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barefoothighlander · 1 year

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duality (18+)

alright here’s the third and final part of ghost x mean!reader, the committee has voted, get ready, this is pure filth and I regret nothing. this can be read as a stand alone or apart of the fic.

warnings: mdni (18+), general violence, dub con, smut, use of afab pronouns, unprotected p-in-v, rough sex, oral (fem+male rec), grinding, edging, ruined orgasm?, teasing, mention of blood, knife play, spit play, mention of scars, slight throat fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, slight sub!ghost (i had to), mentions of death, angst

prev part

Ghost couldn’t sleep that night, he was used to neglecting sleep for various reasons, nightmares, injury, field ops, but this reason was different. After seeing the medic for his wound, he made his way straight back to his room, not bothering to grab dinner or talk to anyone, his mind was a mess, he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He had finally gotten you to let down your guard a little, to allow him close to you and he fucked it up, he fucked up everything cause all he could focus on during the mission was you, your skill with your weapon, the way you easily took down pairs of men at once. His mind races with images of you, your narrowed eyes and stern look, the way you’d stare daggers at rookies who interrupted your work, he didn’t understand why he was so attracted to you, sure you were pretty and he hadn’t seen many pretty women on base but coming across a beautiful woman never made his heart stop before, but the way you carried yourself, the fact that you took no shit from anyone, including him, you were never scared.

Ghost was rarely truly fearful, in the battlefield he never feared the enemy nor the loss of his own life, any semblance of fear dying the same day his family did, in its place a burning rage, the same rage that festered in you, it called to him. He never knows what to say to you, always acting on pure instinct when you’re around, he cursed himself for days after your first kiss, believing that it would just push you further from him, but it didn’t, that same desire came to grow inside you as well. When he does sleep, he dreams of you, simple mundane things like watching you train, seeing you reading, one time you caught him daydreaming and his heart dropped, the way you glared at him he swore you could read his mind, he wished you could read his mind, maybe then you could understand a fraction of what he felt for you.

Ghost wasn’t a man of many words, he also wasn’t a man to act on impulse or emotion, most people thought he had no emotion, but you saw him behind the mask, you could see through the Ghost and that terrified him.

He sits on the edge of his bed, mind replaying his mistake, the look on your face as you plead with him for help, your tear-stained face as he held you in his arms, he wanted to make it stop, to apologize even if you didn’t want to hear it, he needed you. He mulls his options over in his mind, he knew you were mad at him, to what extent he wasn’t sure, he had to come up with some excuse that was better than “It was an accident”, he spends hours writing in his journal, the white pages being the only proof of how he felt about you.

You’re in your own room, seething in anger, happy that the burn in your eyes and throat had stopped, you weigh your options, you never wanted to see his stupid face again yet you yearned for him, every cell in your body wanted him, you had to get away somehow. With a deep breath, you leave your room and walk towards Price’s office.

Ghost looks at the time, 2:43, 2 hours he had been sitting alone with his thoughts, not doing anything, just thinking, he’s angry with himself for hurting you and he’s angry with you for leaving him, he opened himself up to you, you saw what was in his writings and wanted to stay with him, you know him more intimately than anyone, and you left him. He’s furious, his anger boiling, it has no starting point, no traceable beginning yet it overtakes him, and he marches his way to your quarters.

He doesn’t even think to knock, he doesn’t want to give you the option of shutting him out, he strides in scanning the room for you but you aren’t there, he checks around your bathroom, no sign of you, your clothes are thrown over the floor, your bed unmade, the only light in the room emitted from a small lamp on your desk, he thinks over where you could be at this hour, the gym doors are locked, same as the mess, and there’s no way you would’ve simply gone for a walk. He decides to wait, sitting at your desk, eyes scanning over a few books you had laying around.

Ghost sits alone for 30 minutes before you walk in, your eyes are watery but you aren’t crying, as soon as you see him the tears vanish, your face heats up red.

“What the fuck are you doing in here” You bark

“Where were you” He stands to his full height

“Get out” You grab at his arm to throw him out but he stands stern

“Not until you talk to me”

You laugh, “There’s nothing to talk about, you fucking tear-gassed me and almost got me killed”

“I’m sorry”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it Simon, get out” You stand to the side to allow him a path to leave, he moves forward toward the door but instead of opening it, he locks it.

“I just want you to understand”

“I don’t want to understand, I want to never see you again”

“You don’t mean that”

You’re at a tipping point, one wrong move away from throwing punches

“If you meant it you wouldn’t have kissed me”

You stop, you know he’s right, “It means nothing anymore”

“It does to me” He places an apprehensive hand on your arm looking down at you

“Take the mask off”

He freezes for a minute, standing in front of you before he reaches up to lift the balaclava from his face, he watches as your face doesn’t change, no sign of disgust, no sign of love. You reach a hand up, tracing a scar on his right cheek, you touch burns his skin as he leans into it but just as quick as he feels it, it’s gone, your hand back at your side like it never moved.

“I don’t know what these feelings are, but I can’t ignore them,” He says, “I’ll tell Price to take me off any missions with you if that’s what it takes”

You shake your head, “It’s not that simple”

“Then tell me what to do, you just push me away and nothing gets better”

“You’re the one fucking up all the time” You point a firm finger at his chest “I can’t trust you anymore”

“Let me earn it back”

“What’s done is done”

“No, not yet, not for us” He grabs the sides of your face, pulling you into him as your lips crash together. You pull back for a breath, body operating without your mind as you move him back into the chair and straddle him, your lips meeting again. The kiss is violent, both your pent-up emotions surfacing in the wake of the others touch. His hands roam your body before you grab them in a tight hold, keeping them beside his legs, his movements stutter, he needs to feel you, you crawl off his lap, kneeling in front of him as your fingers move to take off his pants, he watches in question, raising his hips slightly to help you take them off. You move closer, hand palming over his growing erection as you kiss at his thighs, stopping to bite down as you feel the muscle tense and his cock twitch, removing his boxers you fan light breaths over his length, teasing and licking everywhere but the place he wanted most. His tip is red and leaking as you continue to tease, listening to the way his breath hitches anytime your lips come close, he reaches his hands to hold at the back of your head but you grab his wrists, keeping them away.

“Please” His cock is throbbing as you stare up at him, sticking out your tongue and licking at the precum on his tip, he moans from the contact. You continue licking up the liquid till your tastebuds are overtaken by the salty taste, opening your mouth to allow his tip in, he does everything he can to not thrust into your mouth as you bob lightly. Your hand moves to trace the thick vein on his shaft as your mouth moves further down, coating him in a slick layer of saliva.

You take more of him in, your hand working along what you can’t fit as you open your throat to allow him deeper, his grunts echoing above you as you work him. You work your way down to his base, nesting your nose in his pubic hair as he curses, his tip prodding the back of your throat causing tears to well in your eyes, you pull off him with a pop, directing your attention to his balls, stroking his shaft while your tongue swirls around one.

“Fuck, I’m so close”

You return your lips to his cock, and you feel his balls tense, his breaths staggering,

“M’gonna cum”

Before he gets the chance you remove all remnants of your touch,

“Fuck wait”

You glide your thumb over hi reddened tip, watching as his cock releases a gush of warm liquid over himself with a smirk,

“What the fuck”

Your face drops, “Call it revenge” you say standing up.

He rushes towards you, pinning you against the wall,

“That wasn’t very nice”

“Never said I was”

He laughs, reaching into a shirt pocket to pull out a small knife, bringing it to your chest as your breath hitches, eyes daring him to do it. Instead, he grabs the hem of your shirt, cutting it in two and giving him a full view of your breasts, he reaches a hand to palm at them, teasing the blade down your sternum as it draws a prick of blood, he watches as it drips between the valley of your breasts, staining the band of your pants.

“Wouldn’t wanna get these dirty” He says, grabbing your pants to tear them down, leaving you in just your panties, he runs the flat side of the blade over your hips, moving to press the cold metal against your core before using it to cut your panties off, watching them fall. He stares down at your heat, your arousal evident. He leans in close, his breath ghosting over your ear,

“Practically dripping for me love”

You turn your face away and he grabs your jaw, forcing your focus back on him,

“Teasings all fun and games till I do it to you huh”

He reaches down to cup your sex, running his fingers through your folds,

“Looks like I was right”

His hand comes up to his face as he sucks two fingers into his mouth, tasting your arousal,

“And so sweet too”

Reaching his hand back down he inserts two fingers, pumping into you slowly as his thumb toys with your clit. You curse yourself silently for the moan that escapes you, your sounds going straight to his cock as it hardens.

He curves his fingers, hitting that sweet spot inside you as he works his thumb in tandem, his movements bringing your climax to the surface, as the band inside you is just about to snap, he feels you clench him and removes his fingers. You’re left breathless, angry.

“Revenge”

He uses his leg to sweep behind yours, causing you to fall on your knees in front of him, his hardening length right in front of your face as his hand cups your jaw, the other stroking himself.

"Open"

You keep your mouth shut while he glides his tip across your lips, dissatisfied with your response he grabs a handful of your hair, yanking it back so your neck cranes up at him, your eyes staring daggers.

"I said open your fucking mouth"

Eyes locked on him you slowly part your lips, flattening your tongue and sticking it out for him to run his swollen tip over the muscle, you can taste the remnants of his previous orgasm, the salty flavour dances over your buds lighting a fire in your lower stomach. He holds your jaw and pushes himself in, you gag around his length as he buries his head deep in your throat, tears prick your eyes as you struggle to breathe. He pulls himself out, letting you catch your breath before thrusting back in, gaining a steady face as he fucks himself into your mouth, you reach a hand down to play with your clit but he stops you, removing himself and using the hold on your hair to pull you up.

"So fuckin needy, little slut"

Your arms move to push at his chest but he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward that bed, twisting your body and pushing you so your chest is flat against the mattress, your cheek pressed into the material. He uses his weight to pin you, keeping you stuck between him and the bed as his hardening length grinds against the swell of your ass.

"Think you can tease me, that I'll let you get away with it"

"Fuck you" You spit, writhing against him, his hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open before he shoves two digits in, you gag at the intrusion, you spit soaking his fingers and he removes them, gliding them between your folds, teasing your clit as you clench around nothing.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting his full length into you, pushing you further into the mattress as a deep grunt escapes his lips. He sets a brutal pace, pulling all the way out before slamming back into you, the stretch of him leaving you breathless, it's not enough.

"More" You plead

"You think you deserve to cum?"

"Yes"

"Gonna have to do better than that pretty girl"

"Ghost please"

His arms grab under your waist flipping you, the sudden movement taking you by surprise, trying to catch your balance as he grabs behind your things, pressing them to your chest and attaching his lips to your clit. You release a loud moan, hands reaching to grab at his hair while he eats you out, the sensation is heavenly, the firm press of his tongue against your swollen bud brings you to the edge and you cum, he sucks your clit into his mouth and hums, the vibration increasing the pleasure. He keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high, hands grasping anywhere they could reach, once you come down he doesn't give you any time to catch your breath, standing to his full height and splitting you with his cock, he keeps your thighs pressed while he thrusts into you, his cock reaching impossibly deep.

He leans over your body, your glossy eyes finding his,

"Open"

Your brain is fuzzy, mind swirling with pleasure as you open your mouth and he spits into it urging you to swallow it.

"Such a good girl"

You moan at his words while his cock drives into you, his thumb moving to circle your clit causing your hips to twitch.

"Please s'too much" You whimper

"You can handle another"

Your back arches from his touch, the rough pad of his finger swirling your oversensitive clit as you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut. He grabs your jaw with his free hand,

"Eyes on me, want to see you when you make a mess of my cock"

His firm grip kept your head still, eyes locked on him as another orgasm overtakes you, muscles tensing as he fucks you through it,

"That's it, baby"

You can't speak, your skin is sticky with a thin layer of sweat, he leans down to kiss you, his tongue swirling yours and you savour the taste, your body is weak but he doesn't stop. He releases your thighs and they fall to the bed, his arms moving to pull them around his waist as he continues fucking you,

"Fuck play with yourself" He grunts, the words escaping you, too tired to listen but his free hand grips your wrist and brings it to your clit, holding it there as you draw lazy circles around it, each touch making you whimper.

"I'm close, fuck, you're gonna cum with me"

You try to shake your head in protest but the weight of him holds you down, his grip keeping your fingers working over your bud.

"God you feel so fucking good, gonna cum inside you, make sure everyone knows who this pussy belongs to"

You're a mess of moans and breathless cries, the pleasure completely taking over your body as his muscles tense,

"Shit, need you to cum for me baby, give me one more"

Your body convulses as you orgasm, your pussy clenching down on him as he fucks his seed into you, grunting in your ear as he bottoms out, your vision is blurry, all you can feel is the weight of him on top of you as he places wet kisses over your bare skin.

"Did so well love"

He pulls his softening cock from you, your pussy clenching as the combination of your orgasms leaks out, coating your inner thighs, he leaves you for a moment before returning with a damp cloth, running it over your skin as you flinch from the contact. You feel the mattress dip below his weight as he settles in next to you, his bicep under your head as he holds you close. You rest for a few minutes, your mind running rampant trying to understand everything you were feeling, he gave you exactly what you craved but it changed nothing.

You draw lazy patterns on his skin, fingers tracing over his scars, you take a deep breath,

"I requested a transfer from the 141"

You feel his muscles tense,

"Why"

You sit up to face him, god he looks good, his skin shining with the glow of sweat, his cheeks tinted pink, his hair messy.

"I can't work with you, not if I can't trust you, not if how we feel about each other is going to get in the way"

He stares at you, trying to understand before his arms pull you back into him,

"Please don't leave"

"I can't stay"

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod mw x reader #mw2022 #call of duty mwii #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost riley smut

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mwagneto · 10 months

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In one of his other Asks he said he discussed it with Terry something around 2006 or whatever but yeah, nothing addressing his initially - You said cuz you were there so, would you mind sharing what NG used to deny earlier?

[added paragraphs to make it easier to read]

oh brother just a lot of very classic creator homophobia before the show and then weird queerbait after s1, like before it was all about slash [sic] shippers being desperate and making shit up and generally being weirdos he tries to ignore and then after the show that turned into "no no they ARE in love but they're not gay because they don't have genders" which well. a lot of things could be said about that but let's just stick with 1. not how that works 2. there was never any talk of them being any kind of rep before the show even tho they were hyping up pollution being nonbinary

and then him literally saying stuff like he didn't make them gay because Terry's last wish on his deathbed was that he didn't. and then all the stuff about how they don't hold hands (SOMETHING THEY LITERALLY DO IN THE BOOK BTW...)/kiss because making the relationship physical or explicit would cheapen it somehow?? like the ambiguity is somehow better representation because men kissing is sooo basic and cheap and mundane and it's way better if they just sit next to each other and never touch. like constantly going on about how they're not gay because they're not men and they won't ever touch because that's icky yucky but simultaneously they're amazing representation because it's clearly a love story

but then they decide to do a second season and suddenly it's all "wait and see" and THEN they go canon and now he's claiming they were always meant to be endgame and this was planned from the very start, all the way back in the 90s. like again i could excuse the weird homophobia coz he changed his mind and made them kiss so i'd forgive him, and i'd excuse the lying coz i think it's funny as hell but the fact that he's doing both at the same time without ever taking accountability, along with how the entire fandom just believes him is sooo. like im not even mad i just genuinely feel insane coz like there's screenshots. he said these online in traceable asks and interviews it's all there. like I can't even be mad it's just so bizarre i feel like everyone got mandela effected into some universe where he was never homophobic

#and like he was actively writing horrifically homophobic plotlines into the s.andman comics at the #same time this supposed endgame planning was happening #like am i fr meant to believe they agreed to make their self inserts be in gay love at 5pm and then he #added another gay p.do to the s.andman at 7pm? give me a breakkkdjrfjeidjekdksm #LIKE IT'D BE SO EASY. HE COULD JUST SAY YEAH SORRY ABOUT THE HOMOPHOBIA AND #I'D BE LIKE WELL YEAH IT WAS WEIRD BUT CLEARLY YOU LEARNED FROM IT AND #MADE A LOT OF RLY GOOD CHANGES TO BOTH THE S.ANDMAN AND G.OMENS SO IT'S OK👍#BUT INSTEAD HE'S DOING ... WHATEVER THIS IS DKKIFJEIDJSKDKSK it's so funny.....#i got mail!#neilman #gomens

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menalez · 4 months

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not to scare anon but yes using the same username and same photos makes it easier to find someone. I don't use it for bad purposes but finding info on people is incredibly easy with some practice if they were not careful online. my main tips are also use completely different usernames, try to not post any pictures of your surroundings or personal interests that might be traceable with simple internet interactions. keep safe out there!

one thing i also do is if i’m going to events, i avoid posting about it on the same day. i avoid posting any landmarks of where i live. i avoid posting anything making my location identifiable (vaguely identifiable as “europe” or a specific country is fine but beyond that… no), if i reuse pics i’ll alter it somehow so reverse image searching won’t bring up anything (but i tend not to reuse pics anyways), i no longer associate my other social media w each other, i do not share my tumblr w most ppl i know irl (i think only my gf knows my tumblr blog and she does not care for it).. i wish i could treat my blog as my online diary like i used to but i’ve learned that there is always going to be someone SO deranged that they’ll save every little bit of info u find, go thru all ur social media even if it means going thru 10 years worth of posts to find more info on u.

that said most ppl will be fine bc most ppl do not have someone deranged seeking out their info. emphasis on MOST

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razrbladekiss · 3 years

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Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."

#tig trager #tig trager fanfiction #tig trager fic #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fandom #sons of anarchy #jax teller x oc #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years

Text

A Moment of Peace

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral (m & f), daddy kink, thigh riding, dom/sub, grinding, fluff, and some angst (I’m sorry it just happened I swear)

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: So I like to think I’m getting better at writing smut. We shall see. I also didn’t mean for some angst to seep through but I’m fucking terrible when it comes to that so I apologize in advance. The next chapter is a little filler one before the last two before hiatus. As always, requests, prompts, and taglist are open!

