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violetrainbow412-blog · 11 months

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Exchanged clothes [S. R] Bolinus brandaris part. 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k

part 1

summary: a small act of kindness leads to a rather peculiar confession

A/N: Okaay, some people showed interest in a sequel to this and I thought I'd do it, I hope you like it enough. Oh and we are still with baby Spencer, later I will write about the second and third seasons (and as I progress in the series, lol)

taglist: @the-ginger-draws @skievers @c-m-stuff

The days passed, the cases continued, and the level of trust in the friendship between you and Reid only grew. Working at The Behavioral Analysis Unit was complicated and exhausting in many ways, which sometimes made you wonder how he managed to put up with all that, because, although you weren’t an old woman, you did have two years more experience compared to him. It's also not like it was your fault that he was a genius and he went to work for the FBI at an extraordinary age. So every time something happened, you were there for him and he was there for you. The whole team really cared about the two of you (and JJ, the third youngest) while still trusting in your abilities to face challenges. And just like in a family, everyone could also notice the existing tension between you and the doctor, because although, at least on your part, the feelings had been there for a long time, they had become more obvious to the rest since of the trip to Miami.

"Good morning" you had greeted part of the team that day, a few weeks after the trip, more energetic than the others would have expected. Neither Hotch nor Gideon were around, for obvious reasons, so it was only when you passed Reid's desk that you stopped, running your hand affectionately through his hair “Hey, Doc.”

"Hello," he responded immediately. Spencer didn't like it when his hair got messy, but he could take it if it was you, just as he could take your constant hugs or the drawings you sometimes made on his hand when you were bored during meetings. Of everything that happened between you, little managed to bother him, almost as if the interactions he avoided with others were something natural with you around.

Although he had stopped wearing his scarf daily, he still wore it at least once a week as a reminder of how special it was to him, and fortunately that day was the chosen one.

“Do we have a case? Or do I just bury my nose in these reports?” you muttered to the others, but they denied "What of that do you say no to?"

"Today they will be documents" JJ spoke kindly.

"Why do I have so many?"

“Because I passed you some of mine,” Morgan sneered and you gasped, completely offended. You whispered something accusatory in his direction that made Spencer laugh from the next desk, and then he reached over to take just under half the folders.

"I will help you"

"Oh no, no, Reid. It's okay,” you said, your voice softening noticeably, as you placed your hands over his to try to stop him.

"It's nothing, I'll finish them in a jiffy"

"Why don't you ever offer to help me, huh?"

“You manage pretty well on your own,” Spencer teased at your friend, now making you laugh. You still had your hands on his under the excuse of collecting your reports and, perhaps unconsciously, both of you postponed the moment for another few seconds, looking into your eyes with a small smile until he finally managed to keep the material that he had stolen from your desk.

"Thank you," you said, so softly that only he could hear you.

Looking at your coworker had already become something of an obsession. You liked his gestures, how he looked away when he spoke, his nervous ramblings, and the straight hair that he apparently was letting grow, but what you liked the most were his hands. When he was explaining a profile, he always communicated a lot with his body language and honestly, the swaying of his hands, combined with the tranquility in his tone of voice, was very hypnotic to you, as if keeping the attention of others was something inescapable for him, although it was probably easier to keep your attention specifically. Right now, while everyone was minding their own business, you were watching sideways as he ran his middle finger over the printed lines. It made you nervous to see the delicacy with which he moved across the sheet of paper and inevitably your mind traveled to inappropriate corners related to that movement, which embarrassed you to the point of blushing. Thank heavens he was too focused to notice you, so you forced yourself to work on the few reports Reid had let you keep.

The days were very rare when no cases appeared, but you were grateful that they existed because sometimes it was necessary to take a breather. Seeing so many bodies, so much blood and so much inhumanity was something you never quite got used to, although having good teammates in your unit made it more bearable. So that night nothing stopped you from finishing right on time, with a little back pain from sitting all day, but also quite calm.

"I'll see you tomorrow, rest"

"Are you going to your apartment?" Spencer asked, rushing towards you with his coat in hand and the briefcase slung over his shoulder, and you nodded Can you wait for me to go together?”

You looked at him, more confused than you wanted, but you said yes. It's not that you were upset or that you didn't want company, but that you were curious as to why he might have offered to do it.

"Thanks again, for earlier," you said, once both of you were outside. You lived a few streets from the office and you could get there in less than 20 minutes by taking a subway station, which fortunately was the same one he took.

“Okay, they were too many for you. I mean, it's not that I think you can't do the job, you're very capable, it's just that I thought it was too much workload for just you and I… well, I could help you so I did it” with that Reid held up a hand to downplay the matter and smiled at you.

“Why have we never thought about walking to the subway together?”

"I don't know either," he said. You felt a gust of wind hit the both of you so you hugged yourself to try and get some warmth and even though Spencer wasn't the best at reading social cues he managed to figure out what you had and what he needed to do

“Here” he murmured, as he spread the coat and put it on your shoulders.

“Oh no, no, no, Reid. I'm fine"

"In fact, if you don't use it you can catch a cold and although there are very few cases in which there are complications that lead to death, the symptoms last about a week and you can infect several people during the first days, so you not only you would be taking care of yourself but also the rest of the team” he informed you. That made you smile, and you found that behind all his scientific mumbo jumbo, he was trying to take care of you.

"It's a little big on me," you laughed, reaching into the sleeves with some help from him.

“You look pretty” he blurted out from his lips, completely entranced by you “Well, the… the coat. It looks good” he tried to fix, but you laughed at the compliment that you definitely wouldn't pass up.

"Aren't you cold?"

“No, my shirt and vest help,” Spencer replied, showing you the long sleeve of her white shirt. “I also have my scarf, did you forget it?”

"The best choice in all your outfits" you joked, reaching out a hand to feel the soft fabric of the garment and looking at him, with that cute shy smile "What will you do when you get to your apartment?"

“Huh, probably get some sleep. I haven't been resting properly in the past few days."

"Nightmares again?" you sadly asked. Spencer had talked to you superficially about it a few days ago, although you thought that he had suffered from this disease for much longer than he wanted to admit. He didn't answer verbally, he just nodded his head and you thought he didn't want to delve into it “I think I'll spend a while in the bathtub and then I'll sleep. I'm exhausted"

“You close doors and windows before you sleep, right?”

"I do," you assured him.

“Do you also take your cell phone with you to call in case of emergencies?”

"Huh, yeah"

"Good. Take care of yourself” he insisted. Those didn't sound like random recommendations and that puzzled you a bit.

"I do, Reid," you replied softly. When you noticed that the concern in his features did not leave him, you thought it would be prudent to ask him why that was "Are you worried about something?"

"No, it's not that" he hastened to answer. You still had a few blocks to go to get to the subway and only a few passers-by walked the streets, besides you.

“Are they unsub then? Anything in particular that worries you?"

"It's nothing like that. It's just…” he gasped, still unsure to continue, “if I tell you, you'll think it's silly”

"Of course not. Tell me, what is it?" you asked. He was internally debating if he should tell you what he was thinking and he was convinced a little when he felt your hand on his arm, as if prompting him to speak.

“Yesterday I…” he started to say “I had a nightmare. I dreamed when I arrived at the office I found out that something bad had happened to you. And… I don't know, it felt very real and I couldn't get it out of my head” he admitted. You understood that perhaps it was the reason he had wanted to accompany you, as if he feared that someone might stalk you on the way.

“Spence” you murmured gently, as you pulled him a little in your direction to place one hand on his bicep and the other on his forearm “Don't worry, nothing's going to happen to me. My apartment complex has a good security system and I always carry my gun, if something happens on the street, I will know how to deal with it. They're just bad dreams, I have them sometimes too” you said to reassure him. You felt quite comfortable walking in that position and you continued a couple of steps holding him like this, looking for some negative sign from him, but it never came. With the closeness he managed to feel a little less fear, reminding himself that what tormented him were fantasies of his own mind, that if they were analyzed with a little more detail they were an unconscious reflection of how much he feared losing you.

"I told you it would be silly"

"It is not. It's quite sweet, actually,” you smiled, moving your thumb up and down as you smiled at him. In that position your face was at the height of the boy's shoulder and it was enough for him to turn his head to reach your forehead, so he wondered how much you would bother if he left you a kiss there. He wanted to, but held back.

“I just thought I should tell you. For you to be careful"

“Same to you, Reid. You have a rather peculiar ability to get into trouble” you exclaimed accusingly, because in a couple of cases the man had already managed to get on your nerves.

The position turned out to be cozier than you expected and you continued walking the rest of the streets towards the subway in silence. He concentrated on the feeling of your body so close to him and your hands gently holding him, while you lost yourself in thought wondering what you really felt about your coworker and what he felt for you. Spencer would look at you from time to time, analyzing your gestures and enjoying the sight of you wearing his clothes, something he didn't think would affect him the way he did.

“Did you know that railway suicides have a very small percentage in the country's suicide rate?” he told you, while the two of you looked at the subway tracks that you were waiting for. You had had to distance yourself to be able to pay the pennies for the ticket and you had decided to place your hands in the pockets of your borrowed coat, caressing the lining fabric with your fingers.

"I had no idea" you muttered. You were a little surprised that he always had an interesting fact about literally anywhere you were and you loved hearing him tell you “It must be horrible. And very sad"

"Even the government allocates certain resources to pay for psychological therapy for drivers who witness these suicides"

"Well, at least it comforts me to know that part of my taxes ends there," you joked bitterly and the train stopped just as you finished saying it. Reid let you first into the nearly empty car that would take you home, and along the way you continued to talk about less unfortunate things, like the dinner choices you were planning or the TV shows that were likely to be airing when you arrived.

Having those little quiet moments with him made you feel lucky and the laughs he managed to get filled your chest with joy, making you completely forget everything related to work. The voice in the wagon warned that your stop was next and an anticipated sadness invaded you.

“Be…”

"Be careful, I know" you smiled. Since you were already on your feet, so as not to miss your stop, you crouched down to give him a quick goodbye hug “See you tomorrow. Try to sleep and if you have nightmares you can call me, okay?" you muttered. He nodded from his place as he watched you leave towards the platform and leaned out the window to see your figure disappear into the distance.

Neither of you two realized that you had kept his coat until you got home.

As of that night, that coat returned to see the doctor's closet on very few occasions and the purple scarf went on to have joint custody. He had found out that if he loved anything more than wearing the clothes you gave him, it was seeing you wearing them, causing him to come up with totally pathetic excuses to accomplish that.

"It's a bit cold" "Purple matches your clothes" or simply "keep it, it looks better on you than on me"

It soon became a habit. During the cases, when you two were apart, it was a little comforting to have something of him with you and when he came home, he would enjoy breathing in the smell of your perfume impregnated on the fabric.

After a few weeks you realized that, without a doubt, you were so in love with him. And when he realized the same thing, he was completely terrified.

“Reid” you greeted him one morning, catching up with him as he poured himself a coffee and analyzed a piece of bread that had surely been sitting there since the day before. Hugs when seeing him had also become a habit, quite nice from the man’s point of view "I have something for you"

"Again?"

"Oh yeah," you smiled. Lately you had been filling him with small gifts and most of them quite rare, but which he kept suspiciously in his desk drawer. And it's not that he didn't appreciate it, but that he was beginning to feel guilty for receiving so many and not having given you any yet. "Give me your keys," you asked and he obeyed without even questioning you. Once you had them in your hand, you took a strip of colored beads from your pocket that you added as a key ring, while he looked at you with some confusion.

"What's that?"

“My friend asked me to babysit her daughter this weekend and we went crazy with crafts. So I thought I'd do this to you” you muttered. He took a closer look at the keyring and noted that you had included his favorite colors, purple and green, as well as a heart-shaped bead at the end. "I know it looks like a preschool kid's creation and if you're embarrassed to wear it you can throw it away”

"No, I like it. It's pretty,” he smiled, running his long fingers over the beads. Satisfied with the answer, you took out your own keys and proudly showed them to him.

"I have one just like it," you said happily. That was true, only yours was made of pink and blue, and the way you said it completely touched the man.

"You make me think that there is still goodness in this world, you know?" he exclaimed, so sincere and without thinking that he surprised you "I loved it, thank you very much"

"Now that I think about it, it's like one of those friendship bracelets you make at summer camp”

“I never went to a summer camp”

"I don't know why I'm not surprised" you laughed and would have continued the conversation if it hadn't been for Hotch's interruption.

“We've got a case. Conference room in 5”

Sometimes you forgot that the real reason you were there was the criminal profiles and not seeing Spencer Reid every day.

You just woke up one morning and knew you had to tell Spencer how you felt about him. As you said before, Spencer seemed to have a special magnet for trouble and proof of this were the cases in which he had to perform dangerous tasks that you knew no one else could do. When he had to get on that train with Ted Bryar you'd gone crazy and last week when he'd watched that cult boy on Massanutten Mountain threaten Reid with a gun you decided you'd had enough.

He had expressed concern for your well-being on multiple occasions, but what about his? Didn't you have the right to care about him just as much? every time he came back you wanted to throw yourself into his arms and whisper in his ear if he was okay, to maybe leave a kiss or two on his cheeks. But every time he came back you just cheered with the rest of the team and barely had contact with him beyond a squeeze on the shoulder and a sincere: I'm glad you're okay.

So you thought that if you wanted to have that kind of privilege over others the only alternative was to profess your love to him in the hope that he would feel the same way and you could work something out.

Spencer, for his own part, also had his epiphany and as much as he tried to avoid it he ended up asking Morgan for advice, who was the only person he thought would be suitable to talk about this kind of subject. Surprisingly, Derek behaved discreetly and really gave the doctor valuable elements to understand one of the few sciences in which science was almost obsolete: love.

Going back to recently acquired habits, walking together to the subway was another one of them. Sometimes this was interrupted because he or you stayed longer than the other, but except for those cases it was a regular activity.

So that night, when you two were walking to the station, your mind was immersed in remembering the speech with which you planned to tell your friend.

"You're very quiet today," Reid observed, taking you by surprise. In a few months he had already learned very well some traits that indicated that something was wrong with you.

“Sorry, I… I have a few things on my mind,” you apologized, but Spencer didn't know what to say because he also had his own things on his mind. He was desperately searching for a way to put into words what he felt, but he kept wondering, could that be explained? All attempts at reasoning became useless with you near him, maybe that's why he couldn't think of how to tell you "Reid, I don't think I've ever asked you, but have you ever had a partner?"

"Like… couple?" he asked, trying to make sure you were referring to the same thing he thought.

“I know it sounds weird, but it just… made me curious,” you exclaimed, shrugging and then crossing your arms in an attempt to comfort yourself. Reid fondly watched how your arms were on that purple scarf and felt a little motivated to speak.

“Huh, in that case, yes, something like that. I dated two people when I was in school, but it wasn't anything serious, just a few kisses” he explained to you and you failed to contain your laughter, maybe because of the way he had explained it. Spencer blushed to his ears and smiled reflexively at your smile. "Don't tease!"

"I don't" you defended yourself. Another person walked down the sidewalk and he reached out his arm to move you protectively in front of him, so when you came back to his side you took advantage of the distance between you, to the point where your shoulder brushed against his arm.

"And you?" he asked after a while of silence "Have you had many boyfriends?"

"The truth? not so many. With most of them I lost interest after the first date and the others left me when they found out I was in the academy. Apparently armed women aren't very attractive” you smiled. You had asked about his romantic history, and incidentally talked a bit about yours, only to open the topic and somehow feel that your confession would not be so out of place.

“There are studies that indicate that women take longer to fall in love than men, perhaps that is why you lost interest quickly. For you it takes about 6 or 8 dates to decide if you want something with a person, because you are more selective and better analyze personality traits in men. But they only care that the girls are… well, pretty” he murmured, with a smirk “On average it takes women 134 days to fall in love while men only 88”

“How long have you and I known each other?”

"It must be like... a year and a half now" he exclaimed, mentally doing the math "Why?" he continued legitimately confused. For the genius that he was, Reid was naive at times.

You looked down at him and for a second thought that even with those bags under his eyes and the stubble he hadn't shaved, Spencer was the most handsome man you'd ever met. Not receiving an answer, he looked at you and was surprised to see the sparkle in your eyes.

"Okay, can we stop here for a moment?" you asked. You knew you were probably going to chicken out if you didn't say it right then, even if that closed beauty salon you were standing in front of was an unromantic place. "I need to tell you something”

You had said it with determination, but once you were face to face, your mind went blank. You panicked: how were you going to tell him? What was the right thing to say? What reaction did you expect?

But Spencer, noticing the silence, decided to be the first to speak.

“Noradrenaline is a neurotransmitter that produces excitement and effusivity, increases heartbeat, blood pressure, causing sweating of hands and flushing. High dopamine levels generate a need to be with the person that releases it and is related to serotonin, which generates well-being, optimism, social closeness, and reduces discomfort and anger. Phenylethylamine makes everything more intense, makes us feel more motivated and optimistic and finally, oxytocin is the love hormone par excellence, it occurs when we have a bond of trust with people or when we feel a strong attraction. Sometimes it is also released when we embrace the reason for our affection” he had said that so hastily and waving his hands, that he could only show how nervous he was. He inhaled to catch his lost breath, then finally made eye contact with you, taking a moment before continuing, “What I'm trying to say is…you make me feel all of that. You alter my chemistry in ways I've never thought of and… and I… go all goofy and don't know what to say…”

"Spencer" you interrupted him "You mean you like me?" you asked gently, because you knew that when he started to wander sometimes you needed to bring him back down to earth. Reid looked at you tight-lipped and nodded slowly.

You were silent for a second, trying to process what he had just told you, and he got even more nervous than he was.

“But I think that after all this what I care to know is… if you feel the same way. Or in the worst case, if you think you might feel something like this”

“A total chemical mess for you?” you exclaimed amused. One of your hands went to his and you gently held it, taking a step closer to him. “I'm sorry, Reid. I feel it every time I look at you, that you hug me, every time I give you those silly gifts and see the smile on your face. Everything in you causes me that"

"Are you serious?" he asked, wanting to be completely sure what he was hearing. You laughed and wrapped your free arm around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

“Of course I do. Before you said all that I was racking my brain trying to find a way to tell you how I felt."

