment where I’m needed... it’s never been this bad in the other worlds, I’ve always found some sort of solution, but the settlers won’t listen to me! I don’t have Kiara to help me reason with them, and faith in myself isn’t going to help John Smith escape execution! They’re all too afraid of each other for me to get through to them over bravery alone! I don’t know... I don’t know what to do!” She gripped her head, still struggling to not cry.

“Sora... how have you been able to go through so many worlds... face so many challenges that a keyblade can’t always solve? I don’t understand... I’ve tried everything within my power, but a man’s going to die and I can’t just sit by and watch it play out!” she fell to her knees, “Sora! Sora, just take over! I don’t know what to do anymore! They need you! Not me... I’m still too weak! I... I can’t pass my training...”

As she shook her head, she revealed the true fear that had lingered in her heart.

“I... Don’t know if I can live up to the expectations you and Riku gave to these people... to their worlds... I... I’m just me.”

Feeling a bit hopeless, she finally saw Sora’s form move.

It advanced towards her before he dropped to a knee and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“So... you’ll help me?” She looked up into his eyes.

He squinted his eyes slightly, looking into each one of hers.

“...Listen... with your heart...” she scrunched her face up to avoid crying, and placed her hand by her heart again. “And you will understand...”

The setting suddenly changed to Destiny Island, and Sora was a child...

She had gotten Riku and Sora out of the water, and began actively teasing them about not fighting so much, “If you’re real friends, you should treat each other with a lot less rough-housing! Though, it was pretty funny.”

“Give us a break, Kairi...” Sora scratched his head, looking apologetic.

“It’s a boy thing.” Riku hooked his arm around Sora’s head, and pulled him over to him as Sora struggled.

“R-right... hey, Riku!”

Kairi giggled, “I guess... if you really fought, I’d have to pull you out before you drowned yourself.” She knew they had a rivalry, but put her hands behind her back. “Alright, that does it!”

The two boys looked to her new declaration, seeing as her voice had pepped up quite a bit.

“From now on, I’ll make sure you two don’t fight..! Or bicker behind my back...” She grinned then, “Cause you’re not gonna leave my sights!”

“H-hey!” The two didn’t really complain, but they refused to rough-house since she would intersect herself, saying that if they were gonna fight, they’d have to contend with her too.

“...I’m...” Kairi opened her eyes, looking up at Grandmother Willow. “I’ve always been a mediator... I’m not meant to just be a fighter!”

“Go, my child! Your course is set, and the compass of your heart spins and guides you!” The wind rustled by fiercely and Kairi felt a surge of power come upon her.

She turned as the large sails of the mistaken clouds of the sky lightly glided behind her.

“You know your path, now, Kairi! Take it!” Leaves of differing color spun around Kairi as her hair beat against the wind, the light sparkles suddenly trailed down her arm with the leaves and Kairi summoned a different keyblade...

She raced through the forest, and as Pocahontas cried out, “Stop!” She threw her keyblade up to the chief’s staff.

He was a powerful man, and for a moment, Kairi saw in her mind’s eye the glitching reality of Xenanort, then back to the chief.

She continued to strain, letting Pocahontas speak, and hearing for the first time... the words that no one uttered, but that were meant by their hearts.

She spoke them after her, and from what she learned at Pride Rock, taught the same lessons. “We are one... all of us!”

She knew what Simba had meant when he sang to Kiara now... and what Kiara learned after her journey. “Can I also... trust in my own heart?” She felt Sora’s light, and knew that she could.

“Can you trust yours?” Kairi lowered her keyblade... and the chief looked settled. “We don’t need to fight.”

However, she did finally confront the Dark-Influencer, realizing he was the lingering will of the dark-side of Kingdom Hearts...

“You... You just aren’t completed. But your hatred... all the loathing of the heart, it’s insecurities that we all felt during that battle at the keyblade graveyard...” she took a deep breath, “Now, I will set free those awful feelings... and the last of the lingering feelings we’ve had then... will finally come to an end!”

She fought with everything she had, as it morphed and changed into many of the silhouettes of her friends, their fear that she thought Sora had defeated... but it was exactly Sora’s lingering heart within her that had guided her to the Dark-Influencer.

As she fought it, it would shift at intervals between her friends and allies, even the foes and their lingering spites or sorrows... but then...

After defeating the dark silhouette of Master Aqua, the dark silhouette transformed into a figure looking like Sora...

It staggered, before regaining slowly itself into a powerful stance.

It swiped out the kingdom blade and began powering up.

“Sora... this is it, isn’t it?” She saw a light begin to shine from her heart. “You trust me and only me to defeat the last of your fear from this world... the last thing holding everyone back from living at peace again, right?”

She also threw her new keyblade up to the sky, then slowly lowered it to have a crown appear below her.

“Sora... if I can... please... lend me your strength!” she felt a surge of power, light shining from the crown as the shooting star spiraled down to the crown and filled it with magnificent power, granting a keyhole to appear.

“Ah..!” not sure what it was, but knowing it was going to temporarily grant her some help, she trusted that if she unlocked this... Sora might be given a second chance to aid her. She stepped back, flying slightly in an arch before unlocking it, having the shooting-star’s dust fly out and glitter against a new form...

A light-figure of Sora slowly arose from a kneeling position... the same that he had when she was in her heart... he reached up and grabbed her hand to help her glide back down safely...

“Sora..?” She held his hand a moment... and it squeezed it.

She nodded to it, not knowing quite how this magic worked, but knowing she could fight with him against this powerful foe just like beforehand... when he had gathered the petals of her crystal lotus heart and they fought the greatest evil together.

This... was truly like before, but the foe was now their own emotions... having gathered under Kingdom Hearts... and having the last of it’s power leak life into them...

She looked to the dark figure, “You’re no longer a part of us!” she swiped her hand out, as the Lighted Sora silhouette got into battle position, letting go of her hand as a one-sided wing appeared on both their shoulders, matching the other.

“I will act as the light from my friends! This is where Kingdom Hearts ends, for good!”

With their hearts as one... they beated the lighted wings once behind them to propel them forward, holding their keyblades back to attack the last of the darkness that still plagued this world...

Like the fight between the nobodies, darkness, and her friends, the light... she would not let this end... with savage emotions.

#sokai #sokai prompt #kairi prompt #melody of memory #kh spoilers #cutegirlmayra #sora and kairi #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts melody of memory #kh #khmom #kingdom hearts prompt

[crackinglamb]

Afraid

From this prompt list.

Read it here on AO3. ~1500 words, rated T.

Summary: La’vise isn’t afraid of the big, bad wolf.

---

La'vise rolled the amulet back and forth in her hands, looking over the etchings on its surface, the stylized wolf head and marks of hard wear along the edges.  She had conquered a fear without realizing it until this moment and it was somewhat bemusing.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Varric asked across the fire, watching her.  They were settled into camp, a good hot meal in their bellies, their armor tended to, the long day done.  

“I was always afraid of wolves, you know,” she said, still looking at the amulet.

“Any particular reason why, other than the obvious slavering and rending teeth reason?” Varric rejoined with a bit of a laugh.  She smiled at the description before rubbing her thumb across the carved wolf's head.  

It was hard to tell just how old the amulet was, but it appeared to be quite.  Its power was diminished, but still present.  Once she'd put it on, none of the remaining wolves had attacked her.  She knew she would keep it.  Even if it was just as a thread of a connection to her roots. The way the head was carved was too reminiscent of the old statue her clan used.  It was like carrying a piece of home with her.

“The Dalish are taught to be wary.  Because of the Dread Wolf.”  From the corner of her eye she saw Solas turn his head slightly from his journal.  He was listening, but didn't appear to be ready to interrupt with another one of his caustic opinions of the Dalish for once.  “Never let him catch your scent, never let him hear your footsteps.”

“Ahh, yeah, I know a bit of those legends.  Daisy used to tell us stories.”

“Daisy?”

“Merrill.  She was from a Dalish clan.”

“Sabrae?  I know of Merrill.”

“No shit?”

“Yes.  I was a child the last time I saw her.  The last Arlathvan she attended.  I must have been...oh, seven or eight.  She wasn't at the one a few years ago.”  She huffed.  “No surprise, there.  There isn't a Clan Sabrae left now.”

“So, tell me why you're bringing this up now?”

“Those wolves we fought, for the horsemaster's wife.  They weren't...I wasn't afraid of them.”

“Why not?” Cassandra entered into the conversation.

“I'm not sure, really.  Maybe because I'm older.  Or maybe because at this point I've seen far greater terrors than some legend from before the Dales fell.  Even if I can't remember the details.”

“You do not fear that he is real?” Solas asked, drawing her attention away from the amulet to his face.  There was something there, some dark hidden emotion in his eyes made more obscured by the firelight.  Then it was gone, and she wasn't sure she hadn't just imagined it.

“The Creators have never heeded the Dalish's prayers.  Why should Fen'Harel be any different?” she scoffed.

“And that necessarily means none of them exist, da'len?  Those that follow the Andrastian faith have no proof of the Maker, but that does not mean he is not out there, somewhere.”

La'vise made a face at him, equal parts exasperation and ridicule.  “Really, Solas, is that the best argument you can come up with?  The last few months have shown us all that we don't know half of what we think we do of this world.  I'm willing to bet that all our religions are wrong. Surely no hand of the Maker, nor work of the Creators, would bring this chaos upon Thedas.  Hahren.”

“A fair point,” he agreed with a tilt of his head.  “There are certainly more mysteries on this earth than answers.”

“I mean, by that logic, one might even accuse the Dread Wolf of being behind the Breach,” she said lightly.  She wasn't really expecting him to agree, it was fairly preposterous when she thought about it.  But she certainly wasn't expecting the startled laughter that came out high pitched and was abruptly cut off before it got too loud.  He shook his head and went back to his journal.

“If what Daisy said is true,” Varric said before she could examine Solas's reaction, “I wouldn't be a bit surprised.  Sounds like his thing.”

“I am unfamiliar with these legends,” Cassandra said.  “Who is the Dread Wolf?”

“The great Betrayer,” La'vise answered before Solas could so much as open his mouth.  “He locked away the Creators in the Fade, cutting the Dalish off from our gods.  No one knows why, whether it was pure malice, jealousy or just because he is known to be a trickster.  He is...”

“Reviled, I believe is the word you are looking for,” Solas said dryly.

“No.  Not reviled.  We have respect for him among the pantheon, just as we have respect for Elgar'nan's fire and Dirthamen's secrets.  But it's true that we have no great love for him.  His is a figure of terrible deeds, and many of our curses invoke his name because of it.”  She shrugged.  “It doesn't matter.  He's probably about as real as any other supposed deity.”

“Perhaps,” Solas said dismissively.  He closed his journal as the light faded, leaving only the fire for them to see each other by.  He stood and stretched and wandered away from the camp, as he often did in the evenings.  She had yet to ask him what he did when he left, why he always walked for an hour or two before settling down to sleep.

“Well, Wolfs-bane, I'm glad to see you aren't afraid of them anymore.  It makes one of us.”  He poked the fire around a little bit more and stood up, brushing off his backside.  “I'm gonna turn in.  It was a long day and some of us were much more up close and personal with dread beasts than others.”

“Goodnight, Varric,” she laughed.

Cassandra watched him go and shook her head for a moment.  Then she came and sat down with La'vise at the fire.  “He is going to keep calling you that now, you realize.”

“Probably.  It's all right.  It beats anything he might choose.”

“I suppose I had not thought much of your heritage and how it differs.  I have not known many Dalish.”

“We don't travel much through Nevarra, I would guess.”

“No.  Your clan, they are in the Free Marches, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“You do not speak of it often.”

“No, I suppose I don't.  I don't know how my Keeper would feel about me being the Herald of another religion.”

“Is that why you will not say whether or not you believe Andraste saved you in the Fade?”

