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shreddedparchment · 3 years

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A Wife for Thor Pt.19

The True Heir

03/09/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,781

Warnings: angst, depression, pregnancy, marital troubles, pining

A/N: There is very little editing. Forgive me. I’m sleepy. I’ve been up writing all night. I’ve also been hurting, but it’s all good! I’m so happy to get this chapter out. *insert evil laugh* If you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! it truly means so much, more than you know. xoxo

Sunday

Today you do nothing.

You’d opened up your laptop last night and attempted to scribble a few lines for your next book, but all you could think about was Thor, Jane, the babies to come, and where exactly you fit amongst all of it.

After typing Thor’s name along with a few other random words for the tenth time, you gave up and shut the laptop. You’d crawled into bed, bundled up under your fluffy comforter, and bid goodbye to the world as you caved in to unconsciousness.

The fact that morning is here, you find that your hope for today to be better than yesterday was silly. How can anything ever be good again?

You place your hands on your lower tummy, caressing what feels like a very slight swell. It’s just barely harder than the rest of your stomach. Firm. Despite the happiness that your baby brings you, you stare across the room at your computer and can’t find it in you to get up and work.

Instead you roll over onto your other side and pull Thor’s--that is to say, the one he’d used while he was here--pillow over to cling to.

Thor’s texts are also still fresh in your mind.

Sleep didn’t dull their effect on you or the confusion they raised.

Did they mean that he wouldn’t get an annulment? That’s sorta what you were getting from them. His declarations that he couldn’t live without you and that he would die for you and that he missed you so much at his side sounded like he was also telling himself how he felt. As if he were, not so much convincing, but reaffirming what he already knew.

You reach over and switch your phone on, clicking through to your messages to find that Thor must have stolen his phone back from Loki at some point.

Thor: Good morning, my cherub. I hope you slept well.

Thor: I could hardly sleep with you absent beside me.

Thor: Our bed is too big without you in it.

Thor: Have you seen the doctor yet? You’ll text me as soon as you get a diagnosis, won’t you? I’ll be waiting.

Thor: Loki insists that I give you some distance to rest but being apart from you is torture.

Thor: Would you be very angry with me if I came to see you?

Thor: I have some things I must deal with here before I can go though. Loki is right. I should allow you rest and fix things here before I come to you.

Thor: Are you still sleeping, cherub? I’m sorry if my messages are disturbing you. I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since...I wish I’d met you years ago. When things weren’t so complicated.

Thor: Would you have let me court you even though I am the God of Thunder? Future King of Asgard? Would you have married me when I came back with my people to live here on Earth?

Thor: I think if I had to choose all over again, you’re still the only woman equal to the task of being my Queen.

Thor: And the love that has grown between us is...I will never take it for granted…

As you read that last message, you assume he wants to say he won’t take it for granted again. He’s already let it slip through his fingers, although he doesn’t know it yet.

Thor: Perhaps this can be that break you were talking of. For our baby? Maybe we do need a little bit of relaxation to let our bodies recover?

Thor: And yet, I can’t wait to start a family with you, cherub.

You’re bawling all over again, your eyes flooding with tears as you bury your face into his pillow and sob loudly.

He’d said that he missed your body next to his. You can relate. You want to feel the heavy fall of his chest, the deep breaths that fill his lungs and escape through his lips in a quiet little snore that always makes you cuddle into his side.

Normally, he’d respond by turning to face you and holding you right up against his chest.

The comfort that simple thing would give you right now when your heart is aching so painfully is what you so desperately need. But...you’re so angry too. You don’t want him near you.

The images that flood your mind are torture. Mixtures of pleasant, happy moments now marred by the betrayal and anger that has taken hold of your heart.

You bury your face into the pillow and scream until your throat really does go hoarse. Frustration at the force of change you’ve had to make in the past twenty-four hours.

You’re startled back to the present when your phone rings. You make a small attempt to clear your throat then answer and the absolute gravel voice you use settles any wondering as to whether your illness is real.

“Hello?” you whisper, clearing your throat to no avail.

“Oh, cherub, you sound terrible.”

Your heart panics. How are you supposed to talk to him?

You don’t want to talk to him.

“I can’t really talk,” you say weakly hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Did the doctor see you already?” Thor asks, his worry evident in the quiet tone of his voice.

“Yes, he gave me some medicine and told me to try not to talk,” you lie, surprisingly easy right now since you don’t want to talk.

For your emotional sanity, you need to hang up soon.