“Did you know that this is a phenomenon? There are those who call it the tuning fork effect, which is when two people connect the same idea at the same time, almost as if they had been thinking at the same frequency.”

You chuckled and buried your head in his neck, letting go of his hand so you could hug him properly. He wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his head in your hair, willing to say nothing more for fear of ruining the moment. All the fears you had had were being buried with that contact, because now you had the certainty that what you felt was mutual.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours, just listening to the gentle beating of his heart and enjoying the sense of security that being in the man's arms made you feel.

"I really like you" you broke the silence, with a whisper, making him smile.

"I think the most logical step from here would be to ask you out on a date, no?" he muttered. You pulled away enough to look at him, but still leaving your arms around his shoulders.

“I don't want to have to wait. Let's go for a burger"

"Don't you prefer somewhere more... formal?"

"Leave formal places for proposals, handsome," you said in a playful voice, caressing his cheeks with your extended palm and he made a mental note that this Italian restaurant he was thinking of inviting you to would be the ideal place to ask you to take the next step, when the time was right.

“I still have to take you on at least 6 dates, to be sure”

"Fuck the statistics, I don't need that burger to know I'm in love with you," you said and he grinned from ear to ear.

“I know a place with an excellent health label and organic food, it is a few streets from here”

"I follow you" you answered cheerfully "On one condition"

"Which?"

"Let me hold your hand," you asked softly and Reid wasted no time in fulfilling your wish, leading you to the restaurant that way.

And at the end of the night, when you stole a kiss from him, he couldn't have felt luckier.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía

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certifiedskywalker · 3 years

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Breaking - Din Djarin

Anonymous said: Hello, hope your having a good time wherever you are! May I request some mandalorian and the child with a gender neutral who wears a mask and fallows the same kind of never take it off rule? I just really like the idea.

AN: MAJOR SPOILERS for The Mandalorian, Season 2! Also, I stuck with the heart of this request, but I added a little bit more conflict and tension.

From the beginning, there had been one simple rule: never remove the helmet in front of others. In the earlier days, it was an easy rule to follow. Since you and Din were not blood-kin, you had separate quarters on the Razor Crest and never saw each other’s faces. While part of you wondered with a silent ‘what if’, bounty hunting killed any temptation to remove the helmet. If any client or target saw your face, it could be the end of your careers, of your lives.

However, recently, your heart had changed while the rule remained the same. While you had not removed your helmet, you felt a storm brewing in your chest. Grogu made it difficult and, as you had watched Din interact with the Child, your growing feelings for your hunting partner made it all the worse. You never imagined that being faced with a goodbye would hurt you so or cause the storm in your heart to turn into a swirling vortex.

“That’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind.”

Through the dark tint of your helmet’s visor, you watched as Din held Grogu in his arms. You walked up to the pair, completing the clan of three. Din turned to face you as you approached, but quickly turned his attention back to Grogu. The Child’s big eyes shifted between you and your partner as if he were trying to memorize the gleam of the lights in your beskar helmets. You heart ached at the hints of fear in his eyes.

“We’ll see you again,” Din murmured. Even with his voice slight modulated, you heard the strain in his voice. Over the years you worked together, you had picked up on Din’s different tones. There wer small faulterings on each word that told you he was close to breaking.

You set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We promise.”

At your promise, you felt the eyes of everyone on you. Din and the Child were looking to you with hope, even the Jedi rescuer dressed in black eyed you.

“Yeah, we promise,” Din echoed.

Grogu cooed in response and you smiled beneath your helmet. Then, a moment after, a wave of bitter sadness rushed over you. To suppress the tears that gathered in your eyes, you reached a gloved hand out to Grogu and brushed the backs of your fingers against his little green cheek. He cooed again and, when you pulled your hand away, Grogu reached out.

His small, three-fingered hand knocked against Din’s helmet. It seemed the little creature was trying to replicate your movement. Only, for Grogu, beskar blocked his earning for touch. Even after cycles of traveling together, the Child’s curiosity about what lingered beneath your and Din’s helmets persisted. Neither of you bothered to explain the Creed, the simple rule, to him. Grogu’s path was going to lead away from your both anyway; so, why explain it?

Then the mission changed. Then you and Din grew closer and grew attached to the little creature he held in his arms. For a split second, your fingers twitched up, ready to lift the helmet from your head and meet Grogu’s eyes with yours for the first time. Possibly, the last time; but you didn’t, even as you heart began to break at Grogu’s whimper.

You were about to tell him that you were going to miss him when, out of the corner of your visor, you saw Din’s hand lift. His finger gripped the end of his helmet and you turned as Din, your partner, removed his helmet. Your eyes widened at the sight of Din’s face; a face you had wondered about for years was finally exposed, stood at your side.

He had brown eyes.

Grogu cooed and reached his hand up again. He brushed his little green fingers across Din’s scruffy chin. Your heart shattered when Din closed his brow eyes at Grogu’s touch.

He had brown hair too.

Grogu seemed to be reaching for it like a toy. Wild strands stood on end while other were matted down by the weight of the helmet; the weight of the rule. The weight of the Creed. Din opened his eyes and gave Grogu a small smile. He had a nice smile.

“All right, pal. It’s time to go.”

Another whimper from Grogu was enough to force you to peel your eyes from Din’s features. The Child looked as if he were about to cry but you were too in shock to give him words of comfort. You turned your visor back to Din and hoped he would say something. The moment you looked, you were lost in his face again.

You had never seen a fellow Mandalorian cry. Helmets hid the face, fear, and smiles. Din’s helmet had hidden to you how much he truly cared. For, without his helmet now, Din’s eyes were rimmed with tears. He looked as if he were breaking.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Din bent down to let Grogu go. The creature stood then, between you and your partner, with little hands gripping the material of your boots. You tore your eyes from Din once more and met the wide, frightful gaze of Grogu. Part of you wished to reach down, cradle him in your arms, and tell the Jedi to kiss the wrong end of a Snarlacc.

But you were still too in shock, too caught up in Din’s brown eyes and breaking heart to do much of anything. You barely registered when an R2 unit whirred in and entranced Grogu. When you finally came back to your senses, Grogu was held in the Jedi’s arms as doors to the lift shut before them. Then, with Grogu gone, a new weight settled in.

You turned to face Din, whose gaze was already in search of yours. Worry was plain of his face. You were not used to reading it so clearly. Typically, you would have to study the walk he walked, leaned against the hull of the Razor Crest, or listen for the bite of his short tone. Without the helmet obscuring him, you could read him easily.

You wanted to be angry. There was one rule and he had broken it. Yet, looking into his eyes, you felt your resolve finally shatter.

“Y/N-”

“There will be time for talking later,” Bo-Katan snapped, her harsh order cut Din off. “We need to secure the ship and rendezvous with Fett.”

Koska and Cara took the order in stride. The two women picked up Moff Gideon and started towards the detention bay while Fennec busied herself with the navigation console. You nodded at Bo-Katan and turned your gaze back to Din. Concern still laced his features as you moved towards the bridge doors. As you went, you bent down and picked up his helmet from the floor.

“We’ll talk later,” you promised before you pressed Din’s helmet into his chest and left for a head-clearing patrol around the ship.

You had been on cycles lone bounty hunting trips with Din before. You had fought off a band of pirates and only suffered a minor concussion. You had, recently, faced a Krayt Dragon on Tatooine and lived to the tell the tale. However, none of those feats were as exhausting as Grogu’s goodbye or as taxing as Din breaking the Creed.

It didn’t help that the cots on the light cruiser, ones made for Stormtroopers, were terribly uncomfortable. You were used to cramped quarters and stiff beds but the slab of plastoid you rested on hardly constituted as such. It also didn’t help that you hadn’t found Din or talked to him about what happened in the bridge or Grogu. As soon as you laid down, you felt restless.

When you heard Cara come down, you sat up on your cot and eyed her through your visor. “Have you seen-”

“Cafe,” Cara said and she shot you a concerned look. “I know that the Creed is...is everything to you and...well. You both lost a lot today. Try to hold onto each other.”

In Cara’s face you could see a hint of regret. You imagined she was thinking of Alderaan, of all that she lost. Maybe she was thinking about a partner, someone special, she wasn’t able to hold onto anymore. You stood up and reached out for her shoulder. She looked to you as you gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Thank you, Cara.”

With a parting nod, you made your way up towards the ship cafe. It took longer than expected. Grey hallways of Imperial cruisers all look the same after a few turns and too-similar hallways. Eventually, you found your way to the cafeteria. It was hauntingly empty.

Save for Din who stood, helmetless, in front of the large viewport. He was outlined against the darkness of space and the shining of stars. For a minute, you considered not approaching him. The tension would pass, if you both let it. Perhaps you both could return to normal, normal as in before Grogu. You could easily leave the Nite Owls to take back Mandalorian by themselves and continue hunting.

Then you felt the storm in your chest swirl again, intensify. With it, you were spurred to motion and your feet began to move. Before you knew what you wanted to say, you were stood by Din’s side, helmeted face forward, staring out towards the stars.

“Where do you think he is?” Din’s question broke the heavy silence and you fought the urge to look up at him, at his face.

“Sectors away,” you admitted, “but safer.”

“You’re right.”

Then there was silence again. It seemed to press against your shoulders and make the beskar of your helmet all the more heavy. Slowly, you craned your neck and peered up at Din through the visor. You could see, through the clear port of your helmet, Din’s brown eyes were already on you. He was looking right where he knew your eyes to be within the helmet.

“I’m sorry.”

Cara’s words echoed in your head and your heart ached at the sight of Din’s down turned lips. Lips you had tried to imagine before. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“I broke the Creed,” Din protested, “not for the first time and certainly not the last. Not...not now, not when….”

Din trailed off and tore his eyes from you.

“I understand,” you continued. “I wanted to, too.” Din came to attention at your word. His eyes went on a mad search and studied your helmet for any sign of yielding. Of breaking. “I just, I’m not ready for it. You know, as a foundling, it’s all I’ve, we’ve, known.”

“Then the kid,” Din said, his voice soft.

“Then the kid,” you agreed, “and then you.”

“Me?” His eyebrows raised, a reaction you had never seen before from him. You couldn’t help but smile from beneath your helmet.

“You.”

You reached over and pulled the glove from your right hand. Carefully, as if reaching out to a wounded animal, you lifted your bare hand to Din’s face. For a split second, he pulled away. Then, moments after, he leaned into your warm touch. Din’s eyes closed and, with a deep breath in, you relaxed along with him.

“I’m not up to breaking just yet,” you said as you brushed your thumb along the scruff of his cheek. “But I hope you’ll be with me when I do.”

You jumped when Din’s hand, also ungloved, reached up to hold your own. His skin was warm, warmer than you ever imagined, and softer too. The touch was enough to ease the storm in your heart, to calm you. Din’s eyes opened and he met your gaze through your visor.

“I will. This,” he tapped one of his fingers against the back of your hand, “is the way.”

And you believed him, in that moment, this was a creed he would not bend. An oath, to you, that Din would not break.

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luvrgirl555 · 4 years

Text

more -- S.R

gif credit: @criminalmindsquotingfans

anon request: can i request spencer x bau!reader where shes the only one who notices something is wrong when he was using dilaudid?

an: i love this request and i hope i did it justice :) also i’m not trying to romanticize drug addiction in any way

warnings: drug addiction, spence is kinda mean :(

send me a request!!

☆ masterlist ☆

ever since the moment he stepped back into the bullpen you knew it was too early.

even if it wasn’t written all over spencer’s features you knew that he shouldn’t be back after only two weeks of leave.

two weeks?

“for god’s sake he was kidnapped, hotch,” you practically yelled at your unit chief while struggling not to pull your hair out.

“it’s not my call, y/n, the brass decides.” hotch seems completely nonchalant which only attempts to piss you off even more.

“he was the victim of a serial killer! and you’re just going to let him walk back into this job?” you scoff, “you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“y/l/n drop it,” he says sternly.

you look taken aback and cross your arms sternly, effectively shielding yourself from your boss and noticing the guilt in his eyes.

you know he blames himself.

the entire team does.

gideon barely talks, not like he did very much before, but it’s still lessened.

morgan has become five times more protective of everyone on the team.

hotch has been stern, more than usual, keen on everyone following orders exactly when they’re in the field.

emily won’t go anywhere without backup, even if she doesn’t need it.

and you and everyone else know jj blames herself the most.

“if i notice anything in the field or otherwise i will handle it, but i need your head in the job. can you do that?” hotch asks.

you were angry.

furious at hotch and the rest of the team.

even jj who you tried not to blame, but your mind would never stop racing.

you were furious at yourself.

constantly thinking you had let everyone down, or you could have done more. that was your specialty.

you nodded briskly and walked quickly to your desk that sat across from spencer’s.

you sat down with a huff, not even noticing that he was sat across from you, wearing a shirt and two cardigans, one much thicker than the other and his hair was ever slightly falling in his face.

there was a scarf on his desk, one that matched the one on yours.

one of the office holiday parties had led to the both of you drawing each other’s names and buying the other the same gift.

now it was the only scarf you wore.

when you saw his eyes, your mouth couldn’t move as fast your mind.

“hi, hey, hi, oh my god,” you whispered which made his lips turn up into a smile.

“hello,” he waved and you grinned. “are you doing alright?”

“oh my god, spence, i’m fine,” you completely shrugged it off.

he looked at you with a look that told that he knew.

“really,” you assured, “do you want to talk about how you are?”

right as he was about to answer derek walked up, “there he is! i missed you pretty ricky!” he ruffled spencer’s hair fondly which made spencer smile.

it was a wonderful thing to see.

he stood to give derek and emily short hugs where they said things along the lines of, “welcome back,” and “we missed you so much. you and your big brain.”

jj walked up last, clearly feeling rotten but you felt the energy dissipate when he pulled her in for a hug.

you don’t know what they whispered to each other but it definitely seemed to calm her down.

“we have a case,” hotch said walking by on the ramp towards the conference room.

the team collectively groaned, besides spencer who leaped up the stairs to claim his chair and save the seat next to it for you.

it was tradition.

you didn’t really listen while jj rattled of the details of the case, only skimming the file and half-listening to your team members collaborate.

to everyone’s surprise, spencer seemed what anyone call fine. good even.

he stated facts, statistics and general knowledge about the area.

he seemed to be coping so well.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

on the jet you noticed it.

his legs were bouncing frantically.

his hands were shaking.

you looked around, trying to notice if anyone was seeing what you were but they were all in their own worlds.

reading the case files. talking to the sheriffs department. talking to each other. sleeping.

the world was filled with distractions but nothing could distract you from spencer reid.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

it was getting late.

you had been sent to collect spencer from the conference room and his map and markers.

“hey, hotch says we should get some shut eye,” you walked into the room quietly.

“i think i’m going to stay here for a little while, i’m almost done,” he added another line and didn’t look at you.

“i can help you, i just had another coffee myself,” you laughed and he looked at you.

“i’m fine.”

there’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“oh, sorry, i just thought that maybe it would go faster with two heads,” you tried to play it off.

“geography isn’t exactly your strong suit,” he rolled his eyes.

“reid?” you cocked your head to the side and he didn’t look at you. “spencer?”

morgan walked in just as you repeated yourself.

“come on, kids, let’s get back at this in the morning. c’mon,” he coaxed the two of you out of the room.

you didn’t let either of them see your eyes well with tears.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

you’re wearing a purple shirt the next day.

and his socks are the same shade.

they match.

it’s odd.

spencer doesn’t do that.

not with his socks anyway.

you’re driving out to talk to some workers at a homeless shelter with him, thinking the unsub may have stayed or worked in one, effectively integrating himself into the community.

when spencer makes an off-hand comment that the unsub “could even be here in this room,” you look at him and quickly admonish, “reid!”

“if you notice anything, call us,” he hands the woman his card and steps out swiftly.

spencer leaves you to explain to the worker that she just doesn’t need to worry, just be vigilant, but you know she walks away unsure.

“what the hell was that?” you ask when finally outside.

“what?”

“‘could be here in this room!’ we have no proof for that!” you argued.

“should i just pretend like it isn’t dangerous instead?”

his tone is fiery, not warm.

fierce, not loyal.

petrified, but not sad.

“what is wrong with you? i’ve never seen you act like this?” you try to reach for his hand, something you always do to help feel grounded.

he pulls away.

“oh really? y/n, no offense, but you never really know what you’re talking about, do you?”

his demeanor is ice.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

on the jet ride back you feel exhausted and nobody mentions drinks when you get back to quantico so everybody must feel the same way.

hopping into your car you notice the rain start to fall which doesn’t help your sniffles go away and tears start to fall down your face.

you don’t know how to help him so you cry.

you don’t know how to do this so you cry.

you love him so you cry.

cry for him and his soul, his mind and his body. his heart and beautiful spirit.

you can tell he’s hurting, though nobody seems to notice or listen.

and you love him.

a knock on your window makes you jump and look over.

you quickly unlock the doors so spencer can get in and throw the wet hair out of his face.

“are you crying?” he asks, stupidly.

his voice is finally soft, angelic and kind.

you just nod.

“i’m scared for you, spence,” you confess.

his mouth puckers the same way it always does when he’s anxious and his leg won’t stop bouncing.

“i’m scared, too,” his voice breaks and you instinctively grab his hand.

he explains everything while neither of you move.

he talks quickly, almost like he can’t talk quickly enough.

you occasionally squeeze his hand.

when he’s finished you sit in stunned silence, just for a moment.

all you can think to say is, “i love you.”

his brown, teary eyes look at yours and you move to kiss his forehead gently.

“i always have you. i will always catch you.”

“thank you,” he whispers, meekly, “i’m sorry i was so rude to you. i don’t know who i am anymore.”

a sigh escapes his lips and you kiss his left cheek.