“There's that, and honestly?  I don't know who the woman was.  It's too...bright.”

“I must remind myself that you have a history all your own.  That you have your own beliefs and that I should not force mine upon you.  This was a good reminder.  I won't forget again.”

Cassandra stood and squeezed La'vise's shoulder before disappearing into the tent they would share.  La'vise put another log onto the fire to catch and climbed the rock that formed one of the boundaries of this little camp, well within sight of Dennet's farm as well as the road that led back toward Redcliffe.  From there she could see Solas.  He looked like he was casting.

She waited until he began to come back before she uncurled from her compact position and he could see her in the dark.  “What were you doing?”

“Placing wards, as I do each night.”

“Is that what you do when you wander off?  You could have just said something.”

His mouth ticked up on one side, a half smile.  “It is not something I wished you to be concerned about.”

In another, that might have sounded insulting, but she thought she understood.  There was no peace to be had, here or anywhere else in the Hinterlands.  It was a small gesture and quite possibly eased the burden on the Inquisition soldiers who stood guard over her while she slept.  And he didn't like drawing too much attention to himself.  She grinned at him.

“Will they keep Fen'Harel away?” she joked.

Solas offered her a hand to get down from the rock and chuckled.  It sounded a little forced but warmed to genuine by the time her feet hit the ground.  “I rather doubt anything anyone could do would keep him at bay if he did not wish to be, da'len.”

She held up the amulet and grinned again.  “I guess I should be glad I'm doubly protected, then.”

“Ma nuvenin,” he replied with a small smile.  If his eyes glittered in the darkness, it was only because of the way the firelight was hitting him, she was sure.  She let go of his hand and banked the fire, made sure the guards were posted and finally turned back to him where he still stood at the edges of camp.

“I'm going to bed.  Don't stay up too late.”

“Of course not, Herald.  On era'vun.”

“On era'vun, Solas.”

#Lamb writes #dragon age inquisition #solavellan #series tag Just Like Fire #the Dread Wolf gets some irony thrown at his head by Dalish lore

[linkspooky]

Gyomei Himejima: Worthless Strength

There are several things apparent about Gyomei’s character immediately just looking at his character design. He’s a mix of religious iconography, he has prayer beads while at the same time there’s scars on his forehead which resemble a crown of thorns. His build is an immediate signifier to let the audience know how strong he is, he is basically built like a rock. Even his marks when they manifest indicate that. They clearly resemble cracks in stone, as if any demon fighting against him is trying to break a stone wall in front of them with their bear hands. His main weapon surrounds his body with heavy silver change, which are a symbol of the burden he’s always tied down to, that he uses his strength to carry no matter how impossibly heavy it is. 

There’s one thing you can say about Gyomei just from looking at him, he looks strong. Even tied down by chains he has no problem at all carrying the weight on his shoulders. The main trio of Kimetsu no Yaiba is always striving to gain strength in order to protect what’s important to them, but Gyomei already had that strength to begin with. Despite being one of the strongest, if not the strongest of the pillars (He made Hashira in two months the only other one was Tokito), in the end he’s still unable to protect what is important to him. Gyomei has all the strength in the world, but he cannot protect anyone. I’LL EXPLAIN MORE UNDER THE CUT. 

1. Gyomei is Blind

Gyomei is drawn without pupils in his eyes due to the fact that he is physically blind. However, his blindness itself is a symbol for obfuscation. That is, concealed eyes tend to symbolize when a character is unaware, or fails to perceive something important. In that case the character’s problem is not so much their physical blindness, but rather how they fail to perceive the emotions and the feelings of other people around them. It’s not physically being unable to see, but rather a lack of awareness that’s greatly needed. 

Gyomei in general is a very offputting person on first impression. He’s hard to communicate with, in another sense. He has a tendency to spontaneously start crying, or mumbling prayers to himself on the spot. A running gag is what a terrifying aura he projects despite being personality-wise essentially just a gentle barefisted monk archetype. 

His lack of communication skills apply to his teaching as well. Genya even states this directly, that the ideas behind Gyomei’s training are actually really solid and helpful, but Gyomei is such a terrible teacher that most of his class ended up just leaving because he kept throwing them into waterfalls suddenly or threatening to light them on fire. 

This is once again a breakdown of communciation. If Gyomei had simply explained the point of the training instead of tossing people into the river, more people would have likely seen the benefit of the sudden harsh training that they were expected to go through. 

Gyomei is someone who fails to understand the others around him in general, and also fails to be understood by them. For exmaple there’s most of the people who like Zenitsu assume he was just born massively strong and that none of this is the result of training. However, Genya figures out that what makes Gyomei so strong isn’t necessarily his massive body so much as the way he’s learned to put his emotions behind his strength. 

Gyomei himself is a deconstruction of the idea of strength presented in most shonen manga. His strength doesn’t just come from the strength he was born with, but also his emotions, his anger, his regret, his pain from the past. Just like Sanemi, the scars on his body are a sign of his strength. Strength for him is something tied directly to his emotions. Rather than the stoic persona Gyomei seems to put on, he’s actually a deeply emotional and sensitive person. (If the fact that he’s always crying as a running gag didn’t tip you off). 

Despite the massive strength he has Gyomei is someone who never wanted to be strong in the first place. He was living his life blind to his own strength before that point. In fact you could say he was much happier before he discovered he was strong. 

The happiest days he spent was when he thought he was nothing more than a useless blind man. The time he spent with other abandoned children taking care of them were the closest he has ever been to other people. Those were his most precious days. He did not need to be strong then, he just needed to be together with other people. 

As a result of his trauma, Gyomei started categorizing children into good children and bad children. 

Because a child turned against him he forgot what was most improtant to him. He was not fighting to be thanked or appreciated. He was fighting to protect his family. What Gyomei thought he learned was the true selfishness of children, but Gyomei is often blind to the true meaning of things as I’ve said before. What Gyomei really lost then was the sense of family he had with the other children around him. What he was reeling from was the trauma of losing his entire family in one night. However, for Gyomei it’s easier to rationalize it and blame it on the selfishness of children rather than just an unfortanate and tragic accident. 

1. The Weakest Saves the Strongest

Gyomei is blind to what he was fighting for. What motivated Gyomei at the time were his strong feelings towards the children he wanted to protect. However, Gyomei has forgotten those connection and instead focuses on strength alone. Which is why we see him instead of making connections with others, or returning to his role as a caretaker which is when he was happiest in life instead meaninglessly pursuing more and more strength. Despite being the strongest pillar already, Gyomei must somehow get even stronger. 

He’s forgotten his reason for fighting isn’t simply to be strong, but rather to protect. Gyomei’s complex about good and bad children is merely that, just a complex. It’s a mechanism that allows himself to stay distant from everyone around him, believing that the only peopel that are worthwhile of getting close to are truly good children. But, Gyomei himself is a caretaker not a fighter, the time he was happiest was when he took all children in regardless of background. It’s just that Gyomei himself is terrified of experiencing that loss again so he keeps everyone at a distance. 

However, if Gyomei is not aware of what he is fighting for, then his strength cannot accomplish anything. As a consequence of failing to realize what he truly wants to fight for, Gyomei’s strength cannot protect anything. 

It’s been pointed out over and over again that Gyomei is at the absolute peak of human strength. There’s no one more refined, more dedicated to getting stronger, more disciplined than he is. However, that empty strength is not enough to protect what matters. 

However, Gyomei himself does not really see a future beyond fighting and dying against demons. After he lost the children at the temple he lost any kind of desire for himself other than to be some kind of perfectly refined weapon against demons to be used and discarded. He takes it as a point of personal pride that one day he’s going to basically keep fighting until a demon kills him one day, and he’s never so much as wanted anything else besides that. He has only lived to keep on fighting. The only reason he was saved from that prison cell is because he was recruited into the demon corps. He sees no purpose beyond that. 

Gyomei already has enough strength. However, he can’t use it to protect what’s important, because he’s not thinking of the reason why he’s fighting. In comparison to Genya who despite being so weak, is always trying so desperately to be useful to the others around him. Remember, Gyomei is a deconstruction of the idea that strength is the only thing that matters. 

Genya thinks he is useless because he is weak until Tanjiro tells him it’s the other way around. He has the potential to fight because he’s weak, because he’s struggling so much. 

Gyomei and Kokushibou are foils. They are both at the peak of physical strength. Gyomei is pretty much the strongest a human can become without being Yoriichi, and Kokushibou is the strongest among the demons creating by Muzan and has been cultivating strength for hundreds of years since the onset of breathing techniques. But, strength is not everything. 

Kokushibou also loses for the exact same reason that Hinejima is blind. He fails to realize. He fails to perceive. Kokushibou has six eyes, Hinejima cannot see out of either eye but both of them are equally blind to what is truly important. Both of them fail to perceive. This is what costs Kokushibou the victory as he’s ultimately defeated by a surprise attack from Genya and Tokito, the two he underestimated the most. 

The weakest destroy the strongest demon. The battle is not a matter of strength but rather who was more perceptive, who realized what was important, which was Genya in the end. 

Kokushibou is undone by the children who have surpassed him. Whereas, Gyomei himself has failed. In failing to realize what he was fighting for was not strength alone or to be a weapon against demon, but rather his own feelings of wanting to protect the children he himself is forced to witness children die in front of him repeatedly while he himself is helpless. 

Gyomei cold not do a thing to protect either Genya, or Tokito. In the end despite being the strongest, he’s saved by the two weakest people in the room, the both of them children. Only to once again arrive too late to do anything to protect Tanjiro from Muzan. 

Even after witnessing the tragedy of Tokito passing so early, Gyomei still doesn’t think he’s going to live beyond the final fight with Muzan. His purpose still is only to fight and die. 

Which is why for Gyomei truly to grow and be able to use his strength to protect what matters, he himself is going to have to learn to see a reason for living beyond fighting and dying. 

#gyomei himejima #kimetsu no yaiba meta #kokushibou #kimetsu no yaiba theory #kimetsu no yaiba analysis #kny meta #meta

[lumiolivier]

The Good Old Days Chapter One:  Rich Broads are the Worst

Summary:

Francisco Mendoza wasn’t always a household name on the streets of New York City (particularly around the powerful families that run the underground).  Even he had to get his start somewhere.  And all it took was a good mentor, a snap decision, and the love of a good woman.

Rating:

T+ for language/violence

A/N:  Hi, friends.  Well, here we are.  Chapter one.  For those of you who don’t know, this is a prequel to the Switch series available on Ao3.  Take it at face value as an original.  Take it as a prequel.  Either way, I hope you enjoy.  And your feedback is always appreciated.  This is going to go up every Monday at noon US central time.  So, are we ready?  Because I’m ready.  I’ve been sitting on this since November.  I can’t fucking wait.

Prayer has always been called the last act of a desperate man.  Mama would beat the shit out of me for saying this, but sometimes, that desperate man reaches desperate lows not even prayer can fix. My deliverance was not an easy one, nor was it pretty.  I’m not even sure if God had anything to do with it.  But whoever put me in the path of the Old Man that night was looking out for me.  That’s for damn sure.

  Every night was the same.  Go to work, come home, lock the door, and put Mama at ease.  Between her and my brothers, that was all I had left in this world.  Papa died before I got the chance to know him.  But he knew me.  According to Mama he played favorites with my brothers and me.  She always said he saw the special in me before I even knew it was there.  As we grew up, that became more apparent with my brothers.  Tony and César may both be older than me, but they knew the pecking order in this house.  And they knew who was on top.

 And because their baby brother, their hermanito, put in a good word for them, we all managed to score jobs at the same restaurant.  Although, that commute from Williamsburg to Midtown was its own private hell.  Damn near half an hour on the subway on a good day.  But it kept food on the table and a roof over our heads and Mama taken care of, so none of us were complaining.  But one night…Normally, work didn’t get to me, but…The customer isn’t always right.

