#then again maybe it was on purpose to show that the culture faded. like how katniss is unique for knowing the old songs and hunting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dragonagecompanions · 8 months

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DA2 crew reacting to Hawke who stops caring? Maybe after the death of Leandra they just stop showing any kind of emotion? Not even rage or sadness it's as if they're made tranquil but without the need to be cut off from the fade instead, it's their emotions that are cut off. When they finally ask Hawke they simply shrug and respond with

"Why do I care? Everyone leaves me or they want something from me only to stab me in the back, why should I care anymore?"

Just, just pure angst heartbreak something that will hurt I BEG FOR THE HURT JUICE!

WELCOME TO THE JUICE BAR! HERE THERE BE ANGST!

Varric: He gets it. For most of the time, amongst the odd band of friends he has made in the City of Chains, Varric puts on a very convincing show as the devil may care rogue with the world at his fingers and no weight on his shoulders.

But on the nights when he is not walking through Darktown killing...well, anyone who crossed their path really, it was hard to maintain the mask. When the last drunken drunken warbler had left or past out or otherwise left the Hang Man silent in the wee hours even his tavern rooms couldn't keep the echoes at bay. Brother, father, mother, ancestral culture and society; all of it gone before he was even respectably middle age. He'd lost Orzammar before his first breathe, and no matter how in the Merchant Guild he climbed no surfacer would ever be anything less than a casteless outcast.

Normally that didn't bother him, but on the heaviest nights...He can't bring back everything Hawke lost, and isn't fool enough to try. But he can be a friend, a port in the storm. Once Hawke's mindset is known Kirkwall's resident story teller makes it his mission to be a constant bulwark for his friend. He has let them flounder for too long-- dwarves might not be great at swimming, but Varric will not let Hawke drown.

Bethany: It takes a long time for her own bitterness, at a life of endless hunger and exhaustion and nightmares of a Grey Warden that she would never have chosen for herself, to fade enough for her sibling's silence to truly register. Their mother's death had been a terrible blow, a severing of the last parental bond, but it had also heralded a silence from Kirkwall that...

Well, that she had come to take for granted. Varric still wrote like clockwork, his letters a comforting and humorous glance into the city that had been home so briefly, but after more than a year the remaining Hawke sibling looks up to realize she has had not a word in months. Her last letter was so bitter, penned in grief and anger and without thought for the child who actually had to see and bury Leandra, but now those caustic words eat at her own mind.

Distance has bled off the pain, and the missive that goes to the City of Chains is almost meek in comparison to her fiery words. But the letter she receives makes silence preferable-- she can feel her sibling's desolate apathy through the short penned lines, and for once she aches for the cramped paradise of Gamlen's hovel when their family was mostly whole.

They do not write again, and in her shame and sorrow she does not ask them to. A Grey Warden is meant to leave all their former life behind, and yet somehow her older sibling has managed to cut loose of those bonds-- and Bethany finds herself clinging to a life that she cannot save.

Anders: Justice roils, unsettled and uneasy at the terrible symmetry. There is no sunburst scar to mark the sundering of mind and fade, no judgement rendered to murder life and emotion, and yet tranquility would almost be preferable to the empty aching sorrow. Hawke had always been a vibrant soul, built for purpose and life and determined to make their way in the world no matter the cost. But this...

There had been a time when Anders had been that alone. The loss of friends, of family, of the chance to have a life of his own. Even the freedom of the circles had still left him chained to another institution, no matter how preferable the Grey Wardens might have been. Isolation was a like an unhealing wound, pulling at the body and soul until there was nothing left to fight it. A sepsis of the soul, where no surgeon's blade could cut it free.

There had been no true isolation since Justice had come to him; it feels like a betrayal to admit he missed it.

And oh Anders wants to comfort his friend, tries to be there and sets aside (as much as his fracturing mental state will allow) the conversation of mages rights for other conversation. Brings food and wine and tries to rekindle that spark that had always been in Hawke's soul.

But his plans for the Chantry -and the looming betrayal that must carve them apart once again- keeps a pall of guilt over those efforts. It seems crueler somehow -infinitely more so if they are in a romantic relationshiip-to build up only to destroy, and so knowing he cannot help one of his first true friends in the city is another burden to lay against the cost of mage freedom on the scales of Justice.

Isabela: At first she brushes it off as a bad day, nothing that a trip to the Hanged Man and the Blooming Rose can't clear right up. She's had a few of her own, after all, and knows the liberal application of lover and libation to be a perfect solution for gloomy moods. Friend or lover, she knows how to raise the spirits.

But when that doesn't work, when her efforts are shot down again and again in that same terrible, dry tone, something distant and awful howls in the back of her mind. As the captain of a ship she is good at watching for storms and reefs, for the dangerous shoals that can render a ship little more than kindling or the hurricanes that turn even the greatest ports into unsafe harbors. There are no maps to nagivate here, no sounding charts or sextant readings to guide her to calmer waters.

She has looked death and danger in the eye with laughter and a ready blade, but the dull and distant apathy in her friends eyes shakes her like no nautical challenge ever has. They tetter on the crest of a wave, and for all that she might scramble for control the trough might be too much for them to weather. Emotions have never been her strong suite, commitment not in her wheelhouse. Isabela is shallow and vain by her own admission, made for the life at sea and not meant to drop anchor forever.

But when she takes a heading, she takes it true. It will be work, work the captain is not at all sure she is capable of, but in all her long life Isabela has never abandoned a crew member gone overboard. And even if Hawke is determined to struggle against joy and life and recovery, she will not let them drown.

Aveline: It is so, so tempting to lay pain for pain. To compare the loss of home and husband and life against the inevitable (if untimely) loss of parent, the grief of lost siblings and broken friendships to the struggle of proving herself to the guard. Who are they cut themselves off from those who love them, when no one is untouched by loss?

But the simple and terrible truth is that pain is a terrible equalizer, and lays low all who come before it. Aveline has fought for her position as a guardsman, and then guard captain, and is proud of her duty. But she is also too well aware that the burdens laid at her desk are nothing like that of a Champion of a city, and that Kirkwall has for years asked far more of Hawke than it has given in return. Her friend has never waivered, never failed in their devotion to a city that never stops taking.

Her own rise in station comes of both her work and theirs, and with a pang Aveline is suddenly unsure if she has ever let Hawke know how deeply grateful she has been for their friendship-- from that first day in Ferelden onward.

It is not in her nature to look back and regret on mistakes that cannot be fixed, or dwell too much on old sorrows. With Donnell's help she can only move forward as a better friend, a better companion. To make sure Hawke knows without question that they are loved, and to guard them and their future as she does the city they will build it in.

Fenris: Everything he touches, it seems, must be laid low.

There is no question that his social skills lack a certain...polish, nor that on the whole Fenris and society are mostly estranged. He in content to live in his decaying mansion, to make a life devoid of company when not traipsing through Kirkwall with a ragtag bunch of friends. He does not seek out company often, is not comfortable with the idea of the vulnerability that friendship requires with more than a handful of people.

It does not occur to him until Hawke's empty and apathetic words that those actions and attitudes might hurt more than himself. Hawke has been a better friend and compatriot than Fenris ever dared to hope for, certainly better than he had the right to ask for, but his actions have not been equal to that friendship. He has let them suffer alone, or at least mostly unsupported, and that is...

It hurts like the Fog Warriors hurt, needless betrayal when something better might have been.

There is a cold blessing in the memories of a life enslaved being ripped away by the lyrium, even if the experiences after were hardly kindness itself. But Hawke must live with it all, the pain and betrayal and the crushing isolation that comes with duty. Fenris has chosen to be alone, at least, in his self imposed solitude.

Hawke has no one.

It is a bitter vintage of guilt, particularly for a romanced Fenris who has done more than most to cause such pain. But he has not come so far in life without being tenacious, and commitment to a goal is keen to success. If he must finally leave the mansion behind, to spend everyday with his friend until that sorrow is as distant as his life in Tevinter, than it is a sacrifice worth making.

He will bring the good wine--it stands up well to despair.

Carver: There is a sort of inherent loss of self, when you have a twin. For all that Bethany and he had been different people, it is at times unavoidable that you be lumped together by even your family. It is rarely malicious but often very annoying, and was in some ways the catalyst for how much he envied his older sibling's singular triumphs and failures. There was no one to share that spotlight with, and it burned at something deep within Carver's soul.

The bitter grief that came when Bethany was gone, gone and leaving him with no one to lock step with, did not lend itself to mending the hard feelings for his older sibling. While not so cruel as Leandra to lay blame at the eldest Hawke child for his sister's death, her absence creates a void that neither can ever truly fill.

Time heals some wounds, of course, but distance and duty can cauterize what has not yet healed. Leaving his life behind to take the oath of a Grey Warden is perhaps the most freeing thing he has ever done, and if it is easier than most to carve away his past life...he is well named for it. That is not to say that the news of his mothers death does not pain him, but his new brothers and sisters a balm in a way family has not been in the past.

It is cold comfort when Varric's letter, with the uncertain request to write to his sibling in an attempt to ease their pain, makes them uncomfortably aware that years have passed without correspondence. Somewhere between the Deep Roads and his duties the oldest Hawke sibling ceased to be a daily thought for him, and Carver is ashamed to realize that he was relieved when the letters stopped. He does write a few stilted lines, unsurprised to receive no reply, and tells himself he can do no more.

If his father's face haunts his dreams with imagined disappointment and grief for months after, let that be penance enough.

Merrill: If Clan Sabrae still lives she will find it difficult to relate, but if Keeper Marethari's actions have cost her so much more than Merrill is painfully aware of the pain of total isolation. Hawke does not even have the eluvian to compensate their struggles, and for a time the Dalish mage is unsure how to help.

So she simply listens. Even if it is apathetic silence, or quiet sorrow, or even howling rage, Merrill stays. Her friend has never abandoned her, not in all the time she has known Hawke. Their life has been a bitter one, with duty and grief and helpless loss too mich a companion. Nothing she can do will fix the past, but she can prove to them with the consistency and patience of her presence that they are not alone.

The introduction of baked goods to that listening and support is also, in her experience and delight, a helpful tool. Among the Dalish shared food is the foundation of family and community, and in time she will use it to bring hope back to her friend.

Creators, let her succeed.

-Mod Fereldone

#dragon age 2 #merrill #aveline #hawke #carver hawke #bethany hawke #fenris #anders #isabela #angst

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countlessrealities · 5 months

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Kisses under the mistletoe || No longer accepting

@alm1ghtysea sent: 💏 - my muse kisses your muse under a mistletoe without a warning (For Adrien and Kaito !)

Parties were the sort of scene Adrien was still getting used to. He had been to plenty of gatherings with his father, back when he had used to model for Gabriel, but those were easier to navigate. All he had to do was being quiet, talking only when he was addressed and smile for the cameras, if there were any.

This was different.

He wasn't sure of how Marinette and Alya had managed to convince the principal to let them hold a Christmas party in the school yard, but apparently not only they had succeeded, but they had also managed to turn the place into show of colourful lights and winter-themed decorations. The place was almost unrecognisable

Adrien himself had helped setting up the scene the previous day, but seeing it now, with the light of the day quickly fading away, everything looked as if it had been wrapped in a cheerful golden glow, with a touch of red and silver here and there. In one word, it was beautiful.

Had it been up to him, he would have gladly just leant against the wall, away from most of the crowd and enjoyed the scene. Not just the yard in itself, but also the people and the cheerful atmosphere that filled all the space. Unfortunately, everyone else had other plans for him, so he had found himself being dragged from one corner to the other.

Chatting with Nino, making sure that Chloé didn't mess with the sweets Marinette had baked, saving the latter from her own clumsiness, playing judge in an argument between Kim and Max.

And, last but not least, now Plagg was demanding to be fed some of the cheese from the refreshments table.

The teen had grumbled a little at the kwami demands, but eventually he had given in. Careful not to draw anyone's attention, he had made a beeline for the food, keeping watch while the creature scarfed down almost all the contents of the cheese plate. Hopefully, no one would have noticed, because he wasn't looking forward to lie and say that he had been the one to eat all that.

"C-C'mon, Plagg, that's enough," he whispered, ushering the kwami back under his shirt. "I'll get you more once we get home, alright? Someone might see you. And we can't...!"

The rest of his sentence was lost in a little huff as he turned around and bumped straight into Kaito. He had spotted the other teen here and there, surrounded by his friends, but he had never found the chance or a pretext to approach him...until now.

Adrien instantly opened his mouth to apologise, but, once again, his words got lost as he noticed something else, hanging from a thread right over their heads.

...Oh shit. Was that mistletoe?!

"Uh, h-hey, Kaito, I just..." He started, unsure of what to say. He had stared at the plant too long, because the other had looked up in turn.

Great, now the cat was out of the bag. And how he wished to be the cat, so he could have just zoomed away and hide on a rooftop.

"It looks like we...that's..."

Did his friend even know about that particular tradition? He was certain that it was something that had its roots in the Western culture. And if that was the case, then he would have looked twice as a fool, if he had tried to do what he was supposed to do. Maybe he should just turn on his heels and...

A hit against his lips cut through his thoughts and he quickly realised that it was Plagg trying to get him to just go ahead and...do the thing. Easier to be said than to be done. But, on the other hand, he couldn't stay there looking like a dead fish either, could he?

"It's tradition, you know, so..." He started again, trying and mostly failing to channel his inner Cat Noir.

This time he let his voice trail off on purpose, both because he needed the extra moments to steady himself and because he was hoping to catch Kaito off guard. The time to suck in a quiet breath through his nose and he was leaning forward.

He didn't dare to go for a kiss on the mouth, he couldn't have made himself to do it even if he had really wanted to. Instead, he landed his lips against the older teen's cheek, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on it. As their skins brushed, time seemed to stretch and the universe seemed to shrink down to the way their body heats mixed together.

The moment was suddenly broken as he moved back, the weight of the implications of what he had just done falling on Adrien all of a sudden. He could not have a conversation with Kaito right now. Not about the kiss, not about anything else.

"Oh, anyway, I...I see Nino calling for me. He probably needs help with...this thing from earlier," he hurried to say, not giving the other any chance to react. "I'll...Let's talk another time. Enjoy the rest of the party!"

And with that, he was off, making sure to disappear in the crowd before sneaking into the lockers room. Running away from his friend was starting to become a habit and he really did not like it.

Letting out a heavy breath, he leant his back against the wall, closing his eyes and running a hand on his face. He was a complete disaster when it came to handle this particular ordeal, wasn't he?

Exploiting the fact that they were alone, Plagg floated out of his hideout, coming to stand in front of his holder's face, green eyes shining with mirth.

"Damn, you're really bad at this wooing thing, do you know that?" The kwami huffed out in amusement. "Sooo...Does this mean that we're going home earlier and that I can get my cheese sooner?"

Adrien let out a groan, shoving the creature aside. "Oh, shut up, Plagg. We're not going home...yet. I'm going back out there...in a minute or ten."

#[ ic :: Adrien ]#&& Kuroba Kaito #[ ic :: npc ; Plagg ]#[ ᴵᵀ'ˢ ᴬ ᴷᴵᴺᴰ ᴼᶠ ᴹᴬᴳᴵᶜ ᵀᴴᴵˢ ᴰᴬᴺᶜᴱ ᴼᶠ ᴹᴬˢᴷˢ ᵂᴱ ᴱᴺᴳᴬᴳᴱᴰ ᴵᴺ :: ᴀᴅʀɪᴇɴ & ᴋᴀɪᴛᴏ ]#alm1ghtysea #[[ hope you don't mind I threw Plagg in this xD ]]#[[ Adrien needed a push ]]#[[ and also to be mocked for the half fail in the aftermath xD ]]#;; queue

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gffa · 2 years

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“As hard as it was to become a Jedi, it was even harder to stop being one.” “They were all gone. All the Jedi. And sometimes I wondered if I should have gone with them.” “You never trained me for this, Master Qui-Gon. You never taught me how to fade away.” "There's a strength and nobility in restraint. I know that's what you'd tell me, Master Qui-Gon. But nothing about this feels noble. The people here are dying. While I do nothing. I cannot fight as a Jedi. I cannot train the boy. I am lost here, Master.” "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. The last of my Order. But this is not the end of the Jedi. All it took was a young boy's courage to assure me of that." Now that we have the teaser trailer for Obi-Wan Kenobi out, I’ve been wanting to reread these issues of Star Wars about Obi-Wan’s time on Tatooine. Who knows how well they will or won’t fit together with what the show gives us, as I doubt they’re much on the radar of the show. But that’s not the point of why I wanted to reread them, and it’s more that I love this storyline. Because the Obi-Wan we see at the end of Revenge of the Sith is heartbroken, he feels responsible for not being able to prevent Anakin’s fall to the dark side, he’s lost his entire family, his community, his people, his culture. And he cannot even speak openly of that loss, he cannot practice his own faith, he would be hunted down and killed--or worse--if anyone knew what his faith was. That he was born as Force-sensitive and raised as a Jedi, that alone was enough that the Empire was hunting him down to kill him, much less that he was Obi-Wan Kenobi. And that’s what really tortures Obi-Wan. The loss of his family and people devastates him, but that he cannot even lean on his faith, he cannot even be a Jedi anymore, that every cell in him wants to help people, but he cannot, because it would call attention to him, call attention to Luke. This is the central conflict Obi-Wan faces, because he is a Jedi to the core. “Jedi cannot help what they are. Their compassion leaves a trail. The Jedi code is like an itch. He cannot help it.” “I cannot fight as a Jedi. I cannot train the boy. I am lost here, Master.” Obi-Wan Kenobi is lost because he only has the thinnest of threads to hold onto in a galaxy that has frayed and snapped and broken every other one. He is the survivor of a genocide of his people, a galaxy of lights he used to be able to feel in his mind are now dark, and he cannot even talk about it, because there would be no shelter and it would only drag down more people. Would only snuff out the last few candles of light left. Cannot help anyone because it would only make them suffer more. And that conflicts with everything he was taught to be, everything he wants to be--someone who helps people because of his compassion for them, an itch that lives under his skin and that he must hold himself back from scratching. And the story is about finding the balance there. Because the danger still lurks, but learning when and where you can still help, learning how to find a way to be a Jedi in a galaxy that is so vastly different than what it used to be, to find a way to hide who and what you are until the time is right, without losing yourself to it. That’s Obi-Wan Kenobi’s journey and there is still so much room for story in that. Especially because, whatever happens, we know he does get to be a Jedi openly again. Maybe only for a brief moment, but when facing Vader on the Death Star, there’s no question that Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi, that is his culture, his faith, and his purpose. One that will help save the galaxy, one that will help create a moment for Luke and Leia and Han to escape and find their own path forward, one that will eventually allow him to become a Force Ghost and continue to help guide Luke and eventually reunite him with Anakin. Do we know what happens ultimately with Obi-Wan? Yeah, of course, we’ve seen A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back and Revenge of the Sith. We know how this story ends, but the journey there is one that I’m very interested in, because it absolutely aches to think of a Jedi who cannot even be who they are in a galaxy that would kill them just for existing, and how they must grapple with the horror and pain of that, how they find their way through such a deep cutting into their spirit and still moving forward, still trying to find the light and hope again.

#obi wan kenobi #comics #meta #long post #reading comics: star wars ongoing

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purrincesskittens · 3 years

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Star Eyes, Zuko is mistaken as Water Tribe.

Gift for @muffinlance based off this post and this one

......................................................................

It was night when they found him. A quick examination showed blood on the back of his head. As they pounded on his back someone noted his eyes. “Gold eyes.” They called. “Are you fire nation?” The boy lifted his head and the light of the lantern caught his eyes reflecting back at them. “Of course I am.” The kid snarls. “Star Eyes.” Someone breathed. Shit this kid was one of theirs. “Could be the child of a war bride.” Was suggested by someone. “At least he’s not a fire bender.” There was a laugh that was quickly interrupted by the star eyed boy himself. “Yes I am.” “Well that was.... honest.”

Star eyes were only something seen in the water tribes though. Even if this kid was a fire bender he had to be water tribe. More then likely the result of a woman stolen from her tribe during a raid and raised as Fire Nation since he looked enough of the part. But he was young, probably just recruited or practically forced into joining the military. There was a easy way to figure out how dangerous this kid was or rather how much more dangerous he was considering he was a fire bender.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Hakoda asks crouching before the boy lifting his chin in one hand so the boy had to look him in the eye with those gold colored star eyes. “What? No ... I don’t think.... No.” The kid seemed confused the blood on the back of his head suggested a head wound but this kid was young probably just assigned to a ship only to get knocked overboard by either by a storm or by another soldier. Those eyes probably didn’t make him popular or the fact that this kid’s eyes kept sliding away from Hakoda’s own suggested he may be a fey child.

“What do we do with him?” Somebody asks as they watch the kid cough up water, curling and uncurling his fingers against the wood of the deck his eyes cast down. “We keep him for now. His mother is probably Water Tribe war bride if he is star eyed. Have Kustaa check him over and if he survives we figure out what to do from there." Hakoda announces to the crew. They took care of their own and until they figured out who his mother was and could turn him over to her family if she had any left the crew of the Akhult would take care of him for now. Half Water Tribe and the child of a war bride was still Water Tribe and like hell were they going to turn him over to the Fire Nation to continue using as a weapon.

Kustaa later informed him the boy had hypothermia as well as potentially severe head trauma it was hard to tell right now. The kid mistook him for his uncle. Which uncle they weren't sure. It's possible the boy's mother had a picture of her family she either managed to take with her or she drew herself or he could be thinking Kustaa was his father's brother. The escape attempts didn't help some of the crews opinions on keeping the kid but considering he was raised as Fire Nation and was in a strange place so its expected that he would try to escape although climbing the mast was something Hakoda really wished he didn't do along with scaling the side of the ship.

Kustaa had mentioned the boy called for his mother while delirious along with begging his father for forgiveness pledging his loyalty to him and pleading no to the man which didn't paint a pretty picture of the man or gain much favor of the fire nation in the crews opinions. "Tell me about your mother." Hakoda suggests sitting up on the mast beside the boy. Glowing gold eyes blinked at him. "I remember trailing robes. She favored long sleeved robes with delicate embroidery. She had long hair I remember her brushing mine when I was little. I would sit in her lap and she would brush my hair talking to me about theater or turtleducks or plants. Different things she liked. I think I would sometimes tell her about my day or what I had done recently I don't remember clearly its... faded almost. Fuzzy. I barely remember what she looked like."

Hakoda frowned the boy was water tribe he had to be with those star eyes of his but why wouldn't his mother tell him about her people, her home. Maybe she couldn't? Maybe the boys father was so controlling he made sure she never spoke of home to their son? Then the boy said something that made him rethink everything he knew about the kid. "Uncle said my hair is alot like hers. Or it was. I don't even remember why I shaved it." The kid frowned obviously struggling to remember rubbing his head with one hand. The head wound had left him confused he didn't rember his name or much of anything recent but he remembered he had been burned for cowardice supposedly or partially for that but what did the fire nation consider to be cowardly? Kustaa suspected the boy's own father burned him based off what they gleaned from fever dreams and night terrors.

“What did she look like?” Hakoda questions softly holding his breath hoping he was wrong with the hunch he had. “Elegant, beautiful, she had long straight black hair that was so soft and amber eyes with flecks of true gold in them she wore long sleeved red robes with elegant embroidery. The sleeves would bellow and she would hide me in them when I was little.” The boy continued to talk about his mother someone he remembered fondly although all the details suggested the hugs, the turtle duck kisses and every else stopped when the boy was small. Something happened to his mother and Hakoda was beginning to suspect it may have something to do with the boys true parentage. But how to suggest it to the kid without breaking the poor things mind? The whole crew already suspected he was spirit touched as the water tribe liked to call those who were different mentally the earth kingdom called them fey and not all of the earth kingdom where kind to them.

“If I promise no one on this ship will hurt you and we won’t turn you over to the Earth Kingdom will you stop with the escape attempts?”Hakoda asks when the boy falls silent picking at the grain of the wood under his hands not meeting Hakoda’s eyes. The kid blinked up at him startled. “Okay.” Getting the kid down the mast was surprisingly easy after that and a few more rules were hashed out before the kid was sent to see Kustaa again and the crew was gathered. “The boy’s mother was fire nation. He remembers her more clearly then anything else.” This drew murmurs from the crew some wanted to toss him over board then since he wasn’t the child of a war bride. “But he’s star eyed he has to be Water Tribe.” Toklo says tilting his head in confusion. “Exactly. We know he seemed to have issues regarding his father and Kustaa suspects he may have been the one to burn the kid. I learned his mother also disappeared or may possibly have been killed when he was young.” This gained more murmurs from the crew.