“you’re doctor spencer reid, supervisory special agent for the behavioral analysis unit,” you place a kiss on his nose, “you’re an excellent shot, handsome and smart,” you kiss his right cheek, “and my best friend.”

his breathing has finally slowed. he feels in control of his body again, just for a moment.

“more?” he asks.

“more?” you cock your head.

his lips crash against yours as gently as he can manage.

more.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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beyondtheciouds · 4 years

Text

.18.

The sun had set and risen; delicately determined like the birds to start a new day on the threshold of the dawn. They chriped and sang the merry melodies; the familar sounds echoed in Matthew's head.

Memories of waking up to Lucie's angelic, sleeping face on a frosty morning struck his heart. He had memorized the way her skin felt; warm and soft like a soothing blanket. He loved the way her eyelashes fluttered in the early morning autumn light, giving him a peek of the blue iris inside like the night opening to day. Her hair; soft earthen curls spilled carelessly across his arm. Her petite body pressed heavily against his; fitting in like the missing piece of the puzzle of his soul.

Winter was on its way like a villain and like in all good fairytale fashion, the prince had yet to find the princess.

No sign of Lucie had been found; no trail of bread crumbs or broken branches to lead them through the night.

The small group of Shadowhunters had set off on their mission, starting with the heavily prostituted streets of downtown London.

They were hopeful but that soon turned to fearful frustration and outspoken aggravation in their hands.

Matthew paced the floor; his expensive Italian leather shoes made short shuffled movements. James scowled as the soles of Matthew's shoes made the floorboards creak and groan. He worried Math would wear out the oriental carpet.

James groaned as he sat down on his bed and pulled off his favored worn out shoes. "Math, please stop. Bridget will have a fit if you wear that rug down to the wood."

Matthew stopped short, his head spun towards James. His hair stuck out from all sides of his head as if he'd been unconsciously yanking at the blonde strands. Matthew's green eyes were nearly as gray as his face. "She's out there, Jamie. I know it."

James didn't disagree one bit. He had his own suspicions of where Lucie was now that he knew Belial had her. He was worried, of course but he didn't want to show it, especially when Matthew was an unexpected complete train wreck.

The light filtered in through the glass, sending a cold draft through the cracks and James could think of nothing more than trains colliding. His calloused fingers rubbed his temples. His brain was mush and he was starving. No sleep and anorexic stress had him struggling to stay awake.

James had wanted to stay out searching with Will and his uncles, but Gabriel had immediately rejected the idea the second he watched all four of the boys doze on the carriage ride back to the Institute. He had been in charge of seeing that they made it back in one piece.

Now James watched his parabatai closely with narrowed eyes. Something was off.

"Do you think my sister got cold feet?" James asked, feeling odd as he pulled off his sweaty socks. After a night out searching with no luck, Gideon had sent the exhausted band of Merry Theives packing back to the Institute.

Matthew tried desperately to keep his emotions at bay, but he was terrified Belial had done some awful thing to Lucie.

James frowned at Matthew's lack of response, his gold eyes serious as he tossed his socks to the floor. "Why her sudden change of heart? I mean...what is actually going on between you and Luce?"

Matthew failed and his features looked stunned. A desperate near forced laugh escaped his scratchy throat. "Jamie, it's just going steady---I'm not marrying her."

This was the awkward question that both James and Cordelia had been dying to know. It didn't seem right to either of them that suddenly these two total opposites were a couple in the making.

"That's not what I asked, Math." He surprised himself with his voice stern; his father's demanding edge. "What is going on with you and my sister?"

Matthew turned away, hands twisting themselves sheepishly in front of him. "Well," he began, the heart beats of silence after deafening. "Often when a boy likes a girl, they court. James, please don't make me explain the birds and bees to you."

A snap of his fingers and a smile made Matthew look and sound like his old self.

James wasn't convinced.

#cassandra clare #the last hours #matthew fairchild #james herondale #the shadowhunter chronicles #fanfiction

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lovevalley45 · 4 years

Text

daily prompt: doppelgänger

continuation of this prompt

Zari definitely, definitely, did not want to be trapped... wherever this was. This timeship or whatever, locked in this stupid little room while her brother and her weirdo friend went to do something.

The more time she spent in here, the more she started to feel uneasy. It wasn't just not being able to use CatChat or being a prisoner when she had an event to attend.

"Computer, where is everyone else?" she asked.

"You do not have the clearance for that kind of information, Ms. Tarazi," the voice responded from... somewhere. "Currently, you and Mr. Tarazi are the only two are on the ship."

"Huh," Zari muttered.

She sat on one of the metal stools, messing with the back of her phone case. There really wasn't much else to do in here. But she couldn't shake off the feeling that she wasn't alone.

Then she saw it. In the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something move. Her first reaction was to shriek, clutching her phone to her chest.

"Geez, I didn't think I could be so melodramatic," Zari heard a voice say. It sounded like her, almost, but not. There wasn't really another way to describe it. And when she looked over, she could only shriek again at the sight. Whoever- whatever it was, looked like her - almost, but not. Its face was identical to hers, apart from the two tear tracks that trailed along her cheeks. She was wearing a fairly drab outfit, with a familiar looking bracelet on her left wrist. She wasn't completely solid, either - if she looked closely, she could see the room behind her through her shirt.

"What- who are you?" she asked.

A look of shock crossed her doppelgänger's face when she realized she was addressing her. "Wait, you can see me?"

"Yeah?" Zari lowered her phone, standing up. "Should I not be able to?"

"Uh..." She crossed her arms, chuckling. "Well, for the past year, no one's even known I ever existed."

"What does that mean?" she asked. There wasn't much room for anything other than questions, especially in something as baffling in this.

"It's kind of a long story," her doppelgänger said. "Let's just say-”

She was cut off by Behrad rushing in. "Gideon said you were freaking out, what's wrong?"

Zari glanced over at him, then back at her doppelgänger. He hadn't even registered the second her in the room. "Nothing," she answered. "Just trying to break out of here since you took your own sister hostage."

He sighed, exhausted. "I'm not- Whatever."

"Just go back to whatever important business you have to intend to if you're not gonna let me out," she told him.

"Fine," Behrad shot back before he turned back, muttering something under his breath.

Once he had left, her doppelgänger sighed. "Wow. You two really don't get along, huh?"

"You were going to give me an explanation?" Zari asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah." She stood up straighter, coming over closer. A chill seemed to follow her, making her shiver as she came near. "You remember Heyworld?"

"How could I forget Heyworld?" she asked her. "Wait, does this have something to do with Behrad and his weird friends?"

"Well, they used to be my weird friends. But at Heyworld... I changed the timeline." She stopped. "I thought I'd just up and not exist anymore. Something, though, is keeping me here."

Zari had never been superstitious, but something clicked. "Oh. So you're like a ghost."

"I'm not a ghost!" she insisted, the air around her dropping just a few more degrees. "I'm... something. I'm not dead, you're still here."

"Yeah, I don't think that's how it works," she muttered.

Her doppelgänger didn't look very pleased at that comment, rolling her eyes. "Well, at least someone can see me now."

"And here I thought this ship was weird enough."

#alli writes shit #daily prompt #tg!z1 au

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harrypotterwholock · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: The discovery

Summary:

During the defense against the dark arts lesson, Professor Lupin notices Angies cuts.

~Trigger warning for self harm und suicidal thoughts~

---

Golden rays of sun cut through the dormitory air when Angie woke up the next morning. Exhausted, she stretched her arms and legs and blinked, blinded by the blazing light. When Angie looked around, she noticed that all the other girls had already left the dormitory. "Oh my god, what time is it? Hopefully I didn't oversleep!" It rushed through her mind. She grabbed the alarm clock from her bedside table. Startled, she realized that breakfast was long over and her first class would begin in 20 minutes.

Angie jumped out of bed, which she regretted seconds later when her vision blackened and bright stars appeared in her field of vision. The blood loss of last night seemed to have took out a lot more out of her than she wanted to admit. She braced herself against the frame of her bed and waited for the dizziness to pass. There was a pile of unwashed school uniforms in her chest, but Angie couldn't find a fresh blouse. "Damn, I ruined my last clean blouse yesterday. What should I wear now?"

She started to search her suitcase, but found only one blouse she had last worn two years ago. The sleeves were too short and exposed half of her forearm. "What am I going to do with this blouse, everyone will see my scars! But I have nothing else to wear and I have to hurry, otherwise I'll be late for Professor Lupin's class. Maybe I could just put on a sweater, they are pretty short as well, but at least my arms would be covered better ... "

So she put on her sweater, knowing that she was going to be terribly hot on this warm day. She quickly combed her hair and headed for Professor Lupin's classroom.

Just before the last student entered the room, she slipped through the door and went to her seat in the back row, trying to look as happy as possible. Angie put her books on her desk and took her pen and ink out of her pocket. As inconspicuously as possible, she tried to pull her sleeves down and hide her scars after her sweater had slipped up when she had reached for her bag. Shortly afterwards, Professor Lupin started his lesson. He talked about the defense of elves and after he had demonstrated the spell, he let the students try it themselves. Everyone else was in pairs, but Angie was the only one left, as usual. Angie just couldn't focus on the spell, she was too distracted by the worry that Professor Lupin might discover her secret. She felt how his gaze stayed with her again and again and he eyed her worriedly. Lupin started walking through the classroom and checking the students' progress. "Very good Gideon, well done! And you too Tina!"

When he finally got to Angie, she still hadn't managed to get the spell right. Either she moved her wand incorrectly or she said the wrong spell. She felt the despair of having failed lace up her throat. Professor Lupin looked at her unfathomably.

"Should I show you the move again, Angie? I'm sure you can do this spell" "That would be great, professor. Somehow I didn't pay attention when you demonstrated the spell."

So Professor Lupin demonstrated the wand movement again and asked her to practice it with him. He watched her movements and corrected them if she did something wrong. With increasing panic, Angie noticed that her sleeves slipped up further and further from her movements. A faded scar was already exposed. "Hopefully he doesn't notice anything, I have to get rid of him somehow." She became more and more tense when she still failed to perform the spell correctly and her forearm was exposed more and more. "Relax Angie, don't put yourself under pressure. It doesn't matter if you can't do the spell today, we still have time to practice next lesson." "No professor, I want to pull it off today, everyone else is already working with elves. I don't want to be the only one who fails." She tried the spell again and again, swinging her wand ever more powerfully. She was so focused on the spell that she didn't even notice that her sleeve had slipped up all the way to her elbow. Tears welled up in her. "That can't be, why can't I get it right? Even Ian Longbottom did it, I have to be able to do it," she thought. "Please come to me after the hour, Angie. I think we have a lot to talk about." Angie turned to him in shock. Her pupils dilated. How could she forget her arm? She quickly pulled her sleeves down and looked at the floor. She felt the blood shoot into her cheeks. "Yes professor," she said sheepishly Professor Lupin looked at her with a resigned look, turned and finished the exercise. "What has got into me to be so careless? I have to come up with an explanation for him as soon as possible!" "Please write an essay on the gnome's habitat until the next hour. A parchment scroll should suffice." said Professor Lupin and dismissed the class for lunch. Angie slowly put her books in her bag and waited for the last student to leave the room. With her eyes down, she went up the aisle and stopped in front of Lupin's desk.

"Angie, what are those scars on your arm?" "It was an accident, Professor. I fell into a hedge of thorns as a child and my arms were scratched. You really don't have to worry about me and besides I have to go to my next lesson, Professor Snape won't be excited if I belate myself " "I don't think you're telling me the truth, Angie. What really happened? I can see the pain in your eyes, even if you're really good at hiding it." "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm telling you the truth. You won't hear anything else from me. Please let me go now!" Lupin looked at her resignedly, but then said: "Then we'll leave it for today. But believe me, I will keep an eye on you. I can see that something is wrong here. If you need someone to talk to, my door is open around the clock. And when I say around the clock, I mean it. " "Well, thank you for your concern, but like I said, it's completely unfounded. I have to hurry up now, I'm far too late anyway." "Just tell Professor Snape you had something to talk to me about. I'll take care of the matter." Without a word, Angie left the classroom. Her throat tightened and she started hyperventilating. In order not to be heard by Professor Lupin, she quickly went to the next girls' room. Angie had decided to skip Snape's lesson, he would probably not notice her absence anyway.

As soon as she closed the toilet door behind her, she began to sob uncontrollably. She had been hiding her secret for so long and now her world was beginning to fall apart. How was it possible that Professor Lupin could look behind her otherwise perfect facade so well? Not even her parents had noticed the abysm inside her. No, she couldn't let Lupin find out her secret, she wanted her life to stay the way it was. Angie looked at her reflection with hatred:

"Just look at yourself, you're a failure. You can't even outsmart your teachers. Pull yourself together, you won't succeed this way!" She felt the desperation tighten her throat. At the same time, a wave of nausea overcame her. With her hand pressed on her stomach, she rushed to the next toilet and threw up.

Liquid ran from her nose as she struggled for air. She crouched between the toilet and the wall and curled up in a little pile of misery. In pain, she clawed her fingernails into her arms until her skin started to bleed. Another 30 minutes passed before Angie freed herself from this position and left the cabin. She splashed cold water on her face and rinsed her mouth out. It must be time for dinner by now, but Angie wasn't hungry. That being said, she enjoyed at least being able to control what she ate when she couldn't control her life. As she walked down the corridor, she heard two voices talking in a branching passage.

"What are you talking about Professor Lupin, Angie didn't show up for my class today. Besides, it's not your place to detain my students. If you have something to discuss, you can do it after class!" "Angie skipped your class? What's going on with the girl?" She tried to scurry past them unnoticed, but Professor Lupin had noticed her.

"Angie, wait a minute, I have to ask you something." She pretended not to hear him and started running toward the common room after the next turn. The steps of the stone staircase flew beneath her. Luckily for her, two Ravenclaws had gotten in at that moment and she slipped through the crack in the door behind them. Angie hurriedly passed the common room and turned to the dormitories. In the common room there was still a hustle and bustle of students preparing for the upcoming exams. The four-poster beds were abandoned in front of her. Outside, the sunset heralded the end of the day. She checked her bed and finally found what she was looking for: her razor blade. She weighed the bare piece of metal in her hand. The blade always gave her the opportunity to put an end to all of the misery. She could end it here and now and wouldn't have to deal with Professor Lupin. Just a little more courage, then she could do it. So she was lying in her bed, the curtains drawn around her with the blade over her pulse artery, ready to kill herself at any time. She considered:

"No, not here, not now. If one of the girls comes in and finds me, they could still save me. I have to find a safer method, otherwise Professor Lupin will breathe down on my neck. I will do it on the astronomy tower tomorrow, during dinner, when nobody will be there to save me. I cannot fail with this, the suffering must finally be put to an end. " With that calming thought in mind, Angie put on her pajamas and went back to bed. Dull she heard the other girls fall asleep and slid into a deep, comfortable sleep.

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

the perfect partner (one-shot)

captain cygnet+captain swan

Very few people believe Killian can actually cook. He’s Captain Hook after all, terror of the high seas, the most cut throat pirate to ever hoist a sail, et cetra, et cetra. No one thinks that he would be able to whip up a mean casserole or being the best cottage pie to the potlucks at Granny’s. But life is full of surprises, especially in Storybrooke, a place where Snow White is a bandit turned schoolteacher, Little Red Riding Hood is a werewolf and the wife of Dorothy Gale, and oh yes, Captain Hook is an excellent chef.

And tonight he’s turning to Italian, stirring the rice once more before turning down the heat on it. He always cooks it from scratch, never store bought. Zeus only knows how many chemicals are in those things. On the rare occasions she cooks, Emma simply raises an eyebrow at him, reminding him that not everyone has the time to go out and buy ten ingredients or the patience to make something from scratch. Much as he loves Emma, he has to disagree with her. Especially since Henry introduced him to cooking blogs on the Internet, he’s found it simpler than ever.

He chops up a few more mushrooms than necessary before throwing them into the pot, fully aware that this is likely the first time his wife or his daughter have eaten a vegetable today and he’s determined to make the most of it. Hope has inherited many wonderful things from her mother, bravery, kindness, a sharp sense of humour, but she’s also inherited her mother’s eating habits and despite her swearing up and down she had a healthy lunch, he’s not entirely convinced. At fifteen, she's past her ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ phase and the supply of chocolate bars in the cupboard is getting smaller each morning.

“Dad?” When he looks up, the girl herself is standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face that doesn’t hide her anxiety. He drops the spoon, barely remembering to turn the heat down more before turning to her. Since having Hope, he’s discovered an instinct that’s completely new to him after 300 years. A change in the way she walks or a crack in her voice has him standing to attention with all the discipline of his Navy days. It also doesn’t help Hope’s case that she tends to wear her emotions on her sleeve.

“Anything wrong, love?” he asks.

“No… well… I don’t know,” she replies, beginning to pick at her nails. “I need a favour.”

“What is it?”

“Well….” Her voice grows higher as she steps into the kitchen, her eyes looking anywhere but him as she bites her lip. “You know how I’m going to the dance with Melody, right?”

“Yes.” How could he forget? The entire Charming-Swan clan had been waiting with held breath to see when Hope would finally pluck up the courage to ask the little mermaid out. Emma was close to asking Melody out for Hope, since it had worked in getting her brother and Gideon together, but Snow had held her back, insisting Hope needs to find her path herself. Unfortunately, their daughter isn’t as gifted with charm as her grandfather is, nor does she have the blunt bravery of her mother. Hope spent weeks in wide-eyed friendship with her, the date of the dance looming closer with no sign of her asking, her nerves getting the better of her at every turn. Eventually, Robin intervened before anyone else could, and Melody agreed with the kind of perky enthusiasm her mother is well-known for.

All in all, it was an exhausting affair.

“Well… the thing is…” Her cheeks turn pink and then crimson and she folds her arms, tapping her foot against the kitchen floor. “Idon’tknowhowtodance.”

It takes Killian a while to work out what she said, but when he does, he’s a little taken aback by it. He’s sure he danced with her when she was young, and he always assumed it was in her blood, just like courage and compassion and magic. He thought it came with the Princess package.