 Working at a ritzy Italian restaurant in the heart of Midtown occasionally had its perks. People with deep pockets leaving nice tips…or assholes with deeper pockets who are out to make my job a living hell.  And no one was worse than this one couple on their twenty-fifth anniversary.  It wasn’t necessarily him that was the problem. This guy had the integrity of a wet noodle.  And I had a feeling it was partially because of his…Lovely…wife.

 “Excuse me!” she whistled for me like a fucking dog.  If she would’ve called me boy, I would’ve choked her out.  I don’t have it in me to ever hit a woman, but she pushed all the right buttons.

 But still, I slapped on a fake smile and went over to their table, “Yes, ma’am.  How may I help you?”

 “I know the label on the bottle says 1979,” she told me, her voice just dripping with condescension, “But this tastes like a 1974 Shiraz.”

 “I can assure you, ma’am,” I swore, “This is a 1979 Shiraz.”

 “You say it’s a 1979,” she started to get heated, “But it’s clearly got notes characteristic of a 1974.”

 I kept my head, “It is a 1979, ma’am.  If you’d like, I could bring you something else.”

 “No,” she rolled her eyes, “We ordered a 1979 Shiraz.  I’d like a new bottle.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, taking the original bottle away.  Once I got back to the kitchen, I took a good swig from the bottle in question.  It’s fucking wine.  It tasted like Shiraz.  Personally, I thought it was disgusting, but I digress.  Was there really that big of a difference?

 “Frankie?” Tony put a hand on my shoulder, “You alright?  You look like you want to stab someone.”

 “Just feeling thirsty,” I choked down another drink, “Pretentious woman at table twelve trying to tell me she can taste five years difference and we got our labels wrong. I don’t want to call her a bitch, but fuck, she’s making it difficult.”

 “That’s why I stay back here,” Tony jabbed, “I don’t see how you do it, Frankie. Having to deal with stuck up pricks like that day in and day out.  Either you have intestinal fortitude of steel or you’re a fucking masochist.”

 “I couldn’t be back here,” I sighed out, heading into the wine fridge, “It’s too secluded.  I need my fingers on a pulse or I get cranky.”  

 “They look down on guys like us,” he followed me, “They probably have no idea what it’s like to struggle.”

 “Probably not,” I grabbed another bottle of Shiraz, “But it’s that money that keeps us from going hungry, so we’ll be able to get out of here.  Hopefully, it won’t be for much longer.”

 “God, I hope not,” Tony took the bottle off the tray and threw a drink back, having the same reaction to it I did, “How in the hell do people drink this shit?”

 “I don’t know,” I felt for him, “Maybe the stick in the ass adds a different flavor profile that broke fuckers like us won’t understand.”

 “Because we’re too sophisticated?”

 “Because we have taste in our booze,” I gave him a nod, “Pray for me.  I have to go back into hell and look into the eyes of pure evil.”

 “Good luck, Frankie,” Tony sent me back out.

 I could do this.  I’ve dealt with people like her before.  This should be a piece of cake.  I brought their wine to their table, “I’m sorry, ma’am.  Hopefully, this one will be better for you.”

 “It’s about time.”

 I fiddled with the cross around my neck out of nervous habit, “If you need anything else, please let me know.”

 “Yes,” she dismissed me, leaning toward her husband, “I hope he doesn’t think we’re paying for that swill.”

 Santa Maria, Madre de Dios.  Ruega por nosotros pecadores.  Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerté.  Amén.

 Alright. I can do this now.  She will be paying for it, but the spit about to go in her food is totally on the house.  I wanted to.  Fuck, did I want to.  Instead, I took the high road and went on break.  César followed me out, “Tu bien, hermanito?”

 “I can’t fucking do this anymore, César,” I held my head in my hands, “I’m sick of it.”

 “We all are, Frankie,” César threw an arm around me, “But what else are we supposed to do?”

 “Anything else,” I sighed out, “I’m just…fucking done.  I’m sick of being looked down on.  Not just here, but anywhere we go.  Mama always told us she moved us here after Papi died to give us a better life, right?”

 “Right.”

 “Where is the better life, César?” I wondered, “Because I look around and I’m not seeing it.”

 “We’ll get there some day, Frankie,” he swore, “But for now, we deal with this bullshit.”

 “And it’s bullshit we have to deal with it.”

 “Amen.”

 I’d make a deal with Satan himself at this point to get the fuck out of this.  I was so young, so naïve in those days.  When I had myself together again, I walked back inside.  If I can get out of this shift without killing anyone, I’ll be so proud.  One of the hostesses gave me a poke to the shoulder and sent me to a different table.  Thank God.  I’ve never needed a change of scenery so bad.  I know I’m going to have to go back to them eventually, but right now, I needed something easy.  Please be an easy table.  Please don’t be an asshole.

 A big guy sat at the table all by himself with a small notebook on the table and some mindless doodles.  All things being equal, they weren’t bad.  But I wasn’t there to admire the artwork.  As long as I don’t come across as pissed off, I’ll be alright, “Can I help you, sir?”

 “I’m meeting someone here,” he told me.  Then, he looked up from his notebook, “But I’m thinking I’m getting stood up.  You alright, kid?”

 “Fine, sir,” I suppressed it more, “It’s just been a long, busy night.  What can I get for…”

 “When do you get off?” he asked, looking me over, “I’m thinking my contact isn’t coming and you look like you could use a drink.”

 “I’d rather not have one here,” I admitted, “But I get off at eleven.”

 “Alright,” he gave me a nod, “Brandy and peach tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 “I’ll be right back,” I promised, going to the bar.  Something about this guy gave me a good vibe.  Then again, he already wanted to buy me booze, so I wasn’t going to say no.  I flagged down the bartender and asked for his drink.  The bartender’s face lost any and all pigment it may have had. Reluctantly, he mixed the drink and handed it off to me.  I didn’t know what the hell that was all about, but I didn’t care.  As promised, I brought the man his drink, “Here you are, sir.”

 “Thank you,” he smiled a bit, “What’s your name, kid?”

 “Francisco,” I told him, “But people call me Frankie.”

 “You’re kind of stocky,” he pointed out, “You know that?”

 “According to mi mama,” I explained, “That came from my dad.”

 “And you?” he wondered, “Would you say that, too?”

 “I never met the man,” I shrugged, “I mean, I probably did meet him at one point, but he died when I was two, so I don’t really have much memory of him.”

 “Oh…” the man’s face fell, “I’m sorry to hear that.  I know the feeling, though.  Mine took off.  But we’re not here to swap sob stories.  Hey, I’m going to stick around for a while.  When you get off, meet me out front, K?”

 I had never seen this guy a day in my life, but something about him…It felt like I knew him.  Like we’ve met before, but I didn’t remember.  But I knew for a fact this was the first time we ever met.  Little did I know, that chance meeting would turn my whole world on its head.  We’ll save that part for later, though.  When I walked back into the kitchen, I needed to find one of my brothers.  Lucky for me, the first one I found was César.

 “Hey, César,” I stopped him.

 “Hi, Frankie,” César looked at me strange, “Everything ok?”

 “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I settled him, “No worries.  But I’m going to be a little late going home.  I’ll catch up with you guys somewhere.”

 “Where are you going?” he wondered.

 “I got asked for drinks after work,” I brushed him off, “The guy at table six. He told me he wanted to buy me a drink and you and I both know better than to turn down free booze.”

 “I know,” César nodded, “But don’t think you’re going by yourself.  If three of us leave the house and only two come back, Mama would have our asses and you know it.”

 “I’ll take the heat for that,” I assured him, “But I got a good feeling about him.  And I don’t know about you, but I could really use the drink.”

 “We’re not letting you go by yourself, Frankie.” Dammit, César…The oldest always figures he needs to protect the younger two, doesn’t he?  I could tell this wasn’t going to be a negotiation, “Hey, Tony!”

 “Que?” Tony perked up, wiping his last dish for the night.

 “Drinks after work tonight?” César offered.

 “You buying?” Tony wiped his hands off and tossed his towel aside.

 “Apparently, Frankie is.” I’m going to kill you, César, “There’s a guy out there wanting to take him for drinks and God forbid we let him go on his own.  Or go home without him.”

 “Mama would fucking kill us.” If I don’t get to both of you first.

 “Hold on, pendejos!” I stopped them both before they could cook up something else, “Let me talk to him first and make sure it’s alright.”

 “If he says no, Frankie,” César demanded, “You’re not going either.”

 “My ass, I’m not,” I stood my ground, “You seem to think so.”

 “I’m serious.”

 “And I’m thirsty,” I argued, checking the clock.  Just a few minutes more.  I pushed my way out the doors and found the guy again, “Hey…”

 “Hi,” he nudged a seat out for me, “Go ahead.  Take a seat, kid.”

 “I was actually about to ask you about that,” I began, “There are a couple guys in the back wanting in on this drink.  And if I go home without them, the lovely lady we live with is going to have our heads. Would that be a problem?”

 “Sounds like a real Three’s Company situation you got,” he jabbed.

 “Not exactly,” I came clean, “They’re my older brothers.  If they come home without me, my mother will beat them senseless with her shoe.”

 “You never said you had brothers.”

 “You never asked.”

 The man kept to himself for a brief minute, “Are they anything like you?”

 “I’m the smart one of the bunch,” I explained, “My brother Tony is muscle. My brother César is a master with his words.  Why do you ask?”

 “Just curious,” he dropped it, “Yeah.  They can come, too.  The more the merrier, right?”

 “I guess so,” I could breathe a little easier.  I got my brothers off my back and I still get my drink with…Wait a second, “You haven’t even told me your name and you’re already taken me for drinks? I’m a little classier than that.”

 “You never asked,” he threw my words back at me, “Gregorio.  But mostly everyone that works for me just calls me the Old Man.”

#fan fiction prequel #OC backstory #writing #switch #for the family #ao3 #mafia au #signal boost please?

[mypoisonedvine]

I've had this idea for a fanfic and was wondering if you'd be up for writing something where the reader is a princess or royal and Jaskier saves her life. Maybe they have to hide out together for a bit and they fall in love while Jask helps her get back home. Of course since hes not a royal they're not supposed to be together but I was thinking either they sneak around or her claims her as "payment" for saving her life. Sorry its kinda detailed, feel free to change it up, and thank you!

Thank you so much for this prompt, I had a lot of fun with it!  And I’m sorry this took so freaking long!

Okay so.  I apologize in advance for the aggressive thirstiness of this one but like…………. I’m a red-blooded woman with NEEDS.  I wanted to subvert the idea of the shy, chaste princess a lil bit that’s all. Sorry anon I assume that you were picturing something fluffier, and I do think it's still very sweet, just has plenty of spice as well lol.  Reader in I Never Danced is a rule follower so I wanted to stretch my legs and do something more… chaotic?  This reader is a sex-loving promiscuous icon and we stan!  Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy :) 

 For the Love of a Princess (a Jaskier x royal!reader oneshot)

Rating: E (smut and violence- attempted kidnapping/murder but no gore)Word count: 3.6kTaglist: @100percentamess who has asked to be tagged in everything so here you go lol

The last few weeks had been rather peculiar for you.  First, your father declared war on a neighbouring country, which meant everything was more stressful.  Then, there were rumors of a witcher in town, and you found it exciting but everyone else was acting nervous and superstitious.  Finally, you had to attend some boring banquet and who would show up but the witcher himself, with his bard in tow?

See, you're the kind of woman who gets what she wants: it's a side effect of being a princess.  Spoiled?  Not necessarily.  Just determined.  And when you heard that this bard Jaskier had a reputation and you saw him flash a wink and a smile at you during his song, you suddenly found something new that you wanted.

Sadly, with so many people around, you couldn't really make your move.  If anyone caught you trying to drag someone- let alone a near stranger- back to your quarters, your father would surely have your head, or worse: send you off to become a nun.