Panuk pulled in a sharp audible breath. He had figured out what Hakoda was getting at. “Does any one here know where they were about 16 to 17 years ago? If they were around the Earth Kingdom or the colonies anywhere?” Their chief had to ask if none of the men on this ship was the boys father he would have to send messages out to all the others in the fleet see if anyone remembered if maybe had met a pretty woman in the Earth Kingdom or in the colonies and spent a night with her. If the kids mother was Fire Nation and he was star eyed that meant his real father had to be Water Tribe. His mother had to have married or started a new relationship soon after and the boy looked fire nation enough to pass him off as her husband’s but the husband probably suspected what with the star eyes. There was silence followed by an uproar. “You can’t be serious?!” Aake shouted in outrage. “I’m not judging anyone but the boy is water tribe and with his mother gone we most definitely are not giving him back to the Fire Nation so we need to figure out whose he is. We take care of our own.” Hakoda soothed the crews ruffled feathers listening as the men scrambled to remember where they were and what they were doing all those years ago.

Slowly they managed to clear the majority of the crew those who couldn’t remember were left struggling valiantly to justify why they couldn’t possibly be the boys father while their youngest two crew members watched with glee obviously in the clear themselves due to their age. Once Kustaa cleared the boy Hakoda set him to work and had to add no breathing fire to the list of rules. Toklo and Panuk made friends with their newest crew member over laundry and the boy was very shouty about women’s work. And then the issue over the kid not having a name he remembered came up. Names like Siqinq, Kallik, Cupun, Tulok, Yuka and Tulugaq were tossed around. He is pretty sure they settled on Tulok simply because they already have a Tuluk and Toklo on board and that name is almost a combination of the two plus it had a star meaning behind it. The boy just wanted to fit in.

Reds were changed for Toklo’s blues and the boys hair shaved to regrow properly after Kustaa managed to break it to the kid that a real father wouldn’t abuse his son, biological or not. They picked up Bato who sympathized with them for wanting to keep the star eyed child, teach him his real culture, and find his real father but the kid was still a fire bender. A fire bender on a WOODEN SHIP!! The boy, Toluk looked like a kicked polar puppy being denied sleep in the hammock he was used to and his usual snacks when ever he wanted. They still had a lot of work cut out for them when the kid thought he would be killed over a bending accident because he didn’t fully remember he needed to mediate to control his fire. His memories were still patchy at best. So Hakoda ended up with his temporary foster star eyed child sitting in his cabin breathing with a lantern holding a dog.

The kid liked sea prunes proving he was Water Tribe at heart. He was good at using his fire bending for non evil purposes even if he protested it. He proved he shouldn’t be left alone in port either by himself or with his friends. He gained a piercing, two rusted swords, a theater scroll and a cabbage? No one seems to know about the cabbage. He can cook as it’s proven despite how spicy his cooking is and nearly gets kidnapped by prostitutes. Sex workers were not on the list of people Hakoda thought he would have to fight for custody of Tulok with. He nearly gets himself kidnapped by a Earth Kingdom solider they are allied with who seemed sure their boy was then dead prince of the Fire Nation. Never mind that the prince was dead and their boy was star eyed. The solider was surprisingly unfazed by the heat of the kids cooking. He didn't end up kidnapped despite his best efforts.. The kid really needed to stop climbing the mast. “Prince Zuko?!” Hakoda’s kids seemed to also mistake Tulok for the dead prince.

“That’s the Prince of the Fire Nation, dad he chased us all over and tried to capture the avatar numerous times. His sister did capture Aang.” His kids argued trying to convince him that their new foster brother was some evil prince. The kid in question for his part had more headaches then usual and just seemed more confused and angry. He remembered something. A little sister named LaLa. It takes a while but after watching their new brother and listening to the crew, “His name is Zuko, he is the prince of the Fire Nation, his father is Fire Lord Ozai does no one care about that?!” Sokka asks in outrage staring as the kid in question does laundry like its a perfectly normal thing for a prince to do. “His mother may be fire nation but his father sure isn’t.” Panuk comments dodging a wet shirt thrown by their resident fire bender. This earned laughter and calls of “Good for her!!” And “She could do a lot better!” Followed by “At least a water tribesman would treat her right!!”. Sokka groaned in frustration and confusion.

“Why is my nephew wearing blue, convinced Ozai isn’t his biological father and that he is water tribe?” General Iroh the Dragon of the West questions calmly. Tulok seemed to recognize Iroh and even called him Uncle and recognized some of the crew but he still didn’t have complete clear memories although his headaches grew worse until Kustaa told him it didn’t matter if he remembered or not he was water tribe and nothing was going to change that spirit touched or not. “He is star eyed you can’t possibly tell me the fire nation has star eyed kids that’s a water tribe thing only.” Iroh considered it briefly before dismissing it. His nephew looked similar to a young Ozai, so Ozai had to be his father even if he wasn’t much of one and his nephew deserved better then Ozai. But surely Ursa couldn’t have had an affair while married to Ozai it was impossible. Iroh tried to do the math off the top of his head of when Ursa and Ozai married vs when Zuko was born. “Look the obvious answer here is that the boys mom met with a Water Tribe beefcake and had a one night stand that lead to the boy. It’s the only thing that explains why his supposed father hated him so much and why he struggled with fire bending and is star eyed.” Bato explains grinning. “Beefcake?” Hakoda and Iroh question.

Azula finds this all far to amusing. “That just means I’m the rightful heir after all. You can stay here with your little water tribe family and I can be the next Fire Lord after Uncle.” Somehow things get worked out that their star eyed fire bender’s fire nation sister will be staying with them along side her two scary friends and the kids supposed Uncle will become the next Fire Lord once they take down Ozai. The kid is still confused and there are still gaps in his memories but they aren’t giving him back now he is their’s and the fire nation can’t have him. They still call him Tulok since the fire nation does consider the sun to be a star after all. He seems to like it better then Zuko. He still does their laundry still wears beads in his braids in red, blue and one gold. In all that’s happened no one thought to alert the rest of the fleet about what they learned leaving them in for one heck of a surprise when they reach Chameleon Bay where the rest of the men from the fleet scramble to try to remember where they were sixteen-point-nine years ago.

#water tribe zuko #star eyed zuko #zuko Is mistaken as water tribe #glowy eyed zuko #zuko’s eyes glow #gift for Muffinlance #salvage au #inspired by salvage #hakodad #hakoda adopts zuko #atla fanfic #atla zuko #atla hakoda #sokka is not okay with this #put the feral fire bender back where you found him #the akhuklt’s crew is okay with zuko being one of them #like okay if his mom isn’t a war bride then his mom hooked up with a water tribesman #which good for her at least a water tribesman would treat her properly #Iroh protests this #He is 90 percent sure Zuko is actually Ozai’s son #not that that’s is a good thing #he can’t be sure though #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #Give Zuko happiness #ursa could do better then ozai #hey uh no judgement whatsoever to whichever water tribesman is the kids father but uhh come pick up your lost cub #Bato calls other warriors beefcakes #which watertribesman lost their cub they didn't know they had #everyone struggles to remember who they were with and where they were 16 years and nine months ago

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willowcrowned · 3 years

Note

Okay but has anyone considered Obi-wan/Cody/Satien (is that how its spelled?) Regardless, hes got two hands for his two mandalorians, the au where this happend is gotta be top notch ridiculous ye?

Okay thank you so much for giving me a reason to think about this, because this AU contains three things I adore: polyamory, ships where everyone is frighteningly competent, and Obi-Wan

In this AU, Ventress is somehow even less well-adjusted (bear with me). What this means is that, instead of taking a gap year and finding herself after her family is brutally murdered, she decides she needs to get revenge even more now. What does this mean? In the short term, she still becomes a bounty hunter, but in the long run? She’s looking for a Sith lord team up so she can punch Dooku (with a lit lighstaber) in his stupid, elitist, backstabbing face.

So when Maul invades Mandalore, what happens? Ventress comes right along, ready to give her ‘I know we hate each other, but consider teaming up to kill someone we both hate even MORE’ space TED talk. And though Maul may be terribly annoying, a closet theater kid, always in a tits out kind of mood, and denying his gay awakening, he’s not stupid. He knows Sidious is coming for him, sooner rather than later, and he knows he needs more people on his side than his (impressively beefy) brother. He and Savage agree to the team-up.

Cue Obi-Wan showing up, ready to save his sort-of girlfriend, and finding Pre Vizsla, who got REAL sus the second ANOTHER lunatic with a red lightsaber showed up, occupied by capturing Maul, Savage, and Ventress.

Obi-Wan saves Satie, who convinces him to call Cody for a quick evac, and they’re running away, flirting, and arguing over shooting things (as usual), when they spot Ventress, Maul, and Savage, about to be executed.

Oh, they both think, hell no. And then, because they have a stupid moral code that makes them do stupid moral things, they go save them.

A little background on Obi-Wan at this point: He has been fighting in a war for over two years. He is exhausted, close to a breakdown, and seriously questioning his place as a General. Next to him at all times, supporting him, helping him, and saving him, is Cody, who is clever, kinder than he has any right to be, and is, of course, devastatingly handsome when he does his special, unique-to-Cody half-smirk.

Obi-Wan, to put it mildly, is totally gone on him. Obi-Wan also, to put it less mildly, is his commanding officer in an army that Cody can’t leave on pain of death. To do anything— make any advance beyond the flirting that he engages in with most people— would put Cody in a very uncomfortable position, whether or not he returns Obi-Wan’s feelings. So Obi-Wan watches him from afar, hoping against hope that his affections are returned, and that one day, after the end of the war, there will be a future for both of them.

A little more background on Obi-Wan at this point: He has always respected Satine. Their correspondence fell apart just a few months after the end of his mission with Qui-Gon, but he’s been keeping up with her professional accomplishments for years. Over time, the love he bore for her faded, leaving him with good memories and an enduring appreciation for her courage, her cleverness, and her ability to deliver devastating blows to someone’s confidence with a few well-placed words.

Until he sees her again. And yes, alright, he might be angry that she’s choosing to stay out of the war— he knows what good she could do— but he understands her fears, understands the very real possibility that if Mandalore gets embroiled in yet another war, they may never recover. The thing is... well, she’s still very beautiful, especially when he’s yelling at him, and as slowly as his feelings had faded then, they come back in a rush now.

He has very much fallen in love with Cody, and he is very much still in love with Satine.

Cut back to the present— Obi-Wan and Satine rescue the three most annoying Sith in the galaxy and get the heck out of dodge. Cody, because he’s Cody, comes swooping in with a last-minute rescue.

At this point, two things are occurring.

The first: Obi-Wan is stuck in a room with four people he’s periodically flirted with over the past few years, two of whom he’s desperately in love with, one of whom he had a weird encounter with that he can never tell Anakin about when she and him got trapped in a middle school auditorium, and one of whom is definitely wearing no shirt and all that jewelry for a reason. It is Supremely awkward for him.

The second: Every single person in that room, each of which is (barring Savage) deeply attracted to Obi-Wan, is realizing that Obi-Wan is dressed in Mandalorian armor, and while Obi-Wan in three layers of tunics and a cloak is an absolute knockout, Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armor may very well kill them (and he won’t even have to touch his lightsaber to do it).

For one single moment, everything is absolutely still as they all stare at each other.

...And then Maul starts on the ‘I will rend your flesh from your bones, feel my wrath, Kenobarrgh’ spiel, and Satine stuns him. Oh, and Savage. Ventress agrees to watch the two of them if they don’t stun her, and Obi-Wan agrees.

Which then leaves him, Cody, and Satine in a room alone.

A word on Cody at this point: He has been bred from birth to be the perfect soldier— loyal, clever (but not too clever), and rigourously adherent to protocol. Yet, within three months of knowing Obi-Wan, he’s, well, calling him Obi-Wan in his head. Even just that is a gross breach of protocol, but he’s compromised in more ways than one. He talks to Obi-Wan, now, not just as a subordinate, or secondary advisor, but as a friend, as a councilor. Every time Obi-Wan touches him— never for longer than a brief second— his skin lights up under his armor. One time, Obi-Wan fell asleep on him for half an hour, and Cody’s was sure everyone would hear his heartbeat.

What he’s doing— how he feels— he knows it’s putting Obi-Wan in danger, knows that if the Kaminoans had wanted to the clones to be equals to the Jedi, they would have told them so. And look, he knows what the natborns would call the way he’s feeling, but he can’t feel that way. He’s a clone— he’s expendable by definition. Even if, on some off-chance, he makes it out of this war alive, there’s nothing for him. Obi-Wan couldn’t care for him like that, couldn’t care for a man with the same face as millions of others, born and bred only for war. So it doesn’t matter how he feels.

A word on Satine at this point: Obi-Wan, when he left, was a gawkish, bumbling thing of red hair and freckles and the sweetest smile. Obi-Wan, when he came back, was graceful, eloquent, and very, very handsome. He is also infuriating. (This does not change how attracted she is to him in the least.)

She’s not a romantic, really, but she is a realist, and she knows she’s loved him in some form or another for over twenty years. She knows she can’t ask him to return it— knows that asking him to leave the order for her wouldn’t just be for her, it would be for Mandalore, and while the politician in her cries for her to claim him, the person in her who loves Obi-Wan could not abide tearing him away from his culture for her own purposes. She still loves him, deeply and irrevocably, and she knows he still loves her. (Maybe, she thinks, after the war... But she can’t afford to be sentimental).

What do Cody and Satine have in common? They’re both extremely competent, both instinctively ruthless, and they both love Obi-Wan. Oh, and they’re also both immediately jealous of their counterpart.

They know they shouldn’t be. They know it’s not fair, not when Obi-Wan isn’t theirs anyways, but it doesn’t change the surge of envy and dislike that happens when they see Obi-Wan use the soft voice he only uses for the people he likes best on the person across from them.

Cody knows he can never compare to the Duchess, who is beautiful and well-spoken and has held Obi-Wan’s heart since they were fifteen. Satine knows she can never compare to Cody, who has been at Obi-Wan’s side every second since the war’s beginning, who is so much closer in ideals to Obi-Wan than she is, however it might appear on the surface.

Fortunately, they don’t have to deal with it for long, because Ventress comes in with Maul and Savage and proposes a team up, at which point Maul reveals the identity of the Sith Master.

Obi-Wan swears a string of words that Cody and Satine are both very impressed by, and agrees to the team up. Cody and Satine, who are both going to Coruscant anyways, agree to it too.

What ensues is a good deal of scheming, during which Cody and Satine avoid each other like the plague, Obi-Wan is repeatedly told to get some sleep, and Ventress cuffs Maul to a door on multiple nonconsecutive occasions. When they get to Coruscant, Satine has already told Padmé, who has in turn told her group of anti-war (and anti-Palpatine) senators, Cody has given Rex a heads up, and Ventress, Maul, and Savage have been metaphorically sharpening their lightsabers for ages.

(It occurs to Obi-Wan, at one point, after he’s woken up from his enforced 25-hour nap, that Palpatine must have created the clone army for a reason— must have a failsafe in place— and he asks Ahsoka to pull all the data the Kaminoans have on the clones. They find out about the chips, and Ahsoka immediately immediately holds the Kaminoans at laser sword point until they reprogram every order into a command that dissolves the chip.)

The thing about organizing a coup together is that it makes it very hard to avoid each other. Cody and Satine are forced to work together, and, what do you know, it turns out that even with seething jealousy at work, they end up respecting each other. (Note: Obi-Wan comes into a room at one point to see them both bent over a commlink, heads together and hands nearly touching. He short circuits.)

In any case, coup, Palps dies, Republic fixed, whatever.

What’s important is that Obi-Wan gets really, really injured— so much so that he might die. Cody and Satine have dealt with him being dead before (Deception arc anyone?), but this? Watching him slowly fade, knowing there’s nothing they can do about it? That’s worse.

One night, when Anakin has fallen asleep, they have a long conversation in low voices about Obi-Wan, darting from fond to furious to devastated over and over again. If he wakes up— if, not when— they agree to say something to Obi-Wan, to let him know that they love him. It’s a meager consolation after all they’ve been through, but this is the end, in one way or another, and they deserve to be honest with him.

(Cody thinks, privately, that he will be— well, not tossed aside, because Obi-Wan isn’t the sort of person who does that, but there won’t be a place for him by Obi-Wan’s side anymore. Obi-Wan is a Jedi, a negotiator, a peacekeeper, and Cody is a soldier for a now-ended war. He is already steeling himself to accept Obi-Wan’s polite rejection with equanimity, to not cause more pain to the man. (It will be easy, he knows, to wish him every peace, every happiness. Cody has only ever wanted to see Obi-Wan happy. This does not mean it will not be painful.) Obi-Wan said once that he would have left the Order for Satine if she’d asked— she will ask, now, and Cody knows Obi-Wan will leave, can see the love written in his face, in his spine, in his hands, whenever he is around her. Satine will ask, and Obi-Wan will leave, and Cody will be left to look for a place in this new galaxy.)

(Satine thinks, privately, that Obi-Wan’s feelings for her must be long faded, replaced by his obvious ones for Cody. Obi-Wan is a warrior, a Knight, and Satine is a diplomat who foreswore violence long ago. She is already steeling herself to accept his rejection with grace. (It will be easy, she knows, to wish him well. She has only ever wanted good things for him. This does not mean it will not be painful.) He said once that he would have left the Order for her if she’d asked, and whatever he’d felt then for her pales to what he feels now for Cody. Cody will ask, and Obi-Wan will leave, and Satine will rule as she always has.)

And then Obi-Wan wakes up.

Cody and Satine let him have his long talk with Anakin first, partially because they know how important it is to him, partially because Anakin wouldn’t let them if they wanted to, and partially because they are dreading their own coming conversation. When Anakin has finished, and Obi-Wan is asleep again, they go in, hand-in-hand, and wait for him to wake up.

When he does wake up, he sees them holding hands and immediately comes to several wrong conclusions. Wrong Conclusion A: Cody and Satine are in love. Wrong Conclusion B: Cody and Satine are going to try to break the news that they’re in love to him gently. Wrong Conclusion C: This conversation is about to break his heart.

Then they speak.

At the end of it, Obi-Wan has some Thoughts. Thought One: alkdfjhskhsgjljlbhkgkjbjvnab,gkjvn;qlerghjsv?????!!!!fwbfwlkrehwogwhuwrijvhfdbhkf!!!! Thought Two: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Thought Three: Oh, we’re all idiots. Fantastic.

He then passes out, because being on the edge of death for days and then having a shock to your system this big tends to do that to you.

When he wakes up, he is mildly more coherent. Then he sees that Satine and Cody are asleep on each other, and the coherence is lost, but he does manage to wake them up and get across three things:

Thing One: He is desperately in love with them both.

Thing Two: He’s leaving the Order for a multitude of reasons, but they are a Significant Bonus.

Thing Three: He would very much like if they both held his hand while he falls back asleep.

Cody takes Obi-Wan’s right hand, Satine takes Obi-Wan’s left hand, and the three of them stay like that, fingers intertwined, for a long, long, while.

#this is. Long #obi wan DOES have two hands #i have not checked this for grammar mistakes #asks #missstar489 #obi wan has two hands au #codywan #obitine #codyobitine #star wars #star wars au #obi wan kenobi #satine kryze #commander cody #willow's aus #god this is 2.4k #no wonder it took me so long #me: I'll just reply to this ask real quick :)#me an hour later: oh. oh no

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ygreczed-3 · 4 years

Photo

The Red Guard and the Snow Angel

Hank and Connor’s kiss

Hank and Connor fighting

Hank and Connor having good time with Sumo

Connor’s “I’m not going anywhere”

Gavin and Nines : interface

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

They eventually find something in one of the books : Kamski is known to live in a castle, with 7 beautiful angels to serve him. No one knows how to get to Kamski's castle, since the pike is guarded by the darkness war spirit (actually Kamski being the powerful magician he is, sealed the war spirit to the castle, condemning it to the protection of the whole rock he lives on).

On their first attempt getting to the castle, Hank gets injured, and they're forced to retreat to Nestlepeek

Connor stays near Hank as he recovers, and can't help but touch him with noticeable loving attention. Nines sees him but just decides to say nothing, knowing he's too emotionally compromised with Gavin to give his brother a lesson. Gavin is totally oblivious to that, he's just very bad at hiding his concern for Hank (yes ! he is low-key worried for his human comrade).

Nines somehow gets to talk calmly with Nines, for the first time since the street fight.

Nines : I just don't understand. You've always been so ambitious, always training to be more powerful, why don't you use this aspiration to channel the power source and thus use it? It doesn't make sense. Gavin : It's… It's just too fucking much to process okay ? This war spirit is in me, I can feel its thirst for blood and violence all day long, and I know I can't control him because I…

Gavin just stops before he can say he's too confused with his own priorities now to have a defined goal he can use to canalize the spirit's energy. He used to know what he wanted to do with his power, but now, he feels a latent part of him wants to use it to protect his partners, Hank, and the two snowy idiots. He's still not ready to admit it outloud and thus, the spirit having no specific goal to unleash its violence, is in fact uncontrollable.

Nines, who is a bit more honest with himself than our favorite rat, already knows he cares for Gavin more than he should in regard to his given mission, and just feels so useless when Gavin refuses to talk to him. At this point Nines only wants to help him. He looks quietly at Gavin's nape, where the seal of the war spirit is still noticeable and forms a delicate golden scar. The Golem feels a little contradictory about this scar, one part of him being satisfied and proud of the mark he was able to let on Gavin's body, and the other part of him feeling guilty for it.

Nines : I'm sorry for this. You didn't ask for it and now you have to deal with… a war spirit and unwanted killing desires. I sometimes forget you're only human, it's not in your nature to use magic. Gavin : … It's okay. Let's just… stop talking about the spirit, deal ?

Nines remains carefully silent when Gavin offers his hand in a casual manly shake. He knows humans culturally use handshakes to settle an arrangement, and decides to ignore the deep and intimate meaning of this specific gesture in his own culture. Their hands meet, as Nines' skin unwittingly turns white at the contact, but the golem doesn't pay much attention since a human can't interface anyway. Gavin's smug expression shows he's about to say something but his grin fades away as Nines realizes their mistake : in a flash, he can feel Gavin's doubts about his unsaid desire to protect Nines despite his hatred for golems. Nines isn't sure what passed through the contact and doesn't have a clue on what impression Gavin had about his inner thoughts, or if he even felt or saw something. The human is the first to break the contact. He looks shocked, as he meets Nines' eyes and for a moment, none of them can speak.

Gavin : The hell was that ?!

Nines is confused too : … I didn't know it would… interfaces only happen between magic creatures… Maybe… the spirit allows you to connect with me.

Gavin : What the… You read my thoughts ? Nines : It's not… mind reading. I caught a diffuse… "impression". Gavin : … Shit.

Gavin looks suddenly so betrayed. He looks down and sideways, taking a few steps away, hands on his neck as if he was trying to hide his head between his arms. When Nines tries to get closer, he almost jumps away.

Gavin : Don't- Fuck it, don't… touch me. Nines : I'm sorry, I didn't mean to probe you. Gavin : What exactly did you… hear or whatever? Nines : … I think… I have an answer for why you can't use the spirit's violent spree. Gavin : Fuck you, that was private ! Did you search for it you fucking asshole ? Nines : Like I said, I didn't mean to interface with you ! You too must have seen something from me so stop being a child. Gavin : I didn't-

Nines waits patiently for the end of the sentence but it never comes, as some realization seems to dawn on the human warrior.

Gavin : That nice fluttering in the stomach, when we held hands, actually it was you ?

And for once, Nines is the one to remain silent, his face even but internally too embarrassed to answer the question. No wonder this sensation passed through the connection. For the few seconds their hands touched, Nines was, in a Golem way, experiencing a gesture akin to a kiss, of course he was kind of "emotionally impacted".

Nines : … As I said… let's not embarrass ourselves any further.

And at that exact moment, Gavin realizes that Nines likes him… more than a partner, more than a friend.

In their room, Connor is holding Hank's hand.

Hank : So, what should we do ? Connor : I didn't think about it yet. I wanted to be here when you wake up. Hank : ...I still have three days of bed rest at the very least… Are you sure you want to lose all this time when we're so close to the goal ? I mean, we already went through the desert, you don't need me anymore. Connor : Of course I need you, Hank. Hank : Ahaha… It's nice to go easy on me like this but you don't have to- Connor : You have to trust me, when I say I need you. It's not because I think you can help me go faster or even because I think you can help me cross a specific territory. I just… need you because you mean something to me.

Hank stays quiet but tightens his hand around Connor's, looking down right at them, his large, calloused fingers embracing the golem's white and slender ones. A long and deep look into Connor's golden brown eyes tells him there is more into this already meaningful gesture than he might think.

Connor breaks the eye-contact, and Hank realizes how intense the moment was : Connor's eyes inexplicably make him feel comfortable, as if he was floating in a warm air bubble, and he instantly misses the feeling when Connor stops mirroring his gaze to look down at their hands.