“I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could take this illness from you. Where’s David? I’d like to talk to him.”

You panic again, floundering as you cough and clear your throat to buy some time.

“He’s not here. He went to the store to get some groceries,” you hope he buys it.

“I’ll call him a little later then. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Thor,” you mumble, suddenly not wanting to hang up.

How can one person give you so much ease and worry all at once? How can he be your source of agony and comfort at the same time? It’s not fair.

“I have so much to tell you, but...now is not the right time. You need to get better first.”

Nevermind! Fuck this guy. Your heart sinks.

“I have to go,” you tell him, hoping he’ll just hang up and leave you be now.

“Very well. I love you, cherub.”

How do you answer him without giving anything away just yet?

“Me too,” you choose. And it’s true.

Even if he’s torn your heart into pieces, he’s still the father of your baby and you still love him.

Whatever madness overcame him when he’d suggested to Loki getting an annulment was the best course of action seems to have passed. Loki must be right about him.

“Bye, Thor,” you whimper.

“Bye, Y/N,” he says your name, making your heart quake a bit.

You hang up and quickly dial up David.

He answers after two rings.

“Hello? How is my favorite girl in the whole wide world?”

He sounds amused by something, or just happy. It’s such a difference to how you feel at the moment that it breaks you and you sob again, renewing your tears.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” David demands, clearly now beginning to fret over the way you sound.

You tell him everything. Somehow you manage to get it all out minus one important detail and when you’re done recounting the most horrible night of your life, David sighs heavily and you can almost picture him settling into a deep armchair with massive worry weighing on his shoulders.

“Well, the good thing is, if he goes through with an annulment, you’re to be given a monthly allowance for the rest of your life. It was a condition in your contract, should Thor change his mind about marrying you. But he didn’t so it was moot, until now. You will be a very rich woman. More so than the small fortune you originally inherited.

“I know that money is hardly a consolation for the man that you love-” David sighs again. “Perhaps he said it in madness? He must have been very upset. Caught by surprise?” David offers.

“Even if he doesn’t mean it or doesn’t go through with it, I know that for you the point is the thought was there.

“However, I do think we must make allowances for Thor. I’m sorry to say. He is a king and he’s responsible for his entire people. A baby would give them security. Stability. A legitimate heir would tie them to Earth forever.

“We musn’t make light of his choices. This isn’t a common situation to find one’s self in. For either of you.”

“David, I’m pregnant.” You finally explain, knowing that it will maybe just show him a little bit more of what you’re facing. “I went to tell Thor and that’s when I overheard them.”

For a moment he’s speechless. When he speaks again, his voice is heightened.

“Congratulations! I-I knew it would happen eventually. The timing is a little-”

“I haven’t told him yet, clearly.”

Silence again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I was so happy when I went to tell him and then I heard their conversation and I-I just can’t find the strength to do it right now. Not until I know whether he wants the annulment.”

David breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly into the phone. His breath is light and soft.

“You’re afraid that he will only stay with you because of the child,” a statement.

David knows you better than anyone else in your life. It’s not surprising that he’d make the leap so quickly.

“He’s willing to leave me and marry Jane because of her baby. It’s possible that he’ll stay by my side only because of our baby and I’d rather he do what’s best for our people than to stay with me because of a sense of obligation.”

“It could be that Jane will not want him. She might keep her child away from the Asgardian royal court. Didn’t she refuse to marry him because she didn’t want to be Queen?” David’s voice is pensive. “This might all feel much larger than it is. I suggest you take some time to really think through your actions before making any decisions.”

“I’m not going to never tell him, David. He’s the father of my child. He has to know that he has two and not just the one. I don’t think I could do that to him. I could never keep him from his children.

“Either of them.”

“You are magnanimous, Y/N. More than even I thought you were capable of.”

“Bullshit. I ran away and am refusing to see him until I get my week of space,” you nod firmly. “But David-?”

“Tell me,” he urges you, recognizing your tone of anguish.

“I-I know that I accepted this marriage hesitantly. It wasn’t like I asked for it and you know how I felt before Thor asked me to marry him. You know how s-scared I was about marrying someone who was in love with someone else, and now...now he’s-”

“He’s married to you, Y/N. Not Ms. Foster. And from what I have been able to see, he does love you. Not Jane. This is a temporary setback. If you’re angry at him, be angry at him. Don’t pretend you aren’t. If you’re hurt, show it. Wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Loving someone is one of life’s greatest blessings. Sometimes that love doesn’t last, sometimes it takes a beating. But you must choose whether your love is worth fighting for.