“You can’t?” he repeats gently, sensing Hope’s embarrassment from her tight shoulders.

“Nope,” she sighs, shaking her head. There’s a scowl on her face and either anger or shame sparking in her green eyes, a look he’s seen more than once on Emma. She rakes a hand though her hair, attempting a weak shrug. “I mean it’s just… You know, dance class never really worked out for me. And I never really liked it anyway. And they didn’t like me.” Killian nods, curling his hand into a fist. Snow had insisted Hope take ballet and ballroom classes as a child, even though it became clear she wasn’t cut out for them. The poor girl still struggled with balance and rhythm and when every other girl in the class turned left, she went right. She lasted a few years before the two of them decided to put her out of her misery and take her out of the classes. He had never seen Hope so happy as when Emma asked her that. And while they couldn’t get an official diagnosis of dyspraxia, no one was surprised when it was suggested.

“They didn’t not like you Hope,” he reminds her now.

“I know, they just didn’t like my body and it’s lack of coordination,” she replies, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I mean this is kind of your fault when you think about it.”

“How exactly?”

“You made me,” she replies, breaking out into her trademarked sarcastic grin, covering up any insecurity. She gestures to herself as if to prove her point. “This dyspraxic mess is entirely your fault.”

“50%,” he responds, laughing along with her. “You’re only half me. But… you still want to dance with her?”

“Well, yeah.” She bites the inside of her cheek, her face turning the same kind of pale pink it normally does when she thinks about Melody. “I want her to have a good time. And don’t-” She adds just as he opens his mouth. “Don’t tell me that we’ll have a good time no matter what. It’s a dance. I want to dance with her.” She looks at the ground, now biting her lip and resuming picking her nails, faster and deeper this time. “So… can you teach me?”

“Oh, Hope,” he says. As if she’d ever need to ask. “Use your little talking device to pick a song. Then I’ll show you how to dance, Cygnet.”

And when she smiles at him, dimples and sparkling eyes and laughter, it makes the 300 year wait for her worth it.

She flicks through her phone and turns on a song about Christmas lights, guitar strings and lovers and sets it on the counter, the music filling their kitchen.

“Good girl. Now you take my hand. Now, normally the man leads but in this case-”

“Such heterosexual nonsense” she sighs dramatically, tossing her head back at the tragedy. She pulls her long, black hair into a ponytail and takes his hand.

“Indeed,” he laughs. Thankfully, he’s found ways around that after more than a few dances with men in his past. “What I was going to say was that since you did the asking, you’d be the one to lead. So you be you, and I’ll be Melody.”

“Oh, Dad,” she scoffs, her eyebrows shooting upwards. “That is really gross. On about every conceivable level, that is gross.”

“Just for tonight, little love,” he reminds her. “Now, that means your hand goes on her back…” He directs her hand as such. “And her hand will be on your waist.” He does so as well, bending down to meet her height. Hope is gifted in many things, but height was not one of them. In fact, he’s fairly certain Melody is a head taller than her. That should be interesting. Normally Hope would be laughing at him, but now her brow is furrowed and her jaw set as she concentrates. It’s a little surprising; he of course knows how bad Hope’s crush on Melody was, but he never thought it would be more than a schoolgirl fling. Yet with how seriously she’s taking this, it might just be. “Now you find the rhythm, Cygnet, and you guide me.”

“Find the rhythm?” she echoes sceptically. “I don’t think the rhythm likes me very much.”

“Trust your gut, Hope,” he tells her firmly. “No matter what else, you’re a pirate. You’ll find it.” Hope closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and begins moving, taking them in a slightly jerky and awkward dance around the kitchen.

“Sorry,” she winces. “That was your foot.”

“It’s okay love, keep going,” he says, watching her count the steps in her head. “Hope you know you will also have to look at her at some point, right?”

“I have to do what now?” she asks. But she lifts her eyes to his, identical to her mother’s and grandmother’s, and filled with uncertainty. While she still stumbles and missteps, she’s better than she was before; her movements more smooth and even though there’s a lack of confidence, she counts out loud less. She even manages to spin him out and under her arm, even if she has to stand on her toes. “Is this good?”

“This is great,” he tells her. “You’re getting the hang of this.”

“I hope so,” she says, her smile falling.

“Hope?” he asks, hair pricking up on the back of his neck.

“I’m fine,” she says, even if her face says otherwise. “Just… this is kind of our first date. I want it to go well.”

“And it will,” he says firmly. “One thing I’ve learned, Cygnet, is that it’s not the night you spend, it’s the people you spend it with.” Hope smiles, softer now. It’s times like this he allows himself to think he’s doing good here. “I’ve spent some lovely nights with the most dreadfully boring people, and some chaotic and wild ones with the most amazing person imaginable.”

“That better mean me,” a voice comes from the doorway. While it does make them both jump, he’s put at ease in the next second. Emma leans against the door, exactly the same way Hope did, a smirk on her face and her hair wet from the rain outside. “Otherwise we may have some problems on our hands.”

“Who else would I mean, love?” he asks. She strolls into the kitchen, shaking her head in amusement.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Emma says, gesturing to the two of them. “That was cute, what you two were doing.”

"Dance lessons," he explains. She nods, stepping back with amusement on her face, particularly when she looks at Hope.

“Actually,” Hope begins, a gleam in her eyes. “I have a better idea.” She lets go of Killian and runs to Emma instead, pulling her onto their makeshift dancefloor. When she pulls Emma towards him, it’s obvious to anyone what she’s planning. “You two do it.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Emma says, her voice soft and laced with laughter. “But what is this accomplishing, kid?”

“I learn better by watching,” she explains, sitting up on the counter and holding her phone. Normally he’d scold her for sitting on the counter, but with her smile and the pleasant air about their kitchen, it feels a shame to break it. Killian shares a look with Emma, both aware that her reasoning is flimsy at best, but neither one of them has it in them to say no.

“What do you say?” Emma asks, grinning and holding out her hand. “You want to show the amateur how it’s done?”

“Nothing I’d love more,” he tells her, pulling her close and listening to her laughing. He twirls her around the kitchen, slightly aware of Hope capturing the moment on her phone, Emma’s blonde hair flying and her laughter getting harder as he dips her. Emma’s not a perfect dancer by any means, but she is the perfect partner. Less elegant and poised, more rough and reckless, but beautiful and brilliant all the same. He’s equally as charmed by her now as he was in Midas’ castle.

And if Hope captivates her date in the same way, which she will, then she has nothing her worry about at all.

#ouat ff #captain cygnet #killian jones #hope swan jones #captain swan #emma swan #ouat #i came up with this idea 2 years ago and finally wrote it bc i didn't want to study *dances*

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the-canary · 5 years

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Don’t Think Twice - S.R (6/10)

Summary: Neither of you thought there were things the other was so afraid of. (Enhanced!Reader/Steve Rogers).

Prompt: Vertigo - sensation of whirling and loss of balance, associated particularly with looking down from a great height; giddiness

A/N: This is for @until-theend-oftheline ‘s beautiful words challenge.

Feedback is always welcomed.

It’s like a factory reset, Victor can’t help but note though it has only happened twice now.

Your emotions are one of the triggers to the metal blood becoming too hard to handle within your patchwork of a body.

Any type of strong emotion reaction leads to you reacting like a pot of water underneath a flame. He didn’t know what happened when you completely went over since both times you had rained everything back in and blacked out —like now, as he watched you sleeping on metallic gurney— from the exhaustion of it all.

He was sure that deep down you knew what could happen to you, but it wasn’t that you ever brought up -- so it only played in the back of his mind. Though there was something else that had caught his attention when Captain Rogers had brought you in.

There were hardly any burns on him and mostly centered around his hand, though Victor was sure that they would be gone in a few hours, but it wasn’t like the last time -- where one of his former partners was left with a pretty nasty scar that to this day was a horror to look at.

He could only wonder whether it had something to do with Captain Rogers’ own powers or where you getting better at controlling it at that level as well.

Steve spends a good amount of his free time looking at the report that Maria had given him two days after his incident with you, who still hadn’t woken up yet. The team that had been sent by S.H.I.E.L.D had reported that there was similar material --like your blood-- being used in explosives by a small terrorist group in Eastern Europe, where the aftermath of Sokovia has caused a huge power vacuum to form and international agencies along with the Stark Foundation could only do so much within an area that had already damaged beyond repair.

S.H.I.E.L.D agents familiar with your background had been sent to where they were sure the group was located only to find something worse -- the same thing all over again, as a million bloody courses where kept in large glass tanks all wearing the same face that was staring at them in anger when they came.

It was like finding her all over again, was something remarked by an agent, but instead of one living thing -- there was an inconceivable amount and for everyone one that they brought down, three more took its place.

Either the doctor had perfected his own version of “super healing” or someone had taken up the cause for him and this was their version of it -- and that sent a cold fury down through Steve.

There had been a time where he was the “strangest” thing that had come out of a lab, but at least there was reasoning behind it --the war effort-- and he has some idea on the consequences of his actions, though he was too hard-headed to notice. But, there were others --like Wanda-- who didn’t understand all that they would have to go through to get what they wanted, and there were others --like you-- who never got any of those.

Steve, while looking at the blurry images of a young man, can’t help but wonder if this new person, being was looking for some type of purpose like you had in all the time in he had known you, or if he was just following in the footsteps of those who just wanted to watch the world burn.

For whatever reason, Steve knew deep down that he would help you in whatever way he could -- even if you didn’t want him to, he was stubborn as hell like that.

Gideon. He calls himself Gideon and he’s waiting for his baby sister.

--That’s what Issac, the S.H.I.E.L.D agent with a scar on his neck and endless smile tells you when you finally wake up from your little “combustion incident”. You end up thinking too much of the young man that seems to have your color hair but light-colored eyes.

From what you understood, he had been found under similar circumstances to you, but the bodies were all still alive in some way -- they were all Gideon and when he was taken down, another was there to take the first one’s place. It was a scary thought that there could be so many of him (where there more of you as well?), but you couldn’t help the soft humming on your blood at the thought that you has some type of family -- that there was someone out there in the world that might have known the reason why you had been made and understood what you were going through.

Someone who could understand you, it almost made you think of a certain Captain but you shook your head -- Steve wouldn’t what anything to do with you after that incident.

You grit your teeth, remembering the smell of burning flesh from that night before pushing the thoughts of the man away -- you didn’t deserve anything from after what you had done. A numbing feeling sets in your very core, where the jewels and rock lay as your “heart”, at the thought that you have driven him away -- but it was for the best.

It’s on the fourth day of your self-imposed exile in the lab that you finally decide to open your eyes, instead of having everyone pretend that you are “sleeping” and that’s when you see it--

“Hey,” a warm voice welcome you back to the land of the living as you look around to see bright, blue eyes, “How are you feeling?”

That all too familiar dizziness return at the sight of his soft smile as you can’t help but think that Steve might be someone who might not actually leave you alone -- and you aren’t too sure how to feel about that.

#mcu beautiful words challenge #Steve Rogers #steven grant rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve grant rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fan fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #series: think twice #fabiola trying to write

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singledarkshade · 5 years

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Burning

Summary: Rip Hunter spent his life trying to protect time and the people he loved but lost absolutely everything because of it. No family, imprisoned by the organisation he created to replace the one that betrayed him and shunned by the team he brought together. Safe on a new Earth with the now human Gideon, Rip has a chance of a new life with his best friend at his side once more. An encounter with an alien changes Rip and Gideon’s relationship forever. As they deal with the repercussions, their unknown enemy resurfaces just as a time-travelling dimension hopping fugitive appears bringing even more trouble. Author’s Note: This is the final story in this series which started with The Lost Ones, Moving Forward Holding Back, Left Behind, All I Desire and A Part Of Something. Enjoy. ********************************************* Part One – Catching Fire “I come bearing pizza,” Winn announced when Gideon opened the door to him, “How’s the invalid.”

“Perfectly fine,” Rip called from the sofa.

Gideon turned and threw Rip a stern look, “He is resting. Come in, the others are due to join us soon.”

Taking the pizzas off Winn she motioned him to join Rip before disappearing into the kitchen.

“How you doing?” Winn asked taking a seat.

Rip rolled his eyes, “I’m fine.”

“Do not lie,” Gideon called from the other room.

With an annoyed sigh Rip shook his head frustration filling his voice, “She became human and can still hear everything,” he turned back to Winn and conceded, “I am still sore but I have had a lot worse.”

“That’s not something to boast about,” Winn told him with a chuckle.

Rip grimaced slightly but before he could say anything else the doorbell rang again. Rip started to stand but Gideon appeared, throwing a look daring him to even try to answer the door.

“Wow, she’s strict,” Winn drew back a bit at the look.

“You have no idea,” Rip muttered sitting back down as Alex, Kara and James appeared.

Kara instantly moved to Rip and gave him a big hug. Winn bit his lip when he saw the grimace of pain cross Rip’s face but he did not break the hug until Gideon asked Kara to be careful.

“She’s treating me like I’m made of glass,” Rip muttered annoyed when Kara let him go.

Alex laughed, “Yeah, it’s called karma.”

Gideon fixed drinks for everyone, happy to have their friends there, although she had been reluctant at first not sure if Rip was strong enough for it. He had only been released from the infirmary the day before but the others assured her that they would not overexcite him.

“You’re being a little overprotective of Rip,” Alex noted coming in to the kitchen to help.

Gideon shook her head, “He could have died.”

“But he didn’t,” Alex reminded her, “He’s fine. Do you remember how much you hated the way he was smothering you?”

“I am merely ensuring he takes the time to heal,” Gideon defended herself, “Rip is very bad at doing so. He always tries to do too much too fast.”

Wrapping an arm around her friend Alex smiled, “We’re all looking after him. Rip will not have a chance to do anything to over-exert himself. Try to relax a little and enjoy yourself tonight, okay?”

Gideon nodded, “I will try.”

Alex squeezed her hand again before lifting some of the drinks while Gideon took the others. Returning to the living room Gideon took her seat at Rip’s side as Winn and James finally decided on a movie to watch.

When the movie began, Rip slid his arm around Gideon’s shoulders drawing her close. Resting her head against his shoulder Gideon smiled happy to be with their friends knowing that things would settle down now that she was no longer being threatened.

*********************************************

“There are some electrical readings,” Winn stated as they studied the small craft that had been brought in, “But nothing major. I can’t access the onboard computer. Gideon, if you can try that for me. It’s made from a metal similar to Kara’s ship but there is a different resonance when tested.”

“Any biological traces?” Alex asked thoughtfully.

Winn shook his head, “None of the ones we currently know but it could be something we haven’t come across before.”

“Let’s get to work,” Alex nodded, “Gideon, try to access the onboard computer and download everything you can find.”

Winn turned to her, a hopeful look on his face, “You know since Gideon is doing that I could go and see how Rip is doing with his power source?”

Alex chuckled, “The portal power source? The one he’s trying to build so we can move from one place to another simply by walking a few steps? That Power Source?”

Winn glared at her, “Come on, Alex. Do you need me or not?”

Chuckling Alex waved him away, “Go.”

“Make sure Rip eats something,” Gideon told him.

Nodding Winn gave a quick wave before disappearing to go see Rip’s project.

Alex laughed, “It’s been a month since he was injured. He’s healed and fine.”

“And I know him,” Gideon retorted, “If he is working on something like this, something he enjoys Rip has a tendency to forget to eat. It is one of the reasons I did not say anything when he used to hoard food.”

Alex chuckled, “There’s a story in that.”

Gideon shook her head, “But not mine to tell. I should get to work.”

Alex had been called away to check some reports of alien activity leaving Gideon to continue working. The computer onboard the small ship was unusual and Gideon smiled slightly. It had been a long time since she’d come across anything that she didn’t recognise, accessing the system she began the download.

A gentle hum came from the ship and Gideon frowned confused.

She walked slowly towards the ship, intrigued by the sound. She could feel the heat coming from the metal despite the fact the engines were dead.

Slowly reaching out Gideon pressed her hand to the metal, she could hear something calling to her. A voice calling, as the heat built around her, her entire body felt like it was on fire each breath burning in her lungs.

“Gideon?” Alex said pulling her out of her reverie, “Are you finished?”

Shaking herself Gideon turned to her friend, “I just began…” she trailed off seeing the screen flashing ‘Download Complete’.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked worriedly.

Gideon shook her head, “I’m just a little tired.”

“Well it’s getting late,” Alex noted, “You should go home and have an early night.”

Giving her friend a smile, Gideon nodded, “That sounds like a good idea. Tell Rip I’ll see him there. He will be lost in his work and I don’t want to worry him.”

Alex squeezed her arm, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Heading out Gideon decided that although she was tired a walk in the fresh air would help her feel better. By the time she reached the apartment building Gideon felt exhausted. She was hot in a way she’d never felt before and reaching her apartment Gideon headed to her room.

Stripping Gideon stepped into the shower standing under the cold water, relieved for a brief moment that the heat cooled. Stepping out from under the spray, she seemed to barely need to use the towel to dry herself before she pulled on the clean t-shirt she found hanging on the drying rack. Reaching the couch Gideon decided to lie down for a few moments, just until she felt a little better.

“Gideon?” Rip called entering their apartment, “Sorry I’m late. Winn and I were working on the power source but I’ve brought dinner.”

He hung up his keys taking their dinner to the kitchen, a little confused that Gideon hadn’t answered him.

“Gideon?” he called again.

“Captain,” her voice came from the couch, breathy and tired, “You’re finally home.”

Rip frowned finding her lying on the couch curled around a cushion wearing only a t-shirt, his t-shirt, with slightly flushed cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Rip asked concerned, reaching out to check her forehead, “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you call me if you were unwell?”

“Is this what that feels like?” Gideon sighed, leaning into his cool hand.

Rip frowned, “Okay, I’m going to call Alex and we’ll get you to the doctors at the DEO.”

“Don’t,” she caught his hand when he tried to move away.