It must have been the hustle of the crowds, then, that let the assassin sneak in.  

You noticed something was strange as soon as you entered your room.  Sadly, by that point it was already too late: someone grabbed you from behind, covering your mouth and lifting you off the ground.  You screamed but of course it was muffled by the gloved hand.  You bit down on it, hard, and you heard a grunt as the hand pulled back.  Seeing your opportunity, you swung your elbow back and hit him in the ribs.  He was forced to let go and you fell to the ground.  Before you could get up, though, he was already grabbing your ankles and dragging you backwards.  You clawed at the ground but since there was an ornate rug covering the stone, all you did was pull it with you and wrinkle it.  Kicking and flailing desperately while he tried to grab you, you finally managed to land a kick to the groin.  He keeled over and you made a run for the door but he reached out and tripped you.  You didn't fall completely, but as you tried to regain your balance he was already standing again.  He lunged forward and you dodged, but as you walked backwards to get away from him, you realized that he had you trapped: to your left, the bed, to your right, the wall.  There was a window, but you even if you could manage to dash past him, you would never survive the fall.  Just as you tried to shield yourself with your arms, you looked up at the man and heard a roar, but it wasn’t coming from him: something smashed him over the head, and as he stumbled to the side from the blow, you saw Jaskier behind him, wielding a ruined lute.

As the assassin fell, he tripped over a fold in your rug and tumbled out the window with a yell.  You dashed to it, looking down to make sure your attacker was dead.  You winced when you saw him; since you were on the fifth floor, it didn’t take a physician to realize he was, in fact, definitely dead. 

You turned back to look at Jaskier with wide eyes. “You saved my life,” you whispered, astounded.

“I suppose so,” he agreed.

You were both panting, trying to catch your breath from the physical stress and fear and shock, and you looked at him, and he looked at you, and you wondered if both of you were having the same exact idea at the same exact time; you must have, because just as you ran towards him, he ran to you, and you kissed him with such hunger, nearly anger, all teeth and tongue and grabbing at clothes and pulling hair.  

“Take me, now,” you demanded, pulling both of you back towards the bed until you fell on it, and him on top of you.

“Yes,” he hissed in agreement, moving down to kiss and bite at your neck.  Your fingers dug into his biceps, and your legs wrapped around his hips as he pushed up the many layers of your skirt.  His hands were strong and calloused, but his touch was delicate and gentle as he ran his fingers up your legs.  You prayed he wouldn’t tease you because you didn’t think you could stand it, and thankfully your prayers were answered as his hands pulled away to open his trousers.  He must’ve made quick work of them because just a moment later you felt him plunge into you, without so much as a warning, stretching and filling you- just as you’d wanted.  The noise you made was unlike anything else: a scream, a moan, a growl, and a whimper all at once.  As soon as he was inside you he was pulling back and thrusting in at a punishing pace, fast and deep and hard enough that he had to hold you down to keep your body from moving across the bed.  

You reached up to push off his doublet, leaving only a chemise which exposed more of his chest and arms.  He smiled and licked his lips, grabbing the neckline of your dress and pulling it down, nearly ripping the fabric as your breasts were freed.  You yelped in surprise but it quickly turned to a moan as he dropped down to kiss along your neck and shoulders and collarbones and breasts until you were writhing under him desperately.  

He leaned back and moved your legs onto his shoulders.  The sight of your feet up in the air and his face between your knees was really something, especially when he turned his head to the side to leave teasing bites on your leg.  Your back arched as he leaned forward, folding you in half under him.  You screamed, properly, as you felt his cock pushed so deep inside of you, deeper than you even knew was possible.  It pushed against something inside you that made your whole body quiver, made you cry out with every movement until you felt tears welling at the corners of your eyes: not from pain, just from the intensity of the sensation.  His thumb wiped the tear away as it fell, and you were afraid he would think he had hurt you or that you didn't want this, so you decided to make yourself abundantly clear.

"Jaskier, don't stop," you commanded, "please don't stop, fuck."

"I won't stop," he promised.  You were already so close; you wanted more than anything to see him lose control, and to know that it was because of you.

"Please, please, come for me," you begged as you looked up at him, "Gods, I need you to come inside me."

"Fuck," Jaskier whispered.

"You feel amazing, baby, you're so fucking good," you continued.

"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" he asked, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and you knew he couldn't keep his cool much longer.

"Not all princesses are so sheltered," you smirked.

"Oh, I'm well aware," he quipped, "but they're all supposed to be."

"I like doing things I'm not supposed to," you smiled up at him.

"I noticed," he replied with a wink.  He was really good at winking.  Maybe a shallow or silly thing to decide to pursue a man over, since it's what attracted you to him in the first place, but clearly your tastes had served you well because he was about to make you come.  

"I'm close, gods, I’m going to-” you began.

“Come for me,” he interrupted, or maybe just finished what you were going to say.

At that point you stopped really paying attention to what you were saying, but there was definitely a lot of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ mixed in.  It was more important to you to focus on the sounds he was making- they were even more beautiful than his singing.  

~

A few months had passed, and all the while you and Jaskier courted in secret.  In fact, you were currently on a romantic date: he had you pressed against the wall of a secluded linen closet, your cheek pushed into the cold stone as he grabbed your hips for stability while he thrusted into you.

"So tight," he whispered into your ear. "I'm sure I wouldn't fit if you weren't so fucking wet all the time."

"I'm not wet all the time," you corrected, "just when you're around."

"Fuck," was his only reply.

"I'm close," you alerted him, but you regretted it as he decided to use this as a learning opportunity.

"Beg me for it," he demanded, "or I'll stop."

You scoffed, not thinking him capable of that restraint.  That was a mistake, as he instantly pulled out and your body ached without him.

"No," you whined, "please." 

You arched your back and tried to press yourself into him but he kept backing away so you couldn't reach.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, hoping to get back on his good side, but it wasn't enough.

"You know what you need to do," he smiled against the back of your neck as he started to kiss and bite you there: the feeling ran straight through you to your insides which clenched around nothing.

"I want you, please, I want your cock inside me," you began.  That earned you a squeeze from the hand around your hip but not much else.

"Gods, I need it, Jaskier, please," you whined, "I need you."  He kissed down to your shoulder but stopped there, still refusing to give you what you wanted.  You felt the words spilling out of you, your need for him apparently bypassing that part of your brain that filters what you say before you say it.

"I love you, Jaskier; I've fallen in love with you," you finally revealed, not even really meaning to say it.  It worked though, as he spun you around to face him and forced his way back into you.  You cried out, grabbing the back of his neck while he lifted your legs to wrap around him.

"Truly?" he asked quietly as he peppered kisses along your neck.

"Completely," you responded. "Do you love me?"

"Gods, of course," he laughed, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he continued to drive into you. "I've loved you since I met you.  And only found ways to love you more with each passing day."

"Please don't stop," you begged.

"The fucking or the talking?" he clarified.

"Both," you answered.

“You’re so beautiful,” he continued, his words interrupted with kisses along your neck and chest and shoulders, “and smart, and kind.  It’s impossible not to be in love with you.”

You smiled, though you were blushing as well.

“I’m sure everyone who knows you is in love with you just as much as I am- certainly anyone who, er, knows you as well as I do.  To be euphemistic,” he smirked. “What I’m not sure of is why you keep me around, when any man would be falling over himself just to kiss your hand.”

“You’re wondering why I keep you around?  I’m about to come in a linen closet, what’s not to love?” you quipped.  You felt him smile against your skin, but his voice sounded a little concerned.

“It’s not just that though, right?  You have more use for me than sex?”

“You certainly have entertainment value,” you smirked.

He frowned.

“And you’re the kindest man I’ve ever met who never fails to make me laugh.  Is that what you wanted to hear?”  You tried to stay it with some sense of begrudgement but it was difficult when he was still fucking you- which is what you’d asked for, so no complaints there- and when you were so overcome with your feelings for him.

“Yes,” he smiled, “though I want to hear you say that you love me again.”  Of course he couldn’t just ask you for that, he had to push deeper into you, making you nearly scream it out.

“I love you, Jaskier, fuck, I love you,” you moaned.

“How long?” he pressed, biting on your neck lightly as he started to drive into you even faster.

“So long, gods, I feel like I can’t remember a time that I didn’t.  I can’t remember what it’s like to not need to be near you all the damn time,” you answered through gritted teeth.

It began to feel like an interrogation, though a very pleasurable one.  “How did you know you loved me?” 

“Fuck, Jaskier!” you protested, barely able to form sentences when you were so close to orgasm. “You were playing a song, and everyone was looking at you, and you looked so good, and you sounded so good, and I suddenly realized it.  I don’t know how I knew.  I just- fuck- I just thought to myself ‘I didn’t know I could care about somebody this much.’”

He kissed you, deep and slow and burning with a passion that felt entirely different from what you expected.  You came and it hit you like a bolt of lightning, your body quivering under his touch.  Your moans were lost against his lips, and you felt that he was there with you, finding his own release just as he brought you to yours.  When you both started to slow your breathing as you calmed down from the powerful high, he relaxed his grip on your thighs, letting your legs find their way back to the floor.  

"We should marry," he suggested as you shifted your dress back into position.

"Proposings of marriage are less trustworthy when they're seconds after orgasm," you frowned.

"No, I've thought about it before now," he explained. "I've thought about it a lot."

"Then you must've remembered that I'm expected to marry a king or prince."

"Yes," he sighed. “Your father likes me, I think.”

“I don’t know if he likes you that much,” you murmured.

“But he cares for you, and if he understood how much I love you…” Jaskier trailed off, taking your hands in his, looking at you with eyes that beamed with hope.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t understand how much you love me.  Or how often,” you considered with wide eyes.

“Please,” he interjected desperately, his hands squeezing yours a bit, “think about it.  I want to spend my life with you.”

“Julian,” you replied, your voice much softer, one hand leaving his grasp to comb through his hair, “all I want is to say yes.  I just don’t know that I can.”

“You can,” he encouraged.  “You may be royalty but you’re not property.”

“It’s easier for you to say when the approval of your family isn’t on the line,” you deflected.

“Then we’ll marry in secret.  Or I’ll find some way to become a king, I don’t know,” he smiled.

“That’s preposterous,” you scoffed.

“Nothing could be more preposterous, more outrageous, more unbelievable, than you and I not being together,” he whispered, stepping closer.  

You kissed him, smiling into it, and you were sort of scared because you had no idea what to do with feelings like this, but you felt safe as long as Jaskier was with you.

~

You sat beside your father, sitting through one of the worst royal duties imaginable: meetings!  You just had to be upright in your throne, looking all royal and stuff, while the people rich enough to make audience with the King took turns popping in and usually complaining about something that they were too lazy to fix themselves.  

If anything could get your attention now, the only thing, it would be-

Your posture changed completely when you saw Jaskier enter the room.  You could tell he’d worn the nicest thing he owned; he was wringing his hands, looking around the room with a shifting gaze.

“Jaskier!” your father announced with a grin. “I didn’t expect to see you here.  Is this some sort of impromptu performance?  Where is your lute?”

“Your majesty,” he answered with a quick bow, “I am actually here for your audience, not as a musician.”

Your eyes went wide.  This was his genius plan?  You nearly felt sick you were so nervous.

“What is it, boy?” your father prompted.

“Well, I’ve come to ask you for something,” he explained. 

“Spit it out then!”

“I’ve come to ask for the princess’ hand in marriage!” Jaskier replied suddenly, louder than before.

There was a brief moment of silence, but it felt like hours.  It ended when your father began to laugh.

“This is ridiculous!” the king guffawed.  You felt your cheeks grow hot.

“It’s true,” Jaskier replied firmly, puffing up his chest as he glanced at you briefly, “I’ve fallen in love with her.”