Connor : You know… There is this ultimate quest upon us, something we have to achieve to save our people… And this goal governed us like it was the only thing that mattered… Maybe I'm being a selfish brat, but Hank you're so important to me, I don't want you to be injured or killed in all this. Hank : You're important to me too, Connor. (And then Hank laughs, giving in to his stupid and unwanted feelings.) Actually, you probably couldn't even understand how much you mean to me.

When Connor meets his gaze with a puzzled expression on his face, Hank decides he has to tell him. If anything, Connor could still change his mind and keep going without him, and then Hank will be able to finally move on. He's too fucking old to pine for a pretty boy, and if it's gotta be painful then he wants it the sooner the better.

Hank : I… recently started to develop… indecent feelings… Connor, purposely obtuse: "Indecent" ? Hank : I mean... in a… hum… romantic way. Come on kid, don't make me say it. Connor : Why would "romantic" be "indecent" ? Hank : Dunno, I'm old and pathetic, you're young and cute, sounds indecent to me. Connor : Hank… I love you too. Hank : ...You, huh... Sorry what ? Connor : I mean every single word in this sentence, Hank, I really do. Hank : … Oh.

Connor chuckles at Hank's blank expression, as his poor brain processes the information with unprecedented difficulty. And as Hank starts moving again, his brows frowning and his mouth forming an "o" like he was gonna say "why ?!", Connor just leans towards him and brushes his beard with his lips before meeting his mouth, softly.

And god, they love it. Hank leans forward to deepen the kiss, Connor catches his beard, his fingers following the edges of his chiseled jaw until they reach his neck and nestle around it.

And it's a weird sensation to Hank because he used to know what was hot passion and what was tenderness, and at this very moment, he could feel both in Connor's grip, burning fire and smooth touches at the same time. That's it, love, love everywhere.

They separate because the older man needs to breathe and hopefully, Connor remembered it because Hank was just gonna kiss him until he falls unconscious.

Hank : Am I dead ? Connor : You're thankfully alive and safe, but you need rest. Stay calm. Hank : I can't believe it… i'm… almost scared of falling asleep and realize you're gone when I wake up. Connor smiles smugly at this : he takes Hank's hand in his own, kisses the palm softly, his deep dark eyes locked on Hank's. Connor : Sleep tight. I'm not going anywhere.

So, as soon as Hank can walk again, the party goes back to Kamski's peek.

Hank : I feel better but I admit that I don't think I'm able to fight anything right now. Maybe we can find another way ? Gavin : Humans and Golems can't beat a war spirit. But, huh… a war spirit could do. Nines : … Is that you you're talking about? Gavin : 'Know another war spirit around here ? Nines : But you… you can't control it… I mean, you're obviously facing a dilemma with your own motivations right now. I don't think you should endanger yourself in this state… Hank : What dilemma ? Gavin : Not your business. It's fine, I just need… I just need to meditate a little bit more. Connor : We don't need much more than a distraction just a moment until we reach the castle. There we'll activate the seal and it should stunt the spirit for some time. Nines : I'm not letting him go alone. Gavin : Still don't trust me, snow man ? Nines : I'm concerned for your well being. I wanna help. Hank : Well then we can do that. Nines and Gavin take care of the spirit and Connor, we get to the castle as fast as we can. You're good ? Connor : … Yeah, that sounds good. I just need to talk with Nines. In private.

Hank and Gavin just look at each other, surprised, but then they leave the brothers for their serious talk.

Connor : What was that ? "I'm concerned for you well being" ? Gavin is right, only a war spirit can compete with a war spirit… even if we wanted to, we couldn't help. Nines : Gavin can't control his spirit. I saw it when we interfaced, he truly can't, no matter how much he meditates, as long as he will have this dilemma, he can't make it. Connor : Wait what ?! Interfaced ? How ? Nines : Guess the spirit makes him sensible to magic connections. Connor : What's the deal ? Why can't he control it yet ? He's strong enough, and for what I know, ambitious enough, so it's only a matter of… Nines : He's confused. He grew fond of us, and he knows we're basically enemies. We're all being reckless, he's the only one to keep this truth in mind; if we can't reach Kamski, or if he refuses to help us, we'll have to go back to the war we left, go back to kill each other. He can't resign himself to accept his attachment to us if we're going to be his enemies again. Connor : … Do you think he can make it ? Against the darkness war spirit ? Nines : I don't. That's why he needs me there. If the thunder spirit takes control of his body, I'll be there to hit the seal in his neck. Connor : Oh Nines… You love him, don't you? Nines : … We're selfish and weak, Con. This mission… our whole kind is waiting for us to succeed. And we're threatening this long awaited deliverance because we fell for humans… Connor : ...That's why we can't fail. I understand you're worried but maybe… Maybe that's the reason why Gavin wants to try : he knows we can't fail now.

In the final act, Gavin and Nines get ready to fight with the war spirit, while Hank and Connor plan on reaching the castle as fast as they can, and find Kamski.

Gavin and Nines are hiding near the war spirit.

Nines : … Are you ready ? Gavin : I don't really have a choice there.

Gavin breathes deeply and steadily, to focus and calm down before entering the arena.

Nines : I'll be flying right behind you, okay ? It's factually stronger than me, so I have to maintain minimal distance with it, but I'll be ready to hit your seal when you need me to, and help you run away if you're in a bad state. Gavin scoffs : Thanks Snowman, I feel so confident right now, with you believing in me like this. Nines : … Sorry I just… worry. Gavin : Look, I was right, at that time, I couldn't do it and I was totally right. But today I… I'll do it. And I want to prove it to you.

In front of Nines' incredulous stare, Gavin offers his hand : Nines narrows his eyes as he detects static electricity all around his fingers, as if his spirit was already eager to fight.

Nines : … Do you know what it means to us, Golems ? Interfacing with someone ? Gavin : Enlighten me, snow man. Nines : ...I'll tell you if we survive this fight. Gavin : Huh… fair enough. Now, take my hand, I'll show you.

Nines gulps nervously and reaches for Gavin's hand, his own fingers turning white as he gets closer to the human's warm skin.

And he can feel everything. It's a lot less blurry and chaotic than the first time, as somehow Nines' first sensation is Gavin's serenity about sharing his deep feelings. He catches a volatile thought that flies through the human mind, saying in a flippant tone "we might die, no need to get embarrassed", and smiles at it. Interfacing with Gavin is very special for some reason : Nines had interfaced with other Golems before but it was never so vibrant, so intense. "Maybe that's because we're about to die" he feels, and for a moment he wonders if that comes from him or from Gavin. Nines feels like Gavin is an extension of himself at that very moment. Suddenly, the realization he's gonna fight against a gigantic, ancient war spirit dawns on him. He feels scared, sure but somehow, confident as well. He can do it. He will do it now, because if he fails, he'd give up on his people in Detroit, his friends Hank and (surprisingly) Connor. He would give up on Nines and he's not ready to. He used to fear that he was making friends with an enemy… That they'd have to separate at some point, and go back to where they belonged, Detroit and Jericho. But if Gavin fails now, Detroit and Jericho are doomed. He used to fear that death was preying upon him… now he fears that his team could die. That Nines could…

If he fails now, Nines and he will be dead, and that is much more scary than befriending a Golem.

Nines frowns as he feels Gavin's hand twitching in his, as if he was about to draw it back. He wants to stay connected, he wants to melt into Gavin's mind, because he feels so scared right now.

All he can catch is a glimpse of something that sounds like "I have found some higher purpose in life than my own existence", before Gavin breaks the contact.

When Nines opens his eyes again, they're wet and his breath is short. Gavin too, seems a bit shaken up by the interface.

Nines wonders what exactly the human saw/felt/heard from him and feels very self conscious for a floating second. He wants to kiss the human, he can feel it in his vein, the fire of love rushing, burning his cold body. Gavin must have felt it through the interface… and somehow, Nines wonders if he knows. He doesn't seem shocked or… disgusted.

Gavin : You okay ? Nines : Yeah… I'm ready to go.

Gavin exhales sharply : Alright, let's do this.

Nines : I've got your back. Everything will be alright.

So they get out of their hiding spot and as Nines takes off, Gavin summons the thunder spirit.

We then follow Hank and Connor, who are climbing up the rocky column at the top of which Kamski established his castle. Actually, Hank climbs it and Connor flies around to help him find the safe grips.

They're constantly attacked by monsters with long members (parts of the war spirit), and can't fight them all back. They decide to run forward, and they finally reach a huge grid in a tunnel : Connor can pass between two bars, but Hank can't. Behind them, the monsters are getting closer.

Hank : Run before they catch us up ! Connor : Wait, there must be a way for you- Hank : I'm sure there must be, Connor, but we won't find the solution in the next few minutes we have. You have to keep going without me. Connor : What are you gonna do ? They're gonna outnumber you, and… and you're still healing from the last injury--- Hank : You have to find Kamski ! He must know how to stop those monsters, and the war spirit out there. He can help us ! Connor : … Yeah, right.

Connor puts his hands on the floor and ice columns grow up from the ground, keeping Hank in a safe space. When the man looks back at Connor with tenderness and gratitude, Connor kisses him through the bars.

Connor : The ice won't last long but it can buy you some time… Hank I… I love you. Don't let me down. Hank : I swear. Now, run, and don't look back.

Connor nods and starts running to the castle, as the monsters start to attack ferociously the ice cage Connor created. Hank knows it's not gonna last much longer, and that he'll have to fight. He prays to be able to see Connor again.

#The red guard and the snow angel #TRGATSA #dbh #detroit become human au #dbh hank #dbh hank x connor #dbh hankcon #hankcon #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh reed900 #reed900 #detroit become human

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

12 Anti LO Asks

1. this is something thats so unintentional about the colors choices rachel makes in comic but pure white clothing in ancient times literally denoted slaves and the poor, because they couldnt afford dyes or threads to make their clothes colorful. even beyond that, white (as she admits in the idea of it being a "wedding dress") can be seen as a gross visual of women needing to be "pure" and "virginial". i thought this was supposed to be against purity culture? why is she visually reinforcing it?

2. punderworld suffers from the same issues as LO does, though, it's just less blatant. demeter is still abusive, people still look alike, and the rest of the kings are still put down to make hades seem like the best option.

3. is lo hades even actually attractive though? i dont mean looks, i mean personality. bc he just seems like a power hungry authoritarian who refuses to ever let go of control and hates to be questioned and not get his way. he just doesnt seem like a pleasant person at all, much less one this sweet and bubbly persephone would be happy with once the honeymoon stage fades away. i understand LO is going for persephone becoming like him to to be queen, but shouldnt it be the reverse?

4. honestly, even ana steele and bella swan had defined interests and personality traits, meanwhile LO persephone is just a blank piece of wood nearly four years in. having a few times showing her reading a book is not enough to claim she has anything going for her. shes just there to be developed around hades, not to be an character on her own.

5. all im saying is suitor armor had a whole month past between two episodes while LO hasnt even meet a full month in almost 200.

6. in regards to the humor in LO, rachel just isnt funny lmao. what she finds funny is very juvenile (fart jokes, people yelling, weird facial expressions, cringey millennial "humor", even memes as panels) that it just undermines what's supposed to be a "grand epic" like she's trying to make LO out to be. I think humor is good in serious stories when done right, but she adds them way too often and at bad times that it just makes it immature and takes you out of the story.

7. the problem too with LO refusing to use time skips and showing every minute of every day is that is basically bans the fans being able to speculate and fill in the gaps with little what ifs and the like. theyre allowed to no room to imagine their own scenarios or interpretations because LO is like this is how it is! do not question it! do not stray from it! which is like? how is that fun to read if the creator refuses to let the readers form an opinion outside of exactly what they say?

8. that one anon is selling disney princesses short. cinderella had the deep connection to her departed mother, snow white was exceedingly kind, aurora was rebellious and strong willed, jasmine, belle, mulan, and others had goals and personality to them. if anything comparing LO persephone to them is an insult, because she is nothing but hades' trophy wife and possible brooding mare. The disney princesses don't need their princes to be princesses, but LO persephone needs hades to be anyone.

9. honestly lo hades both build and face-wise doesnt even look different from any other man in the series (bc rachel cant draw anymore than two faces i guess) but her purposely making him have such short, white hair, always in boring suits, and acting the way he does makes him seem WAY older, which makes his gap in power, experience, and age to persephone, who is designed to be so childlike, even worse. making his so sharp and cold looking is a good idea on paper, but it kinda ends up backfiring,

10. even the synopsis is a lie at this point. like it sells LO as some light hearted, glamorous teen drama, but then you read it as its a degraded in art, disjointed mess of rachel trying to juggle persephone marrying a guy she hasnt known a month, kissing hades' capitalist ass, hera being a #GirlBoss, a second god war, a horrible handling of sexual assault, hamfisted cameos, illogical made up ships, american-named OCs, butchered "retellings", ill thought out coups, and shopping montages.

11. ok but we have to be thankful tumblr is basically a dead website because if not LO fans would be on those fandom chains going "little goddesses grab your pomegranates 😤" unironically like superwholock fans talking about sonic screwdrivers n shit.

12. on the subject of lawyers for persephone: wouldnt that be a perfect chance to introduce an actual law goddess? like dike, maybe themis, someone like that, as opposed forcing hades into a very biased role that makes no sense. like i know rachel only put him in that role to be like aw look how powerful he is and how devoted he is to keeping her out of trouble! but i just see it as a set up to persephone once again being dependent on him, this time for her own life. like? how is that romantic?

From OP, Not Anon: ---FP Spoiler---

RS ‘got rid’ of Themis by putting her on maternity leave. Can’t have an actual law god(dess) defend Persephone/Demeter I guess 💀💔

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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missmonsters2 · 4 years

Text

Between the Lines || XII

PAIRING: Steve Rogers & Fem!Reader (Platonic) / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader / Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Vampire AU. Life has changed drastically since the 1600s. Things are always on the move, and you’ve been very careful to not get on SHIELDs radar. Living on the down-low owning a café, you’re content to live out a quiet existence. That is until the Avengers enter your life.

[Set after the New York Invasion, in CAWS, and goes up to AoU. Canon divergent after.]

Warnings: This series will contain smut(**), poly-relationship, and dark themes.

Note: Introducing....David’s king 😏🥰

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII || PART IX || PART X || PART XI

PART XII of XX

Translations:

не против - Don’t mind

ти си моето семејство, во овој и во следниот живот - You’re my family, in this life, and the next.

Count: 5,633

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"Ah..."

The sound made you stop, pulling your mouth away as you stood straighter while licking your lips.

Wanda stood in front of you, breathless as she leaned against the wall, unable to move too much with the tight space. Her hands drifted from your neck to rest on your biceps. Turning, you look at the mirror before you.

Eyes red with stained lips, you internally sighed, feeling an uncomfortable pit in your stomach that told you everything felt both right and wrong.

"I think that's enough..." You say quietly so Wanda can hear, but you don't attract too much attention outside. You turn to grab some paper towels from the dispenser as you wet them under the sink to wipe your mouth.

Turning to Wanda, you notice you hadn't closed up the wound on her neck and purse your lips. The brunette seems to realize as well as she tilts her head to the side, exposing her neck to you once more before she grabs the edge of your bomber jacket and pulls you back against her roughly.

"Wanda," you call her name in warning. Though you are a seasoned vampire, you weren't looking to dance along the edge with the newly feeding you have to do.

"You should finish me off before you say you're done at least," Wanda says, and you feel yourself biting your tongue at how suggestive she sounds.

You wonder if she's doing it on purpose.

Nonetheless, you sigh, leaning your head down, careful to not brush yourself more against her than you must. You lick at the bite wounds, tentatively but quickly, watching the wounds close after.

You pull away, Wanda letting her grip go on you. You use the wet towel to wipe her neck clean of the bloodstains before you throw it down the toilet and flush.

Though feeding gives you energy and revitalizes you, you can't help but feel drained from the experience.

You're about to leave again when Wanda pulls you back.

"Wanda," you say in a more serious warning this time. She's been a little more daring the past couple of days, and you're both intrigued and frightened by it.

Luckily for you, Wanda seems to know where the line is.

"Relax," Wanda cocks her brow. "Your eyes are still glowing red. You should wait until it subsides before you go out."

You look back in the mirror, eyes glowing red brightly, and you sighed. Your body was overly excited about feeding again, and it would take time to adjust.

The two of you idly stand in the small space. You could hear people coming back and forth to check if the washroom is empty.

"So, how often is often?" Wanda asks.

You stand stiffly, cursing at how small airplane washrooms are.

"For now, once a week," you answer her. "But let me know if you feel unwell, and I will check to see if it's my venom."

Wanda nods, blinking languidly.

"I'm sorry," you say when you notice she looks tired. "I promise I will find a way to fix this."

Wanda gave you a tiny smirk.

"No rush."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

When you returned to your seat, you sat down with a sigh.

"You alright?" Natasha asked as she grabbed your hand. You turn to look at David. He was clutching his legs in tighter so that Wanda could squeeze past him to her seat.

"Yeah, sorry for taking so long. The red in my eyes are still adjusting to fresh blood," you apologize to Natasha, pulling her hand to kiss the back of it gently before you settle in your seat.

It was just you and Natasha in the aisle, a small moment of peace that you're thankful for. It's been rather quiet between you and Natasha the last few days. When David had located Leo's descendant, he wanted to book the flight for the next day, but you insisted on taking a couple days to get your things together and rest.

The days that followed were simply being in your home with Natasha, quiet as it seemed like Natasha was working through her own emotions and things she seemed not ready quite yet to speak to you about.

And you were okay with that.

"Have you been to Nashville before?" Natasha asks as she looks out the window, the city getting closer in view as it lowers.

You nod, rubbing your thumb idly on the back of her hand. "Yes," you say, "In fact, David and I lived there for a few years."

"Oh?" Natasha smiles. "Did you like it?"

You shrug. "It's a little too country for me and not the good parts of Country culture."

Natasha nods, and you take a moment to put your head on her shoulder, deeply inhaling the scent of vanilla and dry leaves. Natasha leans her head over, pressing her lips to the side of your head, causing your heart to flutter.

"I think I want to be in Bora Bora or maybe the Maldives," Natasha says softly after a moment.

You turn your head upwards slightly, peering up at Natasha's face.

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go," you say as Natasha smiles, head lowering as she presses her lips against yours.

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It seems like autumn is also coming to an end in Nashville, the air smelling a little crisper for winter arrival.

Pietro has called Wanda again once her plane landed. He was a little upset that he couldn't come along, but Steve said he could use the help with locating Bucky, and speed would definitely be helpful.

At first, Pietro declined, but then Wanda insisted that he go with Steve. If they were going to make up for the things they've done and be a part of the team, this was the time to show it.

And so, they parted ways for the first time since, well, ever.

"How are we getting there?" Wanda asked as she looked around the airport. Her face held a thinly veiled layer of discomfort that she was trying to hide, though poorly.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked as she looked at Wanda, seeing through the tough act.

Wanda stared at Natasha, and for a moment, you don't think she's going to answer.

"Yeah," Wanda says finally, licking her lips and swallowing. "I'm just a little tired...and there's a lot of people here. It's...loud."

Natasha looks around and notes that it seems to be prime time for flights. People are bustling around trying to get to their gate on time, and families have gathered to meet people coming off the plane or say goodbye.

"I can't do anything about the loudness," Natasha says, digging into her pocket. "But, here." Pulling out a hard candy wrapped in transparent paper, she gives it to Wanda.

Wanda holds the candy in her palm, tilting her head slightly before she looks back at Natasha. "Thanks."

"Might help with the tiredness," Natasha shrugs before she tells you she'll go grab the bags and walks off with David following her.

Wanda is opening the candy from the wrapper, popping the little thing in her mouth as she sighs, eyes fluttering close as she rubs her temple.

"Headache?" You ask her, garnering her attention.

Wanda nods with a frown. "Yes, more so lately, and it's worse in a crowd. I can hear everything in people's heads, and in a crowd, it's a jumble."

"Turn it off," you tell her with a shrug, and she gives you a look.

"It's not that easy."

"It is," you tell her back. "You're like a radio picking up every station is the available area. It gets easier with time and practice to distinguish the noise, but if you can't handle it in such a large crowd, turn it off."

Wanda merely stares at you as if she doesn't know whether or not to believe you, but she supposes because it's not like you're a stranger to her powers, she sighs.

"How?" She asks.

You come to stand closer to her, blocking her view of anything behind you.

"Focus," you tell her, "You only need to be hearing one voice, and that's your own. Focus on the space within your own mind. Live there."

Wanda gives you a look where it tells you she doesn't quite think it will work but closes her eyes with a sigh and takes a deep breath.

"I...I can't focus," Wanda says frustratingly.

"Relax," you tell her. "Try again, but this time, focus on my voice."

You go on to talk about miscellaneous things like the color of the walls, the scuff marks on the ground, the man with an obstinately ugly hat. And before you know it, the stress lines on Wanda's face begin to fade.

"Better?" You ask when she opens her eyes.

"Yeah," Wanda says breathlessly with relief, "Thank you."

You don't say anything else as Natasha comes back with David.

"So, how are we getting there?" Wanda repeats.

"We rented a car. I'll go grab it and pull it up front," you walk off before anyone say anything.

The ride is silent, with just a radio playing quietly in the background. It's you and David in the front as David helps you navigate and discuss details with you.

But that leaves Natasha and Wanda in the back. The two girls are on opposite ends, looking out the window.

You sigh internally as you focus on the road in front of you.

"What's his name again?"

David pulls up a file. "Robert," he says after a moment. "Devayan. He is Leonard's great-great-grandson. He's the priest for a church in his neighborhood. Well-known and respected in his community. He's got a wife, two kids, and a dog—very American dream with a picket fence and all."

You hum.

"Does Leonard's descendants know about...?" Natasha asks as you look in the rearview mirror.

"Us being vampires?" You supply for her helpfully with a smile as she nods. "Yes, they do, but the secret is only passed to the child who has the greatest alchemy affinity, which most kids won't show until they're at least 13."

"That being said," David jumps in, "we haven't really kept in touch because we only go to a descendant when we have another vampire entering a coven because they have to get the searings to be able to go into the sun, amongst other things. And as you can see, we haven't added anyone new since me."

You turn into a bright community. The sound of children's laughter and dogs barking make their way to your ear. It's a lively little suburban neighborhood, and you wonder if this was something you would have ever wanted.

"Leonard seemed to be really close to you, to be willing to do so much," Wanda comments as she continues to stare at the window at the children playing.

You pull up to the house, putting the car in park with a sigh.

"He was family."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Sorry, the wife and kid's are out shopping right now."

You look at the man before you. He was a young priest, and there were hints of Leo that you recognized in him, like the subtle ginger hair.

"Didn't want to tag along?" David asks, and Robert laughs.

"Goodness, no. Can't say that's how I like to pass my time." Robert sets down a tea tray for the four of you, and Wanda takes up the task of pouring it. Putting in a splash of milk and two and a half sugar cubes, she gives a cup to you.

"Thanks," you say, scrunching your eyebrows initially. But it was your favorite way of taking simple tea, and you took it with ease.

"не против," Wanda mutters as she continues on with pouring tea for Natasha and David, but leaves them to put in their own condiments.

"So, what's this about?" Robert asks as he settles into his seat.

You shift in your seat a little, licking your lip before you clear your throat and bring his attention to you. "Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is a mystery, and today, I have you..."

Robert just stares at you wide-eyed and mouth gaped open. He seems to regain himself and clears his own throat.

"Until the days run out..." he breathes.

"ти си моето семејство, во овој и во следниот живот," you both complete the passage. His Slavic being much rougher than yours, but still, he completes it.

"Huh," Robert grunts in the back of his throat. He slumps in the back of his chair, blinking as he clasps his hands together. "You really exist."

"Did you think I didn't?" You cocked your brow at him.

Robert gives a short, humorless laugh. "To be fair, no one in my family has seen you for a very, very long time. It's not like we have a family photo of you just lying around. I thought my grandfather was lying to me, and my father was not a believer either."

"Well," you shrug, "It gets hard to keep up with visitations when there's no reason to really."

"Even though the passage literally says we're family?" Robert cocks his brow.

"Leo was my family. By that extension, yes, you are somewhat family, a wonderful legacy Leo left behind that I promised him I'd take care of," you try to delicately tell the man before you that no one could ever be family the way Leo was.

"Kind of hard to take care of us when you're not around," Robert says, but not in an unkind way.

"Being around is not the only way I can fulfill my promise. You truly think your family's trust fund just comes out of nowhere?" You rest your jaw against your hand.

Robert seems surprised at that like he had no idea his entire family line was sponsored by you.

"So it seems," Robert smiled softly before clearing his throat. "So what can I do for you?"

You lick your lips.

"I'm looking for you to find a way to break my curse, or at least, find a counterspell to suppress it until I can find another way," you tell him.

Robert stares at you. It takes a long moment, but he gives another small smile, sighing deeply as he grasps his temples. "Hah..." he lets out. "Figures the one time you come to see us for help, and I can't even help you. I was hoping you just needed a place to stay."