The Mandalorian’s Love Series

The Mandalorian could hear laughter. They were pure, chimed in a natural sense. Not completely sure on which planet he was on, Din inspected the green land laid out before him. Behind him was a cottage, beautifully decorated on the outside; he smelt hints of smoke in the air from the direction of it. There were fields and fields for miles, soft colors of flowers coloring patches around the fields. The air was fresh, and the distinct smell of rain was tanged in the sweetness of it, though the sun burned bright and heavy; his skin, beautifully tan, basked in the glow of it. This was a different kind of warmth, one Din had not felt in years; not as free now. He could feel it on his face too, and the simple feel of the rays terrified him at first. Din was shocked to see skin when he looked down at his hands. There were no gloves – considered to be second skin by nature – no helmet, no beskar armor or a weapon’s belt.

Before he could get over his shock, he heard his name being called out from afar.

“Go get him!”

It was Y/N. Even as disoriented and confused as he was now, the sound of her voice was enough to make him snap back.

He couldn’t get a good look of her though when two small figures abruptly tackled him with a giant hug. They giggled as he ‘oofed’ and nearly fell back.

“Hi daddy!” They said in unison.

Daddy. They called him dad.

“Hey, go easy on the old man!”

Din snapped his head up towards the tease. Y/N stood there, smiling that beautiful toothy smile that made him smile in return without fail; she was wearing a light blue dress, stopping just barely above her kneecaps. Her Y/C/H pulled in a half bun, Y/C/E still holding that gleam that Din could only describe as being solely hers; mesmerizing, unwavering.

The two moving kids still in his arms brought his attention back to them. On his right side was a girl, about near eleven years old, who resembled Y/N so much that it was scary; but there was no denying Din was there too, with the same pouty lips and small dimples. To his left, a boy, who looked to be six or seven; he definitely got his looks from his father, hair and eyes just as dark as Din’s, but somehow, he had Y/N’s smile.

“What’s wrong dad?” The boy asked.

They both pulled away to look at him, and Din found that he already missed their little arms wrapped around him.

“Uh,” he had to clear his throat. “N-nothing. Just… feeling a little off is all.”

Y/N pursed her lips, obviously seeing through the lie. Not that it was a complete one anyway.

“Go run around a little, kids, we’ll join you guys in a minute.”

They both screamed with excitement and ran down the small hill leading to the field. Y/N strolled to Din’s side, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was natural instinct to lay his hands on her hips to bring her closer.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered gently.

Din should’ve shuttered at the constant feel of her skin against his like this, under the warmth of the sun and the feel of wind breezing between them; unfiltered and no defining barrier between them. He never felt this kind of stimulation before all at once, the sensory overload being nearly too much and yet he was so calm, so used to the feel of it at the same time. It was like switching back and forth between this Din Djarin and the old Din.

He wanted to say that they didn’t have this. That there was no possible way they could have this, at least not now. That maybe this was too good to be ever be real, because Y/N always deserved much more than what he could give her, and yet she still stayed, and she was still in love with him. That, he would never be able to really understand how or why, maybe not until Din was absolutely sure this is a reality for them.

Instead he said, “Nothing I’m just… I’m just happy.”

And that was true. His doubts, fears, and any insecurities they haven’t battled yet could all say that this was impossible for someone like him, but this moment of peace and content is enough to say that he can have a peaceful and happy life, so long as Y/N was still a part of the picture. He always prided himself on his independence, but he wanted to depend on Y/N, or more specifically their love; no matter how tragic or bitter, though he never wanted to think about it, their relationship could ever end, he would still want her love because it would always be a part of his happiness for him. It would always hold the part of him that finally felt worthy of the peace he longed to capture, that was capable of good and change.

Y/N grinned at him, pecking his lips softly. Din chased her lips, going in for a more slow kiss, mapping out her mouth as if this was the first; missed her taste.

She broke it with a soft giggle, placing a hand on his chest; his heart thudded softly against her palm.

“Now Djarin,” she drawled with a poke to his nose. “Save that for later,”

Din laughed and gave the tip of her nose a sloppy kiss, grinning even more at her squished expression.

“Yes, my lovely wife.”

They both turned to watch the boy and girl run around the meadow, giggling and screaming. Din smiled softly at the sight and hugged Y/N closer.

Din gasped. The first thing he felt was the soft scratchiness of his blanket against his face. The room was pitch black. The bed was cold, empty without Y/N. The hatch door was closed, but he could still hear the faint sounds of her voice, no doubt talking to the Child. He slowly sat up, feeling around blindly for his helmet as sleep was still evading his mind. When his knuckles brushed up against it he hesitated to put it on, remembering the dream and how free he felt. It shook him to the core, the hesitation; how far he was willing to go to get what he desperately desired.

He didn’t bother putting on his boots as he trudged off the cot, rolling and stretching his muscles; they were usually tense from the armor and the stiffness of the cot, and it seemed to be getting worst with age.

“Hey!” He heard the soft coo of her voice.

Walking towards the fresher, his heart stopped at the sight before him. Y/N was on her knees, hair pulled back in a bun and a bucket of water next to her, gently splashing water onto the giggly Child. The Child bent down to try and splash the water back and Y/N had to grab him before he could flop on his face. He found himself smiling at them, leaning against the doorway.

His wide brown eyes found him first. He raised his little green hand towards him, cooing at him. Y/N turned her head around, smile bright and whole.

“Hey,” she greeted. “There’s some food for you by the cockpit. Eat while I finish up here.”

Y/N wished she could see the smile that she didn’t doubt for a second crossed across his cheeks in that moment. She naturally leaned into his touch as he caressed her cheek, hands bare for now. He gave a gentle swipe across her cheekbone and bent down – she bit down her giggle at the creaks of his bones as he did, the soft, quiet grunt that quickly followed – to give the baby’s ear a soft caress of his own.

“Alright big guy,” Y/N exclaimed. “Let’s actually clean you up.”

The Child babbled back, plopping down on his little butt and going back to splashing. Y/N didn’t mind the water that spilled over her clothes. She washed the little gray hairs on his head gently, making sure none of the soap got into his eyes. After he was clean she let him play for a few more minutes in the water; he needed this, just as much as Y/N and Din needed this small but perfect moment of peace.

They were on a backwoods planet, nearly no habitants on the small, gray planet. It wasn’t the most ideal, but it would take at least a day or two before their signal was traceable again. There were on day two of their stay and would have to start moving as soon as night fell.

This was the first time since she started travelling with him where they could actually sit and relax, even for a little bit, without the threat of every bounty hunter known in the galaxy hovering over them. Y/N had to force Din to sleep the night before, because she was one-hundred percent positive that there were definitive dark circles under his eyes; the sluggish way in which he started to move and talk proved right.

He refused to sleep until she was next to him, wrapped up in her arms. She held him to her chest, gently messaging and scratching his back. His soft groans and sighs of content made her heart tighten, in such a good way, though it felt as if it was going to implode; she knew it was never going to go away. Din no doubt could hear it but chose not to say anything about it much to her relief. He needed to rest, and this was probably the only time he would be able to like this for a while.

It made her feel angry, and even more defensive and protective of him. He was on his own for so long before her and the Child came into the picture, and Y/N strived to make sure that he knew that no matter what, she was here now; that he could relax a little, could rely on someone else without the fear of them leaving.

The Child, now cleaned and clothed, snuggled into his pod, snuggling into his makeshift blanket. Din and Y/N only found out recently that the baby slept better with the scent of them pressed against him, so an old, tattered sweater of hers laid out underneath him as padding and one of his shirts laid atop the Child’s blue blanket.

Y/N gave him a small kiss on the forehead, smiling as his beady eyes shut. The kid was going to be out for a while, Y/N and Din having tired him out by playing various little games with him until his eyes started to droop.

Y/N saw a side to Din that was new to her as they played with the Child. She always knew he loved the green creature, despite how much he could get annoyed with him. There was never a time where Din wasn’t gentle with him, and, though he could have a temper, never ever raised his voice at him when the Child would mess with the switches or spill something on the ship or in a cantina. Din was patient with him, and during the games nothing by playful – it came out awkward at first, testing the waters – but eventually he couldn’t hide the small laughter that mixed with the Child’s own giggles. Y/N fell even more in love with him if that was possible.

But now, as Y/N sat on the edge of the bunk, she couldn’t help the feeling of dread that washed over her. They had to get rid of the imp responsible for the bounty over the Child’s head. Otherwise, they would never stop coming for him. She knew that this was logical, but the eeriness of the situation was starting to plague her now more than ever. Tomorrow they would travel back to Sorgan in need of Cara Dune’s aid and Y/N was happy to be seeing Cara again. She just wished that she could shake this feeling off.

Unbeknownst to her, Din was feeling the same way. He knew how dangerous and risky this plan was, but it was for the Child, and possibly the only chance they’ll ever get at ending this whole thing. Whoever was after him was persistent, dangerous all on its own. Y/N was already stressed enough, so he didn’t tell her that he was completely unsure on if he was going to make it through this. Not to say he’s never felt this before; in almost every single job he took, he kept in the back of his head that this day could very well be his last. It didn’t bother him as much when he was alone. But now the thought of leaving Y/N and the Child stirred fear deep into his core. He was aware that Y/N could take care of herself and the baby without him, and that alone always made him feel better when there were blaster shots grazing him or knives being thrown at him. Because he wouldn’t be leaving them behind underprepared and no defenses.

And the dream? It certainly didn’t help the situation. Never once did he ever imagine himself as a father until then, until Y/N. Truth be told, Din liked the fights. Maybe it’s because he was raised into it, but he often found himself hesitating when it came to family. He chalked it up to fear, which wasn’t a lie on its own.

He didn’t remember finishing up the last of his still warm meal. Didn’t remember making his way to the bunk, mindlessly searching for his love.

“I’m sorry,” Din apologized, sitting down next to her, shoulders pressed tightly against each other. “For sleeping for so long.” He added at her frown. The moon was already almost up.

Y/N shook her head, placing a hand on his knee. “Nothing to apologize for. You needed it.” She gave his knee a soft squeeze.

Din could only nod. She felt the way his muscles relaxed at her touch and the way his shoulders sagged. Times like these were where Y/N could really see just how exhausted and aged he was. When he didn’t have the strength to hold himself back, his true colors shown brightly; most times they were sad, lonely. Only the comfort of her warm hugs and melodic voice could soothe them away, make them disappear like the sun does with the clouds.

“You do too,” he finally whispered back.

Y/N gave him a stern glare. “You let me sleep all the time.”

The look in her eyes told him not to argue. He decided that it was best he didn’t. Their time seemed precious now, and he didn’t want to waste it with arguing. Instead he wanted it all. He wanted her to see him in the light, allowing her to feel him without the use of the dark, hands searching blindly. He wanted to spend what could be their last peace inside her, around her, just everything that you can do to be as humanly tied; tethered by a strong, unbreakable thread, two souls embracing with the stars above them. He could no longer deny her the sight of him.

But the Creed. It was a constant reminder of the oath he was sworn into, the people that took him in and raised him when they didn’t have to. He thought back to the dream, the clear, alluring atmosphere that surrounded them. Din wanted it more than anything in the world. It’s just the timing was all wrong. He needed it to be perfect, for when they were both ready to settle down and out of danger. He realized as this being slightly selfish, and that Y/N had just as much as a right as he did. But he owed the Mandalorians that much.

“I – I want to try something new.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. She saw that he was deep in thought and that something was bothering him, but she knew better than to push. He’d tell her when he was ready, always.

“Close your eyes.”

His voice was gruff, heavy even behind the decoder. Y/N didn’t hesitate to close them, breath even as she heard the shuffle of him getting up and closing the Child’s pod. She heard the hiss of the helmet being taken off, the rustle of his clothes being pulled off. Din couldn’t help but swoop in for a kiss, then a small peck before placing the helmet back on.

“Open them.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she opened her eyes. Her lips parted at his body, shed of all clothing. She always felt the soft muscles on his arms and back, the soft fat of his stomach – still holding strength and just as beautiful to her – but to actually see him bare to her like this. It made her want to cry, because this was a big deal for the Mandalorian. Because he trusted her, loved her, wanted her.

He was nervous at first but seeing the way her eyes shined with awe and then lust, exploring every inch of him, not only relaxed him, but it made him incredibly hard. Y/N trailed down his stomach, soft patches of curls that lead down to his sprung dick, which she had to smirk at. She stood up, hands reaching up to lay on his shoulder and chest. She wanted to kiss him, but she knew the only way to do that was to either blindfold herself or complete darkness, and she was too intoxicated at seeing what she was only aloud to feel.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Y/N found herself whispering. Din sighed, outlining her lips with the tip of his finger. He really, really wanted to kiss her.

Y/N’s leg brushed up against him as she pulled her shirt over her head, making him let out a hiss through his teeth. She smiled in apology, wrapping her hand around his length and giving it a slow but firm pump.

“Lay down,” she whispered by his ear. It made him shiver, and he did as he was told. His hands laid on his sides, itching to touch himself.

Y/N was starting to breathe heavily as she shimmed her pants down her legs, kicking them off as if they were an insult. She was just as naked as he was when she crawled over him, straddling his right thigh. They both sighed as her wet pussy rubbed against the meat of his leg. Her hands trailed down his arms, down his chest. He tensed his thigh when her fingers brushed playfully against his nipples, grunting. The sound made her whine, hips rolling on their own accord. The hairs of his leg felt divine on her bundle of nerves, tickling her in a delicious way.

She smiled devilishly and ducked down. Her lips met his collarbone, biting down and sucking until there was a purple mark. Din moaned softly and rolled his leg up in time with her hips, making her nip at his chest, just above his left nipple. She kissed it before enveloping it in her mouth. He cursed and bucked his hips up against her stomach. She let go with a pop, trailing more kisses down his stomach until she settled herself between his legs. Y/N groaned at the loss of his leg under her, but she had to taste him.

Din looked down just in time to see her envelop his entire dick in the cave of her mouth, gagging as the tip of him hit the back of her throat. He moaned loudly, cursing and clutching a handful of her hair. His hips stuttered up, and she had to tap his hip to let him know to take it easy. Her hand gripped what her mouth couldn’t fit, sucking lightly at the head of his cock. His grip on her hair loosened only a little, the other holding the hand that was now on his thigh.

Y/N pulled up for air, a trail of saliva trailing from his dick and her mouth. She kissed up the length of his girth as she continued to pump him slowly. He almost came when she sucked lightly at the skin of his balls. He pulled her before she could continue, taking in her shiny lips and watery eyes. It was a sight he would fully commit to memory. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips moving against his in perfect symphony, needed to have her taste lingering in his mouth and –

“Ow!”

Din did not estimate just how close she was before going in for a Mandalorian’s kiss, banging his helmet against her forehead.

“Shit I’m so sorry!” Din fretted, petting her head back to check for any forming bumps or bruises.

Y/N laughed on top of him, shaking off his concern and going in slowly for what he failed to attempt. They both closed their eyes at the contact, though Din could not feel it. She stared into his eyes through the T of his helmet, kissing where his lips would be.

Din lightly trailed his nails down her spine, making her arch her back, her own hands caressing the skin of his stomach; they tickled down his sides, making him squirm.

They both took their times exploring each other. Y/N lost herself in the language of their caresses, untainted and honest. Din couldn’t get enough of it, the feeling of her against him, the way he felt the goosebumps rise on her arms. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get quite used to it.

He used the grip on her hips to line her dripping entrance over his dick, watching intently as she lined herself up and sunk down ever so slowly until his length until he was fully sheathed inside her. They moaned loudly at the feel of each other; the stretch of him left her pulsing around him, velvet slick walls begging to be used and filled up.

Y/N finally gave an experimental roll, moaning at the curls that scratched her pulsing clit. Din moved in sync with her, rolling his hips up as hers came down, hitting her as deep as possible; she wouldn’t be surprised if you could feel him in her stomach.

He was hitting the soft, spongey spot inside her repeatedly with every thrust, leaving her moaning and whining any chance she drew breath. Their pace was hard but slow, dragging out their pleasure. He clenched his teeth, wanting to go faster but needing to fuck her slowly.

“I want to kiss you,” you pleaded softly. “Please, Din, baby.”

Din moaned and eventually nodded, waiting for her to close her eyes tightly before he tugged the helmet off and yanked her down; their teeth clashed, and it did hurt but they didn’t pull away.

“Shit -.” He broke the kiss with a groan when she swiveled her hips. “F-fuck keep doing that, beautiful. Just like that.”

Y/N did, the friction against her folds a little painful and utterly amazing. Her teeth scraped against his neck, just under his jaw. He bared himself to her, inviting her.

She wondered how she survived the fire that burned in lower stomach, how she could ever live without the feel of Din’s cock hitting her g-spot to near perfection every time he was inside her. It was too much and not enough.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Din continued to moan. He palmed her breast, gripping it tightly. “These tits? They’re mine,” he snarled.

It was hard to keep her eyes shut at the dirty talk. It was making her wetter, and Din already almost slipped out of her pulsing cunt once from the sheer slickness of it.

He abruptly flipped her onto her back, covering her eyes quickly with his hand before she accidentally opened them in surprise. His thrusts remained slow and powerful, propping one leg around his waist and the other on his shoulder.

“This pussy? This beautiful, dripping cunt is mine,” he growled.

Y/N cried out – almost pornographically – and gave a weeping cry when he pulled out of her.

His hand was still over her eyes, and she could hear him breathing heavily; his hand gripped her thigh painfully hard, but she said nothing.

“I -.” He gulped, running a hand over his face. “I wanted to take this slow. But - ”

“Fuck me,” Y/N interrupted. “Please daddy, fuck me.”

His eyes widened, and hers would’ve as well. This was a kink never discovered or discussed until now, and she held her breath as she waited for his reaction. Without so much as a warning he plunged deep into her, making her body shift upwards and her mouth open in a silent cry. His pace was hard and unforgiving, her tits bouncing furiously and hands gripping onto his biceps; her nails dug in sharply enough to draw blood, but he didn’t mind. The pain only increased the pleasure, both going hand in hand with the drag of his rigid cock across her sensitive walls.