“Yes, well,” he scoffed in reply, “my daughter is a fair and gentle maiden.  I’m sure she has plenty of potential suitors who only wished they could take her hand.  The difference is that they have the foresight not to barge in and ask me for my only child!”  He stood up, face red with anger, and addressed the guards.  “Get this fool out of here!”

You stood up too, grabbing your father’s shoulders just as the soldiers started to drag Jaskier away by the arms.

“Papa, no!” you begged.

“Silence, girl,” he scolded.

“Unhand him!” you yelled to the guards, who obeyed- perhaps a little too well, dropping Jaskier onto the floor.

You looked back at your father, who was looking at you in confusion.

“What is this?!” he asked incredulously.

“I love him as well, father,” you answered with confidence, even though inside you were absolutely terrified.

“WHAT?!�� he bellowed.

“We’re in love,” you replied, turning to give Jaskier a smile.  He looked back at you with a look that made your heart melt.

“Blasphemy!” your father cried out. “What are you doing?” he asked as he turned to the guards again, “I said to get him out of here!”

They picked him up from the floor and continued dragging him towards the door, ignoring his stuttered attempts to explain himself.

“Stop!” you yelled as you stole the sword from the guard beside you, jumping down the steps and running to Jaskier’s aid, holding the weapon out to the neck of one of the soldiers.

“I order you to unhand this man,” you growled, “and I beg you not to test me.”

They hesitated, but after a moment, Jaskier was dropped onto the stone again.

“Ow!” he complained. “Worst proposal ever!”

You helped him up off the ground, wrapping an arm around him and using the other to hold the stolen sword in a defensive position.

“Father,” you said sternly, “I love this man.  I intend to take him as my husband.  I will do so here, as princess of this land, before the gods and my people; or, if you refuse, I will do so in the forest, alone, and spend the rest of my days running from my own armies and living the life of a peasant.”

You felt his gaze on you, but you were too focused on what you were saying to look back at him.  You couldn’t read the king’s face very well but there was definitely shock present there.

“I’d be happy either way,” you sighed. “So, it’s up to you, father.  Have your choice.”

The next silence that came was even longer than the last one.  Your father slowly stepped down, walking towards the both of you.  Though you weren’t sure exactly of his intentions, you dropped your sword.  Instantly the guards rushed towards Jaskier again, but the king raised his hand, silently ordering them to stop.  When he finally stood in front of you, he took your face in his hands.

“My daughter,” he smiled sweetly, tears welling in his eyes. “You’re so like your mother.  She’d be so proud of you.  If only she could see you now, all grown up...”

You felt a tear run down your own cheek as well. 

“If only she could be here, for your wedding day,” he added.  You ran into an embrace, and he held you close, and in that hug there was a silent understanding between you, things that neither of you were strong enough to say, but that you didn’t need to anymore.

“My son!” he said to Jaskier, pulling him into the hug as well as the bard let out a little squeak from the perhaps-semi-aggressive grab. 

“I- I’m flattered by your approval, your Grace, if a little surprised,” Jaskier stammered.

“If my daughter loves you, truly, then I love you as well.  But if you think this puts you in line for the throne or gives you any political power, you can keep dreaming!” he sing-songed in a fake-sweet voice.

~

It was a beautiful ceremony.  Silk banners on every alcove, stained glass windows, and flowers everywhere: mostly dandelions.  Your dress took months to be made, with embroidered florals and precious gems decorating the entire (ridiculously long) train.  You wore your mother’s wedding tiara, but Julian told you later that your eyes sparkled brighter, like the poetic dork he was.  He looked great in royal clothes as well, though the fur cape was a bit much in your opinion.  The reception was even better: the entire kingdom celebrated with festivals across the cities, and the merriment went on for days with feasts and dancing and lots of music.

All that said, you had a lot more fun at the honeymoon.

#jaskier x reader #the witcher #jaskier x oc #dandelion x reader

[dailyaudiobible]

05/18/2021 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 22:1-23:29, John 10:1-21, Psalm 115:1-18, Proverbs 15:18-19

Today is the 18th day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is always a privilege, it’s always an honor for us to get together like this and have the accessibility to the Scriptures like we do and read them fresh and listen to what God is saying through the…the Bible. It is a joy every day to take the next step forward together. And, so, let’s do that. We’re reading from the English Standard Version this week. We’re still working our way through first book of Samuel. We’re pretty clear now in how David and Saul’s lives our intertwined. King Saul wants David to be dead and David is running for his life and trying to find a way to survive. And, so, let’s pick up the story. 1 Samuel, chapters 22 and 23 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, we passed by a very famous portion of Scripture in the gospel of John today. And, so, we’ll talk about it and its context but let's start by just zooming in on a couple of key words here, “steal, kill, destroy.” So, if you are being said stolen from than something that belongs to you in your possession has been taken by someone who has no right. Kill, we can pretty much understand. Although for something to be killed doesn't necessarily mean you're dead. Things can die within us - dreams, hopes, desires. And then destroy is to render something that was perfectly usable, completely broken and worthless. Actually, if you want to get technical here, to destroy something is and its existence. So, like if…if your house burns down may have insurance and everything like that to rebuild another one. But the one you did live in was destroyed, its existence as it was, has ended. Steal, kill, destroy. If we look at our lives just trying to live, right, just trying to make it through another week, just trying to do our very, very best we can see that these themes are around us. Sometimes it feels very much like we’re being stolen from and its nothing we can put our fingers on. It's not physical, it’s “something is being taken.” Sometimes it feels like we can be experiencing theft, stealing, killing, and destroying like this…this is…this is happening. This is happening to me and I don’t know how to stop it. Jesus said, “the thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” In other words, the opposite of what the thief's ambitions are. So, doesn't that essentially describe life among humanity. That one verse, very famous, John 10:10, very famous verse, but that really encapsulates just about everything doesn't it? And, so, how is it that we find this concise statement from the lips of Jesus? What’s He talking about? Because John 10:10, this is a quotable verse. This gets said every week. This gets that all of the time, but it's part of a conversation just like John 3:16 is a part of a conversation when Jesus says, “for God so loved the world.” He’s in the middle of a conversation with a man named Nicodemus under the cover of night. So, this famous verse, John 10:10, “the thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy” is part of a…of a conversation that Jesus is having and He's discussing shepherding. He…He's using the analogy of…of shepherding, that a flock of sheep they…they may go in and stay in a pen with many other flocks of sheep. It was a custom of the shepherds to keep the sheep together and guard them all in one place during the night, so that a predator or thief couldn’t come and take them. And then when morning comes and it’s time to go out to…out to pasture then each shepherd comes and calls its flock, and the sheep follow their shepherd because they know His voice. So, if you're a shepherd and you got 10 sheep and your sheep are in a pen with 100 sheep and they're all bleeding and they're all moving around but you come, and you call your 10 sheep that you spend your life with, that you love them and you know them by name and you would lay her life down to protect them and you call them, they hear you, they trust you, they know you. Out of the many they come running to their shepherd so that they can go out to pasture. And Jesus in this discussion is basically saying that's the way of it. Anybody who doesn't go in the sheep gate and call his sheep how isn't the shepherd. The one trying to get over the wall into the pen isn't the shepherd. Anyone who's not just going in the front door, who’s trying to get in some other way isn't the shepherd. They’re, a thief and a robber according to Jesus, but the one who just walks into the front door and calls their flock, and the sheep hear their shepherd's voice, and they follow the shepherd to pasture, that's the true shepherd. Speaking of those sheep and quoting Jesus, “a stranger they will not follow. They will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” So, this gives us some context to what Jesus is talking about. And, so, now putting our famous verse in context, Jesus said, “I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know My own and My own know Me just as the Father knows Me and I know the Father. And I lay down My life for the sheep.” Okay. So, it's not too much of a stretch for us to understand the metaphor here, that we are the sheep, and He is the good shepherd. But what we should probably understand is that if we are His sheep, we know His voice, which means that we can hear His voice, which means that He's using His voice, which means that if it's not His voice and it's somebody else's voice saying that He's the shepherd we know better because we know the voice of our shepherd and we shy away from that interloper like sheep do. I mean my neighbor has sheep and a flock and, you know, they walk around and they…they bleat and do sheep things and if I walk over by the fence, and they are very observant creatures, if I walk over toward them, they're going to stop what they're doing and pay very close attention to what I'm doing. And if I continue and I say, “hi guys. Good morning beautiful sheep.” Even though I’m being nice, they don’t know my voice. They get skittish. They want to go somewhere where they feel more safe. A flock of sheep feels safe with its shepherd. They trust the shepherd. So, if we didn't already know this, there are competing voices out there that want things from us, whether they want our money or they want our allegiance or they want our vote or they want our voice. And often enough we can find ourselves following when we should slow down. We've been learning quite a bit about how we got…it doesn’t have to be a major slowdown, it's just gotta be we are intentional about not reacting. There are forces out there that want to steal, kill, and destroy. And that's a pretty sure bet if we've lost the voice of our Shepherd and have gotten isolated. If we’ll think this through. Like, if we’ll actually take some time to meditate on this today many things start making sense and it should give us a profound desire to hear the voice of the Shepherd and to know the voice of the Shepherd. And we might think, “I know…I do…I do…I’ve walked with the Lord for years. And, so, I know what that feels like within me when God is prompting or leading or speaking.” And others maybe like, “I just don't even know where to start.” Simple enough way to start is to simply become aware of your senses, which is not to say like, “oh, just follow your feelings around.” But when something feels off…isn't it weird how we can be in a situation that looks normal but something's not right, something's not right. We don't know what it is but something's not right. And, so, we have this kind of intuition. Sometimes we can figure it out sometimes we can’t. If we’re slowed down enough we can ask ourselves, “is this prompting…is this sense…like if…if I'm gonna go forward with this…this path that I'm…that I'm deciding, will this lead me into life abundant? Is my shepherd there? Like, is this gonna lead me deeper into Jesus or is this about me and my own gratification in some sort of way?” If we just get basic, then we can build a foundation and begin to mature. We can simply ask, “can…can this be done in the name of Jesus? Does this bring love? Will I be known by my love that I’m a disciple in this situation? We don't have to be rocket scientists or have a PhD in theology. My neighbor’s sheep don't. I don't even know if they know their sheep to be honest, but I do know that they know the voice of their shepherd, which in this particular story from Jesus seems to be the goal. So, it's an attainable goal. And if we learn the voice of our shepherd and follow the voice of our shepherd into pasture, well that might change our whole life. And, so, let's meditate upon that today and move in that direction today because that will lead us deeper and closer to Jesus today.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit come. We need to know Your voice. We need to know it clearly. And we confess that so often we’re confused about it, but that might be less about Your withholding from us and more about our unwillingness to cultivate, to learn, to listen, to be present. And, so, help us Holy Spirit because how we've navigated this far in so many situations without Your voice, that's…it's a miracle. It's Your kindness and Your mercy and Your patience, shepherding us when were not even listening. But the joy of listening means that we will be led into pasture and we won't be stolen or killed or destroyed. So, come Holy Spirit. Help us to hear Your voice today we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

[Singing] It only takes a spark to get a fire going and soon all those around will warm up to His glowing. That’s how it is with God’s love. Once you’ve experienced it you spread His love to everyone. You want to pass it on. I wish you for you my friend this happiness that I’ve found. You can depend on Him it matters now where you’re bound. I’ll shout it from the mountain tops. I want my world to see that the Lord of love has come to me. I want to pass it on. [End Singing] I love you my DAB family. I’m thinking of you. I’m praying for you. I want you to know that I love you so very much. I just thought that this was one of my favorite campfire songs at camp and I wanted to share it with my brothers and sisters around the Global Campfire of the DAB. I love you all. I love you Brian my brother and my sister Jill and the whole Hardin family. I am so grateful for this community. You guys are my family and I love you. Have a wonderful day and a wonderful tomorrow in Jesus’ name.