“You’ve also got obligations that you cannot escape from. Duties to your people as their Queen.”

“Assuming Thor doesn’t leave me and take my crown,” you scoff.

“I’m with your brother-in-law. I don’t think it will come to that. I think Thor was a little shocked and thrown by Ms. Foster’s news. Now that he has had some time to think, I believe he’ll do right by you and when you tell him, your child.”

“I won’t tell him until he makes up his mind,” you insist.

“That is your prerogative. Do what you need to. What can I do to help? What do you need from me?”

“Just be prepared for any eventuality. I’m not sure what’s going to happen at the end of this week. Oh, and if Thor calls you--just make something up and tell me what you say. He thinks you drove me from the airport and have been staying with me.”

“Using me as your alibi so that your husband won’t come looking for you,” David clicks his tongue. “How much detail shall I give him?”

“You’ve got a job too, just tell him you’re coming and going. Tony had his staff install some security on the house after the honeymoon. I’m safe here. He’ll believe that I’m safe if that’s all you say.

“Anyway, I need to go. I have two more calls to make before I can relax and enjoy my break from the throne.”

“If you need anything, you know how to reach me. Anything, Y/N. I mean it.”

“Thanks, David. I can always count on you,” you smile.

Just a tiny one. A very subtle curve at the corners of your lips.

“Well, you do pay me,” he jokes, which actually pulls a small laugh from you.

“Right. Bye, David.”

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

You take only a minute to think about your conversation with David before you make the most important calls of your week in solitude.

The first one is simple. Just a reminder of doctor-patient confidentiality. He understands what you’re saying even if he doesn’t practice by that mentality.

Dr. Wilson’s phone call is more difficult. She wants an explanation. She wants to know why she’s not allowed to tell your husband, the King of New Asgard, that he’s finally got what you and he have been wanting.

An heir!

It’s painful to talk about but you tell her what’s happened. You tell her that Thor doesn’t know that you know about Jane’s baby.

She’s very quiet as you talk. She assumes things and you can hear her anger when she starts to ask for what she can tell Thor.

“He didn’t cheat on me, Dr. Wilson,” you explain, hoping that this will ease her anger.

You’re angry at Thor because of the annulment, not because he and Jane have created a life from their love. You’re hurt because he’s willing or was willing--you’re not sure yet--to leave you to be with Jane, even if not for love but for the baby growing within her.

You’re hurt because the man you love was choosing his duty over his feelings for you.

Even though you know that he’s right to do it. Even though you know that you should understand because he’s King and you also took an oath to put the people of New Asgard first.

It’s your duty to put their well-being before your own. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

In Thor’s mind, his only duty is to his child. Jane’s child. He doesn’t know you’re carrying one of your own yet. Even though that would probably make sure that he stays with you because of the baby, you don’t want that to be the reason he stays.

Proud fool.

“Thor slept with Jane the same night he proposed to me. This was before we loved each other, when leaving Jane was the hardest thing he’d had to do. I don’t hold that against him.”

You don’t tell her about the annulment. She doesn’t need to know how messy this all is.

“He’ll probably call for you and Dr. Alric soon. Loki suggested they get Jane checked so act surprised? But please don’t tell him I’m pregnant. Not yet. He’s coming to see me at the end of the week and I’ll tell him myself then. Please?” And it really is a genuine plea.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Your Majesty. I would like to come and check on you. You don’t sound well.”

She’s very sweet and her concern is touching.

“Thor will probably send you to me eventually. He’s worried but he’s clearly got other things on his mind.”

“I’ll make arrangements to head over there tomorrow. Oh, can you hold for one minute Your Majesty? I’m so sorry.”

“Of course.”

There’s silence on the phone for a few minutes before she comes back.

“It was His Majesty. He’s told me about Jane but she’s not available for an examination until later in the week. So, he’s asked me to come to you first. I’ll be there tonight.”

For some reason, the idea of having her with you eases some of the stress you’ve been carrying with you since yesterday.

“I’ll call and have a car sent for you.”

“Actually, His Majesty has promised to bring me straight to you via bifrost.”

“Wait, what?” You sit up in bed, clutching your blanket to your chest as your nerves suddenly fray and panic begins to build up within you.

“Should I come by plane?” She asks, worried by the sound of your voice.

You can’t see Thor. No. You can’t.