He thought back to the dream. The thought of her belly round with their growing children was enough to make his hips stutter, for some primal urge to overtake him. With her hips in his grip again, he bounced her on his cock, grunting at the nonsense babble that was dribbling out of her mouth.

Din started to mumble what she could only describe as praises above her in Mando’a. He had started to teach her the language of his people only recently, so she was still fairly new to the language. She would have to ask him what he said later.

“Gods Din,” she moaned wantonly. “I’m gonna –‘

He jackhammered his hips into hers, and Y/N was sure that this was it, this was going to fucking destroy her and she’d let him over and over and over again. Her mind was a fog as the pool in her stomach started to coil, walls clenching furiously around him.

“Your pleasure is mine,” Din grunted. “Maker, you can feel it too, can’t you?”

Y/N could. She knew just how much Din loved her and the Child. Knew how much he hated the thought of them in any type of danger. And the longing. Yes she felt that as well, for a life akin to peace and normality. It was new for Din, awkward even, as it was for Y/N. It was a tread they would have to cross carefully.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh yes Din! F-fuck I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

His mind zapped to when she got shot, how scared – no petrified – no. There is no word to properly describe how he was feeling that night. He could’ve lost her if the shot was just a few inches to the right, and he wanted to say everything his heart wouldn’t let him spill, and it fucking hurt him.

“I love you too!” Din gasped. He tasted salt on his lips; he didn’t even notice he was crying. “Damn it, how could I not?”

Y/N dug her nails into his skin as her orgasm was fast approaching, his admission only making her wail. They were music to her ears, and she was so fucking happy she heard them before blood started rushing into her ears.

“Shit princess I feel you,” he growled. “I’m gonna cum in that t-tight little pussy. Fill you up so good that you’ll feel me for days.”

The thumb on her clit triggered her release. Y/N croaked out a mix of a moan and a scream, her pussy tight and throbbing around his dick, still thrusting. He fucked her through her orgasm, and when he felt the familiar pool he kissed her sloppily, tongue twirling with hers in an erotic dance.

“I’m fucking cumming,” he growled.

Y/N fisted his hair, licking around his earlobe before biting down on it.

Din let out a deep, loud grunt mixed with a snarl that was downright sin and gave one hard final thrust before she felt the warmth of his cum deep into her cervix. He was right, she would feel him for days, seeping out of her.

He gently placed her leg down and propped himself up on top of her, careful not to crush her. Their hairs were a fucking mess, tangled and mused. He found it to be gorgeous on her.

“Is it… is it okay if I stay? I just… I just want to feel you.”

Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice, and kissed his head sweetly, eyes still closed. Din kissed her once, twice, then three before burying his head in her chest, arms wrapped under her.

He said it he said it he fucking said it.

She didn’t question the taste of salt on her lips from when he kissed her, or the way his cheek was cracked and dry from the tears. She knew him well enough to know the meaning behind them.

“I think you should call me daddy every day,” Din mumbled into her skin, pushing her away from her thoughts.

Y/N laughed and could feel the grumble of his. “Okay, daddy,” she teased with a sultry voice.

Din groaned and lightly slapped the side of her ass. “Damn fucking right.”

She hummed and scratched his scalp, relishing in the afterglow. After a few moments Din shifted, causing them both to squirm from the short burst of pleasure. She was still very sensitive, and when he pulled out of her slowly she couldn’t help but hiss and whine at the loss.

He started to pepper kisses down the slope of her stomach, nipping at her hip bone before kneeling down at the edge of the cot. His hot breath hovered over her quaking pussy, her juices and his cum leaking out of her.

“Oh Din, I don’t – fuck!”

Din licked a broad stripe up her cunt, moaning at the combined taste of their cum. Y/N’s thighs immediately started to shake and quiver around his head, whining and moaning pathetically. She thrashed when he attached his lips to her clit, giving it a powerful suck.

“Fuck Din I’m – I’m gonna cum again!” It was breathless, high pitched, and fucking music to his ears.

He groaned into her, lapping up every ounce of her release before crawling back up to catch her lips with his. He tasted sweet, tangy and salty.

“You have one more in you, princess?” He whispered hoarsely into her open mouth.

Y/N nodded desperately. She could see white flashes behind her eyelids, dancing through the pleasure.

She felt him line himself up at her now definitely swollen lips, only letting the tip of his cock into her, teasing her.

She gave him the best glare she could give considering her state, which made Din chuckle darkly.

“What is it sweetness?”

That motherfucker. She tried rolling her hips, but he held down with a firm palm on her belly. Y/N huffed.

“Please daddy, please fuck me. I want your big dick inside me, daddy. Please,” she begged.

She was awarded with a slow thrust into her gaping heat. All the air seemed to leave her body, chocking on what little of it she had left before he pulled all the way out to the tip before thrusting back in. She felt the cot dip as he covered her body with his, grinding into her.

This was soft, slower than what had just taken place before. He caressed her eyebrows, cheeks, lips as his own lips sucked a mark onto her pulse point. Each shift of his hips brought a new sense of euphoria to the both of them, the chorus of soft moans filling the air.

“I really do love you,” he whispered, forehead resting against hers. “More than life itself. And I’m so fucking sorry that I don’t tell you enough, th –.“ He paused when she clenched around him, cursing under his breath as his hips sped up. “That I’m holding you back. Nothing could ever compare to your love, my sweet, sweet Y/N.”

Y/N hated it, but she started to cry. “You’re not holding me back,” she whimpered. She tugged his hair back to give him a sloppy kiss, their orgasm’s near.

“You could never do that to me, Din. And you don’t have to tell me with words. Fuck you s-show me every day. When you let me sleep in, listen to my stupid stories, the way you pay attention to me. You fucking bought me that pin at that stupid market we stopped at twice because you remembered that it reminded me of my mother.”

They both let out small chuckles at that, breathless and so so close. His pubic bone was shifting just right against her clit. Din’s hands slivered over the sides of her breasts, palming her ass and lifting her up to meet his thrusts.

“Gods daddy, make me cum,” Y/N cried.

“Daddy is gonna take care of you,” Din promised. “Always gonna.”

It was amazing, the whiplash between something so honest and heartfelt to something so fucking filthy. But hey, it worked for them.

“Ca - can I cum on your tits?” Din suddenly asked. It came out nervously, slow. She’d let him do anything to her and thank him afterwards.

“Of course, daddy,” she purred.

“Then play with your pretty pussy.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. She reached down between them and with a few flicks of her finger she came hard around him. He pulled out with a growl, pumping himself vigorously before grunting loudly, thick ropes of cum spraying across her chest.

“Shit you - .”

They both giggled. Y/N gathered up some of the cum onto her finger and hummed at the taste of him. If only she could see the way his dark eyes lit up.

He reached around, grabbing an old used cloth to clean her chest before collapsing next to her.

“Just give me a minute,” he grunted before she could open her mouth to speak.

Y/N could only nod, her throat becoming sore from the screams. She felt satisfied, her body spent. Din eventually got to his feet, dressing himself slowly as he helped Y/N do the same, giving her a kiss before placing the helmet over his head. It felt heavier now. She checked on the Child as he climbed up the ladder to the cockpit. Bringing the sleeping child up with her, she laid him down in his makeshift seat as Din started the ship.

“Hey,” she whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders, now covered in beskar. “We’ll be okay.”

He remembered he said the same thing to her before she got shot. But this time, this time he believed it, because she did. Because he had to, for all of their sakes.

“I know.”

Tags: @scarlett-berserker, @justlovetoreadfics, @lil-baby27, @mando-vibes, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch, @im-the-music-whore, @certifiedhunter, @outlawers, @hejahockey, @okaydacre, @lemongrove, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd, @elusive-ivory, @dizzydazed, @bluejeancntrygrl, @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @angel-hunter-winchester, @tedpicklez, @momc95, @sailorflowermoon, @creatingjana, @stories0fhope, @pascalisthepunkest, @coffeeandtodd

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian smut #star wars #the mandalorian's love series #the child

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pittarchives · 3 years

Text

Analogizing with Garner the Rabbit

This post was written by YuHao Chen, graduate student in ethnomusicology, University of Pittsburgh.

Let’s take for example a drawing in jazz pianist Erroll Garner’s letter to his manager Martha Glaser in Spring 1967, where he asks for her forgiveness, after having walked out with the money that he should have left at the office. In a way, analogy creates an illusion of intimacy by casting two separate things within one thought.

Image from Folder “Correspondence between Erroll Garner and Martha Glaser,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 5, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

Here, Garner and Glaser (referred to as “me” and “you,” respectively) are brought to proximity through their correlation with two hand-drawn characters: a rabbit with exaggerated whiskers and a stern human face looking away from the furry creature. We may be at a loss as to how or why Garner and Glaser might impressionistically resemble a fluff ball and a formidable face, but there must be some overriding logic—to Garner, at least—that somehow stabilized the two sets of characters. Garner is to Glaser as the rabbit is to the female portrait. Through symbolic consistency, Garner and Glaser are united as cartoon figures that appear in the top margins of his apology letter.

Garner the Rabbit reappears in a follow-up note—though without the company of Glaser’s cartooned face—where Garner apologizes again for his forgetfulness. In a different letter from 1967, he represented himself as yet another non-human creature, this time a cat. With a characteristic “me-wow,” the feline sits at the bottom of the letter and wishes a speedy recovery to Glaser, who appeared to be sick.

Image from folder “Correspondence between Erroll Garner and Martha Glaser,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 5, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

It is apparent that Glaser had received and read these letters. Scrupulous manager that she was, Glaser dated these letters in her flowing handwriting. But other than the fact that she had cared enough to keep them, we have no information as to how she might have reacted to Garner’s curious drawings. Her lack of reciprocity in the archive piques our interest: Did she approve of his analogy? Was she really the austere figure that made an expressionless face when Garner forgot to leave the money? Did she turn away, like the conspicuously dispassionate figure did, after seeing these sketches?

What appears to be a simple invocation of Garner and Glaser is more complex than it first seems. According to Alexander Galloway, the word “analogy” is derived from the prefix ana- (“at the rate of,” “by reason of,” or “in proportion to”) and the Greek word logos (“ratio,” “rationality,” “word”). Analogos means “in proportion with another ratio.” For Galloway, analogy is about creating an equation of comparable qualities, approximating the magnitude of one relationship to that of another. Seen in this light, analogy conjures two relationships and the things that constitute them. If it takes a party of two at the minimum to make up a relationship, then analogy necessarily invokes at least four entities by virtue of the two relationships it sets up. Garner’s analogy, for example, calls forth the musician–manager dyad, the animal–human counterpart, and the two sets of dynamics they represent. Analogy entails matchmaking, an operation that connects distant individuals to form sympathetic relationships.

It wouldn’t be too far-off, I think, to consider analogizing a deeply intimate gesture—an expression of voraciousness, even—for analogy devours a cornucopia of things and produces new relationships. Vilém Flusser wrote in Gestures, the moment of love is exactly the “complete absorption in the other without loss of the self;” it is the moment of “the tipping over into another, which makes ‘I’ and ‘you’ into ‘we’ […]” (51). Might analogy be similar to the way love creates bonds out of isolated conditions? Akin to Flusser’s definition of love, analogy integrates: it binds thoughts, transcends gaps, and redefines differences. Analogy performs promiscuous magic on lonely signs like “you,” “me,” rabbit, cat, and face, turning them into partners. Its capacity to conjoin different points of references into a network of meanings is what makes analogy such a potent tool to think with—and to inflict desire with.

Garner’s sketches were but the tip of the iceberg of how analogy operated for him and how we might come to understand the complex relationship between Garner and Glaser. In their correspondence, we see Garner recurrently employing analogy to frame his relation to Glaser, sometimes via seemingly innocuous cartoon drawings, other times involving the use of dissipated visual cues that transgress professional boundaries. The latter is seen, for instance, in a postcard depicting a rooster chasing after a hen in front of an old maid’s home, or in another where a newborn baby lasciviously attempts to grab a sexually depicted nurse, or in one showing a husband in a bedroom with his newlywed wife yelling at him for his female-figure tattoo.

Image from folder “Correspondence between Erroll Garner and Martha Glaser,” Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, Box 3, Folder 4, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

Garner wrote down commentaries to these images on the back of the postcards. On the “old maid” and rooster: “Are you glad you got me so you don’t have to be that way.” On the baby and the nurse: “Ours won’t be like that / he be cool / Ha Ha Ha.” On the tattooed husband: “I’ll have all mine taken off for you so there will be me and you and no one.” These postures indicate that at some point in time Garner had envisioned his relationship with Glaser through sexual analogies. These articulations expose the sharp edge of analogy, while also raising slippery questions about the nature of the relationship between Garner and Glaser.

What do these insinuations tell us? In the Erroll Garner Archive, there are very few materials surrounding the full nature of the types of relationships that may have existed between Garner and Glaser, which also may have changed at various points in time. Glaser, for one, did not leave any immediately traceable responses. Additionally, there was no postage stamped on these cards, which suggests that they might have been delivered personally or not been delivered at all. In lieu of a hard-and-fast conclusion, these messages require further contextualization before they can be understood in relation to the known history of Erroll Garner.

Given all the messiness that analogy seems to cause, it would have been more prudent, perhaps, to enact ways of visualizing a relationship through different means. But what if that relationship is inherently romantic? Would it be possible to articulate such a relationship in an un-analogized form? There is a fine line between analogy and love. What is love without a party of two, without phrases like “ma cherie,” “the very air I breathe,” “sweetheart,” “fly to me,” and “sweet rapture”? Love comes with a proportionate ratio and a trapping of significance. There is no love without analogy.

Works Cited

Alexander Galloway, “What Is the Analog,” last modified December 29, 2017 http://cultureandcommunication.org/galloway/what-is-the-analog

Erroll Garner Archive, 1942-2010, AIS.2015.09, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.

Vilém Flusser, Gestures, trans. Nancy Ann Roth (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014), 51.

#erroll garner tuesdays #sketches #correspondence #analogy #erroll garner #martha glaser

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stone-man-warrior · 3 years

Text

March 19, 2021: 6:33 pm:

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Three attempts to kill me happened today that I know of and can tell you about, and more attempt to kill me today that I cannot tell you about due to unspeakable litigation.

The latest attempt happened a few minutes ago and resulted in at least on terror soldier’s nitrous oxide poison gas tank to ignite and that one launched in a southerly direction, best guess is that the terror soldiers launched to the very back parts of 520 Jackpine.

Someone went to do an evac of that terror soldier, I am bound by the courts not to say more about that part of the terrorism.

The murder attempts are accompanied by these pop-up windows. The county courts terror cell uses pop-ups like these to try to convince US national security persons that the mark (me) was watching pornography, and that is somehow used for framing someone of murder, or rape, or “Sodomy” is the preferred terminology used by the county courts terror cell for describing what most people say is a “rape charge”, the local terror cells call it “Sodomy” and they pronounce it like “Soda-Me”, so, if you are doing audio surveillance please make a note of that pronunciation, as the term is used very often, and is a component one of the most popular terror attack scenarios.

======================

My foot is turning blue.

There is nothing I can do to get medical treatment.

All of the doctors in Oregon were killed years ago, some of them were taken captive and are forced to provide medical treatment for the terror army.

US Citizens are killed at the hospitals and medical clinics.

Despite many years of trying to reach US national security personnel, I have never been able to make contact with US national security personnel.

I keep trying, and as I do, the terror soldiers hurt me more and more, with more dangerous weapons, more lethal poisons, and more terror soldiers involved.

I tried to get my mail from the mailbox three times today, each time there was someone summoned, ready, and was waiting nearby for a chance to run me over in the road as I check my mail, so, I was not able to get that far today to the road to check my mail, there are too many terror soldiers around my home, these terror soldiers are more directly associated to the Josephine County Courts than I have seen before, today’s attack is as if the judge himself came to kill me.

There are no US Citizens who work at the Josephine County Courts, all of the people there are Canadian terror special operatives, some of them are Screen Actor Guild actors, are treasonous, and are there for special assignment at the courthouse. The same is true across the entire state of Oregon. All of the courts were hijacked and are controlled and occupied by he Canadian SDA terror army, and they get their marching orders and training from Screen Actor Guild.

Same condition as the US national guard bases. All of the bases are hijacked, controlled, occupied by Canadian terror army, and Screen Actor Guild special actors play role of commanding officers, while Canadians are wearing the US Guard uniforms. They have access to all of the equipment at the bases, and, they are able to get new equipment, supplies and munitions through normal and customary channels of procurement.

Please send help.

When they kill me, they will delete this account, and then no one will know how the terror is done.

Please send US Military to Josephine county Oregon.

Please send medical help to Josephine county Oregon.

==========================================

8:20 pm:

A very loud sound was heard a little while ago, about 7:00 pm. I went outside to see what is going on, and I heard what sounded like a train, a helicopter, and a jet all at the same time coming from Russel Road area, and proceeding in a south direction. The sound was not from the air, was at ground level.

Two of Monroe’s cats were in my yard, that means there was a Monroe outside of my house at that time. They bring the cat when they hide in my yard, so I will see the cat and not be concerned about someone hiding in my truck bed.

That sound was so loud and different that for a moment I thought maybe the US military had come, and were doing a fly over.

That’s not what it was.

I overheard that the sound was that of the train that travels on the railroad tracks that are parallel with Russell Road, and are about less than two thousand feet away from where I am. The train was releasing poison gas, and was ignited, and the train went south toward Merlin Oregon on the tracks while lit, poison gas burning in at least one of the train cars. I heard that from a terror soldier who was hiding somewhere nearby and shouted “the train lit!”. I heard other similar discussion being said at the Monroe terror cell.

I came back inside after that, I don’t know what kinds of poison gas the train may have been releasing, but since it lit up and went south, nitrous oxide is most likely part of the mixture. I could hear the jet sound as far as about where Opal Lane crosses Russell Road and beyond that, then walked to where the Offensive Trailer at Monroe’s is near my driveway, and overheard more about the train had ignited.

There could be evidence at Blue Star Gas, in Merlin. That place is along the train tracks and uses rail cars to ship the gasses they claim to sell at Blue Star Gas.