Hi DAB family this is Gigi from GVille. I wanted to share with you something today that I feel like it was the word from the Lord or for…for us and it is in Isaiah…it’s Isaiah 52 verse 2 it says shake thy self from the dust arise and sit down in a good sit Oh Jerusalem, loose thyself from the bands of thy neck oh captive daughter of Zion. And what I…I feel like the Lord is saying is that he has won the victory. He has done it, but it takes our faith, our response to Him we have to…to remove that…that band around our neck, to rise off…rise off from the floor and the dust and in the dirt and be able to, you know, sit it His authority enthroned with Him on high and to be able to move forward in His victory. We have to claim it, we have to believe that He has done it. Because the…the devil comes around like a roaring lion, but his only power is to deceive us, that the victory isn’t won, we’re still fighting, we have to work hard. And…and we fail. We don’t have the power, but God gives us the power and He has done it and in faith we respond, we receive, and the Lord has delivered us. In Jesus’ name I speak victory over you guys. You guys run the race, stand in the power of God and you will see what God has done in your life and overcome. And the world will know that He lives within you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Hello Daily Audio Bible this is Dwayne from Wisconsin. All praise and glory to our wonderful Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Today is May 15th and I’m calling you with a heavy heart. My son Nathan is struggling. I got some news that he attempted to break into somebody’s shed and I got really upset about what He’s doing. So, I’m asking that you’d please lift up my son Nathan. The Lord will keep him safe, that he will find some direction. He is lost, he’s got a lot going on. So, some of you know, you have prodigal sons so you know what that’s like. So, I’m just asking that you would please lift up my son Nathan, that God will wrap him in His arms, keep him safe and that his eyes will be opened and that he gets the help that he needs. Thank you DAB. Love you all pray for you all.

Hello Eva, this is Running Bear and I want to pray for you and your family. Heavenly Father, King of Kings and Lord of Lords we pray for this family that is suffering so much as they have this court date that is coming very fast but that does not encompass who they are or all that they are working towards Father. Lord, please bring healing into each one of their hearts and lives. Bring people around them that love them and that they can see that in their eyes, they can hear that in their voices. Lord, for this young lady that has been so betrayed where she has to be wondering what words are truth. Father, we…we pray for her, we pray for healing and we pray for a heart that wants You and wants to see You in spite of all of the suffering. Lord, please bless each one of them as they go to speak the truth and to share the truth that their able to recognize the suffering within them, but also that You are the redeemer and that Your desire is to bring healing in their hearts, in their lives, in their minds, and their bodies. And Father, please bless this family with the community around them that love them dearly and every day. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

This message is for God’s Smile. This is momma ‘D’ in New Albany, Indiana. I heard your story today about how when you and Peter first got together and how you had surrendered him over to God. And I, several days ago, had called in and asked for prayer for my…I’ve been standing in faith for my marriage for 2 years now and he has divorced me, but the Lord has told me to stand, and I’ve been standing for his salvation and for the restoration of our marriage. And I was driving along, I’m…I’m just driving today, on my way out of town and I was…I guess feeling a little angry and I was saying, “you know Lord, I want him saved, I don’t even think that I want him back anymore” and just as I was feeling that I heard your story about Peter and I was reminded of a time, many years ago when my husband Jim…and I do still call him my husband…my husband Jim and I were just dating but I didn’t know if we were going to be together long-term cause he was not saved. And I remember sitting at my prayer closet one night after my children were asleep and surrendering him to God and saying “God you know, I…I, I want him saved and I want us to be together and if you will do that I will praise you all the days of my life and if you don’t do that I’m still gonna praise you all the days of my life. And within a week Jim got saved and within another week he proposed to me and I said I’m so glad you’re saved now because now I can say yes. And he’s fallen away, and he’s stepped out of our marriage for something else, but the Lord said to me, “don’t you think I could do it again?” Thank you for your encouragement God’s Smile, thank you so, so much. God used you today.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

18th March >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 5:31-47 for Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent: ‘You refuse to come to me for life’.

Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

Gospel (Except USA)

John 5:31-47

You place your hopes on Moses but Moses will be your accuser

Jesus said to the Jews:

‘Were I to testify on my own behalf, my testimony would not be valid; but there is another witness who can speak on my behalf, and I know that his testimony is valid. You sent messengers to John, and he gave his testimony to the truth: not that I depend on human testimony; no, it is for your salvation that I speak of this. John was a lamp alight and shining and for a time you were content to enjoy the light that he gave. But my testimony is greater than John’s: the works my Father has given me to carry out, these same works of mine testify that the Father has sent me. Besides, the Father who sent me bears witness to me himself. You have never heard his voice, you have never seen his shape, and his word finds no home in you because you do not believe in the one he has sent.

‘You study the scriptures, believing that in them you have eternal life; now these same scriptures testify to me, and yet you refuse to come to me for life! As for human approval, this means nothing to me. Besides, I know you too well: you have no love of God in you. I have come in the name of my Father and you refuse to accept me; if someone else comes in his own name you will accept him. How can you believe, since you look to one another for approval and are not concerned with the approval that comes from the one God? Do not imagine that I am going to accuse you before the Father: you place your hopes on Moses, and Moses will be your accuser. If you really believed him you would believe me too, since it was I that he was writing about; but if you refuse to believe what he wrote, how can you believe what I say?’

Gospel (USA)

John 5:31-47

The one who will accuse you is Moses, in whom you have placed your hope.

Jesus said to the Jews: “If I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is not true. But there is another who testifies on my behalf, and I know that the testimony he gives on my behalf is true. You sent emissaries to John, and he testified to the truth. I do not accept human testimony, but I say this so that you may be saved. He was a burning and shining lamp, and for a while you were content to rejoice in his light. But I have testimony greater than John’s. The works that the Father gave me to accomplish, these works that I perform testify on my behalf that the Father has sent me. Moreover, the Father who sent me has testified on my behalf. But you have never heard his voice nor seen his form, and you do not have his word remaining in you, because you do not believe in the one whom he has sent. You search the Scriptures, because you think you have eternal life through them; even they testify on my behalf. But you do not want to come to me to have life.

   “I do not accept human praise; moreover, I know that you do not have the love of God in you. I came in the name of my Father, but you do not accept me; yet if another comes in his own name, you will accept him. How can you believe, when you accept praise from one another and do not seek the praise that comes from the only God? Do not think that I will accuse you before the Father: the one who will accuse you is Moses, in whom you have placed your hope. For if you had believed Moses, you would have believed me, because he wrote about me. But if you do not believe his writings, how will you believe my words?”

Reflections (10)

(i) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the gospel reading Jesus speaks of John the Baptist as a lamp alight and shining and of those who knew him as enjoying the light that he gave. Jesus is saying that something of God’s light shone through John the Baptist. Yet, in this fourth gospel, it is only Jesus who is declared to be the light of the world. Jesus does not only reflect the light of God; he is the light of God. The relationship of John the Baptist to Jesus is akin to the relationship between the moon and the sun. Jesus is the source of God’s light and John the Baptist reflects this light to others. I was reading the Confession of Saint Patrick recently. Towards the end of that text, Patrick says, ‘This sun which we see rises daily at God’s command for our benefit, but will never reign, nor will its brilliance endure. Those who worship it will be severely punished. We, on the other hand, believe in and worship Christ the true sun who will never perish, not will anyone who does his will. They will remain for ever as Christ remains for ever’. Patrick spoke those words in a setting where sun worship was common. In another of the gospels, Jesus speaks of God who ‘makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good’. God has given Jesus, his Son, to all people, without distinction or discrimination. Our calling is to open our lives to God’s light shining through God’s Son and, like John the Baptist, to reflect something of this light to others, especially to those who live in darkness and the shadow of death.

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

Our church is dedicated to John the Baptist and we are alert to the references to John the Baptist in the gospels. In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus says that John testified to the truth. In John’s gospel Jesus says the same about himself as he stands before Pilate: ‘For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth’. It seems that John the Baptist and Jesus have something very fundamental in common; they both testify to the truth; they both bear witness to God who is truth. Yet, Jesus goes on in this morning’s gospel reading to speak of John as a lamp alight and shining, whereas Jesus will go on to speak of himself as the light of the world. John is not the light of the world; he testifies to the light of the world, to Jesus, and that is why he is a lamp alight and shining. John the Baptist exemplifies what we are all called to become. We are not the light of the world, but we are called to testify to Jesus the light of the world by what we say and what we do. If we are faithful to that calling we too, like John, will be a lamp alight and shining. Earlier in John’s gospel John the Baptist spoke of Jesus as the bridegroom and of himself as a friend of the bridegroom. That too is our calling, to live as friends of the bridegroom, making way for him to enter the lives of others.

 And/Or

(iii) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

Jesus speaks of John the Baptist as a ‘lamp alight and shining’. Later in the gospel of John, Jesus will speak of himself as the light of the world. If Jesus is the light, John is only a lamp. The relationship between Jesus and John could be compared to that between the sun and the moon. The sun is the source of light; the moon reflects the light of the sun. Jesus is the source of God’s light, the light of God’s love and God’s truth. John’s role was to reflect the light of Jesus by bearing witness to Jesus. John’s role is also our role. We are called to reflect something of the light of Jesus to others, the light of God’s love and God’s truth, by bearing witness to Jesus as John did. Like John, we too are called to be a ‘lamp alight and shining’. We cannot look directly into the light of the sun; we can only look at the sun’s light as it is reflected in various ways. In this life, we cannot look directly at Jesus the light; we do not see him face to face. However, we can see his light as it is reflected in the lives of others, and others can see his light as it is reflected in our lives.

 And/Or

(iv) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the gospel reading this morning Jesus speaks of John the Baptist as a lamp alight and shining who gave out light that people were content to enjoy for a time. Whereas Jesus is the light of the world, John the Baptist is a lamp alight and shining. In a sense, John is to Jesus as the moon is to the sun; he reflects something of the light of Jesus to others, but he himself is not the light. John the Baptist expresses the calling of each one of us, in virtue of our baptism. Each of us is to be the moon to the sun that is Jesus, the light of the world. We are all called to reflect something of the light of Jesus to others. When people look upon us they are to see something of the light of the Lord reflected in us. When Jesus speaks of himself as the light of the world he is declaring himself to be the perfect revelation in human form of God’s love and God’s truth. He is the love of God and the truth of God incarnate. Our calling is to reflect something of that divine love and truth that shines so brilliantly in Jesus. If we are to be faithful to that calling we need to keep on entering into the light of Jesus, placing ourselves before that light in prayer and in the sacraments.

And/Or

 (v) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the gospel reading Jesus says to those who are hostile to him, ‘you look to one another for approval and are not concerned with the approval that come from the one God’. We all look for human approval in one way or another. If we receive a lot of approval, we tend to feel good about ourselves; we feel that we must be doing something right. When it comes to leaders of political parties, approval ratings are taken very seriously. Yet in the gospel reading Jesus warns against working for human approval while neglecting the more important approval, the approval that comes from God. The opposite of human approval is human rejection. Jesus experienced the ultimate in human rejection by being crucified. Yet, at the very moment when he had lost all human approval he had the approval of God. God was faithful to him and raised him from the dead. What we call the paschal mystery, the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus, shows that the absence of human approval does not necessarily mean the absence of God’s approval. Jesus suggests that it is God’s approval rather than human approval we need to strive for. We will know God’s approval if we receive his Son whom he sent into the world, if, like John the Baptist in today’s gospel reading, we bear witness to God’s Son by our lives.