“No. I’ll just be going out later tonight to pick up a few things that I need here at the house. Toilet paper, napkins, laundry soap. I just didn’t want you to get here when I was out, but I’ll text you the passcode to get in.”

You’ll just have to make sure that you’re not at home when they come. That’s what you’ll do. This is a perfect excuse to be out since you need to get the stuff you listed anyway.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just like me to come by plane?”

“No, really. The sooner you get here, the better. The car ride is so long from the airport. I’ll see you tonight, Dr. Wilson.”

“Bye, Your Majesty.”

Even though you know that you have hours upon hours until Thor brings Dr. Wilson here, you force yourself out of bed and abandon your plans to wallow in your feelings so that you can shower, get dressed, and leave the house.

If Thor’s coming, you’re going to be as far away from your house as you can be. You’re not ready to see him again just yet. You only have small errands to run but you’re gonna stay out all damn day if it’s the last thing you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

Thor is at a loss. Completely and utterly lost without you.

If he was ever in doubt as to how he really felt about you--which he never has been because he knows himself well enough to know better--he knows now that you are the light of his new life here on Earth.

His reign would mean significantly less without you at his side.

Even though the time you’ve spent together has been a short few months, they have been the best months of his life.

If he’d had one of those other women he’d interviewed become his Queen, this life he’s chosen to lead would have felt empty and tedious. Instead of watching his Queen spend her time with his people leading the way in progress.

You’re so eager to be part of the Asgardian populace. They’ve embraced you so fully.

With a sigh, Thor leans forward and buries his face into his hands as he mentally trashes himself for the absolute fool that he’s been about this entire situation.

The fact that he’d even entertained the thought of leaving you.

He wants to cry and tear his hair out in frustration.

Should he tell you that the thought was weighed along with many others at Jane’s news?

And Jane.

Thor groans.

She’s been avoiding him since she told him. He can’t exactly blame her for it. He hadn’t exactly taken the news well.

He had no reason to expect her to be receptive to him after he’d basically accused her of being confused about it. She knew her own body. If she said she was pregnant, what reason would he have to doubt her?

He’s messed everything up so much and he’s terrified to tell you about Jane.

What if you have the same idea he did? What if you decide to leave him in some foolish attempt to have him marry her and legitimize his future child?

It’s something you would do. Sacrifice yourself so that he could do the right thing.

The thought of living this life of rule without you at his side is unbearable.

With another frustrated groan, he gets up and moves to pace the length of the room, ignoring the large pile of paperwork on his desk as his mind moves in circles.

It always comes back to you.

And then you’d been out when he’d gone to drop off Dr. Wilson. He hadn’t expected you to be gone. He’d wanted to see you. To hold you. Touch you. Hear your voice after so much turmoil.

You are his only solace.

Going so close to you and not seeing you has left him with a terrible pain in his chest.

His phone rings.

Thor dives for his phone and fumbles with it as he grabs it off the bed. He almost loses it over the opposite edge.

He literally throws himself towards it and lands with a grunt onto the bed as he catches it.

He presses the button on the screen without looking to see who it is because he only wants it to be you.

“Cherub?” he gasps, his voice an octave higher than normal with the little bit of exertion he just underwent.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Your Majesty, it’s Dr. Wilson. I was just calling to give you your daily report on Her Majesty’s health.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just haven’t heard from-” He clears his throat, sits up, and slides to the edge of the bed. “No matter. How is my Queen, doctor?”

“She was asleep. But just woke up. She’s very tired. Her throat is better, but she’s had a fever every morning since Sunday.”

Thor sits up straighter, hand clenched into a fist around the edge of the bed as his heart starts to thrum loudly.

“Is she seriously ill?”

“No, of course not, Your Majesty. But she really does need rest. She has been under severe stress and I’m sorry to say that your constant messages are not letting her rest.”

Thor’s heart drops and buries itself into a hole at the bottom of his stomach. He feels numb suddenly, fearful of what he might be doing to you. The guilt of what he knows he must tell you soon also weighs down on him.

“Are you saying that I should leave her be until she is recovered?” Thor checks, just in case he’s not understanding correctly.

“I’m saying that if you want her to get well quickly, you must give her what she asked you for. She needs rest.”

Thor hates that he can’t be there to check on you. He wants to feel you close. He wants to see you. What if you’re deathly ill and you’re telling Dr. Wilson to lie for you?

You abhor lies and cherish honesty , but he can see you lying in order to spare him pain. Just as he is lying to spare you the worry of all this uncertainty with Jane.