"What do you mean?" David asks, frowning. "You haven't even tried."

Robert looks up again, staring at David before he turns to you.

"I don't have the affinity for alchemy."

Silence ensues after Robert reveals his lack of gift.

"You...don't have the affinity..." David says slowly.

"Guess it decided to skip a generation. My father wasn't much of a practitioner either," Robert pursed his lips together. He gets up, walking over to the kitchen, grabbing something off the refrigerator before coming back and passing the item to you. "This would be the person to go to if you're looking for help on that."

You look at the postcard in your hand with an address from Vermont.

There wasn't anything else but a name and a short message.

Liam Bai I have settled in.

"And who is this?" You frown. The idea of having some outsider know your secrets was not ideal.

Robert sighs.

"He's my adoptive brother."

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The annoyance of traveling all the way to Texas just to go to Vermont, an hour away from New York, irks you slightly.

David pulls up a file on Liam on the way, but not too much is found.

Chinese descendant. 26. Tattoo Artist. Adopted by Robert's grandfather when Liam was 17.

He seems to run a small tattoo shop in Vermont, a decent following on his Instagram. Other than that, it seemed Liam prized his privacy and peace. No tickets, no personal social media accounts, a minimal online presence.

"Jeeze, this guy gives me serial killer vibes. Only weirdoes have such a small digital footprint," David curls his lips.

"We all have virtually none too, David," you cock your brow at him.

"Case and point," David smirks back at you while Natasha and Wanda chuckle.

Liam's house is a little away from the city where his tattoo shop resides. There are houses but quite spread apart, and it only reaffirms how Liam likes his quiet.

The trees are bare with autumn colored leaves on the ground. The air crisp and cleaner being away from the city. When the four of you approach Liam's home, it a quaint house, wider than it is taller, and painted a deep burned orange.

Hopping up the steps, you cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently, turning to look at the open space while Natasha rang the doorbell and knocked on the door with her knuckles.

You hear footsteps within the house, stern steps as they lazily make their way to the door.

When it opens, you turn, and your eyes widen along with everybody else's.

This man, at least six feet tall, towers over everyone as he casually lifts his arms high to lean against each side of the door with his left leg crossed lazily over his right.

He wears a muscle shirt, most of the top part of his body exposed.

Tattoos.

Everywhere.

A large black ornate religious cross tattooed on his throat, while you could see most of the creations of hands branded across his front chest near his collarbones, fingers just about it meet at his jugular notch. Each arm had a full sleeve tattoo.

His left arm was designed with a twisted snake going downwards, a bitten apple in its mouth, shrouded with leaves and vines. His right arm were things you didn't quite recognize but could guess it was alchemy spells, fully tattooed elaborate circles and symbols. Even his hands and fingers had symbols and shapes.

He looks like belongs in a gang rather than the adopted grandson of a long line of priests.

"Well," his voice is somewhat low but soft. "You must be the visitors my dear brother sent my way." The way he says dear brother has the slightest tone of amusement, and you're not sure what to make of it.

You stare at him a bit longer because his face is much clearer than the photo David pulled up. His skin is fair with a cool complexion, thick brows, and tousled black hair that seems to be perfectly styled that way with his fringe cascading just above his eyebrows, parting to reveal his forehead. His almond-shaped eyes showed a deep dark brown, like the rich soils of the earth, but yet hold no warmth.

He looks somewhat familiar, but you're not sure if it's just because you recognize those eyes in yourself once upon a time.

You look over to David, who has his jaw hanging as he stares at the man before them. You nudge him, drawing him out of whatever trance he was in as he coughs to clear his throat.

"Er, yes," David stutters before he rambles off everyone's name quickly. "Can I--can we come in?" David blinks, and Liam turns his head slowly, locking eyes with David. A moment passes, and you're about to speak up again when Liam stands straighter and turns to walk back into his house.

The four of you follow the man inside, looking at the place around you. Antique furniture, just like yourself, but there are shelves upon shelves of books.

Liam walks into his kitchen, putting on a pot of hot coffee as he pours himself some, but doesn't offer any to anyone else. He then walks into his study room and leans against his desk, half-sitting on the edge.

"What are you looking for help with?" He asks, neither sounding reluctant or eager.

"Robert mentioned you were adopted into the family because you had an affinity for alchemy," you say. "I'm assuming you know--"

"That you're a vampire?" Liam cuts in. "Yes."

"You don't seem surprised by that," David interjects slowly. "Even Robert was taken aback."

Liam rolled his eyes lightly. "You can spare me the details. Robert and I both went through the spiel with his grandfather. Robert doesn't have the affinity. I do. Belief is different when you are different too."

"His grandfather...?" You raise your brow.

Liam puts his coffee down beside him. "You must realize that though I've been adopted by them, I'm not an actual descendant of Leonard Devayan. It was clear that I was brought in to help fulfill the promise between you and Leonard. I get financial support from them, but I'm not entitled to your trust fund to them, nor can I inherit the church."

"That's kind of fucked up, considering you'll be doing all the work here," you frown.

Liam shrugs. "No need to feel sorry for me, I have zero interests in their money or inheriting the church, and Robert is annoyingly persistent that I visit them during the holidays. Besides, you can probably tell, I don't quite look like the regular priest."

"Actually," you give Liam a small smile, "Leo was rather similar to you. He liked tattoos as well. Though, just on his hands. He wasn't as adventurous."

Liam gave a small smirk but moved on. "So," he takes a breath, "What exactly are you looking for help with. Robert wasn't clear on the phone. Are you looking to turn more people and need searings for the sun?"

"No," you breathe, "I need you to help figure out how to end my curse."

Liam stares at you for a moment. The curse wasn't discussed in great length to him as not too much information was passed down because Leonard believed you wouldn't try to ask to remove it again.

Still, he eyes you before he turns and studies Natasha a bit before Liam looks at Wanda.

"You bit her, spreading your curse to her," Liam deduces.

"How do you know it's Wanda?" Natasha asks with a slight narrow of her eyes.

Liam licks his lip as he stands up, using his fingers to gesture everyone to follow up. He walks up to his bookshelf and pulls a book down like a lever, and the entire bookshelf splits and makes way into a secret room.

Inside the room, there are rows of tables filled with papers and things you would find in a science lab: beakers, stirring rods, mortars and pestles, and chemicals.

"In some ways, alchemy is a derivative from a witch's spells or magic. What do you think alchemy is?" Liam asks.

"Leonard always said it was a power given to them by God to be able to protect themselves against the supernatural," you recall.

"Kind of, not really," Liam says as he walks over to grab a black chalk and begins to draw circles and symbols on the ground around Wanda, motioning her to stay in place. "There are different types and levels of alchemy. Alchemy, one on hand, can also be a science. It's changing one thing to something else. Anyone could practice it. Even Robert could to a degree."

Liam finishes drawing and drops the chalk to the side as he dusts off his hands.

"But to have the gift for alchemy," Liam lifts his thumb to his lips, "Means your DNA has an affinity to the sun, the moon, the wind, or the earth."

Liam bites down on his thumb hard enough to break the skin, blood rushing out, the smell assaulting both you and David instantly before Liam presses his thumb against the line of the circle.

The air changes.

A white, hot electric buzz fills the air as the alchemy circle flashes a bright blue for a second before returning to normal. The chalk drawing underneath Wanda disappears.

"What...happened?" Wanda asks slowly as she looks at her hands and the rest of her body, but she doesn't find anything amiss.

Liam gestures at Wanda to check where her sternum is. Pulling the front of her shirt at the neck, she peers down.

"What..." Wanda mumbles.

Both you and Natasha looked at each other before moving forward to check, Wanda holding her shirt open for the two of you. Wanda's bra was blocking part of the view, but her sternum now visibly bore the curse's inscription. The black words on her skin and then dark-colored veins prominently spreading outwards from her sternum.

"What did you do to her?!" You whip your head towards Liam, snarling at him.

He holds his hand up to calm you down.

"Nothing dangerous, relax," he cocks his brow at you. "As I said, Alchemy is about changing one thing to something else. I used the chalk as a medium to bring the curse to the front of Wanda's body so it can be visibly seen."

When you realize Wanda's not in any imminent danger, you pull your snarl back, and the red from your eyes fade away.

"This will help you tell when the curse is spreading. Wanda's veins will darken and spread as her cells deteriorate. Don't EVER let the dark veins spread past her chest. If you do, the curse is meant to collapse her sternum and pierce her heart. She will die." Liam warns sternly, eyebrows furrowed together, and lips in a straight line.

"How do you know?" David asks with a slight frown.

"As I said," Liam looked at David, "Alchemy is a derivative from witch's spell or magic. The inscriptions are alchemy transmutation spells. If an alchemist has an affinity for alchemy, they can tell when it's been used on someone." Liam turns to you. "That's how I know it was Wanda that you bit."

You nod curtly. You think about how the veins were just barely protruding from her sternum, so Wanda would be relatively safe for a while since you just fed on her during the plane ride to Texas.

"What did you mean that your DNA has an affinity to the sun, moon, wind, or the earth?" Natasha asks.

You turn your attention back to Wanda, trying to inspect if she was indeed okay. It wasn't that you didn't trust Liam, but you couldn't help but worry.

All of this was your fault.

The fact that Wanda was cursed with potentially no way of getting out of this.

And the complicated mess you know would only hurt everyone in the end, so you needed to get this shit sorted out.

"It means," Liam interrupted your thoughts. "I have an extra DNA strand."

You blink.

"Honestly, I don't blame people in the past, believing alchemy was a gift or power given by God," Liam shrugs. "In a way, I guess they're not wrong. Alchemy's affinity comes from people who have an extra DNA strand from one of the natural elements. The sun, the moon, the wind, the earth." He uses his fingers to count as he speaks. "Having an extra DNA strand is a...mutation. The deformity being able to perform alchemy as a power. As you can guess, depending on what extra DNA strand you have, that's the alchemy you have an affinity to."

Natasha nods thoughtfully as she holds her chin. "I see. So the sun would be fire, the moon would be water, the wind would be air, and the earth is well...earth."

"Exactly," Liam nods.

"Leonard must've been fire," you say pensively to yourself, reminiscing.

"What are you?" David asks Liam, licking his lips.

Liam tilts his head to the side.

"I have four extra DNA strands."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Something has been putting you on edge since you've arrived in Vermont.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks softly, catching you look out the window for maybe the millionth time now.

"Yeah, sorry," you breathe, uncrossing your arms. "It's just...something feels off," you tell her quietly, as to not attract the attention from others.

Liam and Wanda were currently looking over his books and scrolls to see if he could find anything that would help Wanda while David helped them.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asks as she takes a seat on the couch's armrest, pulling you closer, so you were between her legs. She rubs your arms up and down, hoping to comfort you.

"It's just..." you start to say before you turn sharply at the window again. Natasha's brows furrow, but she has no time to ask as you barrel into her while David tackles both Liam and Wanda to the ground.

The glass of the window shatters as a body breaks through. It happens so fast, you hardly even have time to move, but you do.

You smell burning flesh because there's still sun out, though it's setting. A snarl rips through the air as the intruder turns and leaps toward Wanda. David gets up, forcing his feet to push off the ground as he launches towards the vampire. The two of them collide into a blurring mess.

Natasha starts to get up, but you hold her in place.

"What--"

"Don't," you warn her. "If that thing collides into you, your body will tear apart, enhanced, or not."

You get up, running over to David as he's pinned to the ground as you rip off the vampire.

Even with his fleshed burned, he was strong.

Liam scrambles to get up as he grabs another chalk nearby and starts drawing another transmutation circle on the ground as fast as he can.

You're trying with David to get the upper hand on this vampire, one locking him into place while the other tries to rip his head off.

"Wanda," Liam calls, and she turns to him with worry in her eyes as she stands in the corner, unsure of what to do. "I'm creating a prison for him. You need to use your powers to place him in here and keep him down."

"Okay," Wanda says determinedly.

You look at David, who nods in sync with you. You both let go of the vampire at once, and Wanda lifts her hands, casting her powers over the vampire to lock it in place.

He tries to thrash in place, but it's impossible to move with Wanda's vice-like grip on him. She wobbly moves him until he's in the middle of Liam's transmutation circle.

Liam bites in the same place of his thumb earlier, breaking the wound once more, letting a single drop of blood fall in.

The ground starts to shake slightly as the floor where the vampire lies crumbles, giving way. The outline of the circle lights up, and suddenly, vine-like branches with spikes shoot out of the ground. It wraps around the intruding vampire, the spikes piercing his body. He screams out in pain, trying to move, but is unable to due to Liam.

The light fades, leaving the vampire bleeding out as he's trapped in his spot.

"What...was that?" Wanda asked, everyone clearly knowing that he was after her.

You help Natasha off from the ground, checking her for injuries. You find nothing other than a tiny cut on her cheek from a stray glass shard.

"I'm okay," Natasha assures you, more frustrated with herself for being unable to do anything.

You frown, wiping off some of the blood with your glove before you turn to the offender on the ground.

"That was so cool," David breathes as he looks at Liam, who is giving him a tiny smile.

With the vampire immobile, you could finally take a good look.

He was somewhat sickly pale. His eyes were red, a dark red, meaning he wasn't hungry when he lunged for Wanda.

But the thing that stood out the most to you what the prominent veins underneath his eyes.

And you've seen that before.

"No," you frown in denial.

"Where did you come from?" You demand, but the vampire just smirks.

You want to leap in to strangle the thing, but Liam holds your arm to hold you back.

"Anything that steps into that circle will be roped in just like him," Liam warns.

The vampire continues to bleed out as it laughs.

"Wait--" David says, "he's actually dying. Look!"

Everyone looks to where David is pointing at, and you clench your jaw. As a vampire, the only thing that could kill you was wood from the Methuselah tree. Yet, this vampire was disintegrating, turning to dust at his toes.

The vampire looks at you, and you feel a chill down your spine.

"How cute," he tells you, voice raspy as he's disappearing. "Looks like you have everything you've wanted."

You furrow your brows at him.

"Do I know you?" You say, but the vampire doesn't even seem conscious of the fact that he's speaking.

"My love," he says, looking at you, and while you revolt, there's something familiar in the way he says it.

Like you've heard it before.

"It seems you've learned how to want more," he smiles cruelly. "But if it's not more for the right things...then I'll show you what it's like to lose everything you have."

Your heart drops.

"Wait!" You shout, trying to somehow get him to stay, but before you could say anything else, the vampire completely crumbles to dust, leaving nothing behind.

All of you stare at the empty space. The shackles that were holding the vampire in place disappears along with the transmutation circle.

"No," you start to say quietly. "No, no, no, no--"

"Hey!" David grabs you, trying to keep you calm.

"This can't be," you say slowly.

"What? What's wrong?" David shakes you by the shoulder a little.

You look at him.

"That was her."

Silence.

"What?" David says, not understanding.

You look at the ground where the vampire used to be.

"I don't know how...but that was her," you say.

"That was Tatyana."

PART XIII

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel reader insert #natasha x wanda x you #natasha romanoff x you #wanda maximoff x you #black widow x reader #mm: my fics #series: between the lines

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triptuckers · 3 years

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Not if it’s you - Din Djarin

Request: no Pairing: Din Djarin x reader Summary: After months of traveling the galaxy with each other, Din tells you he needs to continue his quest alone. You don’t know what caused the sudden change of heart and you’re hurt, but leave nonetheless. But after being around him for so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be on your own. Warnings: angst, language, slight season 2 spoilers Word count: 4.2K 😳 A/N: Based on a text post I found and a video I saw on instagram. Italics are flashbacks. Enjoy reading! :)

You’re miserable. And cold. And lonely. You’re not used to it. Well, you’ve been miserable and cold before, but it’s been months since the last time you’ve felt lonely. You almost forgot what it felt like.

Up until a few days ago, you weren’t miserable and cold at all. And certainly not lonely. You were aboard the Razor Crest, accompanying a certain Mandalorian on a quest. It came out of nowhere to you, you thought everything was well between you. More than just well, actually. Perhaps you were wrong.

‘Say that again.’ you say, trying to keep your voice from breaking. You can’t see his face, but his helmet lowers. He can’t even look at you. ‘You need to leave.’ says Din.

‘I’ve been here for months. Trying to help you on this quest of yours. Delivering the kid to the Jedi. I’ve helped you on your path to find other Mandalorians. I thought we’d stick together no matter what.’ you say.

Though it feels broken, your heart is still beating rapidly. You can feel it in your throat while you fight the tears. It feels as if an invisible hand is slowly closing around your throat, making it hard to breathe.

‘You need to leave.’ says Din. ‘Please.’

The invisible hand disappears, and a new emotion takes over: anger. He had the audacity to tell you to leave. After everything you’ve been through. You’ve travelled the galaxy with him, taken care of him when he got in a fight, offered to take care of the kid so he could rest, made sure he ate. You did everything for him.

But that’s not what makes you so angry. It’s the fact he can throw it in the garbage like that. You care about him. Maybe more than you’ve ever cared about anyone. You have to admit it’s scary, but you’re willing to reach out and grasp the feeling with both of your hands. Worst of all, you thought he felt the same.

All those hours you spent talking about your cultures, people and home planet. All those hours you spent getting to know each other, letting each other in your hearts. Apparently it meant nothing to him.

‘Why?’ you say, anger slowly rising in your voice. Din sighs deeply. ‘Please, just leave.’ he says.

‘Why?’ you repeat. ‘I need to be on my own.’ he says. ‘There’s a planet nearby where I can land. There’s a city where you can-’

‘So that’s it?’ you say, getting angrier. It’s getting harder and harder to hold back the tears. ‘You’re just going to kick me off the Razor Crest? You’re just going to abandon me on the nearest habitable planet?’

‘I’m not abandoning you.’ says Din. ‘Of course not!’ you say loudly. ‘I’ve just served your purpose and now you don’t need me anymore! Now that I’ve done what you needed me to do, you’re just going to shove me away!’

It startles Din how angry you are, how loud your voice is. He’s seen you get angry before. He’s heard you shout before. But you’ve never been angry before. Sure, you could get annoyed by him, but it never turned into anger. And you’ve never shouted at him before. It hurts, but it’s for the best.

‘It’s for the best, Y/N. Please believe me.’ he says. ‘For the best, my ass! You’re fucking pathetic, Din!’ you yell at him. ‘This is why you’re always alone. You just push people away when they’ve pleased you. The only reason the kid stays with you is because he doesn’t know any better, but I bet you he’d leave you if he could!’

Behind his helmet, tears form in Din’s eyes. The feeling’s strange to him, as it doesn’t happen often. He’s standing there, helplessly, tears in his eyes. He looks at you. You’ve always had to look up to him, because he’s taller. Your hands are fists and your face is red and tears stream down your cheeks. Before he can say anything, you’ve pushed past him.

He turns around and his heart sinks as he sees you randomly grabbing your stuff and shoving it in your bag with such force you might rip it. He’s silent as he watches you collect your stuff. Without a word you march to the back of the ship, opening the door.

Sunshine fills the ship, illuminating your figure as you stop. Din looks up, thinking you could change your mind. But you turn around and he’s shocked. The anger is gone. But the look in your eyes is colder than the Beskar steel hugging his body.

‘I don’t even want to be here anymore.’ you say before walking off, leaving the Razor Crest and a heartbroken Mandalorian behind.

Din wanted you to leave. He needed you to be gone. You’ve done as he asked. He should be relieved. But he’s not. He sniffles as the tears finally roll down his cheeks, down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. You’re gone. Just like he asked you to. He broke your heart and his along with it.

You sigh and let your head rest against the rock you’re sitting in front of. It had been days since Din asked you to leave. You still didn’t know why he wanted you to leave. You’ve spend many hours thinking about it, but you can’t find the reason why.

Din was the only person to truly know you. You had told him many stories of your home and your childhood, along with your greatest fears and deepest desires. And in return, he had told you his. You felt like you were meant to last forever. Maybe the feeling was never mutual.

You hug your arms tighter around your torso. Desert planets were unbearable during the day but just as much during the night. Your coat is thin, and your fingers are red due to the cold.

You’d been on the planet once before, briefly. Din needed to get some information and because you were tired, and hadn’t slept in nearly three days, you decided to stay on the Razor Crest. Every now and then you woke up when you heard the sound of droids outside the ship, or the woman who owned the place.

Peli was a wonderful woman, and you got along really well during your first time the planet. Maybe she could tell you where you could get a ship so you could get out of here. If you could only reach the city. It’d be a journey of three days. Two if you’d be fast. But you were almost out of water and food. You’d probably collapse before you’d reach the city.

Your mind wanders off to Din again. Where would he be right now? Could you track him and catch up with him if you had a ship, or would he be long gone? What if you never met again, and he forgot about you?

You certainly wouldn’t forget about him. You cared too much about him to just let him go. Maybe you even loved him. Maybe you’d loved him for a while now, but you were just too scared to admit it. To him, and to yourself.

Whatever the feeling was, it was making you miserable. Because you hated being away from him, and because you had no idea where he was, and if he would miss you as well.

Suddenly, the loneliness fades and you get up, determined. If you had to, you’d crawl to the city on your hands and knees. You’d go to the city, find Peli, ask her if she had a ship for you or knew someone who could sell you one, and you’d track Din’s stubborn ass, and tell him you weren’t going anywhere.

Rubbing your hands together to try to warm them, you begin your journey to the city. It’s still cold, but your determination makes it less horrible, and your walking pace speeds up as you think of Din somewhere far away on his ship, with the kid in his lap.

The journey ended up being two days. When you first saw the city, you thought you were hallucinating due to the lack of water and food. But as you kept walking, the city appeared closer and closer, until you walked through the gates, onto the busy street.

There’s a market and you buy some food at the first stand you see. The next stand over has water, and you gladly buy some. You ask the seller where to find Peli, and he points to the end of the street. You thank him and hurry towards it.

You’re impatiently knocking on her door, waiting until it finally opens. Peli is frowning but the frown quickly disappears when she recognises her visitor.

‘Y/N!’ she says happily but also a bit surprised. She looks behind you but when she catches your eye you shake your head.

‘You don’t have to look for him. Mando’s not here.’ you say. ‘Shame. Was hoping he’d have that green little cutie with him.’ says Peli. ‘It’s just me today.’ you say. ‘Well you look like you’ve been through hell and back, come in.’ says Peli and she steps aside to let you in.

‘What do you need?’ she says as soon as you’ve followed her into her workspace. Her droids are running around, making little chittering noises.

‘I was hoping you’d have a ship you’re selling?’ you ask hopefully. You know it’s a long shot, but it was worth trying. ‘A ship?’ she says. ‘Technically not.’

This time, it’s your turn to frown. ‘What do you mean “technically not”?’ you say. ‘Well I have one fuelled up and ready to go, but it’s not mine.’ she says. ‘I was supposed to deliver it to this crappy looking kid, but he never showed up. Didn’t even pay me, and some of those parts were expensive.’

‘So you have a ship that’s ready to take off?’ you say. ‘Yep.’ she says. ‘Why do you need it though? Thought you were still with Mando on that piece of trash he calls a ship.’

‘So did I.’ you mutter. ‘We got, um, separated. I need a ship so I can track him down.’ ‘You know what, I like you. I like your Mandalorian and that kid of his as well. You can have that ship if you’re willing to pay a little more than the original prize.’ says Peli.

‘He’s not really my Mandalorian, you know.’ you say and Peli raises your eyebrows. ‘So, how much credits do you want?’ you say hastily.

Less than ten minutes later, you’re on the ship. It’s tiny but, as Peli described it, a whole lot better and much cleaner than the Razor Crest. You’re headed to the last known location of Din, hoping to find someone who has information on where he is. It wouldn’t be likely, though. But you are determined to find him. He wouldn’t get rid you that easily again.

But the searching is slow. You could only expect Din to cover his tracks, as he had taught you to do the same. Only a few people had seen him around or talked to him. It took you months to get your first solid lead. You’d run into a man called Cobb Vanth, who had met Din some time ago. He was eager to help you find him. With Cobb’s help, you figured out where Din would be headed for next. When you took off, leaving the planet and Cobb behind you, you felt like you actually had a chance to see Din again.

Still, after Cobb’s lead, it took you a while to get to the planet he’d told you about. You’re afraid Din’s already left when you finally land on the planet near one of the bigger cities. You spend all day asking around if anyone had seen him. When the days comes to an end, you’re in a bar. Sipping on your drink, you’re wondering what to do next, when you catch a few words from some people sitting at the table next to yours.

‘Yeah, of course I saw that. Do you know how much that Beskar armour is worth? We’d be rich.’

You immediately abandon your drink and head over to the table. The two men sitting at the table look at you. You feel uncomfortable as one of them takes his time to look at you.

‘Well, hello there, sweetheart.’ he says. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ ‘You can if you tell me what I want to know.’ you say. ‘Have you seen a Mandalorian around here?’ ‘I sure did, sweetheart.’ he says. ‘Yesterday. He was getting a drink. Talked to someone for a while, then took off again.’ ‘Anything else?’ you say. ‘Yeah. He had a weird green dog with him.’ says the man.