 And/Or

(vi) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

At the beginning of this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus speaks about John the Baptist as a lamp alight and shining. Later on in this same gospel Jesus will speak of himself as the light, the light of the world. John may be a shining lamp, but Jesus is the true light. Jesus also says that John the Baptist’s testimony is valid and that he gave his testimony to the truth. Jesus, however, says that his testimony is greater than John’s; his testimony to the truth is fuller because as he will say later on in this gospel, ‘I am the truth’. Jesus is honouring John the Baptist but he is also stating that he is so much greater than John. As Jesus says in that reading, people were content to enjoy the light that John the Baptist gave, but there is a greater light here now. Jesus is calling on his contemporaries and on all of us not to settle for a lesser light, wonderful as that light may be. We can all be tempted to settle for less than what God wants for us and is offering us. We can be content to bathe in a lesser light than the light that comes to us through God’s Son. We can settle for a partial truth rather than continuing to seek after the one who is full of God’s truth and God’s grace. We can place our hopes on one of God’s gifts rather than on God’s greatest gift, his Word who became flesh and dwelt among us.

 And/Or

(vii) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

In the first reading, Moses pleads with God on behalf of God’s people who have turned away from God and worshipped a calf of molten metal, treating it as their god. This is the fundamental sin of idolatry. Yet, Moses does not give up on the people. He asks God to pardon them and God hears Moses’ prayer; God responds to Moses’ plea. Because of Moses’ prayer there is reconciliation between God and his people. If Moses worked to reconcile God’s people to God, Jesus did so to an even fuller degree. Saint Paul declares, ‘God reconciled us to himself through Christ... in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself’. The work of Moses pointed ahead to the even greater work of Jesus. That is why Jesus can say in the gospel reading, ‘if you really believed Moses, you would believe me too’. There is continuity between Moses and Jesus, but, according to John’s gospel, Jesus brings Moses’ work to completion. As the Prologue to that gospel states, ‘the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ’. Jesus is the fullest revelation of God’s gracious and reconciling love possible in human form. In this Jubilee Year of Mercy we are celebrating God’s reconciling love revealed in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. God continues to be at work in Christ today reconciling the world to himself. We are asked to respond to that reconciling work of God. The call of this year is ‘Be reconciled to God’, a call which is inseparable from the call, ‘Be reconciled to one another’. We cannot return to God without returning to each other, just as, in the parable of the prodigal son, the elder son could not return to his father without being willing to return to his younger brother.

 And/Or

(viii) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

Very few of us probably could say with Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading, ‘As for human approval, this means nothing to me’. Very few of us are indifferent to what other people think of us. If we meet with disapproval, we tend to think that there is something wrong with us. We sometimes measure our worth in relation to how others see us. Human approval can confirm us in our sense of self-worth. Human disapproval can undermine our sense of self-worth. Jesus was not like us in that respect. His sense of self-worth was rooted less in how others saw him and very much in how God saw him. In the gospel reading, Jesus goes on to challenge his critics, ‘How can you believe, since you look to one another for approval and are not concerned about the approval that comes from the one God?’ Many of Jesus’ critics went along with undermining Jesus’ ministry because this is what their peers were doing. They were more concerned with the approval of their peers than with the approval of God. Peer pressure is a permanent feature of life in any age. We can all find ourselves going along with the emerging consensus, because not to do so would be to risk the disapproval of others. Yet, Jesus suggests in the gospel reading that the more important question is not ‘What do others think?’ but ‘What does God think?’ ‘How does God see me?’ In the gospel reading, Jesus suggests that one of the places where we can discover what God thinks, what God approves or and doesn’t, is in the Scriptures, ‘these same Scriptures testify to me’, and for us that includes above all the Christian Scriptures. As believers, it is from there we try to take our lead, even if it leaves us at odds with our peers.

 And/Or

(ix) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus refers to John the Baptist as a lamp alight and shining and declares that for a time people were content to enjoy the light that he gave. Jesus will go on to say in this gospel of John, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life’. John the Baptist may be a lamp who gives off some light, but only Jesus is the true light. People like John the Baptist have brought something of God’s light to others but Jesus alone is the light of God. We all need lamps as we go through life, people like John the Baptist who reveal the light of God’s presence to us in some way. We are all called to be a lamp in that sense. If we are to be a lamp for others, we need to keep turning towards Jesus the true light. This activity of turning to Jesus the true light lasts a life-time. In various ways we can turn away from this light of God that shines so brilliantly through the person of Jesus. We can turn towards the darkness, in some form or other, just as in today’s first reading the people of Israel turned from God and worshipped a golden calf that had been made by human hands. This is the human story; it is often our personal story. When that happens, we need to keep turning back towards Jesus, the true light who is always turned towards us. Only then can we live out our calling to be a lamp alight and shining. When we keep turning towards the light, we can become a light for others.

 And/Or

(x) Thursday, Fourth Week of Lent

Most of us are aware of our need for human approval. If people approve of us we sense that we are worthwhile. If people do not approve of us we can easily begin to doubt our self-worth. The saying of Jesus in today’s gospel is, to that extent, true to human experience, ‘you look to one another for approval’. Very few of us could make our own the sentiment of Jesus in today’s gospel reading, ‘As for human approval, this means nothing to me’. Human approval means something to all of us and, sometimes, it can come to mean a great deal. In speaking in this way, Jesus is trying to highlight a more fundamental approval than human approval, and that is the approval that comes from God. When Jesus says to his opponents, who were already intent on killing him, that ‘you look to one another for approval’, he immediately goes on to say, ‘You are not concerned with the approval that comes from the one God’. If they were concerned with God’s approval, they would not be intent on killing Jesus who reveals God to us. Jesus suggests in today’s gospel reading that a more important question than, ‘Do people approve?’ is ‘Does God approve?’ At the end of the day, it is God we are seeking to please rather than other people. Like Jesus, we are to put God’s will before the will of others. The life, and. especially, the death of Jesus clearly shows that the lack of human approval can go hand in hand with God’s unreserved approval.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[mhafanfics19]

Ch.4 Devil’s Trap

"She was my little wicked with chaos in her eyes." ~Atticus

You were regretting leaving the bar, the unforgiving wind biting at your reddened cheeks, the bitter cold sending shivers down your spine. You had arrived back at your apartment only to remember, and see that the whole apartment building burned down.

The sight makes your heart sink into your stomach, little kids lived there and so did elderly people, and now they don't have a home. Overwhelming guilt, and disgust makes your stomach churn, people always seem to lose everything when they are around you.

Tears begin to form in your eyes, all of this was your fault, if you never went out that day none of this would have happened. The cops and heroes would still think you just disappeared, but no that's not how things ever played out for you.

Now here you were, no place to go, half freezing to death in the unforgiving cold. With no other options, you decide to make your way to one of the bars at the end of the street. Being two in the morning, you didn't have to worry about anyone trying to turn you in to the cops, most of the people out at this time are unsavory characters themselves.

Arriving at the run down bar you push the door open with an ear piercing shriek, naturally all eyes turn to you, anyone else would have shrunk beneath the men's predatory gazes. Straightening your posture, you slide into an empty seat at the corner of the bar, silently praying to whatever entity exists that no one would screw with you tonight.

Of course, your prayers fall upon deaf ears, as a large muscular man with wild light brown hair and yellow eyes sits next to you. Your heart feels like it's beating in your throat, this monster of a man has to be at least seven feet tall, his physique and ripped white shirt and black pants adds to his ferocity.

You've always prided yourself with the fact that not many things scare you, until you laid eyes on this man, shakily you light a cigarette in hopes of calming your nerves. His deep, gravely voice adds to his intimidation factor, "Those things could kill ya, ya know?" Your breath hitches as you frantically search for words, not wanting to get killed by a sucker punch.

"So could my quirk but I still use it, doesn't matter much to me anyways." Your response comes out way more snarky than you intended, this is how I die, squeezing your eyes tightly you wait for a devastating blow. Much to your contentment, the leviathan of a man laughs, "You got an attitude I like that, the name's Rappa. What's yours, tiny?"

If anybody else called you tiny you would've blown a fuse, that was not the case at this moment, you are way too relieved he hasn't decided to snap you in half. "Y/n, you might know me as Inazuma, I've unfortunately made quite a reputation for myself." Your words are filled with resentment that doesn't go unnoticed by Rappa.

"Oh shit! You're that lightning chick! C'mon fight me!" Rappa knocks over the chair he had been sitting on in excitement, your eyes turn into saucers at his demand. "Uh yeah that's me, and I'm not normally the fighting type. I don't use my quirk unless I have too."

The tank of a man doesn't like that answer and pushes further, "Oh c'mon! You don't need to use your quirk! I'm a hand to hand fighter!" Just as you're about to protest again, an arm snakes around your waist, an all too familiar voice speaks for you.

"She said no, I suggest you go bother someone else before I have to incinerate you." Rappa looks between you and Dabi, without another word he simply wanders away leaving you alone with the flaming douchebag, you shove him away his arm detaching from your waist.

"I didn't need your help, I had it handled." Dabi takes over the seat next to you, snickering as he snatches a cigarette from your pack, and lights it with his finger. "Oh yeah, you really had it handled doll. You looked like you were going to shit yourself, me being a nice guy I had to save the damsel in distress."

A sneer presents itself across you visage, Dabi's arrogance is almost funny to you, almost. "You're one cocky son of a bitch, and I absolutely cannot stand you. You're aware of that right?" His famous smirk tugs at his lips, blue orbs trail up your body, eliciting a disgusted scoff from you.

"Is that why you're so interested in me? I see the way you look at me, I gotta say I never pinned you for the bad boy type. A lot of girls wish they were in your position, dollface."

You dramatically gag at his words, trying to hide the fact that he's not necessarily wrong, but you were not about to let him know that. "My position? You mean being harassed by the most arrogant, infuriating, asshole-ish man named Dabi? They can have it all they want, sorry to shit on your parade but I'm not interested."

The confidence you have wavers when you see the look on his face, half lidded cerulean eyes filled with amusement, and that stupid half smirk playing on his lips. He really is an attractive man the burns covering his skin adds to his charm, of course you'd never admit it, especially not to him.

Dabi leans closer to you, noses only inches apart, he smells like campfire with a hint of cigarette smoke it makes him even more intoxicating. "That hurts me doll, it really is too bad, here I was thinking I had a chance with the hottest member of the league."

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it bleeds, gathering whatever self control you have left, you lean away from him keeping up your uninterested facade.

"Huh, I wonder how many girls have fallen for that, and I'm not apart of the league anymore. Unfortunately for you, I'm not that easy and I don't date people that burn down my apartment, sorry Scarface." A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, as rests his chin on his hand.

"I didn't say you were easy, I just call things the way I see them, and you are absolutely stunning. That's another thing, Jin is super upset about you leaving, he was practically begging me to make sure you're safe. It's a good thing I came when I did, that big guy would have pummeled you."

"You are so full of yourself it's almost laughable, I have never in my twenty five years on this earth met someone as unbelievably narcissistic as you." Your words come out equivalent to a hiss.

Irritation takes over your emotions, hopping off the bar stool you walk out of the bar, thinking Dabi was still there. You were wrong, he is now following you around like a lost puppy, "Wait a second, I wasn't trying to be an ass or anything."

You spin around to face him, your guilt finally gets the best of you. "You are an ass! I have no where to live because you just had to show up at my house, what have I even done to you? What warrants you burning my shit down? Do you even care that you could have killed innocent people all because you're so goddamn arrogant you thought you deserved an apology?"

For once Dabi is stunned into silence, he hadn't cared that he could have killed someone, but the cracking of your voice told him you had something weighing on you. For a reason unknown to him, he didn't like it at all, and he wanted find out what was hurting you.

"Look, come back to the hideout with me, we can talk about everything. I know I've been a dick but we can start over, I wasn't trying to upset you."

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you sigh in defeat, you might as well at least the hideout is warm and you wouldn't be on the streets. "Fine, just lead the way."

That was all Dabi needed to hear, he had managed to weasel his way into your head, and he was going to use that to his advantage.

You had no idea you had fallen into the Devil's trap.

#dabixreader #dabi #MHA #LOV

[blazerina]

Do No Harm (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Ethan and Allie decided to call it quits but they’re both having trouble processing the events of the past month and what their relationship really meant to them both.