Even more concerned Rip stroked her hair, “Gideon, if you’re not feeling well I have to take you to a doctor. You’ve never been sick before, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Want stay here,” she murmured.

Rip smiled at how his normally articulate friend was talking, “How about you go to your bed and I’ll ask Alex to come up to check you first. If she says you need a doctor, then we take you to the doctor. Okay?”

She made a noise of agreement holding out her arms to him. Rip rolled his eyes but lifted Gideon into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her head dropping onto his shoulder soft sighs coming from her.

Rip was getting worried at how warm Gideon was. He could feel her skin burning through the thin cotton of the t-shirt she was wearing.

Reaching her room Rip rested Gideon on her bed, she let out a sigh at the cool pillows and sheets.

“I’m going to get Alex,” Rip told her, frowning when she caught his hand pulling him to sit on the bed, “Gideon, you’re not well. I have to...”

He was cut off when Gideon kissed him. Stunned it took him several seconds to pull back from her.

“Gideon,” Rip whispered, dropping his eyes, “That’s not a good idea.”

He felt her fingers slide across his cheek, “Why? You kissed me once before.”

“Different circumstances,” Rip murmured, “Gideon, please let me go get Alex.”

“Captain,” she whispered, softly touching his chin so he would look up at him, her fingers sliding around to the back of his neck.

Rip was beginning to get even more worried at the heat radiating from her and knew he needed to get Alex to check her but her touches were distracting him.

“I have to go...” Rip started, cut off when Gideon kissed him again.

Her lips burned his, Rip felt heat fill him and he leaned into the kiss. Pushing Gideon back onto the bed feeling her arms slide around his neck he...

Rip moaned, forcing his eyes open against the shooting pain cutting through his head. Despite the fact he’d just woken up Rip felt exhausted, even having his eyes open was taking all his energy. He heard Gideon’s sigh from beside him, realising that she was cuddled against his back with her arm resting across his waist. Briefly he wondered how bad his nightmare had been as it had been several weeks since he’d had one so bad he needed her to talk him down.

Checking the time Rip knew he had to move or he would be late for work. Dragging himself out of bed he staggered into the bathroom. Standing in the shower he felt like time was skipping; he did not remember when he went to bed and couldn’t even remember getting undressed for his shower.

Rip couldn’t recall a time when he’d felt this exhausted as he staggered into his room to get dressed; it was like every piece of energy had been drained from him.

He managed to pull on a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt, frowning when the memory of Gideon being unwell the night before forced its way into his foggy brain. He was about to go check on her when a piercing scream came from Gideon’s room. Scrambling out of his room he ran.

“Gideon?” he cried worriedly dropping down beside her.

She whimpered in pain curled into a ball, “Hurts,” was all she managed to say.

Panic filled him and he grabbed the phone, “Something’s wrong with Gideon,” he told Alex the moment she answered, “I need help.”

“Rip?” Alex’s voice came from the other room barely seconds later.

“In here,” he yelled.

Alex ran in and instantly opened the window, before saying into her phone, “Kara, Gideon’s window is open,” she turned to Gideon, dropping down beside the bed, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered trying to comfort Gideon, “She’s burning up.”

“Okay,” Kara’s voice made them turn, “Let me take her.”

Rip reluctantly moved away and stood, staggering suddenly as the adrenalin wore off. Alex caught him.

“You’re burning up too,” Alex said, “Kara...”

Kara who was lifting the bundled up Gideon into her arms nodded, “Give me a minute.”

Alex helped Rip sit on the bed, “She’ll be fine.”

“She screamed,” Rip murmured, “She’s in pain.”

A shadow covered them and they both looked up to see the man coming through the window, a red S on his chest.

“Kara said you needed some help.”

Rip stared at the man, “I know you.”

“You might,” the man shrugged as he wrapped an arm around Rip’s waist pulling him to his feet.

“Of course,” Rip’s brain finally released the information, “Clark Kent,” he said not seeing the surprised looks from the two other occupants of the room, “Be careful of Doomsday.”

That was the last thing he remembered as the world around him spun and became black.

#fic #legends of tomorrow #rip hunter #gideon #timeship #supergirl #alex danvers #kara danvers #winn schott

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xocriminal-minds-imaginesxo · 6 years

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The Date

A/N: The next first in our series. Looks like Spencer kept his promise!

True to his pinky promise Spencer called Paige, this was after he asked his coworkers for advice having never been in this situation before. Taking a deep breath, he punched in the numbers and the phone started to ring. Ringing once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” Her voice filled the line and Spencer suddenly found that he was nervous.

“Hi, is this Paige?” His voice was a few pitches higher than usual.

“Yeah, hi! Spencer… right?”

“Yes, hi! Um… I was wondering if you maybe um… did you want to uh… do you want to go to dinner tonight?” He finally spilled out his words. Paige on the other end of the line was pulling her lips between her teeth trying not to laugh at the FBI agent who was babbling wildly. Though she couldn’t deny that her heart did flutter when he finally spit out his question.

“I would love to!” She replied emphatically “Where did you have in mind?”

“Well there’s the new Italian restaurant on the corner of Broadway and Main. Would you like to do that?”

“Sounds great!”

That night a pile of clothes lay on Paige’s bed as she flung things out of her closet in search of something to wear. How is it possible that suddenly she hated everything that she owned? As soon as she took something out of her closet, something was wrong with it. Too tight, too revealing, too glittery, why the hell did she own something in hunter orange?

Finally, she decided on a black slip dress and black caged sandal heels. Grabbing her purse and a white sweater in case she got cold, she was out the door. The ride to the restaurant was full of excitement bubbling up inside of her. How did she wind up on a date with a cute FBI agent?

Spencer was the first to arrive. His hands were shaking nervously as he told the hostess that he had a reservation. She walked him over to the table and smiled before walking away. Apprehensively he started rearranging his silverware and place setting as he waited. Someone clearing their throat caused him to turn around.

“Paige! Hi!” His voice squeaked a little and she couldn’t but laugh at how adorable he was when he was nervous.

“Hello, Spencer. This place is really nice!” Paige said after they had sat down.

“Can I have you drink orders?” The waiter sounded bored.

“Moscato.” Paige replied simply

“Um… make that two.” Spencer replied. The waiter didn’t say anything just walked away. “I don’t know too much about wine…”

“That’s ok, me either but I figured it was appropriate at an Italian restaurant, wine and pasta. Something like that right?” She kind of blabbed and he just smiled, nodding his head.

“Right.” They mumbled their thanks to the waiter who brought back their drinks and they sipped in silence for a moment. Then that moment turned into a lingering moment.

“Sorry I’m usually a lot better at this, I’m just kind of at a loss of what to talk about with someone as crazy smart as you? I mean I have a BA and you probably have six or something right?” Paige chuckled.

“No, I only have three.” Spencer replied matter of factly. “and three Ph.D.’s” Paige stared at him in disbelief.

“Wow… wow.” She suddenly laughed. “I’m not even sure what to say, that’s incredible. Have you always been this crazy intelligent or did you just overlap a whole lot of years of school?”

“I graduated high school at age 12 and joined the BAU when I was 22.” Spencer replied, and Paige just shook her head with a chuckle.

“You make me feel very insignificant Spencer Reid.”

“I hope you know that’s not my intention!” His voice was worried, and she smiled reassuringly placing her hand on his.

“I know, I know, I’m joking. Sorry I make really bad jokes a lot. It comes with working with five-year olds.” There was a glimmer of happiness at the mention of her job and it was something Spencer really enjoyed listening to people talk about things that they loved. “How long have we been here?” She asked when she set her empty wine glass down.

“23 minutes and 52 seconds.” Spencer replied immediately. Paige wanted to ask him how he could possibly know that but decided against it.

“Why has nobody come back to take our order?” She looked around the room for her waiter.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Spencer said looking around with her.

“Tell you what. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable. I know a place right around the corner we can walk. Maybe it’ll loosen us up a bit.” She stood up and held out her hand.

“We need to pay for our drinks.” He looked down and back up to her.

“Spencer, I’m pretty sure I could do cartwheels out of here and they wouldn’t notice we walked out. Besides the service is obviously crap and they don’t deserve the money. Wind wasn’t even that great anyway.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Are you really trying to convince a federal agent to steal from an establishment?” Spencer raised an eyebrow and Paige couldn’t help but chuckle. Reaching into her purse she placed a ten-dollar bill on the table top and held out her hand again.

“Happy? Let’s go.” After this he took her hand and she let him out of the restaurant into the cool night air. Helping her pull on her sweater, he took her hand in his once again and she smiled up at him.

“So where is it that you’re taking me?” He questioned.

“It’s kind of a hole in the wall, really good bar food, burgers, beer, super laid back. I figured it could be easier to get to know each other in a more relaxed environment.” She shrugged as they turned the corner.

“Maybe I should’ve let you plan this.” They laughed.

“So, tell me about your job. The way you spoke about it even briefly back there I can tell that you really love it.” He asked.

“I do.” She replied dreamily. “I love working with kids. There’s such an amazing joy watching them learn and have their aha moments. I mean even on days that I go home completely exhausted to tears, I’m excited to get up and go back the next day. They’re my kids. My family.” She spoke excitedly, and Spencer found himself lost in her words. The joy on her face even made him excited.

“They’re really lucky to have a role model like you in their lives.” Spencer grinned down at her and she turned toward the door of a small bar. How many times had he walked by this bar and never come in. He opened the door for her and she stepped inside.

“Hey, welcome to-“ The man behind the bar started talking without looking up from a drink he was pouring.

“Rodney’s, it’s Taco Tuesday and Karaoke night, pick a seat.” Paige finished and the guy behind the bar laughed.

“Paige Daniels.” He replied still without looking up. Finally, he set the drink down in front of the patron and moved around the bar, pulling her into a hug. Spencer shifted uncomfortably behind her.

“How you doing Rodney?” Paige returned his hug and when she pulled away she gestured to Spencer. “This is my date, Spencer Reid.”

“Oooh, a date. Well I won’t waste your time; do you want your usual?” He asked.

“Spencer should probably look at th-“ Paige started but Spencer cut her off.

“No, I’ll have what she’s having.” He smiled. Though as soon as Rodney had walked away, Spencer’s phone began to ring. “Sorry, hold on.”

Spencer stepped out of the building and Paige went and had a seat at the bar. This was better, this was a place where she was more comfortable. Watching the window, she could see Spencer pacing back and forth outside the window. She could see his shoulders fall before he hung up and came back into the building.

“I’m sorry, we just got a case.” He shuffled uncomfortably, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “I have to go into work.”

“No, it’s fine! Duty calls! Go get the bad guys.” She stood up and pulled Spencer into a hug. Pulling away he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and a flush rose to her cheeks.

“I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Rodney! You can cancel one of those orders!” Paige yelled back into the kitchen after Spencer walked out of the bar. Sighing she shrugged off her sweater and set it on the bar. It was definitely not the greatest first date she’d ever been on, but there was something in the pit of her stomach. Something that told her there were going to be many more dates to come.

Taglist: @original-criminal-fanfics @bees-love-books @jason-gideon-is-my-dad@spencer-is-too-perfect @teareid

#criminal minds #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine

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laurelsofhighever · 6 years

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 16 - The Carrion Hours

It is the spring of 9:32 Dragon, and Ferelden is gripped in the midst of a bloody civil war. Driven by fear of an old enemy, the traitorous Loghain Mac Tir has stirred the people against the king, and every day new factions vie for power, waiting to take advantage of the chaos now that it is certain a new peace can only be won with swords.

In the north, Arl Howe of Amaranthine has seized control of Highever, and only Rosslyn Cousland, last scion of a slaughtered noble house, stands in the way of his greed. Aided by King Cailan’s uncle and his bastard half-brother, Alistair, she is determined to seek justice for her family’s murder and right the wrongs done to her people.

But politics is a complicated game. War has a cost; nobility comes with obligation; and beneath the machinations on both sides of the conflict, an even deeper threat stirs, biding its time to come into the light and bring Ferelden to its knees.

Words: 5960

Chapter summary: With the battle over, Rosslyn must count the cost - and there's no word of Alistair.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

posting for @alistairappreciationweek art in this chapter by the wonderful @junie-junette

“My lady, please. Reconsider.”

“I said, bring me another horse!”

Rosslyn turned back to inspect Lasan’s hoof and the stone wedged in his shoe. He jerked when the hoof-pick hooked under one corner of it, but the trooper at his head kept a grip on the bridle, and she forced herself to be calm despite her awareness of every moment slipping by. The dogs were out in the dark, trailing for a scent now hours old, their eyes glowing orange where they looked up towards the western edge of the sky. The light was fading. Soon, they would only be able to see by torches, and then Howe – her vengeance – would be truly lost to her, and every life sacrificed on the battlefield would mean nothing. The evening brought a breeze that chilled the sweat on her forehead and seeped into her bones, uncaring.

Finally, she pried the stone free. They had been at full gallop when Lasan came up lame, every trooper still able to wield a sword behind them, and even the few strides he had taken to slow to a halt had been enough to bruise the soft sole of the horse’s foot. It would need treatment, or else an abscess might form, and she couldn’t ride him back or risk making the injury worse.

“And that’d be the end of you,” she said quietly to him, letting go of the hoof so she could pat him on the neck.

Her hand came away wet with blood and lather, shining black in the torchlight. The other horses were in similar shape, blowing hard and trembling with fatigue, slow targets for anyone waiting to ambush them on the road ahead, especially with riders injured and glazed from battle. At the centre of the ring of torches, Irminric watched her grimly, waiting for orders as she glared down the road. It was truly dark now.

“My lady?”

She gritted her teeth. “Recall the dogs.”

With one last look over her shoulder, she mounted the spare horse led over to her, and turned to lead the way back to the camp. Resistance dragged at her limbs like cold water, sound fell away, her head felt thick and heavy, and only the flickering lights ahead kept her path in the right direction.

As the battlefield neared, she fought the urge to gag on the smell. Soldiers picked their way through the bodies, first the Swords of Mercy looking for any last survivors, and after them the salvagers, squabbling with the crows as they searched for weapons or armour no longer needed by their owners. Some had presence of mind enough to pause in their grisly work and salute as the cavalry rode past, but Rosslyn kept her eyes forward, not daring to turn in case she found one of the endless corpse with a face she recognised.

A waste. She wondered if her parents had ever felt so hollow after a battle, if they had mourned for men whose names they would never know. Lady carry you on soft wings to more peaceful lives than the ones you left, she thought, and rode on.

Her horse shied slightly on the ice-and-wood bridge constructed over the river, but she settled it with a slight dig of her heels, distracted. There was the royal banner of the War Dog that had led the disastrous charge into the enemy’s rear, flying over a cluster of unfamiliar pavilions set in the middle of the camp. They blazed with merry light, servants buzzing around the tent flaps like moths, while all around the air was rank with the stench of blood and churned earth.

She spotted Franderel emerging from the closest one, as well-preened as ever, and her patience snapped. With a grunted order to her standard bearer, she swung off her horse, exhaustion driven away by the anger swelling in her chest. He started when she came hulking out of the dark towards him, but he recovered quickly.

“Ah, my lady, there you are, we were just starting to wonder –”

“Where is he?”

“What?”

She yanked off her helmet, teeth bared. “Do not test me, Franderel. That pestilential, nug-humping son of a pig nearly cost us the battle. Now where is he?”

“Now, my lady,” the Bann of West Hill replied smoothly, “I hardly call that civilised language. Perhaps you should calm down, before –”

“Half of my men are dead!” she shouted, flinging her arm out towards the dark. “The ground we had is lost and Howe has disappeared, all thanks to whichever fool it is decided to ignore the rules of engagement and charge blind into my ambush.” She leaned closer. Franderel flinched backwards. “Now you, my lord, will get out of my way or I swear by the breath of Winter that I will knock you down.”

“Ho, what’s this, another battle already?”

The new voice was light, jovial, completely out of place. Rosslyn snapped to face the newcomer, bristling, but stuttered to a dumb halt when she caught sight of the man’s golden armour and the War Dogs fluttering as he emerged from his pavilion. She dropped to one knee, mind racing.

“Your Majesty, I…” The apology died in her throat as she chanced a look upwards at the king. For a second, she could have sworn… She shook herself out of the fantasy, her cheeks itching red with embarrassment. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Oh, now none of that,” Cailan replied, offering her a hand to her feet. “We’re old friends, after all.” He smiled. “Now then, would you care to accompany me? We shall have to get you cleaned up, and fed, and maybe rested a bit – Bann Franderel, are accommodations prepared for our wayward Teyrna of Highever?”

“I believe so, Your Majesty,” came the clipped reply.

“Excellent. Perhaps you could find us some food, then – maybe a little wine?”

Franderel bowed. “It will be done.”

“I won’t rest yet, Your Majesty,” Rosslyn interrupted. “There is still a lot to be done.”

“Of course. This way.”

He tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and Rosslyn allowed herself to be led towards the pavilion, fighting against her confusion at finding Cailan not in Redcliffe, and also against the rage eating at her like acid but which now had nowhere to go. To show anger towards the king went against every lesson in protocol she had ever learnt, especially knowing she needed his support to retake the North. Besides which, whatever remained of the army was still depending on her for leadership, and she had precious little energy to spare on anything so personal as a tantrum.

“When I heard about your family, I could hardly believe it,” Cailan told her quietly. “I’m sorry. Howe’s treachery will be redressed; you have my word. Whatever is in my power to give.”

Rosslyn suppressed the urge to grind her teeth. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

A servant stood just within the pavilion’s entrance with a pitcher of water and a clean towel draped over his arm. Cailan left her for a moment of privacy, for which she was grateful. The water, cold enough to sting, turned murky almost as soon as she dipped her hands below the surface, but a moment of scrubbing was enough to get rid of the worst of the gore, and a quick swipe of the towel across the back of her neck left her feeling remarkably refreshed.

Dismissing the servant with a gesture, she made her way through to where Cailan’s men had set up a trestle table with maps and early reports of the battle. Arl Eamon was there, still in armour and looking worse for wear with puffy eyes and deep wrinkles trailing into the edges of his beard. He bowed to her, as did Auldubard and Loren, who stood a little further back, unsure of themselves among such lofty company.