‘Thank you.’ you say and you turn around and head towards the door of the bar. However, before you can reach it, you feel a hand grab a hold of one of your wrists.

‘I still need to buy you a drink, sweetheart.’ says a voice so close to your ear you can feel his breath on your ear. Within seconds, you flip his arm and pin him against the table, your blaster poking in his stomach.

‘How about next time, sweetheart?’ you say with a smile before pushing him away from you and exiting the bar.

Darkness is setting in as you’re heading back towards your ship. You knew Din’s ship wasn’t with the other ships of travellers passing by, you’d searched for it when you first arrived.

When you’ve reached your own ship, you pack some essentials in your bag and head towards the forrest instead. You figured he’d lay low there for a while. These days he was one of the most wanted people in the entire galaxy. Leaving his ship next to a big city was basically sending a distress signal saying “I am here, come and get me”.

It’s dark in the woods, and you can barely see a thing. But you trust on your instincts and senses to lead you through the forrest. After some time of walking and occasionally stopping to see if no one followed you, you notice there are less trees. Every now and then you can see the stars through the leaves.

You walk for a few minutes before you spot a big dark shadow ahead of you. There are no trees surrounding it, though no one but a skilled pilot who knew his ship well could land there. With one hand on your blaster, you slowly move closer to the ship.

When you’re several feet away from the ship, a tall figure appears in front of you, aiming a blaster to your face. You’d be alarmed if it’d been anyone else. But you’ve spend too long around him to not recognise him.

‘Hi Din.’ you say and you raise your hand to push his blaster away from your face. He doesn’t say anything, so you walk past him towards the Razor Crest. Just as you’re about to enter, you hear his footsteps catching up with you and his gloved hand grabs a hold of your arm, making you turn around.

His helmet is close to your face. ‘What are you doing here?’ he says. You’re so glad you’ve found him, you’re nowhere near intimidated by his actions. ‘I told you to leave.’ he says.

‘And you think I’d listen to you?’ you say, failing to suppress a smile.

Once again, Din is glad he’s wearing a helmet. Otherwise you’d be able to see the immense relieve on his face. He can barely stay mad at you. Because he told you to leave and you found a way back to him. Though he’s relieved to see you, he’s also disappointed you’ve found him. He told you to leave for a reason. And though you didn’t know that reason, not really, you’re back.

‘Y/N, you need to leave.’ he says, keeping his voice steady and somewhat firm.

Again, he sees anger appear on your face and you pull your arm out of his grip. ‘Are you fucking serious right now, Din?’ you say. ‘Listen to me, Y/N, you-’ begins Din but you’re quick to interrupt him.

‘No, you listen to me Din!’ you say. ‘Do you know how much time I spent to get here? How much effort? First I had to spend two days alone in the desert with no food, no water whatsoever, then I spend almost all of the credits I had left on a ship which I flew from planet to planet talking to anyone who might have caught a glimpse of you or the kid. I spent months trying to track you, and just as I was about to give up, I overhead a conversation in a bar that was about you, and I headed to these woods and I found you, Din, I found you and you tell me that I need to leave again?’

‘Y/N, you don’t understand.’ says Din. ‘Then explain it to me.’ you say, almost begging. When he’s silent, you get angry again.

‘Why do you want me to leave? What could possible make you want to get rid of me?’ you shout, not even worrying about the fact someone could hear you. ‘I’m staying, Din. Wether you like it or not.’ you say.

‘No.’ is all he says. ‘You can’t stay.’ ‘Why the fuck not?’ you yell at him, getting so close to him your forehead is almost touching his helmet. He takes a step back.

‘Come on, Din, you’re acting like a fucking child. If you don’t want me around, at least tell me why.’ you say.

‘I was afraid!’ yells Din. This time, you’re the one to take a step back, looking at him. There it finally is, the reason why. But you still don’t understand.

‘Afraid of what?’ you say. Your voice is calm again and to Din you sound like yourself again. No raised voice, no yelling. It’s your voice like it is in his memory.

‘Afraid of you getting hurt.’ he admits. ‘I was afraid because I care too much about you. I felt like if something happened to you, if you got hurt - or worse, that would be on me. And I couldn't handle that. So I pushed you away. I needed to distance myself from you.’

All of the anger is gone as you look at the man standing in front of you. His helmet is lowered just as it did the last time you saw him. You slowly take a step closer to him. You hesitate for a moment, but then take his hand in yours. Din sighs so softly that you wouldn’t have been able to hear it if you weren’t standing so close to him.

‘I’m sorry.’ he says. ‘I know I hurt you, I never meant to. I just figured that a life with me is no life at all. I wanted you to have a better life.’

‘Oh, Din.’ you breathe out. ‘Listen to me, if someone wants to be with you, nothing will keep them from being with you. If someone wants to be in your life, nothing will keep them from being with you, nothing, you hear me? You may think a life with you is worthless but I don’t think so. I’d love it.’

Din shakes his head. ‘You don’t understand. A life like mine? Forever? I can’t do that to you. You’d always be on the move, you wouldn’t be able to settle down and have a quiet life.’ he says.

‘What if I don’t want a quiet life?’ you say. ‘What if I want a life like yours?’ ‘I wouldn’t want that if I were you.’ he says. ‘I’ll take care of you.’ you say. Din shakes his head again. ‘It’s rotten work.’ he says. ‘Not to me. Not if it’s you.’ you say.

‘Maker, Y/N, you make my life so much harder and so much easier at the same time. How do you do it?’ he says. ‘Driving you you crazy is part of the job.’ you say and Din chuckles. It’s a wonderful sound you haven’t heard in so long.

Din lifts his helmet. You can’t see his eyes, but you’re sure he’s looking into yours. ‘What do you know about Mandalorian culture?’ he says. ‘Only the stories you told me, why?’ you say. ‘Did I ever tell you about the Keldabe kiss?’ he says. ‘No.’ you say. ‘Tell me.’

‘It’s... a way to show affection and love.’ says Din. ‘You know that I’m not allowed to take off my helmet. The Keldabe kiss is a way to kiss someone without taking off my helmet.’

You’re quiet as you look at him. You’re still holding his hand. Inside your chest, your heart is beating rapidly. You’re surprised he can’t hear it.

‘What’s it like?’ you say so softly your voice is barely audible. ‘Like this.’ says Din. He moves his free hand an rests it on the back of your head. He softly pulls you towards him and rests his helmet against your forehead.

It’s so simple, yet so intimate. It’s the closest you’ve ever been. You close your eyes, focusing on the cold Beskar armour against your skin. In all those hours you spent wondering why Din would push you away like that, you never once thought he would do it because he cared too much about you.

After some time, Din pulls away but keeps his hand on the back of your head. ‘I’m sorry.’ he says. ‘Please never leave me again, cyar’ika.’ You smile when you look at him. ‘Is that also from your culture? What does it mean?’ you say. ‘Cyar’ika?’ he says and you nod. ‘It means...’ he’s silent as he searches for the right translation. ‘Beloved.’

You gasp quietly when you hear it and underneath his helmet, Din smiles at you. This time, you lean in to press your forehead against his helmet. ‘I like it.’ you say softly and Din squeezes your hand with his.

‘Do you trust me?’ asks Din. ‘Yes.’ you say without hesitation. ‘Close your eyes.’ he says. ‘And don’t open them until l say you can.’

You’re a little confused, but obey nonetheless. You close your eyes and feel Din pulling away his hands. You then hear a faint hiss and a click. This time, you gasp loudly, you know what he did.

‘Put it back on!’ you say. ‘You can’t take your helmet of in front of me!’ ‘Keep your eyes closed, cyar’ika.’ Din says.

His voice sounds different. It’s not modified by his helmet, it’s his true voice. You find yourself longing to hear more of it. You’re waiting for Din to say something, when you feel something instead. You never even dared to imagine what it’d feel like.

You feel a pair of soft lips against yours. You’re surprised at first, but you quickly melt into his touch. Din can feel you smile through the kiss. Before you can stop yourself, you reach up to touch his face, but Din’s hands catch yours and he gently pushes them down.

When he pulls away, you keep your eyes closed, still a smile on your lips. You hear a click again and Din’s fingers intertwine with yours.

‘You can open your eyes again.’ says Din. And so you open your eyes, beaming up at him. ‘I couldn’t wait any longer.’ he says sheepishly and you smile even wider.

‘What do you say, want to come with me again? I’ve still got to deliver the kid and it’d be nice to have some company.’ says Din. ‘Of course I want that.’ you say. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. I hurt you and I-’ ‘It’s okay.’ you say. ‘You made up for it.’

Suddenly you feel something tugging on your pants and you look down at your feet to see the kid looking up at you.

‘Hi there, little one.’ you say and you bend down to pick him up. ‘Missed me, did you?’ you say and the little creature looks at you with his big eyes. He snuggles closer to you and you notice his eyes are immediately getting heavier.

‘I still don’t know how you do that.’ says Din. ‘All you do is pick him up and he falls asleep.’

‘It’s just a feeling, I guess.’ you say, looking at the little kid in your arms. ‘This one looks as tired as I feel.’

You hold out one of your hands to Din while still holding the kid against your chest with the other. ‘Come on.’ you say. ‘You can use some sleep as well.’ ‘How do you know that?’ he says. You lift your head to look at him. ‘You probably haven’t slept since you landed on this planet.’ you say.

Din grabs your hand and allows you to guide him inside the Razor Crest. ‘I forgot how well you know me.’ says and you smile. ‘I don’t think I could ever forget anything about you, Din.’ you say.

‘Oh, Maker. Don’t ever leave again, cyar’ika.’ says Din softly, sending shivers down your spine. ‘Well, if you don’t ask me to leave again, I promise you I’ll stay forever.’ you say and you smile at Din. ‘Please do.’ says Din and he pushes his helmet against your forehead one last time.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading!

Much love, Jo

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writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

Text

Alpha and Omega - Ch 2 / 2

Pairing: Sam x Dean Rating: 18+ Tags: A/B/O, Darkness magic, Alpha!Dean, Omega!Sam, Dub-Con (biological necessity), little bit of meta (cuz why not), Sam’s a needy mess, Dean is possessive af Word Count: 4k Created for: @first-time-wincest-fest - 12x02 Mamma Mia | @spnabobingo - Male Omega | Summary: Amara wants to thank Dean by giving him the thing he needs most – Sam – but she knows the boys are stubborn, so she’s going to have to be creative. Problem is, she doesn’t tell Dean or Sam what she’s put in motion, and magic can be unpredictable.

Despite the many apparent flaws of these British Men of Letters dicks, at least Mick has the good sense to let Dean and Sam go. He offers to try helping Sam, but he doesn’t have any more ideas about his condition than that blonde bitch does, so Dean declines and gets Sam the hell out of dodge.

The moment they make it over the property line and past the efficacy of the anti-angel warding Cas is by their sides, sliding under Sam’s other arm to help Dean carry him to the Impala.

“Don’t touch him,” Dean growls, startling Cas and himself. Cas raises his hands in a show of good faith.

“I am just trying to help, Dean,” he reassures the hunter, lowly.

“Yeah, um, sorry man,” Dean shakes his head to clear it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else touching Sam right now but he doesn’t want anyone’s hands on his baby brother. Begrudgingly, he lets Castiel grab Sam’s arm and help them to the car, where they gingerly lay a shivering, and for all intents and purposes unconscious, Sam on the back seat. “Cas, what’s wrong with him?” Dean tries to keep a grip on the panic in his voice but he doesn’t have much luck.

“It’s hard to be sure,” Castiel mutters, laying a hand against Sam’s forehead, which is burning hot. “We need to get him home immediately, this fever is dangerously high.”

Dean rounds the car to root through the first aid pack in the trunk, pulling out a few instant cold packs. “Here,” he cracks one up in his hands and passes it to Cas. “Get in back, try to keep him cool.” Cas slides into the back seat of the Impala, pulling Sam over his lap and pressing the cold pack against the young man’s forehead. Dean drops the spare cold packs beside him as he jumps in behind the wheel and peels out of the dirt road driveway in reverse, gunning them back home towards Kansas.

The use of cold packs and bags of ice they picked up at gas stations along their way get the trio home without Sam’s condition worsening. Dean would send up a thank you to Chuck for that except that he’s nearly positive Chuck’s sister is the reason Sam is in this mess in the first place. I thought she wanted to do something to thank me, not destroy my life. They get Sam into bed without too much trouble, and Castiel suggests stripping Sam out of his clothes to help keep him cool.

“Get away from him,” Dean growls, baring his teeth at his friend. Castiel once again looks at him in confusion, his brow crinkling as he stares hard at Dean.

“I’m going to call Rowena, see if maybe she can help us determine what is wrong with Sam.” Cas backs up cautiously, and Dean is glad to see him go.

Once he’s alone with his brother, he does think that stripping Sam down is a decent idea – at the very least he should change him into some clean pyjamas instead of the bloodied tatters he’s dressed in now. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, gently brushing Sam’s hair away from his eyes. He has the sudden urge to lean down and kiss Sam, so he does – very carefully placing his lips against his little brother’s forehead. It seems to Dean like Sam presses back into the kiss, and when his lips retreat, Sam stretches his neck and turns his head into Dean’s side, almost like he’s burrowing there. The unconscious display of affection brings a surge of warmth to Dean’s chest, though he can’t find it in him to smile with Sam like this.

Gingerly, Dean unbuttons Sam’s shirt and eases it over his shoulders, his fingers tracing over Sam’s muscles on the way down each arm. He hadn’t spent too much time around Sam’s unclothed chest recently and he couldn’t help staring at the contours of his frame. Sometimes he spends so much time thinking about Sam as his little brother, he forgets how much he’d built himself up over the years, forgets about the strength that all those layers of shirts they wear everyday are hiding. Dean has to shake himself in chastisement for staring at Sam’s body and lusting after it like a creep when he’s supposed to be taking care of him. How could he be thinking with his dick, even now, when Sam is deathly ill? But he was thinking with his dick, because even seeing Sam half naked for a matter of thirty seconds seems to be enough to give him a semi. For fuck’s sake, Dean curses himself, and sets about the task of easing Sam out of his torn up jeans.

As he gets Sam’s abnormally long jeans off his abnormally long body, three things strike Dean as odd. The first, that the smell he’d overwhelmingly associated with Sam back at the farmhouse in Missouri all of the sudden permeates the air around him. Sure, he’d been smelling it this whole time – it had been almost unbearably strong on the 6 hour drive back to Kansas – but he figured he must have gotten used to it because it had sort of faded into the background until just now. Secondly, the way Sam’s legs were splayed out across the bed right now gave Dean a view of a dark wet patch on the light grey of Sam’s underwear – gross, Dean thinks to himself, until he realises that the stain isn’t on the front of Sam’s briefs like it would be if he’d pissed himself. That examination leads him to his third odd discovery, which is that Sam has a boner.

“Well, what have we here?” Dean spins to see Rowena standing in the doorway, smirking.

“I’m sorry, Sam’s turned into a what?” Dean blinks incredulously at Rowena, who’s perching on the edge of the table in the kitchen. He turns his head to look at Castiel, who is sitting stoically behind Rowena. The angel shrugs unhelpfully.

“An Omega, dearie,” Rowena enunciates more clearly, like she imagines she’s talking to a four year old.

“Right,” Dean nods, although he doesn’t really understand. “And I’m a–”

“An Alpha, yes,” Rowena reiterates, clearly annoyed Dean isn’t getting this. “Well, Sam’s Alpha, more specifically,” she amends.

“And what exactly does all this mean?” Dean grunts, frustrated.

“It means that you and Samuel are mates,” Rowena elaborates.

“We know that, we saw our shared heaven, like a decade ago. What the hell does it have to do with him being sick?”

“Samuel is sick because he’s an Omega in heat, and he needs his mate.”

“Well if I’m his ‘mate’ and he ‘needs me’ – I’m right here! So why isn’t he better?” Dean growls.

“I believe,” Cas clears his throat, “from what I understand of the traditional elements of this condition, that what Rowena means is that Sam needs you, as his mate, physically.” Cas looks sheepishly at Rowena for confirmation.

“Precisely,” she smiles thankfully at Castiel.

“Physically?” Dean’s not any closer to understanding what’s happening. “So what, I need to go hold his hand until his fever breaks?”

“Well, I’m not surprised that you might want to hold his hand, but it’s going to take a wee bit more than that.”

“Will you just tell me how the hell to cure him?” Dean shouts, accidentally shattering the beer bottle he’s holding. He looks down, surprised at his own strength and at the end of his tether now.

“Sexual intercourse,” Cas answers shortly, his face carefully blank. “Though, again, from my understanding, that will only cure his heat. He will remain an Omega and you will remain an Alpha.”

“What the hell are you talking about ‘from what you understand’?” Dean makes indignant air quotes at Cas.

“When Metatron put all of popular culture into my head it included every story ever written. There are a large number of stories on the internet that incorporate the dynamics of the Alpha/Omega hierarchy. It’s a trope primarily found in something called ‘fanfiction’,” Cas explains. “In fact, there is some ‘fanfiction’ about yourself and Sam if it would help you to understand the mating requirements.” Dean feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Cas, listen to me very carefully: under no circumstances are you to ever tell anyone else that those exist,” Dean groans, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Why is this happening?”

“That’s the part I’ve not got the faintest idea about,” Rowena sighs. “It would take something more than a simple spell to alter your anatomies like this. Not even an angel,” she glances at Castiel quickly to check she’s right in her assumption. “I’ve never heard of something like this actually happening outside of fiction.”

“It was Amara,” Dean sighs. “When she left she told me she was going to give me what I ‘needed most’, but I don’t know why she thought this was it. It just seems like some sick joke.”

“Ah,” Rowena nods sagely like she understands now. “She was giving you Samuel.”

“How is this ‘giving me’ Sam?”

“A physically bonded Alpha and Omega are bonded for life, inseparable. Without the other, they won’t survive their heats – or ruts, in your case.”

“So every time Sam goes into a heat, we need to have sex, or he dies?” Dean can’t believe how fucked up this is.

“You’ll also need to knot him,” Cas adds gravely. Noticing Dean’s look of incredulity, he continues. “The base of your penis will inflate when you ejaculate and lock you and Sam together for a brief time. It’s the knot that Sam needs to relieve the symptoms of his heat.”

“What the fuck?” Dean blanches.

“Not to importune but I do believe Samuel was running out of time when I examined him. You really should get to it, Dean,” Rowena cuts in.

“And how am I supposed to do that, huh? The guy’s unconscious! I can’t just–” Dean’s stomach roiled. The thought of fucking Sam was tempting, amazingly so, but the thought of doing it to Sam, without his knowledge or participation, was sickening.

“I can make him a wee draft to revive him and stave off the fever,” Rowena moves towards one of the cupboards in the kitchen where Sam keeps the common spell ingredients. “Then Castiel and I can make ourselves scarce and leave you two to it,” she smiles.

“And you’re positive this is the only way?” Dean presses desperately.

“That Amara is a crafty woman, she knew what she was doing.” Rowena throws some herbs into a small dish. “She saw that you would never ‘put the moves on Sam’, as you say. This is her way of giving you both that little push.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a bitch,” Dean grumbles, dropping his head in his hands and waiting for Rowena to finish the potion to wake Sam up.

Sam blinks awake wearily, vaguely aware that he’s safe and not being held captive anymore, but he can’t remember much more than snippets of sound and scent. The rumble of an engine, the smell of motor oil; the low tenor of Dean’s voice, and the scent of whiskey, apple pie, and old leather. He can make out all of those scents now, too, swirling around him and pulling him back into consciousness – like smelling salts.

“Hey, there he is,” Dean’s voice says nearby, he’s sitting on the side of Sam’s bed.

Sam nuzzles towards his older brother, inexplicably craving the closeness. “De,” Sam mumbles, still sleepy.

“Yeah, it’s me Sammy,” Dean smiles down at him gently, eyes soft. Sam feels an unusual rush of need wash over him like a heat wave and he presses himself as close to Dean as two bodies can possibly get with a blanket still in between them.

“Wha s’happening?” he grumbles into Dean’s chest, looping his long arms around his brother’s waist.

“Short version?” Dean scoffs, but not unkindly. “Listen man, I’ll explain everything, I promise but – right now I just need to make sure you get outta this in one piece,” Dean sighs, drawing his hand down Sam’s face and holding his cheek. Sam looks up at Dean quizzically, unused to the level of physical affection but finding he was in desperate want of more. He nods at his big brother – whatever’s wrong, he knows Dean will take care of him. “You trust me Sammy?” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and Sam realises he’s scared.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam breathes quietly into the slowly decreasing space between them. “Course I do,” he confirms again.

“Alright then,” Dean gulps and nods, mostly to himself though, like he’s trying to psych himself up for something. Then without any further warning, Dean’s lips are covering Sam’s and pressing him down onto the bed.

The fire that had been smouldering inside Sam for days now leaps and dances, as if Dean’s kiss is gasoline being thrown across him. Sam clings to Dean as he’s laid back onto the bed, and lets Dean climb into his lap and bury his hands in Sam’s hair. Dean licks across the seam of his lips and Sam parts them willingly, drinking in every bit of Dean that is being offered to him. He can’t remember why he needs Dean like this so badly, or when he started needing him, but now that he has him he couldn’t care less. He knows with certainty that the only thing he needs to be happy for the rest of his life is Dean – Dean loving him, Dean kissing him, Dean inside him. Fuck, he needs Dean inside him right fucking now.

At this realisation, Sam starts tearing into Dean’s clothes, ripping through the thread keeping buttons in their places without a thought. He expects Dean to start doing the same to him, but then realises he’s not wearing anything but his underwear, which suits Sam just fine. Dean has to pull away from him to wriggle out of his jeans, and Sam groans involuntarily at the sight of the bulge Dean reveals when he strips down.

“Someone likes the view, huh?” Dean teases him, voice deep and throaty, but Sam’s too far gone to come up with a bratty retort. All he can focus on is that he wants Dean’s cock – now.

“Shit, you look so big De,” Sam groans, reaching out a hand to cup around Dean’s member, still hidden behind black cotton. The front of the material is wet with precum, Sam can feel it against his fingertips.

“Think you can handle me, little bro?” Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and drags his fingers along the outline of his cock, up to the elastic waist of his boxers, and then inside them. Sam’s fingers curl around Dean and stroke him gently beneath the fabric. “Think you can fit all that inside your tight little ass f’me?” he grunts, thrusting into Sam’s grip.

“Fuck yes,” Sam rasps, and his breath sounds like it’s raking over hot coals in his throat. He pulls back from Dean to shed his own underwear, staring at it puzzledly when it comes away from his body covered in slick. What is that, he wonders as he feels it on his fingers. It doesn't feel like lube… “Dean?” Sam looks to his brother for answers.

“S’okay,” Dean rushes to reassure him, joining his little brother on the bed, both of them now completely bared to the other. “I’ll explain later, yeah? Just let me take care of you right now, okay?” Dean’s eyes are wide and pleading as he looks to Sam, and Sam nods; he trusts Dean. “Just lemme take care a’you,” Dean whispers again as he brushes their lips together, and Sam pulls him in tight for another bruising kiss.

Their bodies twist and tangle easily, Sam just letting Dean put them together however he wanted. The heat of Dean against him is overwhelming, the sweat on their skin mingles and sticks them together, pulling at their nerves every time they part. Sam doesn’t want them to part. He reaches between them, grabbing Dean’s cock in his hand and thrusts his own into the same grip. Their moans ring through each others’ mouths as Sam jerks them against each other, and they take turns fucking into his fist. Before long Dean pulls away from Sam with a groan, probably to stop himself from finishing before he’s had a chance to see what the inside of his brother feels like. Sam is glad of his consideration in this case, because if he ends tonight without Dean locked firmly inside of him, he’s going to feel like he’s missing out. If he was more clear headed, he might question why the phrase ‘locked inside of him’ is the one that came to mind but he’s not thinking too deeply about what he wants right now — he just wants.

“Need you, Dean,” Sam pants, widely, grabbing at Dean, trying to bring their bodies back together. “Need… ne—” Sam’s vocabulary has become shockingly singular, and he doesn’t have the presence of mind to be irritated with his brother when Dean smiles down at him smugly, knowingly.

“I know what you need, Sammy” Dean grins down at his little brother. Having Sam this strung out and desperate for him is like a drug. I could get used to this being a monthly thing, he smirks to himself, reaching his hand down between Sam’s legs and rubbing at his slick entrance. “Need me right here, dontcha Sammy? I can feel how much you need me,” Dean groans as the tip of his finger slips inside of Sam too easily, “fuck, you’re wet. So fucking wet for me, huh Sammy?”

Sam just nods blissfully down at Dean; it seems his vocabulary of one word has now receded to zero.