I have no way to verify if a locomotive carrying explosive poison gas ignited on the tracks or not, but I did hear a sound that was as if a helicopter, a jet airplane and a locomotive were all the same sound, and it was very, very loud.

The train on Russell almost never rolls at this time of day. That train is normally heard at about 12:30 am, and again sometimes at about 4:30 to 6:30 am, only.

It was not US Military as I was wishing for, it was a terror train filled with poison gas parked nearby on the train tracks, is the information I have.

(Twitter can be traced to see the marching orders for that train full of gas to be deployed, one part to such terror marching orders is a story about the Milton Bradley Game called Monopoly, and news about a change in the “Community Chest Cards” in future versions of the game. Monopoly is often used for terror marching orders, and there are railroad considerations in the game and the cards for it.)

=========

8:52 pm:

This part of this entry, like the whole account here, is specifically for US national security personnel to consider:

That information shown there where it says “StoneMan posted this” is part of the attack with the locomotive filled with and releasing poison gas in the neighborhood and parked nearby about 2000 feet away from my property. There was a person who made a “Like” for this entry, I blocked that person. The idea is that if the terror assassin is successful and does indeed kill me, then, somehow that “Like” and the part where it says “StoneMan Posted This” works in favor of the terror army who would have killed me. There are a few other places on this account where the same kind of thing happened, someone made a “Like” on a post that is about mass murder and terror takeover of USA, but not many of those “Roll Reversal Like” comments (That is how I see it, a roll reversal attempt, I don‘t know how they make it say “StoneMan Posted This” unless someone paid off Tumblr representatives to make that happen).

I always block the people who do that.

The way I see it, if someone makes a “Like”, or does a “Follow” somewhere on my account here, and if that person does not ask some questions, like “How can I help you?”, then, I block those people. Over time of existence of this account there has been a dozen or so “Like’s” and “Follows”, not many, and no one has ever offered any assistance.

no one has ever asked me any questions about why I write what I write.

So, I do the Block.

Interesting fact is that there has been three attempts to make contact with this account with a “Like” or Follow” since the time I asked Joe Biden for help to stop the mass murders and takeover of USA when I wrote to him at WhiteHouse.gov contact page. That is extremely revealing about who the terrorists are.

Please help.

This Tumblr account is the only way I can get a message out of Oregon, all of the phones and internet means of reaching public safety are hijacked, don‘t work, and only assassins come in response to cries for help, as happened today from my letter to the President, assassins brought a locomotive filled with poison gas, and a bunch of terror special operative assassins, some of them are at Monroe terror cell right now, at 434 Jackpine Drive, Grants Pass Oregon 97526.

That thing below where it says “StoneMan Posted This” is part of the hit attempt, and could be traceable, please help.

This is where the “Like” came from, the one I blocked. “Unforgettable-Sensations” is poking fun at my leg condition and is one of the terror bastards who arranged that I would be injected with some kind of horrible chemicals. there is no doubt about it with a name like that and a like on this entry today.

=============

9:45 pm:

This is a good place to go ahead and mention that at least two terror soldiers where killed last night and I did not have anything to do with their deaths, other than I lit my Bic Lighter while I was trying to check my mail but was unable to get to the road where the mailbox is at because there are too many terror soldiers trying to kill me all of the time. One terror soldier was hiding in a tunnel that goes beneath my driveway, is a culvert for the creek, that one ignited, launched to the other side of my yard, bounced off the fence at 520 Jackpine, I think was wearing a bright blue coat. The other one was run over in the roadway at the mailboxes on Jackpine by their own terror assassin accomplices who were driving the Sparacino’s brown cross-over style car, a brand new one, and that person was squished under the car, rolled into a ball, and wound up in front of the Clyde Baum terror cell at 333 Jackpine. I could hear the sound of the persons bones breaking and saw the car looked as if it was driving over speed bumps all the way from the mailboxes to Clydes, while screaming “Stop the car!”.

They finally stopped out front of Clyde Baum’s terror cell.

I suspect there was at least one other who also was killed last night but I have no other information, just some screaming sounds that I heard separate of those other two dead terror soldiers that Joe Biden sent to kill me.

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 6)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 1865

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy, @carryonmyswansong, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You lied awake that night, tossing and turning. This didn’t feel right. At all. Lying to Spence, lying to your team, lying to your work. Going against every oath, vow, promise, and handshake you’d ever made. You were about to turn your back on all of it, just to get right some wrongs you’d witnessed.

But then, you thought about all the sleepless nights you had knowing people you’d arrested were out there… hunting new prey, hunting you, hunting Spence. You couldn’t live in a world knowing some of these bastards got to walk away without so much a slap on the wrist. You just couldn’t do it anymore.

Dexter was your ticket out of this. If anyone knew how to do this, he did. He did it well and he went after who you wanted. He was controlled, evolving. He covered his tracks incredibly well. The only reason you’d caught him was because of your ability to profile. He was the perfect teacher.

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

The next morning, Spence called you before class.

“Hey, hun, how’s the investigation going?” he asked cheerfully.

Just as you were about to actually be honest and say, “Hey, I caught the guy,” you remembered you couldn’t say that. You couldn't utter a word like that.

“I actually still have a few more families to interview.”

“But you’ve already gone through sixteen, isn’t that enough?”

“No, not really. I want to get a good and clear picture on these victims, their daily lives, their pasts. You know…”

Why did lying to your husband come so easy? Well to be honest, it didn’t. It felt horrible. A sickening feeling filled your gut but you pushed it back down. There was nothing to be done about this.

“Well you’re nothing if not thorough and I know it’ll pay off.”

“Thanks, love. So how is everything up there?”

He went on about a case they just solved over in Dallas. As he began telling you, you were automatically profiling in your head and by the time he told you who it was, you had it figured out. You wished each other a good day and got off the phone.

Three days later, Dexter texted you. He asked that you meet at his place.

You arrived and as soon as you were inside and he shut the door you asked, “So have you got someone for us?”

“No, I actually thought we needed to start with the basics. Before I take you with me, I think you should know more about me.”

You frowned. “Oh, well that sounds like a good idea. I actually did have some questions.”

“I’m sure you did.” He gestured to the table. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Care for some chicken casserole?” he offered.

Your eyes traveled to the table, caution swimming in your face and mind.

“I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Dexter assured.

“How do I know this?”

“Not my style. And as you profilers know, we don’t deviate from our M.O., ever.” He smirked, knowing he was getting under your skin with the profiling jabs.

You screwed your mouth to the side. “Very well.” You sat down and got settled and dove right in. “When did you commit your first murder?”

He looked up from his food, slightly frustrated. “Are you writing a book? Why do you want to know all these things?”

You shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one who said I should know more about you. This is me knowing more. It’s part of who I am, Dexter. I study the mind. I just want to know what happened to you and how it affected you. It’s integral for me to follow your thought process. I don’t think killing is a recipe to follow and I don’t think you think it is either.”

Some silence hung between you two before he finally said something. “Right before my father died,” he stated.

“Why then?”

“The nurse who was looking after him was killing him slowly, and not just him.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “That’s amazing.”

“That’s not the word I expected to hear from anyone.”

“But it is. You were helping people. She’s a monster and deserved to be stopped.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, I guess.”

“Was it a trigger?” you wondered.

He furrowed his brow. “What? No. I mean, it was upsetting but I didn’t kill because it upset me. I killed because… well he was always the anchor, the reason to remind me to not do it, to not give in. He did say, whenever I did give in, because he would know I’d have to, to live by this code.”

“The code of killing horrible people?” you clarified.

He nodded. “Yeah. He taught me everything I know. Taught me how to do it to make for easy clean up. We started with hunting, to see if that would satisfy it but it didn’t. He showed me how to research, how to make absolutely sure the person is guilty of a crime worthy of death.”

“That’s a good code. You were very lucky to have him.”

“Yes, I know,” he agreed.

“So how do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Have a life? Is the girlfriend a cover?”

Dexter seemed… taken aback by your question. “Uh, yeah, for the most part, but I think some part of me really cares for her. She’s a great mother and extremely kind to me.”

“And your urges are never a problem between you two?”

“No. I find it easy to control them since I hunt quite often.”

“Speaking of hunting, how do you dispose of the bodies?”

At this, he choked on his food.

“What? Not used to being asked direct questions?”

“I’m not used to being asked questions, at all, about this. It’s--”

“Weird?”

“I was going to say… refreshing.”

A smile crept onto your face.

“So?” you prompted again.

“Do I really have to tell you?”

“What are you going to do when we commit our first kill together? Tell me to go to the other room and not look while you dispose of them?”

“Right now, all you need is the location of the bodies to convict me. You haven’t done anything wrong but question a serial killer in his own home. But, if we kill together, then you’ve committed a crime with me. At the very least, you’re an accomplice, at worst you’re on first degree murder.”

“So you really aren’t going to tell me?”

He shook his head. “No. Not yet. I will though. I told you, open and honest, but right now, you’re holding all the cards.”

“I’m not even playing a game, Dexter,” you said softly with a gentle smile.

“Everyone plays a game.”

“Not me.”

“Oh? So you aren’t lying to everyone you know?”

This made you quiet and somehow you think Dexter knew that struck a nerve with you.

“I shouldn’t have… You’re not doing anything to hurt me so I shouldn’t do that to you.”

You waved him off. “It’s fine. Okay so you won’t tell me where you finish it, how about how you finish it? You seem like a knife kind of guy to me.”

He laughed, throwing his head back. “If you have me all profiled and figured out why are we even talking?”

“These are all just theories, come on,” you pleaded.

“Oh, so see? My statement was true about profiling not being concrete.”

“Ah but it will be, if you confirm my theory.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Alright, fine. I am a ‘knife guy’.”

“You know, usually we say men use knives to act out their sexual frustration but… I’ve never agreed with that theory.”

“Why?”

“Well, take you, I don’t think you have any sexual fantasies you’re trying to act out, am I right?”

He nodded his head to the side before picking up his beer and sipping it. “Right.”

“So then why a knife? More intimate?”

“Well a gun… it’s messy, loud, traceable.”

“Poison?”

“Too slow or too disgusting. And again, traceable if the medical examiner has half a brain.”

“Suffocation?”

“Not intimate enough.”

“Strangulation?”

“The hands can leave certain marks, they can fight, scratch, get my DNA on them…”

“So, the ole knife… Interesting.”

You leaned back in you chair to stare at him. At the same time, he moved forward.

“Have you really thought about this? Thought this through? You'll be killing someone. Ending their life.”

“I know what murder is but thanks for the vocabulary lesson.” You sneered. You didn’t like being talked down to.

“Y/N. I'm serious,” he stressed.

“So am I. I've killed before.”

“Yes! To protect people, not--”

“Isn't that what we’re doing? What you're doing? Just because you kill them when they don't have the murder weapon in their hand doesn't diminish what they've done to the world.”

He looked at you, his face not wavering.

“Y/n… look. I don't know if you've had to lie to your husband before or maybe it's something you do a lot anyway, but from this point forward, everything you do is a lie, a front. I almost got caught once and I thought I was about to lose everything. My sister, my job, my girlfriend. It nearly caused me to panic. Now, if it comes down to it, are you willing to face that? Are you willing to live with that?”

You sat there a moment, thinking. “I've thought this through, Dexter.”

“Have you? It’s a long journey. Are you planning on taking what I teach you back to DC?”

This took you aback. “Actually, that I don't know...”

“Something to think about.”

You nodded. Absolutely. You hadn’t even really thought past your first kill. Would you want to do it if Dexter wasn’t there? Would you be willing to risk it back in D.C. all alone? Would you even feel like killing at all after the first one?

Something about what he said earlier bothered you and you wanted to set the record straight.

“For the record. I don't lie to my husband, ever.”

“And you're willing to start now for… what?”

“This is just something I have to do…”

He nodded, and you hoped it meant he understood.

“It kills me to do it, but I’m also doing this for him. He’s been through so much, and getting these scumbags off the street is just another way to protect the world, our community, and ultimately, him.”

“That’s a powerful love, to kill for someone. Just don’t let that emotion drive this.”

“It’s not,” you assured.

“Alright. I think it would be best if I walked you through how I find someone first, what do you say?”

“Sounds good.”

At that, he began to tell you how he started a hunt, how he picked them, how he made sure they were the one. You listened diligently, the two of you cracking rather dark jokes as you did so. The night grew late and you informed him you had to be back to your apartment to get some sleep for class tomorrow. He bid you a goodnight and you left, feeling better and better about this partnership.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging:

Forever Tag:

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#inside the criminal mind #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #dexter #dexter morgan #dexter morgan fic

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swellwriting · 5 years

Text

Datapads and Love Letters

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Reader x Armitage Hux

Warnings: None.

A/N: It’s dumb and it's soft and I wanna write more Hux fics, I might do a “lemony” part two (oh god how I hate the word) but hey who knows?

Word Count: 3.6k

He writes a love letter to you, it’s harmless. It’s meant to be harmless. He needs to get his feelings out but he doesn't want anyone to know. His feelings though they are about you are his own feelings, they are private and he wants to keep it that way.

He knows you like him, “like” being a term he isn't sure how to define when it comes to you. You like Kylo Ren the Supreme Leader who is also your “master”, you like Phasma your only high ranked friend and you like any stormtrooper that doesn't slump their shoulders when you walk past them. Liking him doesn't necessarily mean anything spectacular. Not to say he isn’t grateful for it, at least you don't hate him.

He knows he's a bit older than you, he’s your co-worker, though you’re both Generals in title so at least he isn't your superior, he holds no power over you and he likes that. You make him feel powerless.

He grabs his Datapad and opens up a private note and starts typing.

He starts with your name but quickly erases it and starts over. If this got out by even a chance he didn't want it traceable to you so easily as to write your name on it.

He dims the brightness of his screen, holds it close as he types and pours his heart out. When he's done he goes to delete it but Millicent spills his glass of water on the bed he is currently sat in making him jump up to fix the mess. Before he can get back to what he was doing there are Stormtroopers at his door and he's so busy, so focused on work that he leaves it there. But it should be safe in his living space, a private note like that should be perfectly secure in his private quarters.

But he forgot that today was a scheduled cleaning day, the cleaning droids and sanitation troopers with high clearance would be there any minute, they’d have to move the Datapad and with the screen just remaining open like that, how could they not accidentally read such soft emotional words and be so curious to read more, especially on the cold and mean Generals Datapad.

The trooper sent it to his friend, he took a picture of the screen with his own Datapad and it wasn’t supposed to spread around as quickly as it did but before Hux even gets to the meeting he was going to everyone with a Datapad at their fingertips has seen it.

Everyone except for him and you.

You’re too busy with your current conversation with Phasma, the only thing distracting you as she glances down at her Datapad to read the email she was just sent is the fact that Hux just sat down across from you. You offer him a courteous smile as if you hadn't noticed the second he walked into the room. As if you hadn’t wished he would have sat down beside you and started a conversation as easily as Phasma had.

She’s still distracted by her tablet so you think of something to say to him.

“Usually you’re the first one to show up at meetings.” You comment casually, not wanting him to think you're chastising him for being later than usual, which still wasn’t late at all.

“I was a bit busy, paperwork and such,” he offers in response, a wave of his hand as he sips his coffee.

Before you can think of anything else to say Kylo Ren Speaks from behind his mask, his deep voice unable to be quiet at all. “Paperwork?”

Hux nods and tries not to think too much about what he was actually doing out of fear that Ren would be in his head.

Kylo lets out a chuckle, it’s more of a reflex than him trying to have anyone hear it but it comes out muffled yet loud from the mask and you notice, wonder what on earth Kylo Ren could be laughing about regarding paperwork.

The meeting starts with long conversations about budgets, rebelling systems and politics as per usual.

Many officers are reading their Datapads during the meeting, a basic rule violation.

Hux’s fingers itch as he instinctively goes to just grasp his in his hands, that's when he realizes he left it behind, unlocked, on his bed with a dictionary of everything he feels for you on it. He panics then. His chest feels like its caving in on his lungs, his heart stuck in throat as he assumes the worst. An officer, much below him, looks at him from across the table and Hux only offers him a scowl making the young officer quickly look away.

He looks at you, your eyebrows are furrowed as you chew the end of your stylus pen even though you don't even have your Datapad out. It seems like everyone in the room is in on the joke except him and you. Well, he's in on it, it's about him and he knows it, fears it.

You look across the table at him to find him already staring at you, you offer him a sweet smile but he doesn't return it. His eyes are wide and he looks worried before he forces a smile on his face. Somethings wrong with him and you aren't sure what it is. When the meeting ends he basically rushes out of the room and locks himself in his quarters.

He finds that his room is cleaned and his Datapad had been moved. How could he have been so stupid? Why would he ever let his true feelings out when he should have pushed them deep inside and never let them see the light of day. He doesn't even know what to do with himself. He takes his uniform off piece by piece, throwing it on the floor as he walks and then sits at the end of his bed wondering what he has done.

Thankfully he didn't write your name on it anywhere, and maybe no one would know it was about you but the second you read it he knew you would know. He was kriffing screwed.

Hux ran away before you could talk to him so you decided to give him some time and then go to his office and see if he was there.

You knocked on the door but no one answered, a stormtrooper, and a bold one at that, walks up to you.

“He's not going to be in there and if he is he won't see anybody.”

“Why? What’s happened?” You ask with a worry-filled tone and the expressionless Stormtrooper lets out a laugh.

“You haven't seen it yet? Read it? If I were you I’d check your email and see for yourself. It’s pretty self-explanatory that he knows it's gotten out, I don't know when he'll come out of his room and if he does it will be to kill whatever person leaked it.”

“Leaked what?” You press further, too scared to even touch your Datapad.

“It’s a love letter, written by the General.”

Your eyes widen and your heart sinks. He wrote someone a love letter, a love letter that everyone has read. Given that this is the first you’re hearing of it you assume it isn't about you. You aren't ready to read it, have your heartbreak when you see the name in the letter. The name of some other person who had somehow warmed the cold General's heart.

You nodded at the trooper silently and then swiftly turned and walked back to your quarters, they were only around the corner from Hux’s.