“Teagan?” Rosslyn asked.

“Badly injured, but alive,” Eamon answered in a gruff voice. “His troops took the worst of the final assault – it seems they plugged the gap so that the rest could get a better defensive line. My brother’s right-hand saw to that, I’m told.”

“Ser Alistair?” her heart jumped against her ribs, and again when she realised how her outburst must have seemed. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now, but the things she had said to him... the memory left a yawning darkness that made her fingers shake. “Is he alive?”

Eamon shrugged. “The messenger didn’t say.”

“I see.” Her mouth was dry. “What about Bann Telmen?”

“I saw him fall myself, my lady,” Auldubard replied. “There was nothing I could do.”

Rosslyn was grateful when Eamon took charge then. Casualty reports trickled in with inventories of items recovered from the field, names passed through the moments like sand through a glass – Morrence had survived, and Gideon, as well as most of Teagan’s captains, with only minor injuries. It soon became apparent, however, that crippled as it was, the army would have to make the best of fortifying its position instead of finding somewhere safer to rest its soldiers.

“At least until the mages can stabilise the most badly injured,” Eamon added. “The fact that we lost so many of them is unfortunate.”

“Ser Alistair’s defence made sure we didn’t lose more, my lord,” Audubard told him. “He’s the one who ordered the flank to focus on protecting them until Captain Morrence’s cavalry could intervene.”

“Did he now?” Cailan asked with an idle stroke of his beard. “This young man seems to have made an impression on all of you. What do you think, Uncle? I will have to meet him.”

Rosslyn frowned down at the table, rankled by the careless amusement in the king’s voice. “Our first decision is what to do next,” she said. “I recommend sending scouts as soon as possible along the Imperial Highway here –” she stabbed at the map – “And here. We can’t begin planning a counter-action until we know where our enemy is and how much strength he has left.”

Eamon nodded his approval. “Agreed. However, I’m afraid Arl Howe has most likely retreated to Deerswall. We sent outriders in that direction earlier today and they reported seeing Amaranthine troops digging ditches around the palisade.”

Her fists clenched. Of course Deerswall had been taken from them. Howe was opportunistic, and even with all the traps they had laid, and the garrison left to guard it, its position overlooking the road would have been too tempting to resist. They should have burned it to the ground instead.

“Lady Rosslyn?”

She jumped. Someone had asked her a question about supplies. “I – yes. We have rations enough for tonight. Requisition parties can be sent out in the morning.”

“Perhaps it’s best to leave things as they are then,” Cailan said. “We can do little more now in any case. With a bit of rest and some decent food in us, I’m sure we’ll have a brighter outlook.” He gave a subtle wave to one of the servants, and within seconds the table was being cleared of maps to make way for plates of meat pies, bread, cheese, and a jug of heated wine. “Come, my Lady Cousland, will you join us?”

Rosslyn shook her head, her mind already wandering. “Thank you, Your Majesty, but if you wouldn’t mind, I think I’d rather like to go to bed.”

“Of course,” he replied, covering his disappointment with a beaming smile. “I’m told you were up before the sun this morning, so I wouldn’t dream of keeping you. Lieutenant Mhairi,” he added, “show Teyrna Rosslyn to her quarters, if you would.”

A short, round-faced woman stepped out of the shadows and bowed crisply. “Yes, Your Majesty. This way, Your Ladyship.”

The lieutenant led the way through the camp in silence, her arms held stiffly behind her back. Rosslyn, too tired to make conversation, allowed her the mask of professionalism.

“Is there anything you require, You Ladyship?” Mhairi asked when they reached a pavilion with the standard of the Laurels dug into the earth by the entrance. “Should I call a servant for you?”

“No, thank you. I can manage well enough.”

Mhairi started to say something in reply, but was cut off when a brindle mass of fur streaked out of the pavilion’s entrance and all but knocked her over. Rosslyn barely had time to react before Cuno was rearing against her chest in a mad scramble of licks and high, whistled whines, doing his best despite the frantic wag of his rear end to climb into her arms like he had when he had been a puppy and considerably less heavy.

“I guess that means he’s pleased to see you,” Mhairi said.

Rosslyn barely heard her. She had to brace against her dog’s bulk to avoid sinking into the mud, but she held onto him tight and scratched her fingers along his shoulders and buried her face into his ruff even though it was matted with gore, until sense reasserted itself and the wriggling turned into a polite request for down, please, I don’t like heights. With a sound that was half a giggle and half a sob, she let him go, then staggered when he turned and thrust his rump against her knees.

“Fat lump,” Rosslyn accused, indulging the demand for scritches. “Thank you for your service, Lieutenant. That will be all.”

Hiding a grin, Mhairi bowed and left.

The inside of the pavilion was much warmer than the night outside. The only light came from a brazier by the central tent pole and a single candle that had been set out on a low table next to the bed, but it was enough to see by, and it offered a privacy she could not remember feeling for days. Next to the candle was a water pitcher, and a set of clean clothes was draped over her chair, though it was clear whoever had removed them from her trunk had not thought to iron out the creases. Trying not to think about what Graela’s reaction would be to seeing a shirt in such a state – or to the mess Cuno had already made of the bedsheets – Rosslyn looped the toggles shut, set up the privacy screen to block any gaps in the canvas, and carried the pitcher over to the brazier so she could wash in relative warmth.

Her shirt and breeches stuck to her skin as she peeled them off. She discarded them in a pile with her armour and followed with her smallclothes, grimacing when dried blood flaked off the cloth like rust. Shivering, she washed mechanically, letting the long, repetitive motions lull her into a trance that stripped her of everything but the need to free her skin of every single grain of dirt. Before, she might have lived with the itch of old sweat if it meant she could give in to the restless energy twining through her limbs, but King Cailan’s arrival made everything different. She felt it in the air, in the way the soldiers sat straighter around their fires and how the watchmen kept their eyes up and alert to the dark. For her, it meant her own desires needed to be an afterthought to propriety, just like on the morning she had stood on the parapet of the castle tower and watched her father ride to war without her.

Don’t think about it.

There was no helping her hair. The matted sweat and blood would take hours to wash and brush out properly, and she had no mirror to help her. It was dark, and her hair was black anyway; nobody would notice. She scooped it into a low tail out of the way and dressed swiftly in the new clothes, before easing her feet back into her only pair of boots, which she had been wearing since that morning. They squelched.

“Let’s go, dog.”

Cuno, patient until now, whined and cocked his head with a questioning wag of his stubby tail.

She sighed. “I have to know. I can’t just –” She remembered the argument, and Eamon’s dismissive shrug when she had asked. “I need to see that he’s alright.”

Nobody bothered them as they crossed the camp. The night was quieter now, the groans of the injured mostly silenced by sleep or something more permanent, and now only a few soldiers not on watch sat awake around their fires. Cuno trotted over to greet some of them, and others nodded towards Rosslyn as she passed, but on the whole they ignored her. Her place was not to comfort them, nor theirs to expect it. She kept her gaze fixed on the infirmary and measured a stately pace, hoping that the appearance of calm might inspire it in her troops, though every fibre of her being strained to break into a run and damn the consequences.

The young templar on duty outside the infirmary didn’t notice her approach. He was standing close to one of the mages, his hand resting lightly on her upper arm and his head lowered to offer comfort. The pair startled when Rosslyn whistled Cuno back to her side, and the mage flashed her a tear-stained glance from beneath a shock of dark hair before slinking away into the darkness.

“It’s been a long day for them,” the templar said, rubbing a sheepish hand along the back of his neck. “Many of them haven’t seen this kind of bloodshed before. Is there something you needed? I’m afraid the infirmary is closed to visitors until the morning.”

“I was hoping to speak to Wynne, if she hasn’t gone to bed yet,” Rosslyn replied.

“The senior enchanter? I’m afraid I don’t…” He peered more closely at her, his blond curls falling low over his forehead. “Andraste preserve me – Lady Cousland, forgive me, I didn’t realise it was you.”

She smiled wryly. “It seems to be a night for mistaken identities. Is Wynne around?”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but she retired about an hour ago. Now that the worst of the injuries have been seen to, the Knight-Captain ordered most of the mages rest for the morning. I could have a messenger run to fetch her, if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rosslyn said, already stepping past him. “As you were, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Inside, the infirmary was warmly lit by shaded lamps that hung from the crossbeams holding up the canvas roof. The air smelled of bitter herbs and the sweetness of lyrium, but underneath it lingered a strain of blood and cauterized flesh that made bile rise in the back of Rosslyn’s throat. The whole place held the kind of quiet that only comes after a storm, when the clouds roll away and the sun shines down on the broken bits of flotsam left behind. Some of the soldiers whimpered quietly as she passed.

In one corner, a group of men in Highever colours sat in a loose circle, playing a game of cards by the light of a lamp and every now and then checking on a man who lay next to them with his eyes closed and his head in bandages.

“Lady Falcon!” It was the Amaranthine deserter who had once called her father a traitor. “It’s ‘Steal the Queen’ - will ye care for a hand?” He waved her over with the cards fanned between his fingers, smiling broadly as if she hadn’t once held a sword to his throat.

“I’m afraid I play terribly,” she replied, hesitating to cross over and join them.

“Can’t be worse than Jammy over here.”

Jammy gave him a swift dig in the ribs. “Leave off, man. Me luck’s not that bad, or I wouldna be sittin’ here, would ah? Dinna fash yeself owa this’un, lass,” he added. “As ye can see, weh’ve still gotta learn ‘im some manners.”

“Take a load off, lass,” interrupted one of the others, an older man with deep, weathered lines around his eyes. “Ye look like ye could use it.”

Rosslyn couldn’t help but smile as she shook her head. “You’re very kind to offer.” Then, feeling something else should be said, she asked, “How’s your friend?”

The soldiers glanced at their unconscious mate.

“Marvin? Aye, he’ll be alreet. Got a head like a rock, that’un. Yon mageling just asked us te watch ‘im, is all.”

“I’m glad.” She turned to leave, but they called her back.

“At least have a drink before ye go, milady,” the Amaranthine soldier said. He held up a corked glass bottle. “As thanks.”

“Thanks?” Rosslyn asked, discomfited by how they all looked at her through their bandages and bruises, with a trust she didn’t deserve. “For what?”

“Weh’d all be up the cundie if not for you, lass,” said the old man. “We saw well enough what happened on the hill.”

For a moment, Rosslyn couldn’t reply. She looked down at the bottle pushed into her hands.

“Well then.” She shrugged, and pulled the cork out with a hollow pop. “What’s your name?”

“Riley, Ma’am.”

“Well, Riley, here’s to not being up the cundie.” She raised the bottle and swigged it backwards, coughing when the strong, smoky liquid hit the back of her tongue and burned its way down her throat.

The soldiers laughed when she passed it back and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I’ll leave the rest of that to you, I think.”

“What’s going on here?” The soldiers quieted as the healer in charge of the ward emerged into the lamplight, attracted by the noise. “You do know there are people here trying to heal, don’t you? They need rest. I don’t think – wait, is that a dog?”

Cuno cocked his head, his tongue hanging out of his mouth in what he no doubt thought was a winning smile.

“It’s not allowed.”

“I’m sorry?”

The healer drew himself up, mistaking the soft tone of Rosslyn’s voice for genuine confusion. “This is an infirmary – it must be kept clean.”

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could form a response, Cuno uttered a low wuff and bumped against her legs, before looking back at her expectantly with a wag of his tail.

“Dogs cannot just be allowed to wander willy-nilly around – hey, wait!”

The pulse in her ears drowned out the healer’s complaints. Cuno was keen on a scent, and glanced backwards every few steps to make sure she was following, through to the back of the pavilion until he found what he was looking for and ducked into an alcove blocked from view by a heavy curtain.

It was Alistair.

He lay without moving. A thin sheet was pulled up to cover his bare chest, a thick crust of gore caked his scalp and the left side of his face, and the skin beneath it shone pale with sweat. Was all the blood his? Someone had splinted his left arm and tied it in a sling. If he were dead, then surely they wouldn’t have bandaged his wounds, or propped him up with so many pillows for comfort. Surely.

Cuno, sensing his mistress’ uncertainty, came to lick her hand. He whined and nudged her hip when she only batted distractedly at his ears, and then with a perfunctory sneeze padded over to the bed and jumped up so that his large paws landed squarely – heavily – on Alistair’s stomach.

“Cuno!” Rosslyn hissed. She started forward, but halted again when Alistair groaned and cracked open his eyes.

“Ow, gerroff… ugh… where’d you even come from…?”

Relief hit her with such force that her knees sagged and she had to catch herself against the doorpost, her throat choked with every emotion she had kept in check since riding into the camp. He’s not dead. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the creak of the straw mattress, the rustle of blankets, sending her thanks to all the gods who cared to listen. He’s alive, he’s alright, he’s not dead. The barbs of their argument loomed out of the darkness, still mocking, still powerful enough to sting her with shame, but their potency was lost with the fear that he might have died thinking she didn’t care.

“Who’s a cute and adorable puppy?” Alistair crooned, oblivious to everything but the dog snuggling against his arm. The words were slurred and a laugh bubbled in her throat.

“Andraste?”

She opened her eyes. He was peering into the shadows where she stood, propped up on one elbow to get a better view. The blanket covering him slipped down to his navel, bare except for the bandages, and she quickly turned her gaze away.

“Not quite.”

His confusion broke into a drunken sort of smile. “Rosslyn?” He settled back onto the mattress. “Good. Much prettier than ‘draste.”

Her hand froze against the tearstains on her cheek. The mages must have given him a soporific – blood lotus, perhaps, for the pain of his broken arm – and it was distorting his perceptions. She didn’t know what to say.

Then, after a moment, a thought seemed to occur to him, because he leaned up again and narrowed his eyes at her. “You are real, aren’t you?” he asked. “You’re not some sort of ghost, or apparition, or – or a demon, right? Because I really, really don’t want you to be a demon.”

“If I were a demon, would I tell you?” she teased.

He relaxed. “It’s you. Nobody else mocks me like you do.”

She chuckled as she moved towards him out of the darkness, determined to ignore how her face heated under his scrutiny. “It’s me.” She fiddled with the edge of the bedsheet. “I –”

“There you are!” The healer appeared next to the curtain, more puffed up than ever now that he had been made to exert himself. “My lady, please, I’m afraid I cannot allow you back here. These patients need rest, and –”

“I thought they were here to be healed,” Rosslyn said.

“They are. Which is why I will have to ask you to –”

“Perhaps, then,” she interrupted, “you could tell me why this man is lying here still covered in blood, and still with such severe injuries?”

“My lady,” the healer replied, indignant. “His injuries have been treated, and he has been given a draught to help control the pain –”

“If he needs the draught, then his injuries have not been treated,” she snapped.

From the bed, Alistair giggled.

“Answer the question I asked,” she ordered. “Or will I have to go to Senior Enchanter Wynne to find out why it is you’re so reluctant to be helpful?”

Mention of Wynne’s name deflated the last of the man’s bluster. “M-my apologies, my lady. The volume of patients we received from the battle, we had to prioritise our time and the mages’ energies.”

“Prioritise? You seem to have enough of both time and energy spare to follow me from one end of this place to the other hissing at me like a goose,” Rosslyn said dryly. She let the healer wilt for a beat longer as he tried to think of a response, before drawing herself up to her full, commanding height. “Fetch me a bowl of warm salted water, a clean cloth, and some elfroot salve,” she ordered.

“My lady…”

“Now.”

He did as he was told, mumbling an apology as he stumbled backwards out of range of Rosslyn’s cold glare.

“It’s nice when you’re angry at someone who isn’t me,” Alistair mused before turning his attention back to Cuno. “Who’s a good dog? Yes, you’re a good dog, yes you are!”

She frowned. “You say that like I’m always angry at you.”

The healer bustled back in, keeping his head low as he laid a water bowl and a small clay pot on a collapsible table he set up by the bed.

“That will be all,” Rosslyn said when he remained hovering a few feet away, only relaxing when the sound of his footsteps retreated out of earshot. She turned and shrugged off her cloak and gambeson, laying both across the foot of the bed before rolling up her shirtsleeves.

“Um, what are you doing?” Alistair asked as she sat down. The bed was very narrow. He tugged the blanket back up to cover his chest as far as possible, for decency, suddenly light-headed and rather warm to feel her thigh laid alongside his hip. Water plinked into the bowl as she soaked and squeezed the excess out of the cloth.

“I refuse to talk to someone so unkempt,” she breezed. “It’s undignified.”

“Unkempt?” He looked down at himself, pouting. “I am not.”

“At least tell me this isn’t all your own blood.”

“I – hm. I’m not sure.” He focussed on the way Cuno was butting his head into the crook of his elbow, because the only other thing to focus on was Rosslyn’s studious frown, the way her lips parted slightly as she trailed the cloth over his forehead. It was hard to think when her touch brushed so gently over his skin. “I remember there was a big guy with an axe and an even huger moustache, and then I think someone fell on me, but I was trying to get – Teagan!”

He shot upright and yelped as the movement wrenched his injuries. The next thing he knew was Rosslyn’s hand pressing his shoulder back against the pillows.

“Lie back, or you’ll make it worse,” she instructed. “Teagan’s alive. A lot of people are, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to…? No. I didn’t really do anything.”

She rinsed the cloth. “You saved half our mages and kept our lines from collapsing even when you were overrun.” Her mouth quirked. “His Majesty is very impressed.”

“King Cailan is here?”

Panic churned in his gut. Now – now was the time to tell her everything, about his past, his heritage, every secret about who he was that he had ever kept hidden away. But the drug the mages had given him fogged his brain and fear weighted his tongue. She searched his face, watching him with the kind of patient silence that waited for castle walls to turn into ruins. A memory of Isolde offered itself up then, the pinched force of her glare as she waited for him to confess just who it was spilled paint on her favourite dress.

The image clamped his jaw shut. Rosslyn was a noble. He was a bastard. That was all they would ever be.