Although he knows that he can never lose you now and even with a child coming with Jane, you are his wife and he can’t leave you. He was stupid to think he could even try. The thought was a sin and he’ll never forgive himself for thinking it.

Loki was so angry with him.

Rightfully so.

The good thing is that you’ll never know how bleak things looked. At least he has found his sanity again.

“Will you keep me informed? I’ll stop contacting her if you will promise to tell me how she fares. If she gets worse, I want to know.” Thor insists, his voice passionate and begging.

“You have my word, Your Majesty. Have you heard anything from Ms. Foster? Do we know exactly when we’ll be running her tests?”

“She’s very busy. As of now, it’s looking more and more likely that we won’t be able to find the time until the week’s end. After we confirm her pregnancy, I’ll tell Y/N. I’m sorry that I’ve asked you to collude in this business.”

There’s a long pause and for a moment Thor thinks that maybe the phone has disconnected but then Dr. Wilson sighs, “I cannot wait for this week to be over. Will you come back for me then? When she’s ready?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up in the same spot that I left you. My wife wasn’t too upset about her lawn, was she? Only, Stark seems to get irritated with me every time I land on his.”

“No,” Dr. Wilson chuckles once. “She was not upset. Again, there’s little more than her throat, head, and fever on her mind. I’ve gotta go. She’s gone out into the garden for some fresh air but I need to get her back into bed.”

“Please take good care of her, doctor. She’s...well, she’s my wife,” Thor finishes heavily.

The phone goes dead and Thor sits there staring at his phone until he can find the strength to get to his feet and go off in search of Jane. They really need to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday

Thor is upset.

He’s beyond frustrated by now.

He’s irritated.

It’s a week tomorrow since he’s seen you and he can’t stand the distance anymore.

Dr. Wilson snuck him a photo but you’d been sitting on your sofa, looking weak and withdrawn.

He’s not sure what exactly is making you sick, but he knows that he can’t go another day without seeing you.

He needs to get Dr. Wilson back here and he needs to get confirmation so that he can have something to tell you once he sees you.

He won’t lose you over this.

It was one last time. One final goodbye with Jane and he’d thought she was on her birth control but apparently she hadn’t been so he hadn’t bothered to protect himself from the possibility of getting her pregnant.

Why hadn’t she said anything?! Why hadn’t she told him that she wasn’t on her pill?

He knows it’s wrong to blame her. It took both of them to make this baby, but being away from you for so long is wearing thin and he’s losing all semblance of patience.

It takes some very careful maneuvering. Heimdall is sent first, then Hilde, then Loki.

None of them know why they’re going in to corner Jane in the tower except for Loki. Well, Heimdall knows, but there’s no hiding much from Heimdall. He pretends not to know and that’s good enough for Thor.

Loki is just stepping out of the tower when he turns to look at Thor with a grave almost exhausted expression.

“She’s up there,” he assures Thor, frowning as he shuts the heavy door. “When will this end, Thor? Are you going to keep the Queen away forever?”

Thor says nothing, he’s too upset to speak. He pulls the door open roughly and stomps his way up the steps taking them two at a time until he’s standing on the top floor landing.

He can see Jane biting her lip, pacing the length of the room until she turns and finally sees him.

“Thor…” she gasps, not expecting to see him.

“We have to talk, Jane.”

She looks away, turning her back on him then moves towards her laptop which she carefully closes. She puts her hand up to her throat and turns to face him.

“I will have Dr. Wilson brought in and Dr. Alric to give you the same tests they have been giving Y/N. They will be confirming your pregnancy and once we have that, then we can all sit down and figure out-”

“I’m not pregnant,” Jane gasps, her voice filling the room despite the quiet breath that escapes her pink lips.

Thor’s stomach twists. It’s agony.

On the one hand, the words she’s just spoken are...they’re a celebration. They’re simplicity. They’re peace and a return back to normal where in his life there is only you.

On the other hand, he’s just lost a baby he never had. An heir that he’d been expecting and now can never get back.

He’d made plans for this child. He’s pictured his life with them, the happiness and joy that their birth would bring to the people of New Asgard. The assurance that they would always belong to Earth.

He’d picked names for boys and girls. He’d begun to make a list of nursery items they would need even as he lamented that the baby was not yours but Jane’s.

This baby would have, and had already begun to change his life.

And now this?!

“What?” he very nearly spits.

Jane is so flustered she’s wringing her hands hard, welting them red.