Before you close your door Kylo walks down the hall and calls your name, his tone almost happy sounding. He enjoys when bad things happen to his least favourite General and he wants to quickly share the knowledge with you that he is certain you’re the object of the letter but you yell a, “Not now!” Before slamming the door in his face.

Maybe he should wait until another time.

You make your way to your bed and take your Datapad out, gripping the sides gently as you stare at it. You are filled with a mix of the fear of knowing and curiosity.

You tap the screen, unlock it and open your emails. More than ten different people have sent you this picture, it's a bit hard to read the letter but as you zoom in it becomes more clear, and as you read further on it become more evident as well.

~ I like the sound of your voice, it’s small most of the time, you sound unsure of yourself, when I pass you in the hallway and you're asking a question like you expect yourself to know everything.

I like when your voice is loud, when your laugh fills my ears and when you're explaining something you care about, like crystals and power and politics. I know how smart you are the way you explain intricate things so easily, though you brush it off as nothing.

I like that there isn't a planet in the universe you aren’t aware of, that no matter the state of it you dream of going to one day. I fear for any person who tries to stop you.

I feel for the way your past is like a weight on your shoulders but you never let anyone catch you slouching, masking the pain of the past is hard and I want nothing more than to relieve you of it.

When you smile your cheeks round in this perfect way that makes your eyes squint closed and your teeth visible to all, you always bring your hands up to hide it once you realize but that short moment of pure bliss and happiness is all I look forward to some days.

Your elegant composure, your respect for your work, and your pride in your position are almost as beautiful as any other of your features. You look out the windows into space as though you've never seen a star while simultaneously capturing the light of each one you behold in your eyes. Your touch is always gentle, your compassion is contagious and your intelligent outlook on life and war is astounding.

Perhaps I've never felt love before, I'm not entirely sure what feeling love entails. It seems as though it’s something you could be an expert in, I’d love to hear you explain it to me, the way you think it works.

I think it's in the way my cheeks go red when your skin fleetingly touches mine, the way my stomach drops when you look at me from across a room filled with important people. I think I love you because you're on my mind every second of the day, even when you're across the universe, the way I always want you closer to me. I'm no expert but I think this is what love feels like, I think I'm in love with you. ~

Your mouth was hanging open as you read it, he doesn't say your name in it but you can tell it's about you. You quickly close the tablet and your eyes, lying down in your bed as you think it over. Maybe it isn't about you, maybe you’re projecting yourself into it because you want so desperately for his ever so formally written love letter to be about you.

You can’t imagine anyone else making him feel such things, you can't imagine anyone else matching his description the way it so perfectly matches you.

The love letter is so clearly written by Hux too, even if you were given it with no context you could tell. The way it starts so unsurely, the formality of it and the properness, the lack of spelling mistakes and the way compliments are worded. Though it seems out of character for him to even write a love letter in the first place, this is exactly the way you would have imagined it.

You turn the Datapad back on, you reread it over and over and over again until you found yourself walking over to his door, knocking quietly.

He doesn't answer so you knock harder, you use his professional title to give you a bit of confidence.

“General Hux?” You ask boldly as you wait to be met with only silence.

You knock again, your voice softer this time. “Armitage?”

He’s standing on the other side of the door, face paler than usual and his usually steady hands shaking. He can tell you've read it, he can tell because why else would you be here other than to set him straight.

He needs to open the door, apologize, promise to keep his distance and then hope the Supreme Leader doesn't kill him the second you ask him to. He should have never fallen for Kylo’s apprentice. The smart force sensitive woman who knows too much about Sith and Jedi and the faults that lie with their practices to become victim to them.

He thinks you’re too smart to fall victim to him, and his foolish heart.

But you aren’t, you don't see it that way so you knock one more time and plead with him. “Armitage, please.”

He presses the button opening the door, the door you could have easily forced your way through if you really wanted, if you were angry with him, but you weren't.

He’s standing there, usual proud shoulders slumped as he looks at the floor, refusing to look at what sort of expression is on your face.

You walk in and close the door behind you.

You walk up to him and place your palm on his cheek and his lip quivers slightly before you make him look at you. You can tell he is filled with regret and is mentally punishing himself, as he often does.

Your eyes are filled with the same forgiving kindness they always are.

You let go now that he's looking at you and step back, you feel for a moment as though maybe you acted too soon.

“I read your letter.” You say quietly and he looks away again, unable to lie or do anything. Completely submissive to the way you decide this conversation goes.

“Was it about me?” You boldly ask and his hands shake at his sides, he goes to grab the edges of his uniform but that's when he realizes, oh to his horror, that he isn't wearing it.

Instead, he is wearing black cotton pants and a white undershirt, completely inappropriate for even a droid to see him in, but here you are.

He takes in a deep breath, looks around you and beside you and then finally meets your eyes. He can't lie, he can’t nod or shake his head, he just looks at you with sorry eyes before he starts apologizing, sorries coming from his mouth like a waterfall.

“I'm sorry, General Y/L/N, the letter was... unprofessional, completely erratic and I should have never written a single word. I'm sorry for my lack of composure, my inability to control and retain myself and it will never happen again. Our professional relationship will not be affected in this manner and I will never speak of it or think those things of you again.” By the end of it, his eyes are red, he's about to cry but he wouldn’t dare let himself show any more emotions to present himself as even weaker.

His hands shake and his lip quivers even more, his voice is wobbly and he doesn't even sound genuine, he sounds disappointed in himself, like a wounded dog begging their owner not to hit them. Though he’s been a situation like that before.

You bite your lip as you think over the words in the letter, again and again, silence fills the room.

“I think I know how it works,” you start and he looks up. “I could explain it to you. I could explain the way it feels to me.”

He raises an eyebrow as he looks at you like you’re crazy, but his expression softens when he realizes you’re just as scared as he is.

You take in his soft expression and begin to elaborate, present your feelings so you’re both just as open and just as weak and exposed to the prospect of love.

“I like the way you look at me, you don't look at anyone else with such soft eyes and it makes me feel proud almost that I get that from you. I like your devotion to the order, your devotion to the galaxy and a realistic peace.

I like when your hair is out of place and I really really like seeing you outside of your uniform like this.

My feelings for you run deep, they have for a while and I know it’s more than something simple, because of the way I hide the thoughts of you from the Supreme Leader, the way my heart skips a beat when you return a smile to me and the way I can tell when your smile isn't genuine.

I think I'm no expert but I do think I’m in love with you too.”

You ramble on and he stares at you, his heart skipping beats and pounding against his ribcage, his hands are still shaking. He’s still scared even though he now knows your feelings are mutual. He is scared of how Kylo will react, he is still scared for the lower level officers to think he has a weakness, even if it’s true and it’s standing right in front of him, stepping closer and placing your hands on his to steady them.

It's in this moment the shy little boy of his past creeps into his skin. He wants to touch you, hold you or do anything but he's frozen solid. You bring his hands and place them on your hips, he revels in the way his skin tingles, his fingers squeeze just slightly to hold you a bit tighter.

You are worried and rightfully so about the Supreme Leader, about what people will think since everybody knows about the letter. But at this moment it doesn't matter, what matters is the way his pale skin shows his blush so boldly, the way his ginger hair looks so dark in the dim light and the fact that you can see a few scarce freckles across his nose because your so close it’s almost pressed to your face.

But it doesn't last long.

A Stormtrooper knocks on the door, terrified of being shot with a blaster the second the General opens the door. But when the door opens the General they weren't expecting is standing on the other side. You smile at the trooper.

“Can I help you?” You ask politely and the troopers heartbeat slows down.

“The Supreme Leader summons General Hux,” he states as confidently as he can, now unsure of himself since he thought this was Hux’s room, not yours.

“Does he now?” You tease as the Stormtrooper nods.

“We will be right there, thank you.” You say closing the door but before the door closes the trooper sees Hux is standing beside you.

The trooper decides himself that the love letter was definitely about General Y/L/N and that this was evidence that the two Generals are some sort of “thing” and that news spread faster than any letter ever could.

They are certain that such gossip is spreading around, they don't care much at all. Armitage doesn't care about anything except the way you smile at him as you turn back around and don’t hesitate to come closer to him again.

You grab his face, squishing his cheeks a bit as you bring him closer. He’s nervous, lacking experience and wondering how this wonderful person has any interest in him at all but he doesn't pull away. He feels himself leaning in, his eyes fluttering shut and he feels your breath on his lips before they touch.

The kiss is soft, a combination of hesitation and fear, like you’re breaking all the rules. His freckled nose presses against yours as you tilt your head and move your lips in a calculated manner. Both of your eyebrows furrowed in concentration like this important task was yet another thing for you both to perfect.

His hands remain pliant at his sides and you grab them, placing them on your hips again and oh how he loves to hold you there. He squeezes harder as you continue to melt your lips against his, he mimics your actions, breaths out his nose tickling your cheek, never wanting to pull away.

It’s at this moment he finally believes in the force. Not that he hadn't felt it before when it wrapped around his throat or threw his body across a room. In those moments he felt it as pain and power, though it was described so differently he never believed that side of it until now. They way it prickled his arms and travelled up his spine, it left a wake where ever your fingers lingered on his cheeks. He felt you and he never wanted to stop feeling you like this.

When you walked down the hallway with him by your side, close but not touching, the troopers, the officers and the mechanics, they all stared, for how hadn't they seen before today that there was something more between the two Generals. It seems so obvious now that they’re in love, even when trying to conceal it.

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dictionarywrites · 6 years

Note

okay but???? i loved the one orian/zach fic you wrote--could you write more for them? as a couple or individually, i don't really care which, i just really appreciate your dexterity with both of their voices and would like to see more of them in your style. :) maybe something with orian and crosby? i dunno. they just fascinate me!

My Ao3 | Send requests | Tip jar!

It’s, uh, it’s six months into this whole thing with Zach. Six months in, and Orian, he, uh, he introduced the kids to Zach four months ago. Let them come in of the morning and find Orian paging through the news on his tablet as Zach cooked him breakfast, and Zach, he’d--

God, the way he’d looked at them.

He kinda wishes he’d had a camera to take a photo of it, of his face: Zach stood in his clothes from last night, the spatula in his hand, and he’d just looked so surprised, and something else, too. Excited. The kids had already been dressed for school, and they’d each stopped to peer at him, examining Zach.

“I thought all your brothers were dead,” Miranda had said, in a tone that implied disapproval.

“Mmm, no, Zach is no relation,” Orian had replied, without looking up from his tablet. “He’s, uh, the latest piece of ass.” Zach had dipped his fingers in his glass of water and flicked some into Orian’s face, and Orian had laughed, leaning back and looking at Zach with amusement.

“You kids want some eggs?” Zach had asked, and just like that, the kids had sat down, had begun to cautiously make their weigh-up of this man Orian had invited into his bed - Miranda had called both of them narcissists, and then said they were incestuous, and had then implied in a tone of great delicacy that Zach, she assumed, must be bought and paid for. Zach had laughed, and said, “Oh, no, sweetheart, I’m a cop.” And when Miranda had gone pale, he’d laughed at her, and put some more bacon on her plate.

And that, well, that had been it.

He’d shown his dominance over the queen bee at the table, and the kids had respected him for it, at least a little. Even now, they sometimes mess him around a little, but Zach, he can hold his own, and honestly, he’s good with the kids. He can tell when Miranda’s just being nasty when she can, or when she’s genuinely in a mood; Rachel actually talks to him, which is more than she does for Orian half the time; and Cros...

Cros, he’s a funny thing. When he was very young, Orian had been soft with him - he’d wanted to carry Crosby wherever they went, had fussed over him, and gosh, when he’d been, uh, when he’d been just a baby, Orian had just delighted in the smell of his hair, how warm he’d been when Orian had held him to his chest.

But the kid--

You know, the kid, he’s a pussy. Such a weakling of a thing, jumps at loud noises, keeps wriggling out of coming out to the gun range with Orian and the girls, only seems willing to do the bare minimum of the exercises Orian encourages the kids to do, and just wants to stay inside and draw all day. And he’s a good artist, Orian will give him that - he’s a good artist, and his grades are good, but he’s just such a milksop.

Orian isn’t all that patient with him. He feels bad for that, he really does, but it’s just so frustrating to be dealing with him, at times, and yet, Zach, he... You know, he’s gentle with Cros. He’s patient. And Orian doesn’t know why that’s, uh, why that’s so sexy, exactly, seeing this guy talk with his son or fix his hair or make him breakfast, but--

It’s pretty sexy.

And today...

Mm. Well.

When Crosby comes into the door late, and crying his eyes out, Orian is ready to fly off the handle, because his son has a new shiner blooming on his eye, and he’s trying to talk, but Orian isn’t inclined to wait for the answer - he wants to go out and have whatever fucking boy did this to his son killed, now, immediately--

He’s pacing as Zach sits Crosby down, tilts his head back so that he can get a better look at the bruise. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Cry ‘til you want to stop.” He says it very quietly as he holds out his hand, and Rachel passes him an icepack. “You feel dizzy?”

“No,” Crosby says.

“And the vision in your bad eye, it’s okay, right? Not blurry, doesn’t hurt to focus on me?”

“No,” Crosby says.

“Good,” Zach murmurs, and he gently sets the ice against the changing colour of his skin, making Crosby hiss out a cry of pain. There are tears wet on his cheeks, and Orian sets his jaw.

“What’s the kid’s name?” he asks, sharply.

“You can’t kill a kid, Orian,” Zach says.

“You fucking serious? Are you-- Honey, are you, uh, are you telling me how to parent my--”

“Shut up,” Zach snaps, and there’s a ringing pause in the room as Orian feels a sudden thrum of excitement in his chest (mmm, inappropriate to the setting, but hey), and also indignation. Nobody talks to him like that, not in front of his kids, not in front of people, but-- “Tell me what happened, honey.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Crosby says plaintively. “I was just... I was just sketching on my phone on the bus, I wasn’t drawing him - I was drawing from a pose you did for me, I just didn’t have it open on my phone because I was trying to draw it from memory and--”

“What did he say?” Zach says, and his voice is quiet and calm. Miranda and Orian are both pacing now, at opposite ends of the room, and while Orian has a more casual saunter, Miranda is stiff, her hands clenched at her sides, her jaw held stiffly, her shoulders hunched. Rachel is standing still, her hands in front of her stomach, staring powerlessly at Crosby and Zach on the sofa. “Tell me what he said, honey.”

“He said I shouldn’t... That I shouldn’t draw him, and I said I wasn’t, and he said-- He called me a...” Crosby looks between Miranda and Orian, and then back at Zach, looking down at his chest instead of his face. “And I said I wasn’t a-- That my dad was gay, and that he was a weakling for being frightened of someone just because they might be different, and he laughed, and he punched me.”

“And this was on the bus?”

“Yeah,” Crosby says. “But the bus driver didn’t see, and I ran off before he could ask what had happened, and I walked the rest of the way home so that--”

“Why’d you do that?” Zach asks softly. “Why’d you run off the bus? He could have helped, the bus driver.”

“No,” Cros says. “He would have made me sit at the front of the bus, and then Ad-- and then he’d think I was a pussy, and that he’d make me a target.”

“What is his--”

“Orian, I swear to Christ, if you say one more word, I’m gonna cuff you to the stairs.” Mmm, and that, God, that just sets Orian’s skin on fire.

“Zachary, you are on very, very thin ice.” Zach looks back to Crosby, and Orian exhales. He doesn’t know what it is that keeps him still, what makes him not just reach out and grab Zach by the hair - if anybody else spoke to him like this in front of his kids, Orian would have them killed, but... It’s different, somehow. He doesn’t know how, but it is.

“So, what’s the plan?” Zach asks, softly. “How are you gonna fix it?” Crosby hesitates.

“I don’t want to kill him,” he says. See, this is the problem. Pussy of a kid, frightened of violence, he’s just--

“Okay,” Zach says in a light tone. “Why don’t you want to kill him?”

“Too suspicious,” Crosby says. “And all he did was punch me, and I don’t want to kill somebody for something that-- that unimportant.” Crosby looks down, and he mumbles something, and Orian hears Zach laugh quietly.

“Yeah, hot-headed is right,” Zach murmurs, evenly. “So, what do you want to do, if you don’t want him killed?” Crosby sniffles, shrugging his shoulders, and Zach reaches up, gently touching through Crosby’s hair, and Orian feels his heart ache, because somebody hurt his son, and he just wants to rip them limb from limb, hot-headed or not...

“Make sure he knows not to mess with me,” Crosby says. “But it can’t be... It can’t be violent in a way that other people see, or I’ll get too much attention.”

“Very true,” Zach says, adjusting the set of the ice against Crosby’s brow.

“And I can’t do anything online because it’s too traceable.”

“Mmm hmm,” Zach hums.

“You could have me and Rachel deal with him,” Miranda says, quietly. “We can, uh-- We can rough him up, instead.”

“But then I’m a pussy who needs my sisters to protect me.”

“You are,” Miranda says, and Zach throws a cushion at her. “What? He is!”

"Except that you’re not helping him be independent, Miranda - you’re just making his situation worse! He’s saying he wants help to figure out a solution on his own. Why don’t you help him, huh?” Miranda stares at Zach for the longest moment, and it’s odd, seeing that expression of mixed indignation and upset on her face, because Orian doesn’t think he ever looks like that, and she looks just like him.

Slowly, Miranda takes a step forward, and sinks down next to Crosby: immediately, Rachel does the same, dropping down onto the couch on the other side and taking the ice pack from Zach’s hand, supporting it against Crosby’s brow instead. Zach leans back on his heels, looking between the three of them, and Orian watches as he doesn’t say a word, as he just lets Miranda and Rachel talk through it with their little brother...

Zach steps back, and when Orian gestures for him to follow when he steps outside, they look at the pool. Zach doesn’t say a word: instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and looks out over the yard, not looking at Orian, until he says, “You can’tmow all his problems down for him.”

“He’s a kid.”

“So? Would you have done that for Miranda and Rachel? Kill any kid that looked at them funny?”

“No, but-- They’re stronger than he is, Zach, you know that. The kid’s soft.”