Cas had warned him about this, that as an Omega, Sam would start leaking like a fire hydrant, but at least it saved him having to hunt around for some kind of lube — he’d never needed to have that on hand before, and if he found any lying around the bunker there’s a decent chance it would be cursed or something. Plus, he bet this made the whole experience way better for Sam, so he was all for it. Dean moves between Sam’s legs and runs the head of his cock over Sam’s twitching entrance. Sammy lets out a weak moan and arches against the pressure, trying to get Dean to slip inside. Dean’s about to oblige when he remembers what Cas said about them getting locked together by the Alpha’s knot once he comes, and he thinks better of their position. It will be easier to roll on to their sides and rest if he does this with Sam on his hands and knees.

He manhandles Sam into position, rolling him over, and when Sam gets the idea and pushes himself onto his hands and knees, arching his back and presenting himself to Dean like some kind of trophy, Dean can’t hold himself back any longer. He pushes his cock inside Sam slowly, agonisingly and torturously slowly. Not because he’s concerned about hurting Sam, who is opening up beneath him like he was born for this — born to take Dean’s cock — but because he knows he wants to savour this moment for the rest of his life. He wants to remember every second of the first time he felt what it was like to truly possess Sam, to be joined so completely to one another that not even their bodies can keep them separate. So Dean goes slow, even though Sam is begging beneath him, asking him to just fuck him already, Dean ignores him, and he drinks the feelings in.

When he’s got himself bottomed out inside of Sam he leans down over his brother and presses a kiss to his shoulder, tenderly, thanking him for what he’s giving Dean right now. “You feel so good Sammy,” Dean moans, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound as sappy as it does but it’s hard to regulate things like that when you feel like you’ve just connected to your soulmate for the first time, so he gives himself a pass.

The next time Sam begs, Dean gives in, snapping his hips back and fucking into him as hard as he can manage. And once he’s started he can’t stop. Every instinct inside of Dean is shouting at him to take, to fuck Sam into the mattress and never let up, which Sam doesn’t seem to mind, because no matter how roughly Dean thrusts into him he keeps shouting for more, faster, harder, please. So Dean, ever the good big brother, gives Sammy what he needs — what they both need.

Dean can feel himself getting closer and closer to his release, and that’s when he notices that he can’t quite pull out as far as before. His knot has begun swelling at the base of his cock, getting ready to pop and bind him and Sam together. The fattening edges catching on Sam’s rim give Dean a kind of friction no sex ever has before and, fucking hell, it feels unbelievably good. He grinds himself harder against Sam, dropping over his back so they can be as close as possible, and bringing his hand up beneath Sam to grasp at his little brother’s dick. It’s the first time he’s properly touched it, felt it in his hand, and shit, it feels even bigger than it looks.

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam groans, sounding absolutely wrecked, and Dean takes that as a compliment. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck, please,” Sam is pleading with him so prettily, and Dean wants to cum just as badly as him.

“Not stopping Sammy,” Dean strokes him faster, grinds into him harder, “not stopping until you cum all over my hand baby boy, so c’mon, want you to cum f’me.” Dean thanks God that Sam starts to cum loudly when Dean tells him too, because the second he feels Sam start to convulse around him his knot pops and he’s cumming harder than he ever has in his life. The thought of his seed whitewashing Sam’s insides is sickeningly thrilling and he swears a second, small orgasm rocks through him — and hey, if that’s a perk of being an Alpha, I could get used to this.

When Dean comes back to himself, his breathing finally evening out, he notices Sam slumped beneath him, no longer holding himself up. He quickly checks for a pulse, and relaxes when he finds one – Sam’s just passed out. Fuck, he came so hard he passed out. Dean shudders, feeling another small blurt of cum force itself out of his cock at the thought that he’d fucked Sam so thoroughly. To be honest he was a little proud of himself.

Dean arranges himself on his side on the bed, so he can curl around Sam while he waits for his knot to deflate. He thought he’d be annoyed by having to stay still like this for so long but it’s surprisingly peaceful, laying here with Sam asleep in his arms. He hugs his little brother tighter to him, clasping his hands over Sam’s chest – over his heart – feels the rhythm and reassures himself that Sam is here, and alive, and safe. And his. The realisation hits Dean unexpectedly. Sam is finally his in the most permanent way he can think of, and his heart leaps at the thought. The last thing he thinks before he drops off to sleep too, is that he hopes Sam still wants to be his when he wakes up.

Tags: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles-deactivated20210 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @akshi8278 @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j @stoneyggirl

#spnabobingo #first time wincest fest #a/b/o #wincest #sam x dean #omega!sam #alpha!dean

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pinkbalrog · 3 years

Text

Of Gods and Tombs

A Noragami Lost Tomb AU I decided to actually write up. Apologies for cultural errors. I probably could have researched more. No offense was meant. :) Feel free to comment. I consciously tried not to sink too much focus into this because I am a perfectionist and would have brooded over this for weeks, and I do have other projects! All supernatural elements are improvised, perhaps badly. I also wasn’t sure of Xiao Er Ye? Thoughts? I don’t know Chinese : (.

Mentioning @jockvillagersonly because they have been ridiculously nice. :)

Here we go!

Pangzi stared. The man stared back, holding Pangzi’s wilting incense in one hand. He’d been, savoring it? Maybe? Wide eyes stared back over a thin trail of smoke and, was he blushing?

“Who the FUC-”

“Shhhh!” the man lunged forward. He dropped the incense, wincing and grabbed Pangzi’s arm. “You’ll wake something up!”

“You’re something!”

“We can talk but—yes, I am?”

Pangzi got a handful of silk. Where did he get the hanfu? He jerked him close, eyes narrowed, grinning so hard his cheeks ached. “You,” he grated, “are not part of the expedition”.

Wide eyes blinked at him. “What expedition?” Pangzi cuffed him.

“You think I came in here alone? You did not come in with us.” The guy wasn’t frail, was pretty solid actually, but he had the look of a bird plucked out of a net.

“No. Obviously?” Thoughts moved rapidly behind his eyes, and he scanned Pangzi, taking in his sweat stained shirt, abraded hands, and his unshaven face. “You came with a group then, and you came up.” He pried off Pangzi’s grip and took a step towards the dark where Pangzi had dragged the heavy door mostly into place. “At least that’s the only way you’d be in this corridor, it’s inaccessible on this level.”

Pangzi gaped. He exclaimed, “Then how the hell did you get here?” The man ignored him, squatting down to look at Pangzi’s sleeping bag. Pangzi stepped in front of it defensively.

The man continued, “They must be dead, otherwise you wouldn’t be alone, and you need help”. He nodded at Pangzi, as if they were having a discussion. They were not.

Pangzi loomed over him. “Again, how are you here?”

The man rolled back on his heels, straightened, and damn well held his hands in front of him like he was lecturing. Long sleeves slid back from thin wrists. His hair was short, and not neat at all. “I’ve been here for a long time, and I need help too.”

“You,” Pangzi sputtered, “you need help. You look, look you’re not a ghost right? You would have already tried to kill me. Right. I’m sitting down for this.” And he threw himself down on the platform of the pitiful, wedged open coffin, nearly squashing his back pack. He crossed his arms. “Well, what’s your name?”

The guy, whoever he was, smiled hopefully. “You can call me Xiao Er Ye.”

Pangzi grunted. “Wang Pangzi”.

Xiao Er Ye bowed, weirdly formal.

Stretching out his legs, which ached from walking uneven corridors for literal days, Pangzi idly rifled through his bag until he had a good grip on his gun, then he pulled out a water bottle and let it hang from his hand. “And what are you anyway?”

“I’m a god.”

The bottle thunked on the floor. “What?”

Xiao Er Ye smiled wider.

Pangzi sneered. He waved his arms. “A god. Bullshit.” Whoever lost their lunatic in that pathetic village was probably wondering what hole they fell into. Pangzi’s hole apparently.

Xiao Er Ye regarded him steadily. “It’s true. Did you wonder why I had your incense?” Pangzi scoffed,

“Becasue you’re a weirdo?”

“Because your offering allowed me to appear to you.”

“Right. And that seems like a reasonable explanation to you?”

He was ridiculous, but he was really clean. There was fat on his bones, and his nails were neat. Pangzi let go of the gun, considering. The guy clearly got in here very recently, which meant there was a way out. Could Pangzi humor the lunatic to get out of a literal death trap? Hell yes.

“Oookay,” he drawled, “So you’re a god. I can see you. What do you need my help for, your holiness?”

Immediately, Xiao Er Ye sat close beside him. “I can’t leave here because someone is here in a trap meant for me. I can’t free him because the trap is meant for me.” He paused to see if Pangzi was following. Pangzi smiled wide. Apparently reassured, Xiao Er Ye went on, “and I’m having a hard enough time keeping the trap from doing what it’s supposed to do, which is make the whole thing even more inescapable. You’re mortal, so you can free him”.

Taking a drink, Pangzi considered. So yes, Xiao Er Ye was off his rocker. He put the cap back on and asked,

“But do you know a way out of here?”

“Yes, many.”

“And you’re still here.”

Xiao Er Ye set his jaw, obstinate. “I need help.”

Pangzi tapped the bottle. So, do one nonsensical thing and finally get out? Or do nothing and lose what might be a chance. He remembered red hands, gleaming wetly.

“Okay,” he said, and watched Xiao Er Ye light up. He was ridiculously easy to read. “Say I believe you. How does this work?”

“I lead you to the trap, and you follow my instructions. Then we get out.”

Pangzi eyed him incredulously. “Then we get out. No real plan for that?”

Xiao Er Ye grinned, gestured at the tomb around them, and said, “That’s the easy part.”

Pangzi snorted. “Easy he says.” He made a production of standing up, and folded, “You better not screw me over, your holiness.”

“Thank you.” Pangzi paused. Xiao Er Ye’s voice was soft, earnest, “Thank you Wang Pangzi.”

Pangzi huffed a laugh. Atleast this was a harmless idiot. “Yeah, you’re welcome, let’s go get your boyfriend, or whatever, and get out of here.”

Xiao Er Ye’s voice pitched up, “my whatever?” and he kept talking.

Ignoring him, Pangzi faced the door. Damn it, he had to shift it again.

. . .

Pangzi reconsidered this decision. He reconsidered it strongly. Ripping another lotus arrow out of his shirt he threw it at Xiao Er Ye. Xiao Er Ye dodged, and it clicked on the floor with all the others. This was trap number six. He tried to stay calm.

“And why,” he hissed, “Are you setting off every trap in this godsdamned tomb? How are there even this many left? Didn’t you come this way? Why aren’t you dead? Are you dead? Are you a fucking ghost because so help me I will hit you.”

Turns out, Xiao Er Ye was right about the corridor earlier being inaccessible from that level, but you could climb up another pit trap. Pangzi was getting very tired of squeezing up pit traps, and apparently this guy just clambered up and down them? Without getting dirty? Without seeming flustered in the least? Maybe his people put him in the hole on purpose. Was this all just enrichment? Even the spear traps? It was a fucking blessing that they seemed to be malfunctioning, or aged past effectiveness.

Xiao Er Ye looked sheepish, shrugging. “I forgot to worry about them? I’m usually not materially here when I walk around, but you need to see me and get past them so...”

Pangzi took a deep breath and counted to ten. “I need a drink”.

“Are you hurt though?” and now Xiao Er Ye was all sharp-eyed and attentive, all his focus on Pangzi, on his bruises and battered ego. Pangzi’s shoulders slumped.

“From this?” he shook his head and clapped a hand on Xiao Er Ye’s shoulder, “I’m fine. Can we just—what is THAT?”

There were hands, white, emaciated hands pressing through the stones at their feet. Black writhed up. Shrieking, Pangzi stomped, and stomped again.

Xiao Er Ye was stomping too, ranting, “Oh not again, no no I will not humor you. Do you want to be dead? Really? I told you no!”

The hands shrank back with a plaintive keen and one last lingering caress on Xiao Er Ye’s leg.

Pangzi and Xiao Er Ye stood there, breathing heavily. Their eyes met. Xiao Er Ye wore a strained smile and he looked, desperate.

“So,” Pangzi stepped past Xiao Er Ye, careful not to step on any cracks, “Where next?” He didn’t look back, but he heard Xiao Er Ye take a shaky breath.

“Down this way. We’re almost there.”

. . .

“Almost there” was a lie. Pangzi sympathized, he did. It seemed Xiao Er Ye really believed a friend of his was down here; but the longer it took to reach, whatever it was, the more Pangzi worried he wouldn’t get the chance to talk Xiao Er Ye down, and nudge him towards showing both of them out of the tomb. He did not want to wander until he starved, or end up like his former team mates, spattered across the walls of a noisome pit.

The corridors were getting smoother, more ornate, and Pangzi swore he could feel fresh air vented in from somewhere. Xiao Er Ye was silent now, heading doggedly forward. Finally, he turned a corner, and, in the light of Pangzi’s flashlight, there were massive doors, green gold bronze with jade inset panels. They glimmered, untouched by dust. In fact, and here Pangzi swung his flashlight around, splendor wasn’t confined to the doors. There were murals faded but intricate all over the walls of the corridor.

There was no way to smuggle those doors out, but Pangzi wanted. His fingers twitched. Why had the expedition come in on a lower grade? If they’d realized the tomb was mostly vertical, that stuff like this was at the top, well, this would have been a different raid altogether. It was quiet, hushed but for the sound of Pangzi’s and Xiao Er Ye’s foot steps, the sound of their breathing, and the rustle of Xiao Er Ye’s ornate coat as he strode forward.

The doors swung open at a touch, soundlessly, and, hesitating in the corridor, Pangzi believed for the first time, that maybe Xiao Er Ye was non-human, at least a little. Was this really real? He pinched himself, which hurt. Nothing changed.

What prayers had he used, when he lit the incense? He lost track sometimes. Was he even doing any of them correctly? “Pangzi?” Xiao Er Ye’s voice echoed.

Pangzi swallowed his nerves, steeled his gut and called back, “Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” Inside was a riot of gold statues, positioned as an audience, a circle of jade set into a stone platform, intact the whole way around, and a man suspended in the air, curled defensively, dark hair falling over his shoulders. Long sleeves of richest, deepest blue, hung from his slender frame, and as Pangzi crept closer, rapt, he saw that the man’s face was ridiculously pretty. He seemed asleep. He was definitely, no doubt about it, floating.

“What.”

“I told you,” that was Xiao Er Ye, his voice grim. He was standing at the edge of the jade circle, intent on the characters carved inside it. He was holding out his hands, and for the first time, in the weird eldritch light the whole thing gave off, Pangzi could see scars on Xiao Er Ye’s palms and wrists, as if they’d but cut with a straight blade. Xiao Er ye shook, straining to reach with everything in him.

“Please, Pangzi, you can break it.”

Pangzi felt, calm, as if he was in his home town, standing outside the Lucky Frog bar, staring into the fervid eyes of old man Wei. His voice was even,

“What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” Xiao Er Ye drew back, glancing at his palms, “What does it matter?” he looked back at the circle, “I tried to put more of me in the circle, to get it to grab me but blood didn’t work, or hair. They just, evaporated, or fell apart on contact and nothing works. Please, break it.”

“How long have you, right—What do I do?”

Xiao Er Ye’s instructions apparently, amounted to “break it” all his easy words gone. Pangzi tried wedging the jade up, but he couldn’t get any purchase, and blunt force didn’t even dent it. He sat, panting, and chugged the last of his water. Xiao Er Ye stood by, fretting.

“I can’t, not like this.”

“What?” Xiao Er Ye hunched, looking very small.

Pangzi stood with effort, and stretched, turning to loosen the muscles of his core. “So you’re a god huh, sure it’s not that guy? He looks more, holy.”

Xiao Er Ye’s face was stone. It was unnatural. “I’m a god. He’s Xiao ge” and he said Xiao ge as if, of all things in the world, that he was most sure of.

“So you can get us out, if say, I blow up the room?”

Xiao Er Ye burst forward, breathless and all glimmering silk, “You can do that?”

Pangzi bared his teeth, “Oh hell yeah.”

. . .

Turns out it was a good thing he’d lugged all those incendiaries up so many floors. It took a while, but Xiao Er Ye had surprisingly steady hands once he had something to do with them. He talked to Xiao ge as he worked, but it wasn’t any dialect Pangzi knew, and he didn’t ask. At the last, Xiao Er Ye made Pangzi stand close, so close that he could smell incense and something like petrichor.

Xiao Er Ye met his eyes and Pangzi hit the trigger.

. . .

The world was dust. Dust and nothing. No sound or feeling, like the world fell away. It cut back in as a blade to the throat.

A literal blade. Pangzi was suddenly, viscerally aware of sun, beaming down on him, of the rumble and clatter of stone as the chamber collapsed around them, radiating outward. He ached, he was thirtsy, his stomach drew in, his breath caught, and they were out.

Xiao Er Ye was standing behind Xiao-ge, who was awake, with a predatory gaze pinned on Pangzi’s face. He held a black and gold sword against Pangzi’s throat and one arm was held out in front of Xiao Er Ye. Xiao Er Ye blinked, looking dazed.

“Uh” Pangzi tried again, throat dry, “Xiao Er Ye?”

The god shook his head, drew a deep breath, and noticed Xiao ge. “Xiao ge!”

He threw himself on him dragging him away from Pangzi. Xiao ge went willingly raising a long fingered hand to Xiao Er Ye’s arm, gazing into his face with an intensity that hurt to look at. Xiao Er Ye, reverent, cupped his face, grazing his thumbs beneath ink dark eyes. He breathed out, bright eyed, “You’re awake.”

Pangzi found somewhere else to look. All that shattered gold looked promising.

. . .

The chamber they’d broken was indeed, at the top of the tomb, and had seemingly been built atop an older structure, carved out from inside the tomb so that it was built on top of a place of death, so that it would draw Xiao Er Ye up. From where, Pangzi didn’t ask. What he knew was that there were trees, green and rustling, and sunlight warm on his face. The underbrush was thick, but they managed to find a route that wouldn’t exhaust them within an hour. Pangzi got out his kukri, and Xiao-ge put his sword to better use.

Together, they made their way through the trees, Xiao-ge going ahead, presumably to clear the way of threats, like squirrels. He’d tied back his heavy sleeves and accepted a torn bit of silk from Xiao Er Ye to pull back his hair. Pangzi watched him go, then turned to Xiao Er Ye, who practically glowed. Was he literally glowing? It was hard to tell. The god stood on his toes, soft eyed and open, watching where Xiao ge went.

Pangzi cleared his throat, and asked, “So if you’re a god, what’s he?”

Xiao Er Ye started, then settled back on his heels. “Oh! He’s a Hafuri vessesl!” Pangzi looked at him, dead eyed. “Oh, it means he is the most loyal and, potent? Of shinki, of named spirits that serve a god.”

Pangzi mulled that over. He dug out a few protein bars and made to hand one to Xiao Er Ye, who declined. “Named spirits?”

“Gods give spirits a new existence with a name. He is Xiao ge. He becomes a tattoo! It’s beautiful.”

Pangzi unwrapped his bar and replied, “Right. A tattoo.” He drew himself up, and bit the bullet, asking, “And what god are you?”

But it was Xiao-ge who answered, stealthy as a cat creeping up on them, regarding Xiao Er Ye with a warm gaze, “Qinguang Wang”.

Pangzi choked. “What?”

The God of death and misfortune ducked his head, then smirked impishly, leaning into Pangzi’s personal space. Neatly, he swung Pangzi around to face forward, and rested his with an arm over Pangzi’s shoulders. “And you’re a Priest now!”

Pangzi stopped dead. “What.” He blinked, raised a hand to his chin, and asked carefully, “Are there perks?”

The god’s laughter pealed out, obnoxiously loud. Xiao ge’s lip twitched upward. He glanced at Pangzi, and intoned, nodding gravely, “Do well.” He resumed his walk ahead of them.

Pangzi shrugged off the—his god’s arm and stomped after him, “And what is that supposed to mean? I haven’t even agreed to this yet!”

. . .

Pangzi insisted that the shrine have a full size kitchen and more than one Hello Kitty egg timer.

Fin

#noragami #noragami au #the lost tomb #wu xie #pangzi #xiao ge #fic #dmbj fic #dmbj #god dmbj au #just for fun #should be researched more #sorry it's not very thorough #not used to writing fics #other things but not fics

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that-bi-bitch-writes · 3 years

Text

Wanda + Vision +[Name??]

So I wrote this all just now and I wanted to actually follow the entire Wandavision series so this should be done after 9 maybe 10 chapters. This chapter is very very very awkward and I did that on purpose because I wanted to write in the style of an outsider who is describing what’s happening.

If you watch Wandavision you know there are times when you’re watching Wanda’s show and times when you’re watching the miniseries on Disney + and it’s usually signified but the borderlines on the tv. Well I don’t have borderlines but I can switch up writing styles. When it’s awkward think of the parts that Wanda has edited and aired on tv herself. Almost as if sometimes I(as the author) am on the outside of the hex.

There are very minor changes to the original details so you can skim if you’d like but then ending from the weird spacing part down is important.I hope you Enjoy!

Chapter One: Filmed in front of a live studio audience.

The Screen is in black and white as a theme song plays over a montage of a car driving into town. In it sits a man in a suit and woman in a white dress. From the sign and the cans dragging from the back of the car, the two driving are a cute and apparently newlywed couple.

“A newlywed couple just moved to town. A regular husband and wife who left the big city to find a new life. Wanda Vision”

The man, apparently Vision, steps out of the car as his wife Wanda points toward the house’s for sale sign and zaps it so it says sold. He lifts her in his arms and carries her towards the door but phases through as she drops on the ground shaking her head in disapproval with a smile on her face.

“She’s a magical cal in a small town locale. He’s a homie who’s part machine. How will these two fit in...”

Vision opens the door and picks Wanda up once again. He successfully phases through a small chair while holding her in his arms. Vision puts Wanda down and they begin to dance as the credits roll over their faces.

“Wanda Vision” the theme song finishes as the screen fades to black. The scene changes and Wanda points at several things and they begin to levitate in the style of an old time visual effect. As she puts the levitating plates away Vision walks through the kitchen with his nose in the newspaper. A plate crashes over his head.

“My wife and her flying saucers”

“My husband and his indestructible head” cue the laugh track.

Wanda reads off the menu of a human man’s dreams as vision stares boredly into the newspaper. He reminds her she doesn’t eat. She jokes.

“Wanda?”

“Hmm”

“Is there something special about today?”

“Well I know the apron was a bit much dear but I am doing my best to blend in”

“No no there on the calendar someone’s drawn a little heart. Right above today’s date”

“Oh yes the heart.” Her voice pitches “Well don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Vis.”

“Forgotten? Oh Wanda I’m incapable of forgetting I remember everything and that’s not an exaggeration. In fact, I’m incapable of exaggeration.

The two go back and forth as it becomes more and more obvious that neither one of them knows what’s going on. To get out of the conversation Vision heads to work and Wanda reminds him of his robotic look. He shakes his face as sparkles appear. He heads off to work and Wanda comes closer to the calendar. It is August 23rd and she just can’t seem to remember what’s going to happen. She hears a knocking noise before the screen glitches. No picture comes up but a distinct phrase can be heard. “Happy Birthday to me”

The picture clears up and Wanda is interacting with a cheerful woman who introduces herself as Agnes. Agnes jokes with Wanda and presents her a plant before asking Wanda questions that just can’t seem to be answered. Not without magic of course. Questions about the occupants of the home, how things became so settled and why the date could be so special to the newlyweds. Agnes asks if it’s a birthday and Wanda refuses assuredly although she is very wrong. With Agnes’ prompting Wanda decides it is her anniversary and should do something special to keep Vision happy. Wanda agrees.

Vision is seen finishing work as he attempts to fit in, but he finishes his workload so quickly it is kind of odd. His coworker Norm stares in astonishment and offers to help Vision in any way. Vision in his confusion wants to know what exactly they do there. He seems to just know what to do at certain moments but he doesn’t know how or why. It is kind of… odd. Norm and Vision go through a pointless conversation because neither of them know exactly what is going on and Vision reacts poorly to one of Norm’s jokes. In his solution Norm asks Vision to vent his frustrations. In the middle of their conversation Vision’s boss Mr Hart tells Vision he is excited for their dinner because if it doesn’t go well Vision will be fired. Vision assumes that is what the heart is for and assures him everything will go smoothly before looking off in worry.

Wanda and Agnes are discussing what Wanda can do to enhance their anniversary evening. Wanda rightly inquires about the seduction techniques she should be putting into place. The phone rings and Wanda and Vision begin talking about their plans for the evening. Vision says he’s nervous for the evening and Wanda feels flattered. Vision suggests that the evening is of utmost importance and Wanda gets nervous implying that it is only one night. The two seem to think they are on the same page but neither of them is reading the right book. Wanda seems to think a seduction technique is required, and Vision assumes his wife is waiting at home ready to impress his boss.