Author’s Note: An angsty piece that I’m really proud of. They’re both a mess and I LOVE IT! Thanks for reading. Please like and reblog! xoxo

Word Count: 2788

--

It had been a month already. One whole month since Dr. Ramsey had been reinstated at Edenbrook. One month since they decided.  One month since hurt feelings and raised voices echoed inside her head every day.  

She would never forget the mental image of Ethan aggressively pounding his fist against the granite bar in the kitchen, and calling out her name, after she lost her temper and slammed a glass into the sink.  

Now that he was back at the hospital, it didn’t make sense for them to continue their relationship.  They both agreed it was the best choice.  They knew the night they spent together would result in this episode one way or another. There was no other conclusion. This was the result of their impulsive actions. Two emotional, intelligent, driven people who would only get in the way of one another if they tried to make it work.

When Ethan tore off his hospital ID and handed it to Harper Emery, announcing to the world that he was done, she never imagined that one day she would be on the receiving end of those words.

“I’m done.”

The days and weeks since “the decision” had passed quickly but also slowly. Allie’s head was foggy. Her brain felt stiff. She had been moving through quicksand for days on end and it felt as though this was becoming her new normal.

She was numb from head to toe. She had successfully shut people out; something she did best in trying times.  No one knew. It was a secret only shared between her and Ethan.  She was proud of that. Even though she was skilled at fooling those around her that she was okay, inside she was crumbling. She desperately wanted to ask him for forgiveness; to explain to him that she didn’t mean anything she said that night.  

Allie winced as she remembered telling him that he was right, he was indeed a failure because he wasn’t even willing to try being in a real relationship. She called him a coward; reminding him he was too scared to admit he had feelings and emotions like a regular human. His pride kept him from realizing that he was fallible just like everyone else. And that was something he loathed and denied – he would never be just like everyone else.  

Tonight, she knew she’d end up walking in the rain. She finished a hellishly long shift and wanted a drink. Well, more than just one if she was honest. She was desperate for the burn of alcohol down her throat and in her belly. She didn’t necessarily want to forget, but she wanted to feel good. She wanted to remember what it was like to not care about anything; even if the buzz only lasted a few hours and she felt sick the next morning. It would be worth it.

Allie exited the hospital through the ER and gave a curt wave to Rafael. It was unseasonably cool and a storm was blowing in off the coast. The dark clouds were quickly rolling in, full and round, waiting to drop rain at any moment.  She shivered and pulled the collar of her fleece up around her neck. Her hair was piled high on top of her head, the silver caduceus necklace her father had given her felt like ice against the skin of her chest and neck.  Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets and she whispered a prayer as she walked towards Donahue’s that for at least tonight, it would be empty.

**

Ethan sat at the bar staring into his glass. The liquid inside swirled around and around as he tried to decide if he should have another.  This had been the first time he’d been anywhere other than the hospital or his house since saying goodbye to the only woman he ever truly loved. He thought he knew what love was before Allie came into his life, but he had been wrong before.

He knew he was in trouble the moment he saw her working with her first patient-emergency in the lobby and came to assist her.  He recognized her from her application. Knew exactly who she was. He was beaming with pride in the way she handled that situation and pretty much every other case after that. It wasn’t until she sat with him after Delores passed, when she didn’t have to, that he noticed something more…

Yes he was proud of her, but he realized in his mind he was claiming her as “his.” In his thoughts, she became “his Rookie” or “my Allie.”  No one knew that he had been staying well past the end of his actual shifts in order to spend time with her. He stayed so he could listen to her talk through complicated cases, and was consistently awed by her mind and how she sifted through facts to find the reasons behind a difficult diagnosis.  He would conveniently lean against the wall next to the nurses’ station to overhear her encourage the staff and applaud them all for helping her with a challenging patient.  In the cafeteria, he purposefully chose a seat in the back corner, by the window, so that he would be able to hear her laugh and joke with her friends.

Despite all this, he made the choice once again to pursue his true passion, medicine; the one thing he knew without a doubt he was good at.  

Love?

Being in a relationship?

He knew nothing about how to be successful in those things.  

But diagnosing patients?

Helping heal people?

He could do that.  It wasn’t scary. He didn’t put his heart on the line with a patient. He was confident in how to handle anything that came his way inside the confines of Edenbrook.

But outside?

In the real world?

With Allie?

Thinking of being with her and her relying on him, he didn’t know what to expect in that regard.

And he didn’t want to stick around any longer to find out if he would disappoint her, let her down, or fail himself. It was easier this way.  It should have never started to begin with and he’d never forgive himself for not being strong enough to stay away from her.

He somehow convinced himself that she didn’t really love him anyway. Not at least in the way he loved her.  She probably only looked up to him because of what she’d read or heard…not because of who he really was.  There was no possible way she could love him for him. Ethan was different than “Dr. Ramsey.” She had no idea what she would be getting into with him.  He was in a way protecting her from a lifetime of regret, loneliness and heartache. She would one day thank him for making sure they could never be together.

He knew that most people would look back on the events of that night one month ago and think more about the fact that he gave up everything he’d ever wanted and needed in a partner, for a job – something he had worked his whole life for and already achieved so much success in. It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else.

The voices had started on his walk home after clocking out from his last shift. It had been a hard one, he had lost another young woman. She was a mom of three and had simply waited too late to come in and find out why she had been tired for so long.  He cursed himself for not acting faster and finding a way to save her.  

He was reminded yet again of how much he let people down.  Years and years of experience had taught him that this was the very reason not to let people into his life. He always ended up disappointing them. He couldn’t save one of his oldest friends when she was supposed to be experiencing one of the happiest moments of her life. He couldn’t find a way to cure his role model, closest teacher and mentor. Hell, he couldn’t even lead a team of interns anymore without getting in the way.

Allie. He whispered her name out loud and closed his eyes as it passed his lips. At the mention of her name, he decided upon another drink and asked Reggie for one more.

He flinched as he remembered his last few moments alone with her.  The things he said…he had not meant any of it. It was simply a method he used to push her away; wanting to make her leave. He couldn’t take seeing her in front of him any longer. He was being a jerk on purpose, hoping this would change their dynamic enough for him not to want her and vice versa.  

Ethan told her that she needed to focus on her studies, and that she really wasn’t as high and mighty as she thought.  That being number one was only because he vouched for her and used his political clout within the hospital, that others didn’t feel that way about her abilities.  And then…

Then he told her the only reason she was still able to practice medicine was because of him.  That she had relied on him from the beginning and that it was him who was able to bail her out when she had her hearing.  That without him, she would be nothing. He told her it was time to learn on her own and not lean on him for everything. That he would always be her crutch if they stayed together and tried to make (whatever it was they had) work.

He'd never forget the audible gasp she released when he said those words. The sting that he could see in her eyes as she doubled over his kitchen sink, tears threatening to fall but somehow she reined them back in. It was at that moment she pushed the glass from the edge of the counter into the sink with an aggression and passion he had never seen from her. She looked up at him with those piercing green-blue eyes that he’d looked into so many times, and walked out of his life.

Lost in thought, staring at the labels lining the top of the tap, he felt a lump rising in his throat and swallowed hard as Reggie sat down his next drink with a loud thud.

“You okay?” Reggie asked, wiping his hands with a towel.

“Never been better.” Ethan smirked, cheers-ing to Reggie with his scotch and downing the drink in one smooth motion.

**

Allie shivered a little more as she stepped into Donahue’s, shaking off the rain.  Somehow she knew when she looked up that he would be there.  Ethan had not seen her yet, but a pit immediately filled her stomach when she recognized his profile, drinking a scotch as if it was a shot.  

She took a deep breath and told herself he was not going to make her leave. She had managed to avoid him at the hospital, asking friends to cover any cases she’d been assigned to that required her to meet with him.  She dodged him in the cafeteria by not sitting in the corner where she used to with her friends; her meals were eaten mostly alone now.  She sidestepped him in the hallways, took the stairs when he was in the elevator, and turned around the other way when he was at the nurses’ station.  He was NOT going to take away her night off to relax and unwind by herself at her favorite bar.

He must have felt her eyes on him because he immediately turned to face her, pausing, frozen in disbelief that she was standing there.  She was still angry. She had so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to prove to him.  She wanted to march up to him at the bar and slap him, but something kept her grounded in that moment, also unable to move.  They held eye contact with each other for what felt like an eternity, before Allie finally made the decision to settle into a booth.  She made sure to choose the booth farthest from the bar and purposefully turned her back to him.  She was an adult. She could do this.  She had to be strong enough to not let him rattle her anymore.

**

As soon as she entered Donahue’s Ethan made the decision to leave. The anguish and pain he caused her was too much and he couldn’t stand to be in her presence knowing what he had done to her.  

He quickly threw a few bills on the bar and stood up, adjusting his jacket and nodding to Reggie, indicating he was headed out.

Ethan always walked fast but his gait was even faster as he made his way to the entrance.  He was unaware that it was raining and he slammed the front door a little harder than he intended to as he stepped out into the elements.

This is perfect. He mumbled to himself as he tucked his head and shoved his hands into his jean pockets.  

He kept walking despite a number of cabs that stopped for him.  Before he knew it, he had circled the block a few times in his absentmindedness.  His thoughts and his heart were racing.  His focus and resolve to be mad…to stay away from Allie…to not give in to her and his desire for her, were diminishing.

Impulsively, as if he was being controlled by an unseen force, he found himself standing outside Donahue’s, soaking wet, knowing Allie was inside, alone. All that stood between him and making things right, was a conversation. He could waltz in there right this instant and make her talk to him. Admit everything and beg her forgiveness.

He tried to shake away his emotions. He didn’t want them dictating his actions, but he couldn’t.  Not this time.  His heart was overruling his head and he didn’t like it.

When he first became a doctor he remembered part of the Hippocratic oath about doing no harm. Technically, it wasn’t in the oath itself but Banerji had told him Hippocrates had said it in some other philosophical memo of sorts that people often confused with the Hippocratic oath physicians take upon med school graduation.  Ethan was always fascinated by how close the word Hippocratic was to hypocrite – and he felt it was ironic to be remembering this  now, at this moment of all times.

Not until now, had it ever occurred to him that working in the field of medicine might mean doing harm to those around him and not necessarily his patients.  How much longer would he allow his drive and his intense focus on his career to keep him from really living?

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, telling himself he needed to at least say he was sorry.  Sorry for hurting her. Sorry for disappointing her. Sorry for not being what she needed.

Ethan reached for the door but as he did, it opened right in front of him.

**

Allie opened the door, gasping for air. She had to get out of there. Her jacket felt as though it was made of lead, suffocating her with each breath. Seeing Ethan had sent her into more of a tailspin than she could have imagined. It felt as though she was coming up for air from being held underwater as she stepped out of the bar. But once again, the wind was knocked out of her when she realized she was face to face with Ethan.

Before she knew what was happening, he reached out for her, held his face in her hands and kissed her. His stubble was rough against her skin. His lips were warm and it seemed as though even his tongue  was desperate; searching for any response from her. Allie could feel the emotion, the passion, the power he was conveying with this kiss that took her by surprise…but she was still, cold and numb, unbelieving.

Breathless, Ethan pulled away, still holding her face as he whispered, “Rookie…I –“

Allie gently and confidently pulled his hands away from her face and placed them at Ethan’s side.

“I’m not your Rookie, Ethan.” She replied, tersely.

“I’m Dr. Alexandra Valentine. A medical intern on the diagnostics team at Edenbrook Hospital. And if you can’t accept that, then what the hell do you think you’re doing kissing me in the rain like that?”

Without giving him time to respond, Allie proudly and confidently brushed past him, walking down the street, again in the rain.  And this time, she didn’t look back.

#dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #mc x ethan #blazerina babbles #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfic #i heart angst #bring it on #these two are something else #thanks for reading my ethan stuff #he's an ass but i love him