“He’s soft because you make him soft!” Zach retorts, crossing his arms over his chest a little more tightly and giving him a glare. “How’s he meant to get any better with you and Miranda both breathing down his neck, stopping him from doing anything on his own?”

“You saying it’s my fault my kid’s a pussy?” Orian asks in a low, dangerous voice, and Zach laughs.

“Yeah, honey, I am,” Zach replies. “And going around killing kids for fighting, uh, forgive me, is a sign of you losing your head because he’s your baby and you don’t want anything to happen to him, not of you being smart about protecting him.”

“You think you can do that?” Orian asks in a hiss. “You think you can come in, and tell me how to parent my kids? You haven’t got kids, have you? Huh?” Orian shoves Zach in the chest, and Zach grabs his hand, interlinking their fingers and squeezing his hand. “I don’t want you holding my hand, you--” Zach lets go of his hand to grab him by the throat, and he squeezes tightly.

“Orian,” he whispers, and he squeezes so hard Orian feels himself choke. “If things go the way I want them to, they’re gonna be my kids too.” Again, there’s that sudden burst of heat in Orian’s chest, the one he always feels when he sees Zach being good with Crosby, and he heaves in a breath when Zach lets him go. “You want to go back inside?”

“No,” Orian says, and he grabs Zach by the front of his shirt, crushing their mouths together in a biting kiss.

---

Orian doesn’t know what Crosby does to Adrian Begley, but when he sees them at parents’ night, he scrambles out of their way and rushes into a corridor. Orian feels himself smile at Crosby’s expression of tight satisfaction, and when he turns to Crosby’s English teacher, he pats Zach on the hip, and says, “This is Zachary.”

He doesn’t bother attaching a label to it - it doesn’t matter if they assume Zach is Crosby’s uncle or his cousin or what.

But he goes around with them, and when Zach tries to bring it up at dinner, makes some light comment about it, Orian ignores it completely.

#hotel artemis #the game of intersections #fanfic #dictionary writes #GOD THIS IS RIDIC but i mean #so are they #firstofsakaar #t; answered asks #as defined by dictionary

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discord-of-laughter · 6 years

Text

How they react to their significant other getting hurt [Void Children]

Fear

Emotionally:

It knows that it’s fear that keeps its bitter little s/o emotionally stunted… but not invulnerable… it Fear with it ability to sense fear would be very patient with June to begin with. But when they are emotionally hurt Fear would mostly try to be there for them… even though they very likely will push it away… it just wants them to know… that they still have it. And if being there for them means to go to the worst taco place on the planet and poison his fragile host… than that is what this soul is going to do for June!!

If I was Fear itself to hurt June though… it would get really helpless. Knowing they likely would not want to see it… but knowing if it leaves now, this might be it. If it is something minor Fear would try to apologise… but if it hurt June so much more… it’s the kind of soul to wait for them in front of their door until they are ready to speak to it… to make sure that place they really like delivers tacos to them… and a note… before eventually giving up if June isn’t going to give in at all… but with its ability to sense fear chances are rather low that Fear will ever be the one to emotionally hurt them.

Physically:

If someone or something dares to physically hurt June though… patient is not what Fear will be. It will fight off whatever dared to hurt June… and if someone or something hurt them badly… well let’s say June will be questioning if they were dreaming afterwards… because all they would remember is Fear unleashing hell on their attacker. Pure and terrifying hell. Including an illusive world of fear, the screams and grabbing hands of the dead emerging from the ground… and black water pushes out of the soil beneath the person who dared to hurt the one demon it cares about… even when they are in a building… even then golden chains emerge from the ground and pull the attacker under… June would think they all dreamed it while nearly dying… but their attacker was never seen or heard of ever again…

Jona

Emotionally:

Jona would have a hard time dealing with a significant other who was emotionally hurt. He would offer all the known remedies and things to make them feel better though. Cuddling, their favourite sweets, hot drinks, ice cream, their favourite movies… and letting them tell him about it all. He can only hope it all works because as a rather vain person he doesn’t really have any experience with how to handle an emotionally hurt person… but if he loves them he would try everything that comes to his mind to make them feel better.

If he was the reason they are emotionally hurt… well he would hope they get over it if it was something minor. He would let them be angry at him and take whatever they have to say or their fists against his chest… but if he did anything worse… really bad… he would notice it… his face showing surprise and then shock. And his sweetheart wouldn’t even have the time to walk away before he falls to his knees begging them to forgive him and not to leave now… because I he really loves someone… he would never want to risk being with them for anything like his pride… not even his loyalty to others or status… he’d be the first to give in and to give in quickly.

Physically:

If his love was hurt by someone else he’d be catch them in his arms… staying with them is his priority and making sure they make it… his focus is completely on his lover and them feeling safe and knowing he is there for them… he’d even let the attacker get away for the moment being to be able to care for his significant other… their survival his top priority and then when he knows they are in good hands and on their way to recover… that is when he would hunt down their attacker without mercy. After all they still have something to pay for… the insolence of hurting the only person dear to him… this is nothing he could just let slip – never!

Floris

Emotionally:

If he ever had a significant other this person better is prepared to have a tiny angel fiercely protect them. Floris wouldn’t let it slide if anyone hurt the one he loved. And his revenge would be petty, bitter and not in any way traceable back to him or his love. So while he listens to them and tries to comfort them with food, their favourite pastime and such… he is already making plans how to majorly fuck up the life of the person who wronged and hurt his significant other… he might seem like his focus is on making them better… but that is not all… not at all.

But if it was Floris himself who hurt his lover… chances are he wouldn’t know if it was something small… but if he hurt them badly his reaction would be the one of helplessness and shock… he just doesn’t know what to do or say despite being very aware that he fucked up. In fact Floris would probably want to allow the heated emotions to cool off and give his sweetheart a bit of time to calm down again before he tries to reach out to them the next morning, shyly and very embarrassed mumbling a very heartfelt apology and hoping for the best.

Physically:

This small angel is already reckless in general. But if someone dared to hurt the person he loves… there would be no holding him back. And he is swift… with more power hiding in his frail looking body than anyone would expect and an iron will to make sure the person would pay for what they did… only though if his significant other wasn’t hurt too badly though… or a single punch would have to do before he makes sure they get treated… and once he has made sure of that… expect him to make sure he contacts his best friend Myriad to ensure the attacker is found and taken care of while he stays with his lover and holds their hand.

Maia:

Emotionally:

She practically deals with an emotionally hurt significant other on a nearly daily basis. And she is the sweetest and most patient person in the world about it. And if someone dared to hurt him, leaving a new wound or opening up an old one… she’d do anything to make Ben more comfortable. Providing him with hugs, kisses and attention. And secretly plotting to make the person who did this to him regret that they are still alive… she is very talented with all kinds of “potions” so to say and to slip one into the drink or food of a person who hurt Ben would be child’s play to her… she is thinking of the extra strong one.

If she herself did somehow manage to hurt Ben she would be so, so sorry and instantly apologises a thousand times and offers compensation in the form of a thousand kisses and some tears. Besides anyone who knows her is aware that she would never hurt anybody she loves deliberately – never.

Physically:

Maia is not a fighter… so if anybody dared to physically hurt Ben she’d rush over to him, willing to protect him with her own body from any further harm… that he is protected, and his wounds are treated soon is her priority. That doesn’t mean that anyone who attacked Ben wouldn’t regret it… because as soon as she somehow can she would let her siblings, Myriad and Septa, know about what happened… and she trust them to punish whoever dared to lay a hand on the only person she loves as much as them.

Julie:

Emotionally:

Julie is not very good in dealing with someone who was emotionally hurt… especially since she would tend to hide it, if she was the one who had gotten hurt. But if their suffering is so obvious that she can’t ignore it or try to cure it with a bit of teasing or ice cream… she’d cup their face and would softly kiss their forehead… asking them if they want to talk to her about what is making them suffer or maybe… she’d offer them that she would do anything that made them feel better – their choice… in food, activities… what they want, they can have it. Not even knowing why she cares so much but definitely not questioning it.

If it was Julie herself who hurt them… she would be confused… she thought it wasn’t possible, but it is and she nearly can’t fathom it… the shock on her face would turn into a sad and desperate frown before she whispers “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” without hesitation. This is not how it was meant to go… she thought nothing she said could hurt them. And while she would never beg for forgiveness, she would want them to know this has not been her intentions… at least not if they don’t hurt her first.

Physically:

She knows they are able to watch their own back. So usually she wouldn’t interfere at all and instead rather treat their wounds afterwards. But if someone really managed to do some serious damage, they would have to be very dumb and they better are prepared for brain-shattering pain. Eyes filled with a bluish-white flame piercing their very soul, plucking it to pieces before chains snap around their limbs threatening to pull them apart… Julie is used to enforce the justice of her master… known as Justice… ruthless and just… whoever even dares to stand in her way or threatens the life of her counterpart better has a death wish to attract the fury of Justice. Afterwards she would be majorly embarrassed about overreacting though.

Septa:

Emotionally:

Septa is condensed and controlled anger at all times. And whoever dares to hurt their significant other in front of them will very definitely get physically attacked for it. A slap, a quick blow… unexpected, fast, without warning. If they haven’t been with their sweetheart when they were hurt though they would make sure to cheer their lover up first and oh they are good at it, really good, distracting people is like their second nature… besides who need an idiot like the person who hurt their lover… or so they would say… only to definitely make sure to remember their name and get to the physical part whenever they meet that person the next time.

If Septa hurt their love… which let’s be honest, doesn’t exactly seem unrealistic, they would try to pass over acknowledging what they did first. But when they can’t deny it anymore that what they did hurt the person they love emotionally, they would apologise rather meekly and ask them to just move on. This is not true if they said or did something really horrible… they would definitely show more remorse when this was the case.

Physically:

If someone dared to hurt the person Septa loves, they made a mistake. Like I already mentioned, Septa more or less is made up entirely of barely contained rage… and if their lover was hurt, the “barely contained” part would go missing. They wouldn’t be able to think clearly any longer… and they wouldn’t stop until the person who attacked their sweetheart is at least as badly hurt as their victim before turning to their loved one again and rushing them to a place where someone can help them, all worried and definitely staying by their side until they feel better again.

Nine:

Emotionally:

If someone else had upset Augustia Nine definitely would try his best to both pamper them and hide all the alcohol within their direct reach. He would also and very definitely offer them to help them out with an activity to deplete their frustration… if that is what they want to. But either way… an upset Augi would so have Nine’s full attention that secretly he hopes they don’t catch onto it and pretend to be emotionally hurt when all they want is his full and undisturbed attention.

If he was the one to hurt Augi emotionally, he would whisper an apology to them with his head hanging low before deciding that it was better to leave them alone… so that they could decide if they even wanted to forgive him… he just thinks that he said all he could – sorry – and that if he stayed he could only make things worse.

Physically:

If anyone ever dared to hurt Augi they would find a bullwhip around their neck in an instant or a strong, otherworldly power binding them in the place depending on the surrounding and situation. They have decided to fuck with the one person the second strongest of the 12 loves… and they will regret it. Not now and here because all that would be on Nine’s mind right then and there would be to ensure Augi’s survival and recovery… to hold their hand and carry them to safety. But there is one thing for sure… after the moment the person was caught right then and there by the king of lies … no one ever saw them again. However Nine insist that “They are okay and doing fine…”.

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taxesdeathtrouble · 6 years

Text

Little Magic

I’m posting this here too because i have no self control lol

gertchase, 5700 words, title is from Ella Enchanted!

Enjoy!

The scene keeps replaying in her head.

The armed robbers, hitting the gas station they'd went to for supplies

Chase, brave, stupid Chase, trying to fight them, without weapons, without help

Chase getting sent halfway across the store for his efforts, Chase hitting a wall of shelves, knocking everything down

Chase not getting up.

Gert and Alex had had to carry him to the car, an arm thrown over each of their shoulders.

She'd sat in the back with his head in her lap, Alex driving, scared out of his mind but trying his best to be reassuring. It wasn't working, and Gert was crying, she didn't know when it had started, but the tears just wouldn't stop, and she kept trying to get him to wake up, but nothing was working-

She's got to stop thinking about this. Chase is only in the next room, and he is, for all intents and purposes, fine. He's bruised, and his arm is fucked up, but nothing serious. Except.

Except he still hasn't really woken up.

Nico had dragged him out of unconsciousness (alone, they hadn't wanted to overwhelm him) to make sure he didn't have any serious injuries and to give him some painkillers; the four of them watching anxiously through the door the entire time. But when she made him go back to sleep, she warned them: Chase probably wouldn't wake up for a while.

And Gert knew that running away would have it's consequences, the lack of real food and the constant chill in the air at the Hostel being just a few examples. But watching one of her friends get hurt is an increasingly frequent experience that she really doesn't like.

She remembers the first time someone got hurt. Herself, Molly, and Karolina had gone to a camping supply store a while away from the Hostel, they hadn't wanted to be tracked back there. They were just about to get in the van, which they'd parked about a mile away from the store, when they'd heard a noise.

A woman yelling, begging, for help.

The three of them had ran towards the sound to find a man holding a woman at knife point. Molly snuck up and jumped him while Gert and Karolina pulled the woman away to safety. It was probably the worst possible plan, but they were all scared and stressed and freaked out. Molly pretty near broke the guy's collarbone, and he ran off, but not before cutting her with his knife, lightning fast.

Moly has a scar, now. Gert still hasn't forgiven herself for it.

She watches the door from where she sits in the common room, somehow expecting Chase to walk in any second now, but of course he doesn't.

"Hey," Karolina puts her hand on Gert's shoulder, squeezing. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she says, even though she's really not. "I just hate when one of us gets hurt, you know? Just, knowing what our parents did, knowing what we grew up around, it just makes me worry that someone won't," her voice lowers to a whisper, "won't come back." She wants to say something, anything, about how it's even worse because its Chase, and Chase is.......special. But she doesn't, because that's totally not the conversation she wants to have right now.

Karolina sits on the arm of her chair and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Gert is so glad they're friends.

"I get it, Gertie," she's still the only one who calls her that, "I really do. It's terrifying to even think about it, and if I know you, every time someone leaves the Hostel you're probably thinking about it, right?" she nods.

"But here's the thing, statistically, something bad isn't going to happen every time someone leaves your line of sight. Just because you can't be there to make sure isn't automatically going to put a friend in danger. And I know you're still going to worry, but try to think about that when you do, okay?"

Gert nods, wiping away a stray tear. "I don't know when you got so good at this. You didn't used to be a teenage Obi Wan, what happened?"

"I accepted myself, learned how to really be me. It took a lot of introspection, I guess? And when you spend so much time in your own head, you occasionally have some wisdom to share."

"Again, deep as hell." Karolina laughs, and squeezes her again. It's nice.

"Come on, Alex is putting in Revenge Of The Sith."

"Really? that's the movie he chose? I'm gonna make him put in The Empire Strikes Back, at least that one's good."

They make their way to the makeshift TV room they have set up, the cheap projector they'd bought after everyone had gotten too stir crazy to function already set up. She bickers with Alex over the movie, and it doesn't get resolved until Molly grabs The Dark Knight and sticks it in.

The movie is good, but they've all seen it a bajillion times- they only have about eight movies in their possession- so they don't really pay attention. They're all just looking for a distraction, and there's no way they're going back out again, especially not after an altercation. Gert does not want to go to jail, especially for something she didn't even do.

Well. They did, technically, sort of, kidnap Molly. But they definitely didn't kill Destiny. Fuck, their parents were awful.

Before she heads to what she can only generously call her bedroom, she makes sure to check on Chase. Her calm can only go so far.

She all but tiptoes into his room, making sure not to wake him up. She sits on the side of his bed and inspects him, catalogs every bruise and cut. The robbers had really done a number on him.

She brushes the hair out of his eyes, which, to be fair, is stupid, because he's literally asleep. But it makes her feel better. It's a reassurance that he's here, that he's as safe as he can be right now.

She leans in, presses her lips to his forehead. She'll say until the day she dies that it was just to check his temperature, make sure he doesn't somehow have a fever. But really, she just wants to comfort him. His eyebrows are furrowed together even as he sleeps, but once she pulls back his features relax. He looks peaceful.

~~~~~ Chase's dreams have always been detailed, but this is a little much even for him.

He's lying in bed, and he's in pain. So, so much pain. He's not sure that part is a dream.

Gert creeps in, even with his eyes mostly shut he can tell it's her. Her hair, for one thing. The longer they've been here the more her roots show, but it's still almost completely purple. The way she walks for another, her confident gait still completely recognizable, no matter how much she tries to stay on her toes. She softly sits on the side of his bed, and he kind of wants to open his eyes all the way, but he can't bring himself to do so. And it's not like it matters, anyways. This is a dream, after all.

She ghosts her fingers against his forehead, fixing his hair. He thinks she might say something, but she stops herself, leaning in and kissing his forehead instead. All the tension bleeds out of him immediately.

It really is a dream, then. Because that's another thing about his dreams.

They are always, always about things he wants.

~~~~~

The next morning, she goes through her routine. She deflates her mattress, and zips up her sleeping bag. Opens her suitcase, changes, and makes sure everything is in its place. Brushes her teeth with the bowl, bottle of water, and two dollar mirror they each have in their rooms. Pulls a brush through her hair, checks her roots. Damn, they're really starting to show. She's been contemplating lately if they need stuff for haircuts. She'll have to talk to Alex/Nico about it. Probably Nico, though. She cares a lot more about whether she needs a haircut than Alex does.

She throws on an overly large button up before she leaves her room. It might be Chase's or Alex's, she's not sure. They'd gotten into the habit of sharing clothes a week or two after getting to the Hostel. When there isn't much, share everything.

In the common room, only Alex and Molly are up, and Molly just barely, laying on the couch while Alex attempts breakfast on the portable stove. She tries to see if she can help, but notices he's mostly done with the oatmeal, so she sits on the couch and waits for him to pass her a bowl.

"What time is it?" She asks as she takes her first bite. It tastes exactly the same as it has every morning for the past three months, but hey, at least they get a hot meal every day.