Vision arrives home with the Harts and calls out to Wanda who comes around in a shawl and places her hands over Mr Hart’s eyes. It isn’t until Vision comes out of the kitchen that she realizes her mistake. They clumsily cover Wanda’s mistake by implying it is from her European culture. Mr Hart implies that he is hostile towards communist Europeans and his wife chides him. Wanda and Vision meet in the kitchen to straighten out their misunderstandings. Vision is obviously really intrigued by Wanda’s outfit and keeps circling back to it. Wanda realizes there needs to be a home cooked meal on the table. Flashing a dress onto her body she calls over Agnes to bring over some food.

Mr Hart and Vision are chatting in the living room and Mrs Hart gets a little antsy hoping to help Wanda in the kitchen so she’d have something to do while the boys talk business. Agnes makes a lot of noise in the kitchen so Mrs Hart is very inclined to help. After Wanda shows Agnes out Mrs Hart opens the shutters to the kitchen. Vision draws her attention by singing. Not horribly but very obviously strained. By singing he entertains Mrs Hart but Mr Hart is not at all please. Wanda becomes overwhelmed and her powers start to cause accidents. She forgets things and shouts leaving Vision to cover for her. He comes into the kitchen to help as Wanda switches out with him. The Hart’s are starved and do not feel very happy with their visit to Wanda and Vision’s household. Wanda very poorly distracts them and Agnes knocks on the door causing further confusion.

Wanda walks into the kitchen with a mind to fix everything. She magics up breakfast for dinner and serves it up as Mr Hart begins to doubt vision and doubt his management skills. Everything is done just in time and all four sit down to eat. Mrs Hart goes on a similar line of questioning like Agnes and asks Wanda questions she simply does not have the answer to, like how long they’ve been married, why the move and why they don’t have children. Neither Wanda or vision can answer the questions and Mr Hart escalates the situation by continuously questioning the newlyweds. Mrs Hart tries to deescalate the situation but is no help. As Mr Hart becomes more and more indignant he chokes. As if he’s joking Mrs Hart demands he stop it.

The longer the choking goes on the perspective changes. Mrs Hart no longer demands her husband stop and turns to Wanda as she pleads. Her smile does not change but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The camera pans to a confused Vision, then Wanda and back to Mrs Hart. Wanda asks Vision to help Mr Hart and he phases his hand through the man’s throat to pull out a chocolate covered strawberry. The ones Wanda left in the kitchen before preparing dinner. When he recovers the Harts leave. Mrs Hart ushering them out with a joke. Suddenly Mr Hart is proud of Vision and suggests Vision may be getting a promotion. The Harts interaction with Wanda is strange but with Vision they talk almost normally. When the two finally leave, Wanda sighs and Vision reverts to his normal form.

Wanda points out that the two of them are an unusual couple that don’t have an anniversary or a song or wedding rings. They designate August 23rd as their anniversary. Their song becomes yakkity yak. Vision asks Wanda to make them rings and when she waves her finger they get rings dedicated to each other and say I do. They kiss and Vision presses a button and the live studio audience cheers them on. The credits appear to roll as Wanda and Vision’s faces are framed in a hexagon. Then the music suddenly stops and they look at each other. Almost as if her magic was delayed another set of rings appear on their fingers and their front door opens.

“Happy Birthday to me and Happy Anniversary to you my loves”

Wanda looks at the door in surprise and alarm. Vision has another one of those moments where he just knows exactly what to do and turns towards the door. He uses Wanda’s hand to help her up off the couch and leads her to the door. She follows trusting her husband. Vision walks up to the man and using his free hand to grab the man’s face he leans in and kisses him.

“Happy Birthday [Name]. I love you”

[Name] turns toward Wanda and gives her a brilliant smile. “Happy Anniversary Wanda.”

Wanda is confused yet charmed and she thinks about the second ring on her finger. She looks [Name] in the eyes and smiles a genuine smile. “Happy Birthday [Name]” and as she leans in to give him a kiss, the cameras fade to black.

#x male reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x male reader #wanda maximoff x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #wandavision x male reader #wandavision x reader #vision x male reader #vision x reader #wandavision #that-bi-bitch-writes

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tessiete · 3 years

Note

"You’re burning up” for Obitine BUT ONLY IF YOU WANT TO! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

FOR YOU? ANYTHING!!! But only if you like it. If you don’t like it, please immediately erase this from your memory so we can still be friends. Anyway, there’s meant to be some stuff in here about the fever of first love, and like passion and fire and stuff, but it’s also just them bitching at each other so....I TRIED.

I love you!

IT CANNOT HAPPEN TWICE

“You’re burning up.”

“Remove your hand from my face before I remove it from your person.”

“I only meant to say that we can rest,” he explains, watching as Master Jinn forges on ahead, clearing a path through thick brush. “If you need to.”

It is safer here, out in the wilds, than on the road, the stretch between Mircine and Kar’Marev known for kidnappings, hunters, and corpses, but Satine will not be bowed.

“We may if you need to,” she spits. “I am perfectly capable of continuing without breaking, though I would not begrudge any weakness of yours.”

He grits his teeth, and she holds his gaze, steady and fever bright, the heat of her presence grinding him into deference out of respect for her position, for his master, and for the basic tenets of the Code - a Code which he seems to remind himself of continuously these days. Certainly, he has become more familiar with the first precept than ever before. He is intimate friends with it, having meditated on it for hours with no great success. There is no emotion.

“Of course, your Grace,” he says. His bow is shallow and poorly done, the curve of his lips equally false, but she says nothing. “I was only trying to help.”

“Thank you, padawan,” she says, then turns and marches on.

He catches up with her at sundown, hours later, and her condition is not improved. She stumbles along behind Qui-Gon, head bent, eyes on every next step. Her breathing comes in ragged gasps, and Obi-Wan can’t help the worried glances he keeps throwing at Qui-Gon’s broad back. He frets at the strand of shared consciousness between them, like he frets at the hem of his sleeve, and when it’s finally gone dark, he approaches his master where she cannot hear them.

“She’s ill,” he says, with no attempt at a conciliatory preamble.

“I know,” says his master. “I had hoped we might reach Kar’Marev tonight, but it is later than I thought. And I dare not brave the open plains past dusk. Not like this.”

“Then we’ll rest for the night?”

“We will,” Qui-Gon says. “Though I fear it will not help us much.”

“Master?” He shuffles nearer, and Qui-Gon speaks even lower to be certain of their confidence.

“The duchess is ill,” he says. “And if her fever persists she shall not be able to continue tomorrow. If it breaks, she shall be too exhausted to proceed. Either way, our efforts will be in vain, and worse - foolish. We gain nothing by gaining ground on foot only to lose it in body.”

Obi-Wan glances behind him as the duchess stokes the embers of their fire, banked low so as not to draw attention. She coughs, and it sounds as though it catches on every ribs, rattling and severe.

“Is it so serious?” he asks. “We are at least a day’s walk from help in any direction. What if she gets worse?”

Qui-Gon huddles close, scratching at the edge of his beard. “There is a plant,” he says. “A weed, really, and so it should be in no short supply. If I can find it, we may make a tea of its leaves.”

“A local remedy,” says Obi-Wan, looking skeptical. “Will it cure her?”

“It might alleviate the worst of her symptoms.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “Show it to me, master,” he says, closing his eyes to search out the gossamer impression of light and colour in the Force. But his master frowns, and holds him at arm’s length.

“No, Obi-Wan,” he says. “I shall search. You must stay here, and care for Satine.”

“What? But master, surely it is better that I go!”

“I know what I’m looking for, where to find it, and how much we need.”

“There are hunters on the prowl -”

“- And the only company worse than yours, should one find her here. Stay, padawan, and watch over her.”

She coughs again, and he throws a doubtful glance over his shoulder before applying to Qui-Gon once more.

“Master -?”

“Be kind,” he says. “And patient. Trust in the Force, and I shall be back soon.”

But Qui-Gon is not back soon, and the night grows cold and dark around them. The creakers in the grass go to bed, and the home world Mandalore hangs heavy in the sky until the clouds come in and shroud it from view. Obi-Wan smothers the fire with sand, the red heat of it glowing bright in the absence of planetlight. He worries it might draw the eye of any unsavory observers, and trusts that Qui-Gon will be able to navigate without it. He can feel him, far afield, illuminating the shadows like starlight falling softly over leaves, and moving father still.

“Do you think Master Jinn will return before dawn?”

Satine sounds miserable, her voice crackling in place of tinder. She clears her throat, and clutches her thin cloak more closely about her.

“I hope so,” he replies. “Maybe sooner.”

“I had not thought reconnaissance something so eagerly done at night.”

They had decided between them it would be best to keep Qui-Gon’s purpose from the duchess. Qui-Gon had said that she was already struggling under the weight of so many expectations of infallibility that one breach might be enough to topple her. Obi-Wan had simply desired an evening free of insufferable debate. If Satine suspected either reason, she would be offended, so Obi-Wan shrugs, and unrolls his bedkit.

“Master Jinn felt it would be better if he used the cover of night to clear our path than simply hope we don’t stumble across some hive of villainy in the daylight.”

“And you agreed with him?” she says.

“I trust him,” he says, unflinching. “Master Jinn is very experienced in matters of this nature, and I trust him to lead us safely.”

“So long as the Force wills it,” she mutters. It is not his imagination that some bitterness sours the air, then, and he feels it twist against his spine, drawing him stiffly upright to counter her.

“Yes,” he says. “But you seem to be labouring under the presumption that trust in the Force is tantamount to resignation to our fate.”

“Isn’t it?” she demands. Her eyes are bright, and her cheeks flushed pink and raw.

“Isn’t pacifism?” he retorts. “Or would you contend that laying down arms in the face of violence and oppression a brave choice?”

A twig snaps in the distance, but Obi-Wan feels no danger stir in the Force. Foolish - for she scowls at him, baring her teeth like a feral strill on the hunt.

“What do you know of bravery, padawan? You have always been at heel, always in the shelter of your Order, and your Temple, and your Master Jinn. You know nothing of fear.”

“And you know nothing of me,” he snaps. “But I would fight. I would sacrifice everything for what I believe is right. I would die for it.”

“And so would I.”

“I would kill for it,” he says, and she is silent. He feels his victory at hand, and her silence. his reward. Finally. “Don’t speak to me of bravery. You have fine ideals, and beautiful dreams, but I have seen the galaxy, and I know what it is to face villains who would destroy everything you love simply for the sake of seeing you suffer. I would not wish that on you, but your pacifism will not save you from it. I’m sorry, but I cannot see peace for your warrior kind.”

Satine sniffs. She coughs. He feels a sharp tug in his chest, looking at her already so weak and downtrodden by illness, and now battered by his own unruly emotions. But then she throws back her head. Her hair is lank, the lily-white gold of its strands turned dusty with neglect, but she is somehow regal still.

“We are not violent by nature,” she declares. “Our cultures, our traditions - there is more to Mandalore than bloodshed. And there is bravery in standing bared and open with nothing but peace, our shield between life and death. A blossom is just as noble as a blaster. More, for it thrives in harmony and gentleness. It lives, it grows, it seeds, and grows again. A blaster can only destroy. Would you have me wish that for my people?”

“I do not know your people.”

“Then do not speak for us,” she says. “I may not have seen the galaxy as you have, but I know Mandalore. Pacifism is not passivity. It is still the warrior’s way.”

Obi-Wan kicks out the end of his coarse bushcover, straightening the edges, and smoothing away bumps that rise up beneath the narrow mat. He says nothing as she coughs, not even when the next fit lasts for more than a minute. He only folds his rucksack so that his spare stockings and pants may act as a pillow, and cushion the edges of rations and various other instruments of use. He sits. He pulls off his boots, and aligns them neatly beside his bed. His stockings are next, and he lays them flat to dry in the open air of the forest. At last, the choking and sputtering behind him fade, and he lies down with his back to Satine.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Master Jinn?”

“No,” he says, closing his eyes. “And I wouldn’t advise you to, either, though I know nothing I say has any weight with you.”

“But what if he needs help?”

“Then I don’t suppose your being awake will have particular value there, seeing as you won’t lift a finger to defend him.”

He can hear as she surges to her feet, and kicks at the little rise of buried fire. Bits of sand and ash scatter at his back, but it is only a bluff.

“You’re insufferable,” she says.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he assures her, pulling his coverlet up high, and nuzzling against his pack until it cradles his head just so. It is a warm night, and the earth still holds the heat of the day. The insects of Harswee have been until now a mannerly bunch, and Obi-Wan hopes that this resolution will last the night. He has already suffered enough.

He waits until he hears Satine unroll her own kit, kick off her shoes, and lie down before he releases a deep breath, and relaxes into the Force.

When he wakes, it is still dark. The air has turned cold, and Qui-Gon has not returned. Instinctively, as though still a child in the creche, he reaches out to his master, first, worried that it is some disturbance there which has stirred him from his rest. But no. Qui-Gon still burns, an effulgent flicker of light somewhere out on the plains, and Obi-Wan feels a sense of comfort and reassurance pass over him like a zephyr of thought. The problem does not lie there.

Instead, he finds it lying six feet away on the other side of the smothered campfire.

Satine’s fever has gotten worse. She shivers on the ground so loudly her teeth chatter, and her shoulders shake. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her, the thin coverlet strained with the desperate desire to provide some heat. Obi-Wan kneels to press his hand to her brow, only to find her skin slick with sweat.

“Oh, Force, Satine,” he says, shaking her awake. She looks at him with glazed eyes, but her frown seems instinctive, for it falls into place immediately upon recognition.

“I thought I said don’t touch me,” she says. There may be fire in her, but it is raging through her blood and her skin, and her words come out as thin as smoke.

“Your fever is worse,” he says.

“I know,” she replies.

“You should have said.”

He hurries back to his kit, throwing aside the cover and tripping over his boots in his haste to reach his rucksack. The careful work of folding and primping forgotten as he pulls it apart to find a small canteen of water and a packet of electrolytes. He tears the packet with his teeth, and dumps its contents into the liquid, shaking it, before returning to Satine’s side. With all the gentleness of newborn things, he slips his hand beneath her neck and raises her to rest against his chest. She protests feebly, but she cannot fight him, and when he brings the water to her lips she drinks as bidden.

“Small sips,” he says, one arm wrapped around her back to brace her, the other steadying her hand on the canteen. “You must stay hydrated.”

She nods, but pushes the drink away.

“Satine -”

“I can’t,” she whispers. She wilts against him, her head tucking itself into the crook of his neck beneath his chin. Her breath is hot against his throat, her body hotter still where he can feel the warmth of her fever radiating through the thin layer of her clothes where they touch. He puts the canister on the ground, propped up in the dirt but still within reach.

“Obi-Wan,” she murmurs. “I’m so cold.”

“Alright,” he says, and he reaches forward to drag her coverlet from where it lies crumpled at her feet. “You’re alright.”

He pulls the blanket up over her shoulders, and wraps her in his arms. She responds to his touch in a manner so differently than usual he can feel his heart stutter and stop in confusion. Burrowing deeper, she nuzzles her cheek against his chest, and folds her arms between them.

“Hush,” he says, rubbing wide circles over her back, the friction of his palm against the cover doing little to soothe her tremors, but doing much to calm his own uncertainty.

“Is Master Jinn returned yet?”

“He will soon,” he says, though Master Jinn is still distant and cool.

“Do you promise?” she asks. She has never asked for his word before, never solicited his opinion, or sought his comfort. He pulls back to look at her face, certain he is being mocked somehow. But her eyes are closed, and her face slack with exhaustion. She tilts her chin, until her throat is bared, and she waits for him to speak.

“I promise,” he says.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I trust you. Will you wake me when he does?”

“I promise,” he repeats, staggered by this turn she so easily concedes to.

“And will you stay with me til then?”

He tightens his arms around her, cradling her head, and holding her close so that she might be warmed by the heat of his own body.

“I promise,” he vows.

And in the dark, he waits, and he watches, and he holds her until the sun comes up.

#obitine #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #qui-gon jinn #year on the run #my fic #please #nobody look at how many of my fics end with someone promising to stay until someone else wakes up #i don't know what's wrong with me #i swear i sleep alone just fine #and i don't think i ever made anyone promise this when i was a kid #idk #NO JUDGING #star wars #prompt fill

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m-y-fandoms · 4 years

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[Aoi Asahina, Sonia Nevermind, Chiaki Nanami, Rantarou Amami, Ibuki Mioda] x reader imagine: comforting an insecure guitarist s/o after their band plays live

Request: Oh my god, are DR blogs coming back again?? This is the third new one I've found this month!! Really happy about that. Great writing so far by the way! Could you maybe do Asahina, Sonia, Chiaki, Rantaro, and Ibuki (separate) comforting an insecure, guitarist S/O after they just performed a live show with their band? And like, the S/O is really worried that they sucked even though they did well? Oddly specific, I know. Would appreciate it though! Cheers!

OMG I NERDED OUT AND HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH CHIAKI’S, POINTS TO THE FANS WHO GET THE REFERENCE, though it’s an easy one Nishishi~

Thank you for this imagine request and being so specific about what you want while still giving me a lot of creative freedom! I immediately had some simple but cute ideas about this! - Mod Kokichi

Gender Neutral reader, a few brief lewd humorous lines, but SFW otherwise.

Aoi Asahina

- You were nervous, pre-show jitters shuddering through your body, but you couldn’t back out now.

- Not when your super hot, super excited, super supportive girlfriend had hyped you up just before the show.

- “Stage fright?! How’d you even get into a band in the first place with that mentality?!” Hina teased you backstage, mere moments before going on out to preform. She saw you chuckle nervously, not taking her joke as well as she’d hoped.

- She took your hand firmly. “Look, you know that face you love, the one I make when I’m thinking about pastries?” She continued.

- “The one that makes you look like a chipmunk?” You answered flatly.

- “I don’t agree, but yes! That one! When you’re scared up there, imagine me doing that face! Or better yet, I’ll be front row, in the V.I.P. standing section anyway. Just look for me there!” With a peck on your cheek, she gave you a determined look before pushing you toward the stage and disappearing.

- “H-hina!” You stuttered, but it couldn’t be helped, it was time.

- To your surprise, the nervousness went away as your band was about half way through the first song.

1. The attention is mainly on the lead singer.

2. You were focusing on playing too much to fully take in the screaming crowd.

3. You were actually enjoying yourself.

- As the first song ended, however, the music fading out and the crowd going wild, you felt that little pinch of panic settle back in. There was no music to focus on and protect you, just a hundred faces to look out upon.

- Your eyes darted back and forth over the audience, searching. Your breathing came out a little heavier, until your eyes landed on a lean, curvy, athletic figure, with tanned skin and a smile sweet like honey...no, like doughnuts

- She put her hands up near her face like paws, closing her eyes in an open-mouth smile. You smirked, nodding and strumming your strings once again.

- At the end of the show, fans flooded to the hallway that connected the venue’s main hall to the dressing rooms backstage, reaching out to try and grab band members, hoping to take how an autograph or lock of hair as a souvenir, and you rushed through, sweating and ultimately disappointed with the overall performance you put on that night.

- Hina was already waiting in your temporary dressing room for the night, standing and throwing her arms around your neck before praising you endlessly.

- “S/O, that was amazing! That third song, I felt like the bass shook the place! It was intense, like the final lap in a freestyle race, you know?! We gotta bring Sakura next time. I think she’d really get into the pull of the steady rhythm!” Her little dramatic expressions, her brow knitted together passionately as she spoke...she reminded you every day why you fell in love with her.

- “You...you really liked it? I thought I was kinda just going down further and further in quality as the show went on. I felt like shit by the end…”

- “Are you kidding me! It was fantastic. I think the whole audience was immersed. I know I was! Hey...you better not have all these groupies flocking you looking for a piece tonight!” She teased, hugging your arm!

Sonia Nevermind

- Sonia was extremely excited to go to a public concert. Anything that brought her closer to commoners, to feeling like she belonged around ordinary people was just swell to her.

- Even better that it was in a country foreign to her, where she could be immersed in the cultural norms and behaviors.

- Even better that she was watching the one she loved play.

- She was afraid that you’d judge her when she first admitted her love for the occult, horror, and all things gothic and metal.

- You thought that was pretty hot.

- So there she stood, in the front row of your concert, in a poofy green dress with expensive jewelry and accessories decorating her frame. She stuck out like a sore thumb, but Sonia, blissfully unaware, felt like one of the normal people.

- She jumped when the crowd did, her fist in the air, entranced by each note that came from your instrument.

- Sweaty metal-heads and ravers bumped into her endlessly in the tightly packed crowd, and she couldn’t care less.

- You looked amazing up on stage, and she felt like she was a part of some fan fiction she read once.

- You know the trope, where the reader is in the crowd at a famous band’s concert reluctantly, and her favorite member locks eyes with her and either pulls her on stage with them or takes her backstage after the show and ravished her!

- And she felt her love for you and your musical talent swell within her heart.

- After the concert, she met you outside the back door of the venue, and you were shocked silent at her appearance.

- “S-Sonia are you okay??” The tights under her dress were ripped, her bracelet missing some jewels, the bow tie falling out of her blonde locks, which by the way looked like a rat’s nest. Topping the look off were the pit stains under her arms and in the valley of her cleavage.

- “I’m sorry. I knew this would be a shitty experience. I shouldn’t have brought you. The music was bad anyway, huh? I shouldn’t practiced more.” You looked down in shame, before she nearly tackled you, her arms around your neck and kissing you everywhere, up and down your face and neck and chest.

- “D-do not say these things! Tonight was the b-best night of my life!!!” she sputtered, too excited to enunciate. “You looked like a hero in this J-Drama I watched years ago! Like the protagonist Sawayama Keito!! And I??? I was your romantic love interest, the plain Jane in the crowd, Ito Aiyaka!”

- “You really enjoyed it that much?” You could smell the body odor and adrenaline pouring off of her, very un-princess-like, but you couldn’t care less, grinning like a fool.

- “I love you, Sonia, you crazy kid.”

- “Play for me again tonight, in the dorm room…” she spoke desperately.

Chiaki Nanami

- Chiaki did not want to be in that crowd that night.

- A short, skinny, lazy, introverted girl at a live concert full of rabid fans and no seats? Standing room only?

- She briefly mentioned this to you days before the show, not wanting to hurt your feelings. It was something mentioned in passing, in her normal flat and tired tone.

- “I hope I don’t get stepped on...maybe I can bring my Gameboy and play when things get too wild?” She mused, leaning back on you as you prepared to start practicing on the edge of the bed next to her.

- You loved Chiaki, and you knew how to take her hints by now.

- “Chi, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know crowds aren’t your thing.”

- “No, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she smiled that lazy, half-lidded smile. She loved you too, and she wasn’t about to be the only one on campus not there to support you. She yawned and took your guitar from your hands before falling asleep on your lap.

- You thought the gesture was cute, but inside you were a bit irritated. You’d told her many times prior to that night that you needed all the practice you could get, and that you were afraid of bombing. So why would she purposely stop you in the middle of practicing?

- Oh well. You leaned back, memorizing chords and lyrics in your head until you, too, passed out

- The night of the concert, Chiaki stood in the front row, her backpack strapped to her front, oddly snug on her chest and obviously on backwards, but it was easier to access her Gameboy and fidget toys in case she needed to retreat from the overwhelming noise.

- She told herself they were just for emergencies. She was there for you, and frowned thinking about how you’d feel if you looked down off the stage and saw her not paying attention.

- People piled in, and soon your band came on stage. The lead singer introducing you all.

- Chiaki was already feeling like the ceiling was lowering, like the people around her were far too close, and looked down, hoping seeing just the dark venue floor and her shoes would calm her, one hand on her backpack for security.

- “Oh!” She gasped, her little bangs flying up and her eyes widening like saucers as the lead singer sang the first notes. Three notes, that’s all it took.

- “Aha~aha ah ah...ha~uh huh huh…” the lead singer breathily voiced into the microphone, and Chiaki smiled wider than she had in months.

- You met her eyes on stage knowingly, smirking at first, then suddenly anxious that you might slip up or disappoint her. You strummed two loud, vibrating notes, stern and piercing through the air.

- Again the same two notes, before you joined the singer by the microphone, inhaling before singing in harmony:

- “In you~ and I, there’s a new land~ yeah~he heah!”

- She relaxed, tilting her head back as the sound waves overtook her.

- “Angels in flight~”

- “My sanctuary. My sanctuary, yeah~”

- You didn’t tell her you’d be doing covers that night. Video game covers, nonetheless. Her head shot up, looking at her phone quickly. She looked at the date.

- February 14th.

- Man, she spaced out often…but this…

- She blushed furiously, and her eyes locked with yours. You grew nervous, playing even harder. She swooned and let herself get lost in the bass.

- You played iconic video game themes all night, and by the end, Chiaki was more overwhelmed and exhausted then she’d ever been, but in a good way.