“I’m...I didn’t expect to come here and see you with her and see how fast you just-” she waves her hand as if shooing away some animal. “-moved on. It’s like you were never with me.

“You were both so happy and talking about the future and I just lost it for a little bit,” she shrugs. “I have no excuses, Thor. I’m sorry if what I said hurt you. It was selfish of me and I just loved you for so long. You were mine, you know? And now you’re married, planning to have kids, and your wife is so nice and considerate and even though she has every reason to hate me, she was polite and so damn perfect…

“I’m not afraid to say that it made me hate her. I’m ashamed of it, but not enough to take it back.”

The silence is thick. The air suddenly grows charged and Thor’s eyes shine a bright sparkling blue.

His hands crackle and his eye spits as if full of blue fire.

The sky overhead thunders and the world shakes with the boom. The lightning strikes sharp and fast, shaking the tower so that for a moment, Thor can see how Jane thinks it might topple.

His anger gives way to betrayal and his lightning fizzles out as he takes a step towards her, his brow furrowed, eye full of pain as he stares at her, searching for the joke that this must be.

There is no way that this is really happening.

“You lied to me?” Thor accuses.

Jane blanches, her lips going pale as she takes a step towards him.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, I just-I didn’t want to see you with her anymore and I wasn’t thinking straight so I just said it before I could stop myself. I know that it was wrong and I didn’t think it would go on for so long. I wanted to tell you almost as soon as I said it that it wasn’t true, but then you just took off and then the Queen left and I wasn’t sure if you told her and maybe that’s why she wasn’t here.”

Thor shakes his head, turning away from her as he paces towards the stairs but then turns back, his anger returning but full of pain now.

“I defended you. When Loki insisted I have you tested I asked him if he doubted you and I assured him that you would not lie about something this important. What reason would you have to lie?” he demands, almost of himself instead of Jane.

“Thor,” Jane begins.

“How long were you going to let me think you were carrying my child? How long were you planning to con me?” he accuses and his words seem to hurt Jane.

Thor can’t find it in him to care too much.

“I wasn’t-that’s not what I meant to do, Thor. Please, you have to believe me. I just didn’t know how much seeing you with her would-”

“You have no right to be upset!” he booms, his voice loud and it startles Jane quiet.

She’s never heard him angry like this. She’s never heard his voice raised.

“I gave you every opportunity to be with me, to marry me, to build a life here with me and be my Queen. You didn’t want it! You flat-out refused to be tied down by me and this Kingdom but now that you see me and my wife happy, you change your mind?

“You have the audacity to raise obstacles between us because you have regrets?”

“Thor,” she tries again, but Thor won’t let her speak.

“Get out,” he says sternly, turning to move towards the stairs.

“What?!”

“I said, get out. You are no longer welcome in my home. Pray no one ever finds out of your treachery. And should you have the urge to return for any reason, don’t.”

Thor storms down the steps, so angry that each step shakes the tower.

He’s breathing heavily as he slams the door shut behind him.

The storm air helps to calm him a bit. It clears his mind at least and the past week zooms by him like an unpleasant movie.

All of that worry and the plotting and planning. The agony that he felt wondering if you’d leave him when you found out about his child with Jane was the most unbearable.

Your face flashes before his eyes and he knows that there’s only one place he can be right now.

He throws his hand out and a metallic whistling rushes closer before his fist closes around his hammer.

He swings it firmly and throws it up into the air as he makes for your home.

Now that he has nothing to keep him here, he’s eager to get back to you. He’ll tell you everything and hope that you can forgive him for lying to you about Jane.

Even though it was a lie by omission, it was still a lie.

“I’m coming, my cherub,” he whispers, so eager to have you in his arms again.

Nothing will ever tear him from you again. He is certain. Nothing. Not a false heir, or a former love, no doubts exist within him anymore. You are the one.

The only one.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #a wife for thor #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x you #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #a wife for thor pt19

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slaapkat · 2 years

Note

▼, ∇, ♡, ✿, ☼ for hal jordan?

THANK YOU ANON

▼ - childhood headcanon

spent most of his childhood doing everything possible for every scrap of his dad’s affection and attention. middle child syndrome real. after martin jordan died the whole family unit kinda fell apart, jack and hal fought a lot with Jim being forced to act as a mediator. things did get better with jim but hal didn’t smooth things over with jack until well into adulthood.