"Around tenish. Why? Do we need to have a meeting?" One thing she can't decide if she likes about Alex is that he's almost always on task, no matter what. It's great when they're actually planning something, but at ten in the morning? Nuh-uh.

"Nah, I was just wondering why no one else was up. Has anyone checked on Chase?"

"Yeah, Molly looked in when she woke up. Still conked out."

"Oh." She wishes he would just wake up already. It's weird without him, even just for a day.

"Hey, is that my shirt or Chase's?" he asks, taking a bite of his oatmeal.

"You know what, I was just wondering the same thing, and I really can't tell. We should really start labelling things, for efficiency's sake."

"Oh, that's a good idea, I'll put it in the ImpBook." ah, the ImpBook. Alex's attempt to fill the hole his laptop had left behind when he couldn't bring it- that was the one thing they'd agreed on at first, no tech, it was too easily traceable. The ImpBook has every idea and rule they'd come up with, plus an inventory of their belongings. Alex is never seen more than five feet away from it.

The 'Imp' in ImpBook stands for important. Alex still isn't very creative.

Nico shuffles in then, spooning out some oatmeal and sitting down next to Molly. She'll never say it out loud, but Gert is so glad that Nico and Alex broke up. Once they ran away, they'd get into fights constantly, over plans, over food, over anything. But now that they've broke it off, they haven't yelled at each other in weeks. They both seem a lot happier, too, although now the big thing everyone secretly (and lovingly) complains about is Nico and Karolina sending Pining Looks to each other and batting their eyelashes. Like, just get together already, you know?

But Gert is never allowed to say stuff like that, because every time she does Molly and Alex look at her like she's said something absolutely hilarious that they're not allowed to laugh at.

Now that she's not just leaving Alex alone to deal with a sleepy Molly, she goes to find the book she'd been reading yesterday, before they'd left for the gas station and everything had gone to shit. When they'd ran, the plan had been to only bring essentials, but there was no way she was going to go somewhere with no Wi-Fi and no outside connection without at the very least a book.

Well, actually, 12 books. But hey, who's counting?

She meanders to the TV room and plops down on the couch. She's not sure why, but the couch in here is her absolute favourite. It's soft, and overly stuffed, and Old Lace is always hanging out in here when's she's not trailing Gert's every move. Oh wait, that's why.

Gert loves having her own dinosaur.

Old Lace is lid out next to the couch taking a nap, so she takes a big step over her and plops down on the couch, trying to find her page. It's a good book, one of her favourites. She's had it a long time, since Chase gave it to her when they were 11.

It was her birthday, and she'd had her party at the skating rink in town. Even though it was just the seven of them, her parents had rented out the whole rink so they could have 'the most possible amount of fun that involves knife-shoes and frozen water'. Her mother had hit her father playfully for saying it, but Gert still laughed.

She misses her parents, sometimes, even if she doesn't want to.

The seven of them skated around, racing and playing an admittedly pretty dangerous form of tag. They only stopped and pulled off their skates when they were told the pizza had shown up. Looking back, Gert thinks they probably would have stayed all day if they were allowed.

After they'd eaten, the plan was to head home, but Amy practically begged her to open her gift there instead of at home, so the party went on a little longer. Amy always got what she wanted, when they were young.

She'd opened Amy and Nico's gift first, since Amy had been so excited. It was a big purple teddy bear, and Gert had loved it so much.

The only other thing she really remembers from that day is Chase giving her his gift. It wasn't very big, and it had been wrapped oh-so carefully in hunter green sparkly paper. He'd looked so nervous, his smile a little shaky. Later, she'd overheard Mrs. Stein laughing with her parents over how much he'd cared about that present, and something else, too, but their words are lost to time.

She remembers being careful with the wrapping, sliding her messily painted fingernails under the tape and opening it with pinched fingers instead of ripping it with the lack of finesse she'd used with every other gift. She'd wanted to keep the wrapping, and she's pretty sure she did. It's probably still pinned to her corkboard in her room back at the house.

The book, Ella Enchanted, is probably the one thing she can read any time, any where. It's one of the only books she doesn't have to be in the mood to read, and she commends 11 year old Chase for knowing her so well, even then, when they were young enough that their tastes weren't completely developed.

She reads for an hour or two, then goes back out to the common room so no one thinks she's avoiding them. With a group as small as theirs, sensitivity is a little bit rampant. One time she was talking to Alex and had apparently taken A Tone so he didn't speak to her directly for twenty four hours.

It's weird having part of the group incapacitated, because it means that they can't do anything until Chase is back on his feet, no plans, no leaving the Hostel. They laze around a bit more, until Molly gets started on lunch, canned soup that she somehow makes taste way better than if anyone else had made it.

She pours out a bowl of soup to bring to Chase, because he needs to eat, and Gert is not going to be the one to let him starve. And she just wants to see him.

Gert cracks open the door, trying to stop it from creaking. She makes sure to step softly, and places the bowl on the side table as she sits on the edge of his bed.

"Chase," Gert says, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Chase, it's time to get up, okay?" She shakes him a little.

His eyes, still closed, scrunch up, and he groans. Looks like someone's up.

His eyes flutter open hitting her with that sickeningly attractive hazel colour. He yawns and attempts to sit up, except he's apparently forgotten the painful injuries he acquired yesterday, so he winces, hard, but he manages when she helps him sit up, a hand on his back and the other still on his shoulder.

".....Thanks, Gert."

"Hey, no problem, just don't do something that warrants this," she waves her hands around, basically gesturing to his whole body, "again and we're good, okay?" She's trying for a joking tone, but her voice comes out almost achingly fond.

"I....Yeah, definitely. Definitely." he nods, then presses his good hand to his forehead when it turns out to be painful.

"Gert, why am I awake right now? This is like, stupid painful."

"Because humans need food to survive," she says, handing him the bowl, "and as annoying as you can be sometimes, I'm not going to be the one to let you starve."

"Oh, so I'm annoying, huh? Am I? Am I annoying?" he says, poking her side lightly. She giggles, scrunching in on herself.

"Stop, stop, holy hell."

"You're still the only person I've ever met under 65 who says that."

She sticks her tongue out at him.

She's always really liked talking with Chase. It's always felt like they were on the same wavelength, even before. It seems like, with them, there's never an empty space, never an awkward silence. She's never really had that before, not even with her family. There are some things she's just never wanted to talk to them about, especially since she's not even speaking to her mother and father right now. And Molly, no matter how mature she's grown to be, is still 14. And Gert knows that talking to her about what she thinks about all the damn time- what if they get caught, what if their parents never face repercussions, what if they don't survive this- would just worry Molly out of her mind. She can talk to Chase about practically anything, though.

Well, almost anything. There's that thing involving him, her, and whole lot of emotions she hates dealing with. But she rarely talks to anyone about that, so.

"Hey, what's that?" Chase says after finishing the last sip of his soup. She's never understood why he doesn't just use a fucking spoon like a normal person, but whatever. He places the bowl on the cheap tables they use for nightstands, then reaches out and grabs the book she'd dropped into the frankly huge pocket of her borrowed shirt.

"Oh, it's-"

"Ella Enchanted. How do you still have this? It's like, half a decade old."

"yeah, but I've always liked it. I'm kind of sentimental, I guess." She doesn't know why she says it like she's admitting a secret.

Chase looks down at the book with fond eyes, the kind of look she sees him give her when he thinks she doesn't notice. It sort of drives her a little bit crazy, sometimes. His eyes goes soft, and he gets little lines at the corners of them. He's totally going to get crows feet when they get older. He smoothes his hand over the worn cover, fingers the edge, and Gert wonders what he's thinking.

"Hey," he says hesitantly, "do you think.....do you think you could read some of this for me?"

She feels her eyebrows go up in surprise. Huh.

"Well, um,"

"Sorry, that was stupid of me, I don't know why I even-"

"No, it's okay, I'll totally do it, yeah, sure. Just.........pass me the book."

He hands it to her. He still looks as if he thinks he's going to get reprimanded for something.

She cracks open the book and thumbs to the first page, and she's about to start reading when Chase stops her.

"Um. You could sit up here. If you want, I mean." She does want. Gert is glad he asked because sitting on the edge of his bed was getting kind of uncomfortable, and also........other reasons. Like how being next to him makes her feel safe, and warm, and right. But of course she's not going to say that.

She gets up and plops down next to him. "Thanks, Chase," she says, and gives him a smile that probably came out fonder than it should've.

She cracks open the book again, and starts reading.

"That fool of a fairy Lucinda did not intend to lay a curse on me. She meant to bestow a gift. When I cried inconsolably through my first hour of life, my tears were her inspiration. Shaking her head sympathetically at Mother, the fairy touched my nose. 'My gift is obedience. Ella will always be obedient. Now stop crying, child.'............"

She reads and reads, though she's not sure Chase is fully paying attention, from the way his eyes are closed and how he's slid back down so his head is rested against the pillow, but he's got a little smile that means he's still at least half awake, so she's not too worried.

"He did laugh, and then he made an announcement." she reads, "I like you. I'm quite taken with you."

~~~~~

Chase loves how she does the voices. How each character has a perfectly curated accent, and how her voice stays soft even though she's putting so much storytelling into the words. He's always thought that there's a difference between reading out loud and storytelling, and Gert has it down. He loves her voice in general, actually. The way she speaks has always seemed so original to him, like dozens of people could be talking in a crowded room and he'd be able to find Gert by ear alone.

The way he feels is getting out of hand, even for him. He really should just tell her.

But not yet.

~~~~~

His eyes are fully shut now, and she's pretty sure he's asleep. She puts the book back in her pocket and gets up, heading for the door.

"Hey, Gert?"

She turns back to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Is that my shirt?"

"Uh, yeah, it is, I think." It's so fake of her to say that, because she doesn't know for sure, and it might actually be Alex's, and she shouldn't lie. But to be honest, she really just wants to see if that makes him smile because she likes him, okay? She likes him. There. She's tired of referring to her feelings as an 'it'. She's tired of tiptoeing around it even in her own head. It's stupid, and gets her nowhere.

Chase does smile, and even with his eyes closed its blinding.

~~~~~

It's a few days later, and Chase is finally back on his feet again. He's so glad he can get out of bed again. Lying down for so long kind of felt like whenever he'd get a cold and a stuffed up nose to match and automatically lament every day he'd never appreciated being able to breath properly. Standing up had felt sooooooo good.

Not being stuck in bed anymore is great, but he does feel like he's going to miss hanging out exclusively with Gert so often. He says 'so often' as if he'd been laid up for weeks, which he hadn't, but it certainly felt that way. And it's not like they had deep, philosophical conversations or anything. She just........read to him.

But it was so nice. And he feels like they bonded, somehow. Like in between the pages and letters of a children's novel they'd grown, inexplicably, closer. He feels like, maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance.

They still haven't finished the book, though. And damn if he's not invested in the cursed plucky heroine and her princely love interest.

He's pacing, slowly, but still pacing, in the TV room while some movie plays in the background. He doesn't want to sit down, and Old Lace is matching him step for step, which Chase secretly finds kind of adorable. Once you get past the whole 'terrifying dinosaur' thing, Old Lace is just a big, scaly, puppy dog.

"Hey, enjoying hanging out with my dinosaur?" Gert says, just appearing out of nowhere like she knew he was thinking about her. She's leans against the door with a lazy smirk, and Chase feels like he might be melting into a pile of sappy goop.

He knows he's probably doing The Eyes right now, but he doesn't really care that much. The Eyes is what Karolina had labelled what she called his 'pining look' once they'd become friends again and he gave her permission to make fun of him for having a crush on The Biggest Lesbian at Atlas.

"Yeah, actually. Are you sure there isn't more room for a second guardian on those adoption papers?"

"The adoption papers that I totally have after stealing an illegal dinosaur from my murderer parents? Sure, Chase."

They smile at each other, in that warm, comfortable way that Chase has never had with anybody before her.

And then Molly bursts in, and he's not going to say she ruined it, because he likes Molly, he does.

But she kind of ruined it.

"hi guys, we're going to play a board game in the common room, we need your help choosing which one to play, come on, come on, come on!" she says all this lightning fast, then runs out of the room.

~~~~~

"ALEEEEEEX!" Gert yells as she stomps into the common room, Chase close on her heels.

"..............Yes?" Alex says meekly, because he knows what he's Done, and knows he's going to Pay.

"What, pray tell, possessed you," she pauses and walks over to her sister, clapping her hands over Molly's ears, "to give my 14 year old sister a fucking boatload of sugar after being on withdrawal for three months and having a lack of defense against the effects due to our parents nutritional choices?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't kn-"

"Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. And you know how I know this is bullshit? Because this happened six weeks ago, and you were the one who gave her the damn Three Musketeers. So, what you are going to do, is play crazy eights with her for the next hour until she calms down, okay?"

"O-okay."

She takes her hands off Molly's ears and pushes the cards into her sugar crazed sister's hand. Molly then grabs Alex by the arm and drags him (presumably) to the TV room to start up a game.

"Where did he even get candy to give her?" She mutters to Chase as she turns back around to the rest of them. Karolina and Nico are giggling at Chase from the couch. Chase, though, hasn't moved.

He's staring at her, blinking like he can't believe what he's seeing. He's biting his lip, and his cheeks are red as strawberries.

"Looks like someone's hot and bothered," Karolina says.

"Ummm, I just remembered, I've got something to go and um, do. Bye!" His voice cracks on the last word, and he leaves as quickly as possible.

She turns to Karolina and Nico, and says, "Okay, what was that?"

"That was the boy you like getting flustered because you were being all succinct and domineering. It was hot, and he was into it." Nico says.

"You really think so?" She whispers. This is so stupid. She's literally never like this, sappy over a boy like a badly written self-hating schoolgirl in a teen movie. But.........she trusts her friends enough to be around them like this. That's always been a problem for her, taking down enough walls so people can see her for what she is, which, for all her maturity, is still just a teenage girl.

Karolina pats the seat between herself and Nico, so Gert sits down. Karolina puts a hand on her shoulder, and Gert turns to look at her.

"Do you remember when you were all up in my business about my sexuality? And didn't see one clue of me clearly not wanting to talk about it?"

"Hey, I apologized for that. Profusely."

"You did, you did. But my point is, right now? You're being just as oblivious."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Guys!"

The three of them burst out laughing.

"Okay, but if we can agree on anything," Nico says, "It's that Gert is totally going to wear the pants in that relationship."

"Uh, excuse you, that is so false. A healthy relationship shouldn't involve either party being in charge, that's not how it works. Therefore, neither of us would wear the pants."

"In more ways than one, huh?" Nico says.

"Shut up!"

~~~~~

He really should talk to her, but he's just so embarrassed.

Chase doesn't even know if she feels the same way, and he doesn't want to assume, but he royally embarrassed himself and he doesn't know if that counts as a confession.

So he's kind of been avoiding Gert. Not outright, but........he's been trying his best not to be alone with her.

Right now though, he's in the common room looking for that copy of Ella Enchanted. He's got to know how it ends. He's always been like this with books, finishing them way too fast because the story is so intoxicating. And yeah, he's never been a big reader, but when he did read the book was finished in a day- maybe two if it was long. Gert used to make fun of him for it.

"What are you looking for?" Speak of the devil.

"Um....." he stalls, pulling his hand out from between the couch cushions. "I'm looking for the book we were reading. I kind of......want to know the ending."

"Oh, so you were listening." Gert leans against the door, looking a bit like she's thinking, ha! I caught you!".

"Of course I was listening." it comes out sincere, maybe a little too intense. Whoops.

".......Oh," she says. Her cheeks go a little red. "Well it's right here." She pulls the book out of her shirt (his shirt) pocket. He can't believe she's wearing it again, does she know she's killing him?

He takes it, sits down on the couch. It kind of feels a bit wrong to read it himself, Gert had been reading it to him and he got used to it.

"I could read it to you, again. If you wanted."

~~~~~

Okay, this is her chance. They're alone, and he's talking to her.

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually."

She sits next to, and with purpose, takes the book from his hands. She's sitting closer than she needs to, just for the sake of it.

"'Lass,' Char said to me. 'I won't hurt you, no matter what.' He cupped his hand under my chin and tilted my face to his. I wanted to catch his hand and kiss it. As soon as we touched, I knew he recognized me. He brought my slipper out from his cloak. 'It belonged to Ella, and will fit her alone, whether she is a scullery maid or a duchess.' A chair was brought . I wished for normal sized feet. 'That's my slipper,' Hattie said. 'It's been missing for years.' 'Your feet are too big.' Olive blurted. 'Try it,' Char told Hattie. 'I lost it because it kept falling off.' She sat and removed her own slipper. I caught the familiar smell of her . She couldn't wedge her toes in. 'I'm younger than Hattie,' Olive said. 'So my feet are smaller. Probably.' They were bigger." she has to pause as Chase laughs. It's one of her favourite sounds, his laugh. Gert can't bring herself to shush him, so she waits him out and starts up again.

"Now it was my turn. Char knelt, holding the slipper. I extended and he guided it. The slipper fit perfectly, of course. What was I going to do? His face was close to mine. He must have seen my terror. 'You needn't be Ella if you don't want to be,' he said softly. He was so good. 'I'm not,' I said. But in spite of myself, tears streaked down my cheeks. I saw hope spread d across his face. 'That letter was rubbish. A trick.' he glared at Hattie, then turned to me, his look probing."

"'Do you love me?' He spoke softly. 'Tell me.'" Chase was gazing intensely at her face, and she wonders if he's like, alright.

"Chase? Are you okay?" She catches his eye, nd he seems to make some sort of decision.

He leans in, but stops before he kisses her. Because that's obviously what he's going to do, kiss her. He's got that look on his face, hesitance and excitement and something else she can't place all rolled into one.

She meets him halfway.

It is, objectively, the best kiss she's ever experienced. Slow and soft, because they both know they're not going anywhere. Gert has one hand pressed against his cheek, and the other twisted into his shirt.

~~~~~

He doesn't know where to put his hands, so he just places them on her waist. Gert throws her legs over his, just to get closer. It's so good. Gert is a fantastic kisser, transcending realms, galaxies, everything. And Jesus, that is so sappy. But he's pretty much making out with the prettiest, coolest girl he knows, so he's allowed to be a bit of a sap.