“I thought you sent the king to Redcliffe?” he checked, trying to turn her attention away from himself.

She snorted. “Nobody tells a king to do anything.” For a while she wound the cloth through her fingers, chewing her lips together so hard it must have hurt. “He’s the one who led the cavalry.”

“Oh.”

“Still,” she added brightly, “He’s out of Denerim, which was our main concern, and his presence has certainly put new energy into the soldiers. And as for you…” The smirk returned. “There’s talk of making you a proper field commander and everything.”

“What?” His eyes widened in mock horror. “No. no, nonoo no no no. I can’t command an army. Baaaaaad things happen when I lead.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Before you know it, we’d be stranded in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by – by giant nugs, and I wouldn’t have any pants. Maybe not the last bit, forget I said the last bit,” he added. “Unless…” He leaned forward, eyebrows waggling, before he could stop himself. “Are you now imagining me without any pants?”

It took a beat for her to respond. “You are a very strange man.”

“Some women would call it charm,” he retorted.

“And you’d find most of them serving drinks in taverns.”

“That’s cruel.”

Conversation faltered after that. When most of the dirt was wiped away from his face, Rosslyn shifted closer and set to cleaning out the deep gash on his cheek, wincing in sympathy every time he grimaced at the sting of the salt. It was an ugly wound, but the edges were straight enough that it ought to heal with little scarring. She had to pause every few seconds to tilt Alistair’s head back towards the light, because he kept turning to study her face no matter how she told him to hold still, and after a while it became easier just to leave her fingers resting against his jaw, with his stubble prickling against her skin.

“There, done,” she said, and leaned back with a satisfied curl of her mouth. “You look almost presentable now.”

“There’s no need to be patronising.” He watched as she rinsed out the cloth for the final time, his giddiness from the sedative and from her touch wavering when he noticed the stiffness of her shoulders, the tension in the line of her neck. “You’ve spent all this time on me, and I haven’t even asked,” he muttered. “How are you?”

“That’s a fine question coming from the man lying in a tent with at least three broken bones.”

Alistair shook his head. “What happened to Howe?”

He got no immediate answer. Instead, Rosslyn busied herself folding the cloth, the muscles in her jaw tight and her gaze turned deliberately away from him as she unstoppered the lid on the clay pot. A bitter-sharp whiff of elfroot and peppery knightsfoil caught in his nose when she scooped up some of the salve on her index finger and held it to the wound.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

“I’m sorry for before,” he pressed. “This morning – yesterday – whatever day it is now. There were things I shouldn’t have said.”

“Hold still.”

“Rosslyn.”

She slumped, her hand falling from his cheek to wipe the excess salve away on her breeches, turning her body away again with an unsteady sigh. Should he reach for her, try to bring her back to him? He cursed his splinted arm, and his ignorance, and his cowardice as he fought the urge to pull her closer, to trace his fingertips along her hairline, to bury his head in her shoulder and tell her in no uncertain terms how glad he was to know she was alive.

“I had him, Alistair.” She still didn’t look at him, her gaze instead softening on Cuno, who came to push his head into her lap and lick her hands clean. “He was right there, right in front of me, but…”

He realised. “You came back for us instead.”

She nodded.

“Well, err, I’m quite glad you did choose to come back,” he said, unsure of what else to say. Tentatively, he stretched out his hand and brushed her arm. The unexpected contact made her jump; her gaze flicked between his face and the warmth of his fingers on her skin, her expression frozen in shock.

“You saved a lot of lives.”

She frowned, her words no more than a whisper. “And now all of Highever will suffer for it.” Then propriety asserted itself again, and she shrank away, leaving his hand to linger on the empty air as she reached for her discarded gambeson and cloak.

“It’s late,” she said. “You should get some rest.”

“I… of course.”

Alistair settled back down into the pillows as comfortably as possible and tried to ignore the cold squirm forming in the pit of his stomach with every brusque step she took further away from him. When she paused in the doorway to let Cuno amble past and licked her tongue over her lips, he leaned up again, hopeful for whatever she would say.

“Rosslyn?”

“I… About yesterday morning…” She shook her head, the words lost. “Forgive me.”

And then she was gone.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #alistair x cousland #alistair x warden #alistair theirin #king alistair #cousland #rosslyn cousland #king cailan #arl eamon #alistair appreciation week

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certifiedskywalker · 4 years

Text

Trust Me - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

shazam-levi

I don't know if you've already gotten this request, but I'll tell you anyway. Could you set it during episode 8 when they are battling moff gideon and when mando almost dies the reader force heals him. He tells her he loves her since he thinks he'll die but she stays and saves him. They already have feelings for each other, but both finally confess after the battle. Lots of fluff and angst. Please let me know if this works!

AN: Made a slight change in the request but I hope that’s okay. I don’t like the idea that Din just says “I love you”. I think Din shows his love rather than verbally addressing it. I hope you get the romantic subtext!

“We’re not leaving without you,” Cara snapped, her stern features pointed at the Mandalorian, at Din, who lay against a slab of stone rumble.

“You need to protect the Child,” he choked out.

You cringed at the sound of his hoarse voice. The modulator in the mask did little to make him sound the slightest bit hopeful. You leaned towards him, resting a careful hand on his helmet. Even without closing your eyes or actively communing with the Force, you could feel the severity of his wound. Din’s visor turned to face you.

“Y/N, please,” the desperation in his voice made your chest ache. “Leave me here...get him out of here.”

You shook your head at his order. You could never follow through on such a demand had been through too much with Din to just leave him to die alone. There was something you could do, you had to do, even if it meant exposing yourself. If Din was willing to trust you with the trust, you could trust him with your truth. “I can-”

“Whatever we’re going to do we need to do it fast,” Greef said, panic lacing his tone. It was hard to hear the ex-magistrate over IG-11 as the droid cut the sewer grate out of the cantina wall. “They’ll be coming in any-”

The roar of sudden flames cut Greef’s warning short. Heat washed over you like a dry wave of doom. You turned towards the door where a red detail, armored trooper lurked, a fire-turret in hand. The sight alone was enough to throw you back to the past.

In your memory, you heard the blaster-fire of Republic issued rifles as Clones fired on you and your Master, Stass Allie. The heat, so horribly similar to the deserts on Saleucami. Your forced your eyes shut and took a calming breath. Slowly, your heart rate steadied and you pulled yourself back to the present. There was no time to hesitate or get caught on past phantoms; there were people with you now who needed your help.

“Protect the Child.” Din’s voice was weak, a barely-there sound. Whatever he was clinging to was wearing thin. You opened your eyes and pulled your hand away from Din’s helmet. “I can fend them off...let you escape.”

“No,” Cara protested just as the pyro-trooper returned in the burning doorway. You looked over and felt a shock of adrenaline run through your body. Waddling confidently up towards the scorched remains of the cantina entrance was the Child. Before you could lunge towards the creature, the trooper released a fresh flame from the turret.

With wide eyes you watched the Child raise its tiny hands up towards the racing fire. You felt a gust of pure power in the Force, the kind that you once felt as a youngling with Master Yoda. Sensing the Child’s strength and intentions, you threw yourself over Din’s chest in an attempt to protect him from the incoming heat. You felt one of Din’s arms around your waist as if he wanted to press you as close as possible. When flames didn’t envelop you all, you lifted your head from Din’s chest and smiled.

The Child, conducting the Force through his fingertips, was keeping the fire at bay. Strength of that degree was incredible, let alone the fact it was a young creature wielding it. You watched, wide-eyed and proud as the Child pushed the fire back toward the pyro-trooper. With a blood-curdling scream, the trooper burst into flames and crumpled to the ground. Threat gone, the Child fell back to the ground completely exhausted.

You crawled over to the creatures’ slumped form and scooped him up in your arms. Careful not to trip or wake the Child, you walked back over to Din. Upon sitting at his side, Din reached up and brushed his fingers along the creatures’ ear. Before you could speak up, Din’s moving hand clutched your arm. He gave it a squeeze, the touch enough to pull your eyes to his helmet’s visor.

“Let me die a warriors death,” he choked out. You felt a burning in your eyes, the threat of unshed tears. Without hesitation, you shook your head.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you replied. As you spoke, the clanging kicks of the IG unit filled your ears. With one final metal crash, the way to escape was open.

“It’s open! We have to go!” Greef shouted and you looked up. He was already filing into the cramped tunnel passage while the rest of you lingered. Even the IG unit waited, red optical receptors trained on the Child. In a flash, you stood and held the Child out to the droid.

“No,” Din coughed, but you ignored him.

“Take him and go, we’ll be right behind you.” Without questioning your order, the droid took the child and followed after Greef. Content with your choice, you turned and face Cara. “Can you go with them?”

“What about him?” Cara tipped her head toward Din.

“I’ll take care of him.” The shock trooper’s dark brows furrowed together but she stood anyway. Cara gave Din one last, worried glance before walking past you. As she moved, she grabbed your shoulder.

“Don’t let him…”

“I won’t.”

Cara nodded gratefully and you turned to watch her as she followed the droid into the sewer. When the four of them were out of sight, you rushed back over to Din. You crouched down at his side and took his hand in yours. His helmet turned to you and you could feel his life, ever-present in the Force around you, begin to wane.

“Why are you doing this?”

You ignored the truth that threatened to spill out of your mouth and answered him with another question. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” There was no delay in his reply; no pause or doubt. The trust between you and Din was deep, akin to the trust between you and your late Master only stronger. You gave Din a half-smile and hoped that, beneath his helmet, he made it whole.

Just as you were about to continue, the cantina entrance became to crumble. The stone ceiling fell in, blocking the doorway to the village outside. If you did manage to patch Din up, the sewer would be the only way out of the ruined building. You turned your attention back to Din and found his free hand reaching out to you. For a moment, you considered pulling away, letting him go out in the Mandalorian way. But your Jedi way would not allow you to leave him behind; that, and your heart, your feelings for him.

“I need you to take off your helmet.”

“It’s forbidden,” Din said, without missing a beat, “no one has seen me since…”

“I won’t see, not really,” you explained, “I’ll have my eyes closed.”

You could feel Din’s nervousness through the Force but the trust he had in you eventually won out. Slowly, you watched Din’s gloved hands reached up towards his helmet. A quick, thankful smile danced along your features before you closed your eyes. The hiss of the helmet’s release echoed in your ears and you found yourself fighting temptation. You wanted to see him, really see him, but you had made a promise.

Instead, you reached out, let your hands brush against his matted hair. He was sweaty and you could feel him pull away from your touch, only for a moment before relaxing. The weight of his head fell against your hands. It was then you felt the blood, all thick and warm. You took a deep, shuddering breath before channeling all that you could into the wound.

With the best of your abilities, you tried to replicate what you had seen the Child do with Greef’s wound only a day before. You had only read about Force regeneration in texts hidden deep in the Coruscant Temple’s archive.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name in his voice, now unaltered by the helmet, was nearly enough to get you to open your eyes. How soft his voice sounded, how small. It was as if the mask he wore carried with it everything you thought he was. Now, Din was laying bare before you but you couldn’t see him. It was torturous, not being able to look at him.

Viscerally, it felt like you were being drained. Although that could have been the life Force you were melding into his wounded flesh. Draining a piece of yourself and giving to Din was simple in principle; no more confusing than wedding vows. Physically the act was something else and you understood why the Jedi often guarded against using the Force to heal.

“Y/N,” you shook your head and tried to refocus, “Y/N, please.”

The instant you were finally getting through, when the wound was just beginning to mend, you felt the rough texture of Din’s glove against your chin, then your cheek. You fought to stay focused. You fought to keep your eyes screwed shut. “Y/N.” Suddenly, you were losing the battle.

“Y/N, let me see your eyes.”

Whether it was the desperation or the pleading nature of Din’s voice, you gave in. Slowly, your eyes opened and you took in the sight before you as if it were your first time seeing anything. You studied Din’s face intensely: the mixture of fear and adoration in his dark eyes; the patchy scruff along his jaw; the curves of his lips; everything. Somewhere, you found more strength, whether it was in Din’s eyes or in your own heart. That strength was enough to channel the Force that whirled around you both and heal Din’s head wound.

The cuts and bruises in his face sealed up and the flesh returned to its natural color. Never once did your eyes leave Din’s. Not even when he took a full, gasping breath. Not even when you felt your energy being drained. You channeled every teaching Stass Allie had taught you. One such teaching from your late Jedi Master came to your mind.

“You can never trust someone without looking into their eyes. Eyes never lie, my padawan, neither a friends’ or a foes’.”

Looking into Din’s eyes, in that moment, you knew you could trust him with anything.

The Force seemed to slip from your fingertips as Din’s wounds healed. You let yourself fall back on the dirt, careful not to get too close to the flames. Heat had grown and spread around you; a frightful reminder that you needed to get out of there.

“We need to go.” You reached for Din’s helmet and handed it to him.

“What did you-”

“We can talk about it later. We need to get to the Child.” At the mention of the little creature, Din grew stoic. His brows furrowed slightly and his lips pursed. You had to swallow the smile that threatened to spread along your lips. To mask it further, you stood up and extended a hand to the downed Mandalorian.

Without hesitation, he took your hand and got to his feet.

“Why didn’t you have one of those before?” You asked Din as you landed. Even with your feet on the ground, you still clung to Din’s arms. Flight via jetpack was new to you. Although the Child, wedged between you and Din, was still squealing with excitement.

“Not enough beskar,” Din said coolly. His arms were still wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to his chest. The Child, fastened in your jacket, began to paw at your chest as if begging to fly again.

“Alright, alright,” you let go of Din’s arms and plucked the Child from your coat.

Its wide, dark eyes were alight with joy despite all the trouble you had just fought through. You smiled at him and set him on the ground. When he started to waddle over towards the Razor Crest, Din punched in his code to lower the boarding ramp. The Child chirped giddly as he wandered into the ship.

“We better watch him,” you scratched the back of your head nervously. “He might try to fly without us.”

You turned to walk towards the ship but felt Din’s hand grasp at your arm. His touch was light, yet desperate, and when you turned to face him, you could feel his questions. Din’s scorched helmet did nothing for you now. You had seen the face and the eyes beneath and there was no turning back. The two of you had trusted the other with your respective secrets; trust went both ways.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The same reason you don’t take off your helmet,” you explained, “it is the way. The new, Jedi way.” Din took a step back from you.

“Jedi?”

“During the Clone Wars, when we all thought the Trade Federation was the worse thing to come to the galaxy, I was a padawan learner…” you swallowed hard at the memory. “I was being taught in the ways of the Force by Jedi Master Stass Allie.”

“You...the Child, you both have the Force.” You nodded and frowned when Din’s hand let go of your arm. “Your powers….”

“The Empire wasn’t a fan of the Jedi,” you sighed, rubbing at your wrist to distract yourself. “Wasn’t really a fan of anyone but themselves. They hunted my people...they...killed my Master and so many others.”

Din didn’t reply and you were too lost in your memories to notice when he took a step towards you.

“I didn’t tell you cos’...I didn’t want to be alone again.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke. “Everyone I told tried to turn me in for credits and I...you are...were a bounty hunter. I joined the Guild to protect myself and then this Child…”

When Din grabbed your arm against it neither forceful nor mean. It was soft, tender, the kind of touch you seen other receive but never have yourself. You opened your eyes and met the visor of Din’s mask; but you could see his eyes. You could feel them on you and the trust they held in you. Something else had been shared alongside your secrets.

“You’ll never be alone,” he said softly, “not again. I’m with you.”

You gave Din a grateful smile and rested an open palm on the cool surface of his mask. At your touch, you heard his breath hitch. Fear, you could feel it in the Force around him; fear that you would try to remove his helmet out in the open. Did he regret letting you see his face?

No, he didn’t. You knew him well enough to know that and the Force thrummed in agreement. Din rested the weight of his helmet in your hand. The small action carried with it a bond forged in the fires of the Nevarro cantina. Something immovable; something permanent.

“We better get the kid,” Din said as the sound of the ramp folding up reached your ears. You turned around and lifted a hand to stop it, unafraid of your power. With the Force, you gently pulled the ramp back down and you both started towards the ship in a sprint.

As your ran, you could feel the hilt of your lightsaber knock against your thigh. There would be time to show that to Din too. Right now, the trust, the bond between was enough. And there were bigger, more powerful things at hand.

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wordsablaze · 6 years

Text

(1) Broken Walls Lead To Tears

Stubbornly In Love Magnus and Alec are two beautiful souls that both happen to be in love, heartbroken, and painfully stubborn. An angsty malec fic prompted by this lovely soul! Enjoy!

A/N: So I was taking too long to write this as a oneshot and decided to make it chaptered! Yay? Also, it’s not beta-read so feel free to point out mistakes!

The immediate pain of a break-up is nothing – nothing at all – in comparison to the pain that surfaces after you've unleashed your rage and experienced the rush of both grief and relief. The pain that comes after you've realised your decision and come to terms with the loss of someone who held, and maybe still holds, a place in your heart is simply ineffable.

Magnus knows this, and he knew this in the moments before he made his choice, but knowledge doesn't always prevent the shock usually accompanying matters of the heart. He knew, he absolutely knew, what it would feel like, but he hadn't imagined how different it would feel to all those times before. He's an immortal and he's not subtle, nor is he shy, so it's safe to say he's had more than his fair share of relationships, both cherished, unforgettable ones and regrettable, quickly erased ones. Nothing he's ever experienced, however, had prepared him for the agony of parting ways and breaking ties with Alexander Gideon Lightwood.

If obliteration and annihilation had a child, it might come close to resembling the state of his heart.

And yet, he can't bring himself to face the Shadowhunter. He can't bring himself to go back, to talk about what happened, to discuss how they're meant to function - he just can't.

His life becomes a blur. He can remember little details and information necessary to his responsibilities or reputation but he can't recall his routine or which event came before what. Time and time again, he finds himself eating cereal at ten in the evening or making himself sandwiches at ungodly times, mostly very, very late at night or very, very early in the morning. He's almost forgotten what makeup is because the only time he wears it is when he's meeting a client - not that he remembers much of the meetings, simply taking and completing their request as if on autopilot.