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

the knee fucked up by mongul stays fucked up to such a degree hal actively needs a cane. eventually stops dying his hair and accepts having grey temples again in spite of what the image reminds him of but it’s okay because he finally comes to accept what happened to him as parallax. i don’t think he ever really officially retires but is rather forced into it once the guardians decide he’s outlived his usefulness but since he also made his ring himself he just. more or less willingly steps down. parallax is always at the back of his mind.

♡ - romantic headcanon

TERRIBLE commitment issues, he would like a relationship but it’s usually too much trouble because he always unfortunately tends to put gl business before personal business almost every single time. can be a romantic when he wants tho because he does crave intimacy. unbearably in love with ollie brokeback mountain style. weird intense psychosexual rivalry with sinestro. may be into older men thanks to daddy issues.

✿ - Sex headcanon

up and down for absolutely anything babeyyyyy. but terrible at giving head. any time he and carol fool themselves into getting together it falls apart just as quickly for that alone :/

☼ - appearance headcanon

during his time as parallax hal stopped eating/sleeping/generally taking care of himself because he was living entirely off the energy provided by his ring and what he absorbed from the central battery/oa. it kept him alive but only barely. as a consequence as time went on he gained a bit of a starved/malnourished wild dog look that he never quite fully recovers from and kinda remains a bit thin and lean for the rest of his life even after coming back to life, never truly getting back to his pre-parallax self.

also this one I will die by still i think the grey temples are a permanent feature after parallax but hal dyes his hair to hide it. he was pretty desperate to get peoples trust back and this was the quickest way possible, even if it doesn’t quite work. it’s the only way he can really look himself in the mirror for the longest time.

#I REALLY HOPE THIS IS OKAY WHOEVER YOU ARE #ASK #HAL JORDAN

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akachaan · 3 years

Text

the golden-winged king [xiao]

genre: angst

warnings: death, blood

notes: pls im so proud of this writing BYE

The gentle chirps of birds graced Xiao’s ears. He recognized this as a melody of nature, the sunlight cascading a loving warmth onto his pale skin. Lush and rich grass blew in the breeze, one of the few somethings that Xiao actually appreciated from the Wind Archon. He chuckled breathlessly, a feeling of lighthearted mischief settling upon him. Xiao imagined how Venti would pout and scold him for his unbearably disrespect remarks, as he liked to call them. The grass entwined itself into his gloved hand like a silky ribbon. The light, fluffy clouds passed by, drifting away like dandelion seeds floating in the winds.

Xiao’s legs began to ache— the reason unknown —so he’d sat himself down, assuming he’d been basking in the beauty of the flower field for much too long. Ah, flowers. He’d almost forgotten just how intricately designed they were. Well, as a Guardian Yaksha, there’s only so much you can stop and admire. What were the names of these? The petals were pale blue from the bottom fading into a remarkable teal color, four pastel purple strands sprawling out from the top.

Glaze lilies, he recalled. These flowers only bloom once sung to, yes? He remembers this from a certain... human. He smiles fondly at the thought of them. “Xiao, Xiao!” A familiar and soft voice called. Speak of the devil.

Xiao turned to them, and his breath was caught in his throat. It’s like time slowed down, just for them. Just for him. He took a deep breath, his eyes softening, showing vulnerability he’d been hiding for a millennia. Your shining, soft locks framed your face, [c] eyes shining with love and purity. Xiao had seen skies like an ethereal dream, twinkling like sparklers trapped in the deep cerulean sky... But none of those galaxies and any to come would even compare to your radiant image. You were an angel sent from heaven, one to remind him what life can truly bring upon humanity; people like you.

You were like his little secret of sorts. Not a secret of the world. Anyone could meet or find [Name]. He knew anyone could come and sweep you away from him— though he doesn’t enjoy thinking of such ideas —he knew. It could happen. But, he also knew, and he trusted that you wouldn’t truly leave him, after all they’ve been through. He knew that you confined in him just as he did you, he felt like he was finally certain in his eternity of suffering and emptiness. Days that went by where he felt as if he were just existing. He was not living, he never was. Xiao was simply a guardian, assigned to protect Liyue until he drops dead from exhaustion. He was existing as The Guardian Yaksha, Conquerer of Demons.