~~~~~

She's practically on his lap now, and kissing him is so, so good. But she needs to ask him something, so she pulls back with a pop!

His lips are red and kind of swollen, and his pupils are so big she can only see a small ring of hazel when she makes eye contact. It's very attractive.

"Okay, okay," she says. "I need to make sure this like, means something to you, or whatever, because I'm so tired of this will they won't they bullshit, so. This mean we're together, right?" He's already nodding, so she puts both of his hands on his face and kisses him again.

~~~~~

Chase loves Gert's hands. They're soft, and warm, and a little calloused. He especially loves how her hands frame his face as she kisses him, like he's something special, something that needs to be protected. Chase has never been kissed like this, sweet and loving and slow, but he finds that he likes it.

#gertchase #gert yorkes #chase stein #karolina dean #alex wilder #nico minoru #molly hernandez #runaways #marvels runaways #mine

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sappho-incarnate · 7 years

Text

In Your Light [Bodhi Rook x Reader]

Bodhi can’t stop writing you poems, but he’s yet to show you a single one. // Word Count: 2,245

“In your light I learn to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.”

-Rumi

Bodhi Rook was by no means a poet, but the feelings that he had for you compelled him to write them down. He wanted to preserve them in some way other than his own memory because he sure as hell would never tell you them. He’d bet on that outcome for sure.

It started out with a kind of musical thought about you. You first met on the Rebel base on Yavin 4, you approached him and assured him that you believed his story about Galen Erso and defecting from the Empire.

“Thank you for staying,” he remembered you saying, referring to staying with the Rebels rather than running away with said information and stow away until war finally reached his doorstep.

I’d hate to leave now that you’re here.

He didn’t know then, but you’d become closer and closer.

While Bodhi was a pilot, namely cargo and whatever large transportation needs the Rebellion had, you were a mechanic that made a point to listen to pilots and their stories.

He flew everywhere and knew intimate details about many of the planets, moons, and systems that he’s been in. You could only dream of going to such places, but being a mechanic was your calling. If something broke, you could fix it and make it run better than it ever has.

“Tell me about everything once you get back!”

“Of course.”

“And before you leave make sure to try out the controls, they should be less sticky so you’ll have an easier time.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“No problem, Bodhi,” you smiled.

Oh, how you melted his walls. It made him want to sing. You were always ready lend him a listening ear, sometimes even a friendly touch. With you he felt like he could let his guard down and forget everything else but you two in that moment.

Memories of the bomb on Scarif were replaced with you laughing at his quiet jokes, memories of his mother mixed together when he fell asleep on you, and he remembered everything Galen said when you spoke, that he was worth more than he thought and he should follow his heart. At times it felt like you were his heart.

He wrote down these thoughts on scrap pieces of paper. Scraps ripped from old supply orders held onto his thoughts after you gave him a pen to fill orders with.

Odd that he felt confident enough to write down his thoughts, but never enough to just tell you that you meant everything to him.

He kept every single poem and thought he wrote about you in his tiny room. More of a bunk really. He kept it all in a little box, the lid held even more securely with a tiny scrap piece of rope.

Now that he thought about it, the box was getting a little crowded.

Sometimes he would find a few of his papers folded in his jumpsuit, careful not to wash them but still too tired to put them in his tiny box.

When he began this, he thought maybe he could give it to you as a gift, but he quickly arrived to the conclusion that if you did return his feelings (he doubted it) that maybe it would be creepy and you would redact your feelings.

The whole thing was so embarrassing, but he loved it. He loved you. And these poems were like snapshots of the love he had.

During his missions most of his thoughts included you and when he touched back down after a supply run he hoped that you weren’t busy and would ask him to hang out.

Picking up his pen and turning over a piece of paper, he started writing anything and everything, despite his writing being distorted by the speed he was writing and thinking.

He didn’t even hear you trudge up the ramp to the cargo part of the ship.

“Bodhi, have some free time?” you asked through the window to the cockpit.

“Y-Yeah! I’ll be right there!”

He looked back down and shoved the loose piece of paper into his pocket and followed you.

You smiled when you saw he was ready and held out your hand. Bodhi offered his arm to you and you latched on, ready for your usual walks around the hangar.

“So, how was it?”

Your eyes gleamed and you wanted to drink every detail Bodhi offered. You loved this time together. He used to be so brief with you out of shyness but now it felt he was getting more talkative around you. Poetic even. It was flattering when you noticed that Bodhi would tailor his storytelling to you. He knew you would want any details about taking hits and where since it helped with your job, but he would tend to summarize conversations but expand on details on scenery, your absolute favorite parts.

“Well, first the controls work wonderfully,” he laughed.

“Oh, good! If you need readjusting, I’m here for you. And if there’s more things I can look at, just let me know!”

“Thank you. And second of all the landscape was breathtaking. There were these beaches made of almost pitch black sand, it was soft and shiny. Cool to the touch despite it being blistering hot. It felt like i could swim in the stuff,” he laughed.

You and Bodhi walked around and around the hangar just listening to his stories, your arms linked together, enjoying each other’s company, but it was getting late.

“Here, I’ll walk you to your room,” Bodhi offered like he did almost every evening.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

What did you do to deserve such a great person in your life?

Silly enough you wished something would happen between you two. Was it too outlandish to think you had a chance with Bodhi? You thought maybe he felt the same way towards you but maybe you were interpreting all of his gestures wrong.

You just wanted some sort of sign.

Lucky for you, he dropped a scrap piece of paper when he walked you back to your room.

He was always so fidgety once you unlinked arms: his hands in his pockets, out of his pockets, or adjusting his goggles or his hair.

You guessed he dropped it when he was moving around, wishing you a goodnight and telling you he hoped he had more free time tomorrow so you two could talk more.

Once the folded piece of paper was off the ground and into your hands, you were tempted to look at it. Upon closer inspection, you saw that it was an old order for supplies. An order that wouldn’t mean much but had he dropped this somewhere else like on a mission to an Imperial planet and undercover, well there could be repercussions. A supply order is a paper trail (albeit the Rebellion still labelled things in code but a consistent code that someone could decipher eventually). This one was torn up, but they were under strict orders to be burned.

What could be so important that Bodhi had to use scraps of traceable paper to write it down?

To hell with fear you thought as you unfolded the sheet.

You were surprised to see it was just a few lines, written in very small, rushed letters. It felt like a secret.

I fly back to her like a bird, my nest: her heart.

You suddenly felt the heat on your cheeks and the pulse of your heart. Could it be you that he was talking about?

No, no that would be silly. It was silly to get your hopes up over this.

You sighed, well, even if the poem wasn’t about you, you would still have to somehow get Bodhi to stop using these old orders that could put the Rebellion in danger…

Over the past few days you’d been restless. Finding your gift for Bodhi that would put an end to his hoarding of order scraps was easy enough. What wasn’t easy was thinking about how maybe he had affections for someone else.

You thought you were close enough and thought that the wanting of something more was mutual between you two, but those twelve words really threw you in for a loop. Maybe you weren’t reading all the signs correctly.

But this was about Bodhi. Not you. And he will be happy with whomever he chooses to give his affections.

The next few days weren’t so easy for Bodhi either. When he checked his pocket for the poem he was fiddling with and couldn’t find it, he looked all over the place, even if it was a very tiny scrap of paper in a very large base. At the end of the day he went back to his room, tired and frustrated, and rewrote the poem on a different piece of paper and made sure to put it into his little box. He was so disappointed in himself that he would be so careless. Losing the poem felt like he lost a moment with you somehow. Like that bit if love would never reach you. Now it was probably swept up or stepped on and glued to a boot or sucked into a vent. Now it was gone forever. To make matters worse, you didn’t come hang out with him as usual. He asked around for you, but everyone said you were busy working or they didn’t even see you in the first place.

He started to worry about you and wondered if you were okay. Were you overworking yourself? Were they giving you a hard time? Did he do something wrong?

The questions were endless and so were the poems flying out of Bodhi’s mind. Now he believed what they said: Distance makes the heart grown fonder.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you every chance he had. And how he was getting upset with himself for not coming to your room and just asking you face to face if you were okay and if there was anything he could do to make it up to you (for whatever he did wrong).

Maybe it was a sign for him to just do it. Just tell you how he felt.

Little did Bodhi know, but your hands were shaking at the same moment. You held his gift and he held yours and you both were on the way to each others’ quarters.

When you met somewhere in the middle, your hearts leapt a little. He looked so confident when he finally spotted you. Bodhi walked over with a box in hand and greeted you.

“Hi, Bodhi,” you said, trying to just breathe. He grinned at the sight of you and for once was so excited to do this. Even if you turned him down he would be happy with it, he decided.

“I missed you. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I know the last few days we haven’t seen each other much, but I wanted you to know I was just busy.”

“Oh,” he sighed in relief, “I was starting to think I did something wrong.”

Your eyes widened. You guessed your recent behavior would communicate that and you felt terrible.

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” you blurted a little too loudly, “But there is one thing I have to point out.”

Bodhi’s pulse raced. Oh no, he really messed up this time didn’t he?

You pulled out a small handmade notebook and handed it to him.

You gulped as he took it and he brushed your fingers just so slightly.

“A notebook so you don’t have to write on scraps anymore. That’s sensitive material you know,” you laughed.

Bodhi grinned.

“Y/N, this is fantastic! It’s wonderful! You made this yourself?”

You nodded proudly. You didn’t even care about whoever this person was. What was important is that you and Bodhi liked each others’ company.

“Sorry about the scraps, so this next bit may or may not upset you.”

“Hmm?”

“I also have something to give you.”

Bodhi produced a box and opened it up for you to see. There were hundreds of folded pieces of paper. He gestured for you to pick one up. It had a date on it and you opened it.

You taught me love, showed me light, and put poetry in my heart.

You looked up to see Bodhi smiling warmly back at you.

“This is all for you. All about you. Every single one. See, I really, really like you and I was hoping we could see where we land? I really wanted this to be more sweet, but it felt… right. It felt right to do it today.”

You were grinning so much your cheeks hurt a little, and you could feel a tear slip through.

“I want to see where we land, too,” you nodded.

Bodhi closed the box and hugged you. You were both so relieved all this worrying would make you suffer twice.

You and Bodhi were excited to have this adventure together and see where you could go.

“I have the poem you left in your notebook.”

“I was looking for it!”

“And you can finally rewrite everything in the notebook and you can stop having classified orders as scratch paper.”

“Great because the box was getting too full.”

“Bigger notebook. Dually noted.”

“I can’t wait to read you all of the poems.”

“Me either.”

#bodhi rook x reader #star wars imagine #sw imagine #rogue one imagine #bodhi rook imagine #bodhi imagine

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day6-writings · 7 years

Text

Unexpected

Note: This is somewhat smutty so please read at your own risk. It isn’t explicit, but it is implied. Either way, this is my first one shot, so please love it well.

Pairing: Dowoon x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Implied smut

In life, you’ve always been quite assured in your judgement; you’ve always pictured yourself as the kind of person that observes those around you well. And to an extent, you’re right. You can identify each slip and flaw in people’s words and body language. But there has always been one exception to that rule.

Yoon Dowoon.

In and around his friends, he’s charismatic and gentle. His jokes are light and his words can be rather minimal. He’s shy, you’ve noticed by the way he smiles timidly, and his ears paint a fluorescent pink, the same as you cheeks. But upon knowing him yourself, he’s added so much more dimension. He’s passionate, more than you’d ever expected. He plays the drums with a fire in his eyes you’ve never seen before, bright embers that spark with hope and determination.

You thought that Dowoon would act the same around his friends in smaller, more private places as he is out in the open. But he isn’t. No, he’s much louder, much more outgoing and carefree. It’s like he drops his anxiety of the public and press at the door and comes back into himself, fitting back into the social circle with so much more light.

He proved you wrong, but somehow, you thank him for that. He broke down your walls and showed you that a person can have so much more. He enticed you with his God-awful pickup lines, shy smiles and enchanting words. The first time he kissed you was at the porch of your house after your first date, and you lost count after the second and third.

“What are you thinking about?” Dowoon bumped against your shoulder, bringing you back to the present. He looked so radiant in the sunlight, it hit his face and made his brown eyes prominent. They sparkled like the sun itself lived within his orbs.

“Nothing. I mean, I was wondering what we were going to be watching tonight?” You decided not to bring up the reality of what floated around your head, because he already knew how much his world had changed yours when they had collided.

“Well, it’s Jae’s turn to decide so, yeah, pretty much anything from Chicken Little, Mean Girls or The Conjuring.” Dowoon stated. He let his palm slide into yours before lacing his fingers like ribbons, attaching himself in an unbreakable promise of love.

“At least we don’t have to watch Iron Man again,” You laughed, “Wonpil is so predictable.”

“Tell me about it. I have to live with that as well.” He smiled fondly.

The shared house came into view. It was blooming with flowers and greenery that they’d all planted. It was a funny picture to visualise, five men gardening, but it did all pay off. The house was beautiful on it’s exterior. It shone with colours of all ranges, pinks and blues and yellows.

The oak door opened before you could reach it, and Jae swung out with an unstoppable grin etched on his cheeks. “Finally!”

You walked the familiar hallways and allowed yourself to rest on the sofa where movie night had already been set ready to go. Blankets had been thrown in all directions across sofas and pillows scattered in an unorderly mess across the carpet. Amongst the sea of it all, Sungjin lay on his stomach beside Wonpil and Brian, punching their thumbs against their phones, barely noticing you in their entrancement with the lit up screens.

“Phones away!” Jae called, “Movie is starting!”

The three abide by the instruction as Jae bounced over to the DVD player to set in the desired film.

“Oh, hey {y/n}, I didn’t notice you there.” Brian greeted, grinning.

“Hi {y/n}, and Dowoon.” Sungjin added in, Wonpil simply smiled as you returned greetings.

You sat on one of the sofas and Dowoon occupied the space beside you as Brian, Wonpil and Jae occupied the other, lying across each other like their personal space was non existent. Sungjun seeked refuge on the floor, piling pillows to find comfort as the start screen came on.

“Really, we’re watching Batman versus Superman?” Dowoon groaned from beside you. “Isn’t this the worst film of 2016?”

“Excuse you.” Jae jokingly sassed. “I have not seen this film yet so we’re watching it.”

“I agree with Dowoon, this film actually had terrible ratings.” Wonpil reasoned.

Jae smiled in a mockingly bittersweet way, “Well, too bad it’s my night to chose-”

“Shut up,” Brain interrupted, “It’s starting.”

Dowoon tightened his grip around you by snaking his arm behind your back and holding you close. It’s like a shield to everything that surrounds you, you feel so safe and it’s warmer than the blanket could ever made you feel.

He pulls the blanket up around you both and then fixes on the screen.

But he never ceased to surpass your expectations, he’s always been so calm around you, if anything he was apprehensive to affection around his friends. They tease him relentlessly, and that ever so sweet pink graces his ears darker than actually initiating romantic gestures with you.

But tonight he doesn’t seem so bothered by them.

Perhaps it was their lack of focus on him, and his assurance that they won’t stray too far from watching the screen, but he’s pressing his lips against yours and even in the heat of the moment it’s easy to submit to his wish. And move your lips in a syncing battle back.

He’s so playful with his lips, you can feel them smirking against yours as he nips and bites against your lower lip. He tastes like peach and fruits, and it’s exploding like colour inside your mouth. He lets his tongue wander, not allowing a single place to left unexplored. It’s hypnotising, and he plays your heart as professionally as he plays his drums. It beats against your chest like a love song.

His mouth suddenly lurches forward, you bit his lip in the shock of it all, he groans, but you’re not sure if it’s because of you or because of the pillow that had just smacked the back of his head.

You tune back into the room, and laughter fills the walls. Dowoon shakes his head, but annoyance is not traceable, if anything, he seems challenged, and embers fill his eyes the way they do when he’s full of passion.

“Will you guys shut up? I’m trying to watch this.” Jae complains, staring at Wonpil, who had clearly been the crime carrier.

Silence washed back over the members, and you cuddled back up to Dowoon, slightly flustered from sudden attention. You relaxed into the warmth as his hand ghosted over yours. You let him guide your hand to his chest, but your senses were enlightened when you get the fabric of his shirt shift so your hand rested against his skin.

It wasn’t like the kiss. This was private, and the blanket hid his teasing intention. It was suddenly a playful atmosphere turned dark. You lined his toned chest beneath your fingertips, it sent sparks from your nails to your gut, and you were sure he felt the same.

He slouched slightly, letting his head fall against your shoulder as his hand wandered around your lower torso. If it wasn’t hard enough to act normal, he started placing sparse kisses arong your collar, shoulder and neck.

He was clearly uninterested in Jae’s movie, and was now taking it out on you. This wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you were somewhere more private, but literally every one of his friends surrounded you and one false move would make them all very aware what was going on beneath the blanket.

Speaking of beneath, his hands were beneath your trousers, teasing the line of your underwear.

“Dowoon.” You said steadily, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. “I’m hungry.”

He rose his head from your shoulder, he looked so proud of himself, his grin showed it. “Should we go and get something then?”

You swallowed hard, feeling your head rush like seeing stars. It was so incredible that he could make you feel like this with nothing but the touch of his hands. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Oh for God’s sake, just get outta here, will you? You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.” Jae scoffed.

Laughter erupted in the room again, and funnily, Dowoon looked slightly darkened from blushing, yet he still rose to his feet, extending to reach for your hand. “Ah, we can get the pizza.”

You nodded, rosy, and followed him away from the roars of noise. You never quite made it to the kitchen like Dowoon had stated about pizza, instead you whizzed straight past it with the air blowing your hair back and the halls passing in a blur. You never had time to focus on the wall, not even when you were pushed up against it.

Dowoon was a mass of unexpected events and twists; it’s something you still haven’t completely figured but you knew it would be the best days of your life finding out.

#dowoon #yoon dowoon #day6 #reactions #scenarios #imagines #fanfic #one shot #kpop

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