- When you walked into your dressing room back stage with flowers you had hidden earlier, she accepted them with a flush of her cheeks.

- “You didn’t need to do all that...s/o...this was…”

- “Y-you didn’t like it? I was nervous for a month planning this gig. I know I’ve still got a ways to go with playing live but-“

- “I loved it.”

- “What?” You weren’t convinced.

- “I loved it. Every second. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift, I didn’t even realize.”

- “Gifts don’t mean anything to me, Chi. You’re all I need.” you pulled her into your chest for a tight embrace. “You’re My Sanctuary.”

Rantarou Amami

- Rantarou was so excited about seeing your debut concert, snatching the tickets as soon as you presented them to him.

- “Can I bring along my sisters, too, S/O? They’ve been wanting to hear you play ever since I first mentioned that you were in a band.

- “Of course, but...I don’t know why they’d wanna all waste a Saturday night on my shitty band. We don’t even play that well ye-“

- “Silence!” He picked you up by your waist and squeezed you until you couldn’t breath, much less put yourself down with a self deprecating jab. He kissed your cheek playfully. “You’re sexy and the way you play guitar is sexy. I listened you practice all night the other day!”

- “Y-you did? I didn’t even see you!”

- “Huh...” he scoffed, “ maybe because you were lost in your passion, becasue news flash, you’re good at it, stinker!” He pinched your cheek, always knowing how to make you flustered. “Yeah, I heard every single note, and even peaked in once or twice, seeing you stroke those strings so tenderly…” He forced you against the wall, his hot breath against your ear “ I wish you’d stroke me like that.” You face ran hot and you roughly shoved him away, him giggling like a fool.

- “Okay, okay you win, Amami, bring whoever you want!” You stomped off with a huff.

- The day of the concert, the entire front row looked like a field of spring grass, the large family of green-haired siblings shouting before you even began your first song. You shook your head at Rantarou and his many sisters, half-embarrassed, half-flattered. You felt your hands stumble across the strings, Rantarou giving you a thumbs up and a wink.

- After the show, you couldn’t run off the stage any faster. You ran into the staff room backstage where refreshments and spare equipment were usually set out, and were greeted by a row of Amami’s swarming you and praising you, talking much too quickly and all at once.

- Rantarou simply let his sisters flock you, asking you to teach them to play, to help them meet hot musicians you knew, to learn to read music. You felt your ego rise, flustered once again at the hand’s an an Amami.

Ibuki Mioda

- Ibuki shouted to the band backstage, tuning her guitar and hyping up the other members. She noticed you a little out of place, looking a quite queasy and apprehensive.

- “S/O! The hell are you doin’ over there! Hudddddddle up!” She pulled you by your shoulders.

- “I don’t know why I let you force me into joining the music club...I shouldn’t have mentioned my interest at all…” you grumbled.

- Months ago, Ibuki had heard you, her darling and adorable s/o mentioning that you played guitar in elementary school, and wanted to listen in on her band once practice one in awhile. Well, that was the end of that. She decided it was time to freshen up your skills and get you comfortable with the strings again. Now here you were, moments from your first live performance since you were 10 years old.

- “Whaaat! That’s like, a major no no, that low energy, ya dig?!” She held your hand, swinging it back and forth with a feral look on her face. “You’re bitchin’! And Ibuki is bitchin’! And tonight we’re gonna set the stage on fire!”

- The show went on as planned, you and Ibuki on guitar while she screamed into the front mic. Your drummer just barely cut through the vibrations of your combined sound waves, and you buckled down and reminded yourself that with Ibuki at your back, that stage was yours. That audience was yours.

- Plus...who was staring at you when Ibuki was up front, looking like that, acting like that. That passion, that intensity, it’s what drew you to her in the first place.

- The crowd roared viciously, opening up a mosh pit in front of your neon gothic goddess of a girlfriend, and you couldn’t have found her more attractive than you did right now, her arms swinging open, releasing the guitar and simply bellowing into the mic, commanding the hellish pit in front of her like one of the succubi from Gundham’s wild tall tales.

- You suddenly felt so unworthy of her in all her glory, simply providing the backup and harmonies.

- When the show ended, you and Ibuki equally carried each other back stage to the school’s stagehand room, leaning on each other’s sweaty bodies for support.

- “Sheesh, that was straight fire tonight, s/o, huh?! Immolation on the stage, in the fleeeesh!” She shredded an air guitar in front of her before collapsing on a folding chair. How did she still have any energy at all?! You scoffed incredulously. “ Ibuki was worried for a second there, but we pulled it off! I knew we’d be amazing!” Huh???

- “You were worried?” You quickly realized what she probably meant, “Oh...like nervous that I’d mess it up for us?” Her eyes widened, a shocked look on her face as her hands flew up to her hair.

-“What? No! Ibuki was worried about Ibuki~” She grimaced.

- “Why would you ever be nervous, you’re the best musician for miles around.” You drank from a water bottle before tossing it to her. She caught it in one hand, downing it.

- “Hey, Ibuki gets worried too~” She winked at you, a flirty glimmer in her eye as she held up a heart made from her connected hands. “But s/o is Ibuki’s rock! Partners in crime, yeah? No need to worry with you at my back tearing it up!”

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demwhore · 4 years

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Maniac (Mark Lee.)

pairing | Mark Lee x Female Reader | greaser! mark | soc! reader description: After a sudden drink at the West side with your soc friends, alcohol kicked in your senses; showed up at your ex boyfriend’s home, alone, carrying a shovel and a rose. words | 4k genre | young adult fiction, smut warnings | language, drinking, scenes of making-out, violence. this is a problematic fic because it is based on the novel “The Outsiders” a/n | I do not condone the actions depicted in this fic. This is written for fictional purposes only. I dedicate this to @xuxi-rolls [i love u, thank u] to @hyuck-me [hi min thank you!] and @bumblebeenct [thank you for proofreading the trash ver.] this was rushed. i apologize. taglist | @renjunlite @mjlkau @xyyydream @jungcity ps | my muse for this is maniac by conan grey

🔙 main masterlist

There are always two sides of everything. Two sides to every coin. For example, in a neighborhood; there is an east side and a west side. There is a fine line between the two, and that is exactly the world you live in. You are a Soc (pronounced as Soches, or short for Socials), as fancy as it is, that is what they call it. This meant that you lived on the west side of the neighborhood; together with other wealthy Socs. Mainly the jocks, cheerleaders, or snobs. The Socs despised the Greasers, so much— to the point, after seeing one, they would either end up slashing out each other’s throats with their fancy switchblades or to get into an old-fashioned fist-fight.

Greasers. One world but it possesses a lot of definitions. Quite notorious. They were known to be problematic, criminals, a bunch of chaotic guys who always flunk their classes just to smoke and drink, hair literally drenched in grease with leather jackets and ripped jeans. A typical James Dean. They are situated on the East side of the neighborhood. Considered poor, not low-class but, poor, poorer than any Socs, poorer than any of the people alive. They merely survive by committing crimes, or when they are lucky enough— jobs at gasoline stations.

Greasers. People who have trouble chasing after their tails, and adding to the list, they really have a distinct vocabulary. Which always surprises you. “What’ya try’na do Soc?”

Greasers were known for their bad reputation but even so, you ended up falling in love with one. His name was Mark Lee. It all started when you were about to head home from a night out at the drive-in theater, when Jacob, a Soc that also went to your school, ended up harassing you to be his girl. Wanting to butter your ‘muffins’ since they weren’t buttered at all. You didn’t know what he was trying to imply, but it didn’t seem right and appeared insulting on your part. Mark’s gang happened to cross the path you were taking, and heard your distressed yells of ‘stay away from me’ that Jacob did not seem to understand. The first meeting with Mark wasn’t that extravagant like how prince Philip met Aurora in the forest, it was rather dark; full of sweat, blood, and switchblades. You heard the yells of Mark’s gang telling him to stay the hell out of the Soc’s business but he could see that Jacob just wouldn’t stop and you were on the verge of tears. Mark knew what to do. He had Jacob down in a second. Jacob tried to fight to get loose; he even did for a few seconds before Mark tightened his hold. Jacob laid still, swearing at the greasers between gasps. Then, things turned bad, when Jacob stabbed Mark’s shin with his switchblade. In the end however, it was Jacob who went home ruined and blue.

“Are you all right, uhm, Socs?” Soc.

You nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

He rubbed your hair, “You’re an okay kid, Soc. Always have someone, some, er--soc join you on yer’ way home.”

Then he left with his greaser friends. Mark was handsome. You hated to admit, but he was. He was the same type of handsome as a young Johnny Depp, if more, he was gorgeous. His hair was jet black, with the signature grease lingering within. He wore his worn-out denim jeans with a leather jacket that complemented his white shirt underneath. You couldn't see his face clearly, but it was full of cuts and bruises. Yes, they were the guys your parents warned you about. Cigarettes and switchblades.

Yet you couldn’t stop thinking about the greaser. You absentmindedly poured toothpaste on your hand instead of your toothbrush; mind too occupied by the young boy you met. You had mentally slapped yourself for being so timid, you could’ve done something nice to treat him for saving you from Jacob, or at least ask for his name. It made you insane, head empty except for thoughts of the greaser. You felt hopeless but fate had other plans, since you both crossed paths, again. This time in a local diner, specifically by the concession stand. You insisted on paying for his strawberry shake and from that interaction, the greaser boy stole your heart. You exchanged smiles and names. You felt conscious under his gaze, intimidated even, but Mark proved that their tough appearance was just a façade. Behind the rugged persona hides a boy; who is carefree, a greaser boy that loved you more than his switchblade and comb.

The months you had together were paradise. He never forced you to embrace the greaser culture, and he’d let you do your thing. You were still the awkward Soc girl who wears beige cardigans over a fitted dress shirt and plaid skirt. Eloquent. Articulated. But ever since you’d started hanging out more on the east side, the soc in you started to fade and Mark didn’t know if he should be boasting with pride or afraid. You learn to spat at people, (which made your mother mortified as to where the hell did you would’ve learnt that? You just answered her with a meek smile) both literally and figuratively, the latter one because you’d seen Mark spit as a smoker and the aftermath is an itchy throat. You were staying up late and the alibi you’d use was studying at Amber’s house. The truth is, you were with Mark and his friends at the drive-in theater, making out till the guards kicked you out.

The memory wasn’t vague. But the movie flashed by the theater’s projector was ‘Rebel without a case’ starring James Dean. It was a good movie, indeed, but you are busy with Mark’s lip at the time. He was more entertaining than the movie you had paid to see. Straddling his lap you found your hands detangling his heavily styled hair. You felt his hands cupping your ass as your lips practically crashed into each other. Teeth to teeth, tongue interlacing. You were timid, but with Mark, it suddenly went away.

Pulling away momentarily you asked “Are you gonna wham, bam, thank you sweetie, me?”

His brows furrowed as his hot breath fanned your face, “What?”

You grinned, “Nothing.”

Mark rolled his eyes, his hands leaving your body as he struggled to remove something from the car’s cabin. He handed you a rose, and you found the ends of your lips twitching. You took the rose from him and shifted your attention to him. His lips were slightly parted, lips red, hickeys all over his neck. Mark was a guy full of troubles yet he was so charming. There was just something in him that made you feel enchanted, maybe it was his candidness. He doesn’t deny that he isn’t the right guy for you but he is willing to change his bullshit, just for you. The gesture made your heart turn somersaults.

“Where did you get this from?”

“Well, I’m a penny short and I oughta buy you chocolates but I’ll be late for our date. Stolen these when old man Ricky wasn’t looking.” He admitted with a frown. Your brows arched up, you weren’t expecting a blunt answer yet there he is. He looked adorable with his eyes practically apologizing for his wrong-doings. A surprised laugh came out of your lips. The laughter from you urged him to continue on talking.

“I might not be rich as the socs in your place but you have my heart and dick.”

You chortled at his statement, “Is that the answer to my statement a while ago?”

“What? The wham, bam?”

“Yeah.”

“Yea, It’ll be cool to play here with peewee.” Mark named his car “Peewee’, a 1950s Chevrolet, 4 door bel air. His lips met yours again, but this time he exerted dominance, cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him. His other thumb stroked your thighs lightly. Mark’s kiss was deep and passionate. The world around you seems to crumble as you are too absorbed with his existence. He nibbled onto your lip, before brushing over the spot with his sinful tongue. The kiss grew urgent, his hands gripping your waist tightly carefully grinding your figure onto his lap. It made him hard and you were already soaking in arousal. He groped your ass making you yelp. You wanted this. To drown in Mark’s kisses. Mark repositioned his seat to make more room for you before he connected his lips again with yours. His touch was innocent, feathery, slightly climbing its way to your dress to touch your inner thighs.

You felt goosebumps all over your skin. His intimate touches, turned your whimpers into quiet moans against his lips, which in turn, made Mark bring one of his slim fingers to your mouth, silencing you.

“You oughta keep your voice down, baby.” He mumbled on your lip. The end of his pink lips tugging a smirk. Despite his warning, you kept going, this time trying to hold into sanity, as the feeling of Mark’s erection sent chills to your spine. You shivered when Mark’s finger wandered to the inner part of your thigh. You immediately pushed your legs apart, allowing his fingers to cup the apex of your thighs, pressing a digit onto your soaked pussy. He played with the elastic band of your panties, then carefully touched your slit. You clit throbbing and eager for his touch.

“You’re soaking wet, damn, all for me?” He cooed. His voice low, lips tickling your ear, “Does it feel good? You wanted to be touched like this?”

“Y-yes, please k-keep going.” You whined, while frantically searching for something to grasp. You arched your hips to get more access to his torturing touches.

He gave you a sly smirk, “I will, because you asked so sweetly, baby.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Then, he immediately slid in his index finger into your entrance. A sigh left your mouth as you felt your walls stretch; something you’ve never felt before. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

If a word could explain what you were feeling at the moment, uncomfortable isn’t the correct word to describe it; rather, euphoric. Mark, at this point, had fully inserted his finger to the knuckles. “No, n-no, keep going, p-please.” You whispered as you took a hold of Mark’s shoulders and gripped them for dear life; knuckles turning white. You choked out when you felt his fingers found a spot inside you. Bingo. Mark chuckled quietly, running his tongue over his lips, the sight before him was divine. You, squirming under his touch while he played with your cunt. He prodded the same exact spot again, this time you had to bury your head onto his shoulders to keep yourself quiet.

“Jackpot, baby.”

“A-ah it f-feels good!”

You squeezed your eyes shut letting the waves of pleasure soak you. You arched your hips to meet his fingers. Letting yourself feel. After one digit, Mark carefully inserted his middle finger, just beside his index. You gasped, it was an unknown feeling; your body twitched momentarily from the sudden sting. Mark met your neglected clit and rubbed it; the sting fading out. You gritted your teeth, ragged breaths leaving your mouth. You felt the arousal building inside you; ready to leave your body. If it wasn’t for Mark’s lips, silencing you, the whole theater would know what you two were doing. He planted a kiss to your cheeks, “You cumming, baby?”

The movie was still rolling, but to you it was just pure noise. You are too engrossed, head clouded, muddled with pleasure. Jim Stark said his great lines, ‘If I had one day when I didn't have to be all confused and I didn't have to feel that I was ashamed of everything’. Mark played with your clit again, his digits busy poking your g-spot, you knew, you were on the edge of coming. Mark pressed your body into his and you trembled against his lap. Your walls tightened against Mark’s fingers. With one last rub, your arousal came, he pulled his fingers away from you. Your panties, now soaking wet. You made a mental note to throw those out to the washer as soon as you go home. Your body collapsed against Mark’s chest. He raised his fingers; wet and glistening with your juice. You felt your cheeks flare when you saw how he popped his fingers onto his mouth, leaving a satisfying groan at the taste of you. You covered your face in embarrassment and felt Mark’s chest vibrate with laughter. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.”

It was fun while it lasted. A typical bad boy and good girl, two teenagers in love. The relationship was almost as perfect for you. You never had arguments with him, because he was so chill about everything you do. Yet then, in the blink of an eye, the relationship turned into a complete fiasco.

Maybe you were too confident that people wouldn’t stick their noses in other people’s business, but they proved you wrong. You were oblivious to the fact that everyone’s eyes were set upon you. Eventually a rumour circulated around the school you and Mark were attending.

“Did you hear about Y/N, girls?”

It piqued your ears. You stopped your tracks to hear the answer, “Her and Mark, that greaser boy, oh God, he’s crazy and drives her mad!”

You were stunned at the outburst. The only person who knows about your relationship was Amber, other than that, your mouth was completely sealed. You opened your locker and grabbed your books. Just as you slammed the door shut, you came face to face with Avril, the school’s queen bee and apparently, Jacob’s new toy. She gave you a sly smirk.

“I never knew you’d be the type to date a greaser. That’s just out of your boundaries, eh?”

You raised your brow, completely facing her, “How did you know about that?”

Her smirk widens, showing sets of teeth with a slight smudge of her violet lipstick, “Good ol’ boy Jacob saw you two at the local drive-in. Next day, he had the rumors circulating like shit.”

You folded your arms to your chest, “Listen, what you’ve heard are all just rumours.”

“Oh yeah? Your brother’s gang happened to be with Jacob that time.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. It was now painfully clear; the night you came home, your brother, Jaehyun, wasn’t already home. When he returned, two hours later, he was panting heavily, cuts all over his face, and he was carrying his favorite baseball bat drenched with mud and a liquid colored crimson; blood. You seized her collar and the people around you gasped at your sudden movements. You hissed while she struggled to remove your grip, “Where the hell is Jacob?”

Avril sniggered, “And why should I tell you? So you can save your wimpy little greaser boyfriend? Well news flash he’s a maniac!”

You held her collar more tightly, holding the fabric close to her neck. Avril gasped for air, her arms flailing. She gave in and choked out, “Locker room.” You pushed her away and her body flung against the lockers. The other students jumped away in fear. You glanced over your shoulder, “He isn’t a maniac Avril. He is more of a gentleman than your misogynistic boyfriend will ever be,”. You trailed away, planning on beating Jacob up with one of your thick algebra books. You could still recall the moves Jaehyun had taught you. Aim at the jaw, because that is the human’s shut off button, and that is what you intend to do.

It didn’t take you long to find Jacob. After a series of turns, you arrived at the boy’s locker room. As you entered, there were few catcalls heard, but you chose to ignore— hey ya, sexy, as it was pointless— boys with their foul words because they never think with their minds. Jacob stood out among the other lads in the room. He was tall, had blonde hair, icy-blue eyes, a jock, and while it was hard to admit, he was really handsome. But he wasn't the right guy, and you were sure, as he never met your standards. His icy blue eyes widened at the sight of your marching figure, the ends of his lips tugging upward. Feeling triumphant as if he’d won his recent football match.

“Do you wish to continue our little rendezvous?” He gave you a lazy grin. You stopped your tracks and tilted your head a little bit higher to match his gaze. If books could give an exact definition of Jacob, he could be compared with Ares, the god of war; As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals. But strangely, a coward, too, who bellows with pain and runs away when he is wounded. Jacob only knew how to fight, it's a giveaway, with his nice fit and physique. But he plays dirty and hides underneath a girl’s skirt when he knows he fucked up. He is too much of a coward, never using his brain, rather letting his dick think for him. Him and Mark have a gargantuan difference, and for that, loving Mark, was the biggest choice you have never chosen to regret.

“What is this all about Jacob?”

He ran a finger through his slightly damp, golden locks. His brows shot upward, his lip jutting out, as if proving to you, what he did was something you should never be mad about. He shrugged, “I just made a psa.” He leaned down to match your height, “Soc girls ain’t for greasers. I was simply just saving you.”

“You aren’t my dad so you don’t go dictating me what to do and what not to do!”

He raised his left brow, “Hell yeah? I cannot accept the fact you chose him over me, Y/N! Are you fucking insane?”

“No. But I am capable of choosing the people who are best for me.”

“Betcha brother didn’t take the news nicely.”

You gave him a glare and jammed the algebra book to his face. The reason why Jacob spread those malicious rumors about Mark is because he couldn’t accept the fact that you have chosen grease over money. He had an ego to protect and so, he went lashing out, ruining someone else’s image. You stormed out of the locker room to search for your brother. He must’ve gone mad at this point. The thought gave you chills, Jaehyun beating Mark to death. You could recall how he wore his adorning rings earlier in the morning before you both left the house. Those rings had helped Jaehyun beat someone into pulp, almost killing his foe with it. Bullshit. You had algebra at eight, but you have chosen to flunk it. Worried to death, all you could think of was mark.

Jaehyun seized Mark’s now bloodsoaked white t-shirt. Jaehyun felt extreme frustration, he couldn’t control the shaking of his fists as well as the baring of his teeth. Jaehyun made a beeline for Mark’s jaw, and not content with the results; he made another uppercut, straight into the greaser’s gut. Johnny released his hold on Mark’s shirt. At that moment, Mark couldn’t think straight; it was as if his mind had been a finished puzzle and Jaehyun’s assault had it jumbled to pieces. The greaser clenched his stomach; his head was throbbing like hell. He could almost taste the bitter, salty taste of bile. Fucking hell. Jaehyun surely shook the greaser’s system, like literally.

Jaehyun held his wrist and twirled it. He ignored the stinging sensation on his cheek. That wasn’t one of his concerns. His cheeks could wait but his fist couldn't. What Jaehyun hated and was concerned about the most was having a greaser fuck with his sister. It was just an overall no for him. Also, the fact that Jacob blurted out the news while he was in the midst of a football game just made him more of a misanthropic jock wanting to choke the hell out the guy who played with his sister.

Jaehyun breathed. “Stay the hell out of my sister’s life, greaser.”

Mark spat out blood. His voice was hoarse. “Why should I do that?”

“Because I said so.”

“Hell no, soc. I ain’t doing what’cha want, just because y’all want me to.”

Jaehyun’s patience was paper thin and the fact that his day wasn’t getting any better was wearing him down. “You’re testing my patience, huh greaser?”

Jaehyun nodded towards Johnny and the center gripped both of Mark’s shoulders. Mark gulped hard, trying to wiggle his way out of Johnny’s grip, but the guy was just big, he stood no chance.

Jaehyun gritted his teeth. Mark’s eyes trailed down the shiny metal Jaehyun was holding, a switchblade. Jaehyun twisted the blade elegantly in his hands. Mark never felt fear in his life, it was the emotion he had long forgotten. But he stood there, defenseless, with the socs dominating him, all he could do was to wait for his fate, or his death. “Stay the fuck out of my sister’s life, greaser.”

A girl's voice shook the three. “Jaehyun! Stop!”

You stood there disheveled, as if you had just run a few kilometers. Your blouse is crumpled, the first buttons were well, unbuttoned. Your chest rises with every exhale you make. Your eyes trailed at Mark then towards your brother. “Jaehyun, stop.”

Jaehyun glared at you. He never looked at you like that, ever.

His tone was strict. “Go back to your classes.”

“Jaehyun, I-”

“I said. Go. back. To. your. Classes.”

You stood there dumbfounded, staring back at your fuming brother. Then, he yelled at you, snapping you out from your daze.

You fucked up.

Years. You are not allowed to go out alone anymore. The last contact you had with Mark was the time, he and Jaehyun were ‘talking’. No proper goodbyes, no proper closure. You had blamed Jacob for all of that. You were beyond frustrated, you missed the boy who made you feel like a human, alive, loved. But, now he only exists in your memories. Markie and his goofish car, peewee.

Present time.

“Hey Y/N!”

You squinted. Madonna’s songs played loudly in the local diner. Your vision blurred while trying to find the familiar figure of Amber.

“Hey Y/N!”

“Whaaaaat?!”

You leaned on the diner’s counter. The alcohol had taken a toll on you and all you wanted to do was to dance the night away with Material Girl playing loudly in the background. You pumped your fist in the air, head bobbing up and down, you started to dance carelessly towards the dance floor. Having to drink alcohol had your appendages work on their own. You leaned too far and had your body bumping on someone else’s.

You slurred. “Sorrrry.”

Amber cursed under her breath. “This girl is unbelievable.”

You continued on, singing on the top of your lungs, “I’m a material giiiiirl!”

Amber mustered her strength to grab you out of the dance floor, and to avoid you practically flailing your body towards the other college party-goers.

I made it through the wilderness. Somehow I made it through..

You shoved your body through the crowd to sluggishly approach your car. Head empty, intoxicated with alcohol and all you can think of was Mark.

You pulled over the familiar neighborhood. The darkest pits of the society. You eyed the shovel in your trunk and the rose, a random guy handed to you earlier. You approached the door and pounded harshly on the door.

The door opened with a loud hiss. And the guy you’ve been yearning for, stood before you. He eyes the rose and the shovel in your hands. A slow smirk painted his lips.

“What’ya doin’ here?”

“Mark.”

“I’m done with you. Cause people like you always want back what they can't have. But I'm past that and you know that. So you should turn back to your rat pack, tell 'em trash.”

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