Parties are a thing of the past because he knows he can't pay attention to so many people at once and he knows that would reveal his pained heart much more than necessary. He's the High Warlock, he tells himself, he can't be seen as weak or compromised. He wants to be strong, he wants to be brave, he wants to be fierce, but he can't even feed his cat - not that Chairman Meow isn't good at finding his own meals from time to time - and he feels so useless, so utterly useless, that even talking to someone else requires more energy than he can possess, never mind a huge crowd of semi-drunk guests with high expectations.

It's another regular, robotic day when the doorbell scares the life out of him. It wouldn't normally have any effect at all but he'd been so focused on staring at the bluebells on his window, he'd forgotten that people tend to announce their presence by pressing a button outside his apartment. Regardless, he jumps to his feet, pulling the door open as fast as he can, which, admittedly, is pretty slow. So slow, in fact, that he doesn't register who's at the door until they've wrapped him in an embrace so warm it makes him want to cry.

"Cat..." Magnus whispers, letting his head drop on her shoulder and inhaling the scent of flowers coupled with disinfectant.

He assumes she closes the door because then they're on the couch before he can blink and she's sitting opposite him, both of them with their legs crossed. She creates a blanket and drapes it around his shoulders, smiling sadly.

"I thought you'd never let me in."

Magnus blinks and bites his lip, avoiding her gaze, not wanting her pity. She waits patiently and when he looks up, he finds only concern in her eyes, making him realise that she knows him better than he thinks and he should stop forgetting that. She's not someone he has to be invincible in front of because she's seen him at his worst and stayed with him and he knows she cares enough to put up with anything he goes through because they both know he'd do - and has done - the same for her.

"It says something, you know?" Catarina fills the silence. "It says something that you've given up on keeping me out."

He shrugs; what can he say to that?

"Magnus, I love and respect you, I really do, but you're acting so unlike yourself I can't help but wonder if you make the right decision."

He looks up, swallowing. "I don't know."

The accusation in her eyes softens. "Magnus, are you sure about leaving the shadowhunter? As far as I could see - which is further than you think and sometimes a bit too far - you were the happiest you've ever been with him."

"I know, Cat, but..."

"This isn't like before, Magnus. He was ready to accept you and you, him. It was working..."

Tears form in his eyes. Tears that were evoked long ago, as soon as the love of his life had parted ways with him, as soon as he'd chosen isolation, as soon as he'd shut off the world and crumpled into a powerless shell of shadowed love. The tears fall, finally having the chance to do so, and he can't do anything to stop his vision blurring as his shoulders shake and his breath becomes rocky. They fall incessantly, creating a glistening path along his skin and hindering his ability to argue.

Catarina, like many times before, simply pulls him close and lets him hide his face on her shoulders, his hair tickling the side of his face as he struggles to contain his sobs.

"Oh, Magnus..."

He can't reply, of course; there are few people who can form sentences when sobbing long overdue sobs. Catarina, feeling helpless, just hold him tight and hold her own tears back because melancholy does not suit a soul usually laced with glitter and happiness, a soul radiating confidence and style, a soul full of love and hope and magic.

It's not cute and it's far from beautiful when Magnus cries because when he cries, it means he's held it in for far too long, for longer than most could tolerate. His walls are so high and so deep that to break them is more or less break him but love is a powerful weapon when it wants to be and nobody can arm themselves against it. For Magnus, who's built his walls out of his experiences, to cry is to reveal the city of sadness unusually buried deep underneath his self-designed shields.

It takes the sun to set for Magnus' eyes to exhaust themselves. He inhales and exhales as if he's never had the luxury of breathing before, slowly but surely quietening until he can look Catarina in the eye without his face crumpling.

"Cat... I..."

She shushes him. "Magnus, I'm not ever going to leave you when you need me. Mundanes get ill all the time but it's not every day your oldest friend needs a shoulder to cry on so don't you dare apologise to me."

Despite his tearful eyes, Magnus smiles. It's a small smile, much smaller than his usual smirks and grins and beams, but it's a gesture of appreciation and progressing happiness nonetheless. He pulls back as he says, "Thank you."

"How about we get you to bed and talk about this tomorrow, huh?" Catarina suggests, not really waiting for an answer before taking Magnus' hand and pulling him up, leading him to the spare bedroom because she knows going into his usual one will only bring back loved, painful memories of Alec and Magnus will once again have a sleepless night or worse, one plagued with nightmares.

It seems expelling his bottled grief through his eyes has tired Magnus out as he doesn't complain when she all but manhandles him under the duvet, gently pulling it up over his body and gradually dimming the lights until it's almost too dark for them to see each other. She watches as Magnus' tired eyes droop and his eyelids meet as he struggles to stay awake, apparently not wanting to succumb to slumber just yet.

"Sleep well, Magnus," Catarina whispers, pushing his disheveled hair away from his closing his eyes and waiting until his breathing evens - which doesn't take long because he's barely slept lately - before leaving the room, gently closing the door so as not to wake him up again and then placing wards around his apartment because, whether or not he'd realised, they're weaker than ever, practically an invitation for ignorant, morally corrupt, enemies to take advantage and attack.

She wonders how long this can go on.

like/reblog but don’t repost, thanks!

#malec #angst #romance #catarina #magnus bane #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #alexander lightwood #magnus x alec #fanfiction #fanfic #tmi #my writing #stubbornly in love #hurt magnus bane #sad magnus bane #au

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captaincanarygotmelike · 6 years

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Fic: Imagine ch. 5

It's been a long time since I visited this series, but a few days ago I was sad and on Tumblr (never a good combination) and this is what happened. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

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Sara had promised she’d stay up.

Several members of the team, Ray, Kendra, Mick, and Leonard, had just returned from what was supposed to have been a reconnaissance trip — no more than a few hours — but, when things went sideways, became a four-day long fiasco involving kidnapped team members and conveniently destroyed comms. When they were finally recovered by the teammates that had stayed on the Waverider, they were in pretty bad shape, Leonard having taken the worst of it.

Sara had followed him the the med-bay. She knew she didn’t have to stay with him; Leonard certainly didn’t ask her to, but for some reason, she felt like she needed to, even if more for her own sake than Leonard’s.

So, as they made their way to the med-bay, Sara promised she’d stay with him while Gideon patched him up.

As Gideon healed the cuts and bruises Leonard had amassed over the mission, he watched his girlfriend nodding off in the metal chair beside him. This didn’t surprise him in the slightest. Sara had been up for almost ninety six hours, doing everything she could to find her missing teammates. Now that they were back, she was allowing herself to relax. She let her head drop down, her forehead resting on their clasped hands. After a couple minutes, Leonard extracted his hand to run his fingers through her long hair.

“Go to bed, Sara,” he told her quietly.

She raised her head and Leonard could see a dull exhaustion in her eyes.

“No, I said I’d stay with you,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face.

“I’m okay. Go to bed.”

“Gideon’s probably almost done,” she waved him off.

“Gideon?” he said into the air.

“Mr. Snart’s medical analysis is fifty-three percent complete,” Gideon chirped.

“Ugh,” Sara groaned.

“Go to bed.”

Sara made a weak attempt to glare at him. Leonard raised his eyebrows at her and she broke.

“Fine,” she grumbled, standing up and heading for the door, “but if you’re not back soon, I’m — ”

“You’ll be completely asleep and have no idea,” he finished.

Sara rolled her eyes and left the med-bay.

She went back to the quarters she and Leonard shared, barely finding the energy to swap her jeans and leather jacket for a pair of sweatpants and one of Leonard's t-shirts before she collapsed into bed, asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

Several hours later, Sara woke to the electric whirring of the door sliding open and someone entering the bedroom. Even through her half-asleep stupor, she could tell by the sound of the footsteps that it was Leonard. She listened as he went into the closet. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps — softer now that he wasn’t wearing shoes — approaching the bed. She felt the blankets lift and the mattress press down as he slid in next to her. He leaned over and kissed her temple before lying down and becoming still. Sara wanted to move closer to him, but her legs were heavy with exhaustion. She could just feel the warm heat emanating from him, but even with several blankets covering her, the cold from the Waverider was pressing on her like a heavy weight.

She rolled over and nudged Leonard’s shoulder.

“Come,” she said when his eyes cracked open. She weakly stretched an arm towards him, “Warmth.”

Leonard made a grumbling noise but Sara saw a smile etch its way across his face as he pulled her close to him, her arms wrapping around her waist. Sara tucked her face into the crook of his neck and locked her arms around his shoulders.

“I love you,” Sara said, her voice muffled in the cotton of his t-shirt.

“I love you too,” he replied, holding her closer to him.

#lot #lot ff #captain canary #cc ff #legends of tomorrow #mine

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skeletonwoman · 7 years

Text

Be Quiet (Remus Lupin)

Request: Can you do prompt 56 and 73 with James? Maybe the reader could be going on a secret date with Remus and James gets suspicious and over protective? Sorry if it's so specific! I won't mind if you do something different, it was just an idea I had 56. “You’re hiding something from me.” 73. “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

(Another @daphnegreengrass boii)

It’s not a secret date, really, but it is a hella protective James (also a lil bitter) with lots of name dropping and cute Lily Evans moments.

“You’re hiding something from me,” James says, staring at his best friend and you try not to laugh from across the room. Remus doesn’t look up from the cards in his hand.

“Maybe it’s because we’re playing poker,” he counters sedately and James hesitates before shaking his head.

“False. You’re twitchy.” He changes the order of his cards then looks back up at his pale friend. “My divination is working perfectly, and judging by the stars and the moon, you’re not ill.”

“Maybe he has his period,” Peter pipes up, raising the stakes and watching Sirius fold.

“Maybe his mouth tastes like mandrake all the f*cking time,” Sirius hisses and you wrinkle your nose at the thought.

You shouldn’t be eaves dropping, if James catches you he’ll get all whiny and make subtly mean comments until you leave, but you just can’t help it.

“No, it’s none of that,” James says seriously before shaking it off and beaming at Remus. “Ready to lose every sickle you’ve got?”

As the three display their cards, you can see a clear winner. Peters face falls, James is suddenly scowling bigtime and Remus smiles, as calm as a still lake.

Man, do you wanna splash around in the water.

“Still got all my sickles,” he observes and braces for the shove that James pushes him with.

“Come on,” you whine, your gaze glued to the bright green of Remus’s eyes. He’s looking particularly edible like this, his back to the stones and a nervous smile twitching at his lips.

“I- ah… I’m-”

“Leave off, Y/N!” Lily calls from down the corridor, her voice growing closer, “you’re never gonna get a date with Lonely Lupin.”

“But he’s cute and I’ve seen him staring at my legs.” You pout at the redhead and she throws her head back in a laugh. Remus flushes red in front of you and you try not to smirk at the utter adorableness that is a blushing Remus.

“Is that why you’re wearing that?” She nods pointedly to your skirt and you laugh, turning this way and that for her.

“The skirt is supposed to be this short, but it’s not for him. It’s for me. Makes my ass look like an apple.” Lily laughs and you shoot her a cheesy grin. You eye Remus, taking in the way he’s specifically only looking at your face and his slightly daggy clothes, and sigh. They’re not ugly or anything, they’re cute. But something in his image makes it seem like you’re out of his league. “We’d be an adorable couple though. Then he’d get full rights to touching my apple ass.”

“Alright, alright, let him be,” Lily orders, grabbing your hand and dragging you away from him. You sigh as you follow her, but your focus quickly shifts and you’re ready to go all over again.

“So, when’s our date?” You coo, interlacing your fingers with hers and she scoffs, before slinging an arm around your neck and pulling you in to plant a sloppy kiss to your cheek.

“We’ve had our date, baby, I was exhausted within ten minutes.” You frown, only to recall the shopping trip to muggle London and laugh aloud. The memories you made that night… “Exactly, you love rat. And how’s Remus supposed to take you seriously if you’re asking out everyone?”

“I’m keeping my options open! But he’s the main goal. Quiet, bookish and scarred. Everything a girl dreams of.”

“Why… You’re going to hate being with him, why are you even trying?” She eyes you, her curiosity obvious and genuine and you pull from her grip. Waltzing away a step, you pause to gather your thoughts- then plonk onto the bench behind you.

“I like to sit.” You stare at the stone eaves above, unable to look at her while you say this. You’ll chicken out if you do. Merlin, this sounds stupid. “I like the quiet and I love to just sit and read or zone out. You probably do not know this since I am such a wild card. And while I love to sit and be quiet, I also love people and making memories. And when you’re doing that, making memories and the like, people start to question you when you’re just sitting and being quiet.”

“And Remus likes to sit and be quiet.”

“Remus probably loves to sit and be quiet. And I’d love to sit and be quiet with him.” You peek at her and try not to smile when you spot her giant grin. “I also want to meet him in the astronomy tower at 3am and ride him into the sunrise.”

When she throws her head back and laughs again, loud and delighted, you beam.

“He also looks like he’s got a secret dom hiding in him and I’m curious if that’s true,” you tease, squeaking when she smacks your arm. “What! You can’t see it?”

“No!” She gasps, giggling and you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“He’s a soft boy, but you know, soft boys can get hard,” you offer and she squawks, her feet pitter patter dancing on the spot.

“I love being your friend,” she snorts, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet to envelop you in a hug. “And if you can’t sit quietly with Remus, you can sit quietly with me.”

“Aw, baby!”

“I know, I know.”

“She asked me out again.” Remus blushes and Sirius whoops, leaping at James and body slamming him.

“Yes, boy! Get her! She wants you, and I swear if you don’t date her-” He cackles, only to frown when he notices the others aren’t leaping around with him. “I won’t like take her or anything… I’ll just be really unhappy with you.”

“I think you should go out with her,” Peter says, nodding and Remus grimaces. His gaze moves to James who wrinkles his nose.

“She’s… I can’t think of a word that isn’t derogatory and I can’t use those cause I know she’s nice. I know. She’s fleeting, she doesn’t stick with people and our Remus deserves better than to be another notch on her bedpost.”

Sirius laughs, “she hasn’t even got notches on her bed, Marlene checked and told me.”

When the others stare at him, he blushes and waves them off with a muttered excuse about curiosity.

“Look, I think Remus should hold off, if not ignore her completely. She’s hot but is there really any substance there?” James says with a roll of his eyes and Lily smacks him upside the head. “Ouch- Evans! Where did you even come from? And what’d I say about touching the goods?”

“Shut up, ass,” she snaps and he nods once, zipping his lips and winking. Lily rolls her eyes. “Y/N is all substance. James just doesn’t like her because when he asked me out, for the fifth time, she pushed him off the pier. No one knows this because all that substance means she doesn’t embarrass people needlessly. When have you guys ever heard of Y/N making fun of people?”

“Never!” Sirius cheers and Lily shoots him a dead eyed look that has him flushing. “Sorry.”

“And Remus is just nervous because he has to deal with you two gits all the time-” she points between Sirius and James, while winking at Peter, “and it’s exhausting. He assumes she’ll be the same, which while the evidence does point that way, is an unfair assessment.”

“Are you going into law?” Peter asks, a smile lighting up his eyes and Lily pauses, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. “You’re very convincing.”

“We’ll see, Pete.” She smiles, before turning her glare on James and Remus, “don’t judge her unfairly and don’t be a Bitter Betty.”

Sirius attempts a slow clap and Lily smacks his hands down.

“I’m going to dinner and I hope you all think long and hard about what we just discussed.”

“Marlene, stop doubting yourself and just kick her ass already!” You groan, meeting McKinnon's nervous stare head on. “Bellatrix isn’t going to stop dissing you unless you show some substance.”

“She’s a dirty cheat though.” You watch Marlene's eyes dart toward the Slytherin table and you sigh, patting her hand.

“Those aren’t insurmountable odds. And she probably wouldn’t expect you to just pop her one in the nose.” You shrug, grinning and Dorcas giggles quietly at your side.

“Hey, Y/N!” Someone shouts and you wave in the general direction the voice had come from, not looking up, and keeping your gaze steady on Marlene's.

“Pop her one in the nose.” She repeats and you nod once, watching as her eyes move to Dorcas, who reins in her giggles to nod along with you.

You look about the great hall and spot Remus and his group a few seats down, his friends talking animatedly. The bench shifts beside you and Lily blocks your view of the foursome, her red hair much too thick to see through.

“Stop gazing, they’re not worth your time.” She sniffs and starts loading up her plate.

“What do you mean?”

“They were talking about you and it wasn’t kind. It wasn’t really cruel either but it wasn’t positive. Point is, they’re stupid and you can do better. Check out Gideon, now that’s a man.” Your gaze moves to the two red haired twins, zeroing in on the more serious of the pair and you can feel yourself soften. “I know for a fact that he would date you. I overheard him saying so to Fabian.”

“Everyone would date me, Lils, that isn’t very strong evidence to his character,” you scoff and she rolls her eyes.

“Hey- ah, Y/N?”

You blink at the soft voice and peer over your shoulder to see Remus crouched beside you.

Oh.

“Yeah?” Your voice is very soft and much too delicate and you have to stifle a scowl at the embarrassingness of it all.

“Go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? Just you and I?”

You’re about to burst out with an acceptance when you hesitate. Hogsmeade is Hogsmeade. At your silence, his cheeks start to get red and you inhale a quick breath and gather your courage.

“Maybe we could stay here? I…” You trail off, unsure how to say that you want to just sit in the library. Just the two of you.

“Here’s fine, here’s great.” He grins and your sigh is all relief. “Saturday, I’ll meet you on the lawn at nine and we can decide then?”

“Sure, sure. Yeah.”

“Great.” He smiles and you can’t help mirroring the expression, the two of you caught in a moment of stillness until Lily purposely elbows you. Hard.

“Ouch!”

“I better go,” he mumbles, rising and moving back to his group where Sirius wraps him up in a hug and kisses his cheeks.

the last (4/4) of those requests i super nicely did as a favour

yay!

i love remus, he boo

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #harry potter fic

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