But with you, he was not any of those. He was not just existing, watching over a nation til his last breath. Your presence alone made him feel warm. Him feeling was already an achievement in itself, after all these years as standing on the sidelines, secluded; no matter how close to Liyue he physically was, he felt so different and disconnected from his people. He’d only be remembered as tale to be told. The way that you made him feel. Not only have you made him feel, you’ve made him feel warm. A ‘warmth’ that he wishes to bask in for the rest of his existence. Warmth. Xiao knew this wasn’t the word to describe how he truly felt. By definition, yes, Xiao admits, albeit hesitantly. But he couldn’t help but feel it was so much deeper than that. You made him feel a warmth that burned his insides. The feeling had words caught in his throat, he often struggled to form a single coherent sentence when you eyes twinkled with a joy he can’t quite grasp. It made him stutter, the way you looked so blissed and euphoric in his company. He loved it. He loved how the butterflies in his stomach never seized, fluttering and flying with each second. His heart raced like a tiger running after its prey, running at miles per minute. He felt so human. So alive. So loved, and he’s finally experienced what it’s like to love. He never wanted it to end.

You laid yourself onto the luxuriant meadow of nature, the blades of green tickling at your cheek. The sun caressed your skin like a mother would her child, giving you an angelic-like glow. Your eyes had drew closed as you listened to what was around you. Distant animals chirping and buzzing filled your ears along with the synchronized breathing of you and the boy next to you. You smiled, your heart thumping against your chest as savored the peace of this moment.

Xiao turned his head to admire the gift the Archons had given him. He saw how amicable this whole ordeal was and how much you were enjoying it. It wasn’t everyday the two of you had the time to lay down and appreciate each other and what the Earth truly had to offer, though I’m sure that’s been made clear. The soft whisper of his name felt like a melody being sang to him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Another sweet murmur of his name was called. And another. And another. Xiao grew worried. With every purr of his name, he could hear desperation and panic in your tone. That alone had him sick to his stomach. He sat up, his eyes now greeted with an all-too-familiar setting.

The sky was dark with stormy clouds, rain thundering heavily onto the bloodstained ground. The air was no longer crisp and clean but instead reeked of the metallic scent of blood and sweat. He could almost taste the blood on his lips. Xiao looked at his hands, dirtied and course with dried ichor. What was once his peaceful escape of serendipity was now a horrid sight of what he used to be. The murderous machine of what he promised himself to cast away since The Archon War. Screams of retreat, pain, defeat and victory mixed in his head, which was now throbbing from the sudden change in scenery. Why was he here?

More importantly, where were you?

“Xiao... Thank god you’re alive.” Your broken voice chuckled, growing dryer in the passing seconds. His head snapped to you, who was laying on the floor, absolutely beaten up. His heart ached at the sight, and he reached to gently cup your face, as if one wrong move could completely shatter you. You gasped for air before continuing, “I knew you would survive. There’s,” You paused to cough harshly, your body crumbling as the cough was let out, “no way the Xiao I know would loose to anyone.” He pulled you closer to his lap, panic and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew there was nothing he could do. But he still tried. He still tried to grasp onto what little hope he had left; it was all happening too quickly.

“Hang on. I’ve got you, okay?” He choked out after the initial shock. The time you have left and the time he would be able to get you proper medical attention were so obviously not in his favor. He picked you up, carrying you on his back. And he just ran. His legs moved like he was going to die if he didn’t hurry. Quite frankly, he would most definitely die emotionally. Xiao couldn’t loose you. Not now, not ever. He wanted to live with you until your died of old age, peacefully where you could’ve smiled on your deathbed. He remembers how you used to get mad at him for carrying you like this. The way your cheeks heated up and you buried your face into his neck always got a goofy smile on his face. But now, you were clinging onto his back as best you could— though it was a loose grip, you used what energy you had left in you to let him know you were still there with him.

But soon, too soon, you wouldn’t be, and you both knew it. “Xiao,” you called weakly.

“I said hang on. I’ll get you medical help soon. Please, keep your eyes open. You still have time.”

“Xiao...”

“You can’t leave me like this. I swore to hold you and protect you and love you for the rest of my life. Out of the many promise I’ve broken I can’t... I can’t break this one.”

“Xiao, listen...” The utter amount of suffering in your voice tore him apart more than the searing pains in his limbs. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make it in time no matter how fast he ran. So he obliged to your request and set you in his lap once again. He stared at your face, covered in dirt and scars. Yet you still looked at beautiful as ever.

“Please. Don’t go. I won’t know what to do without you.”

“I’m always here with you even if...” You trailed off, both from the lack of oxygen you had and the discomfort of finishing your own sentence. You felt tears brimming in your eyes, as you saw Xiao in such a vulnerable and tormented state. “Xiao...”

He caressed your face like a mother would her child. The sting of his heart drowned any physical injuries he had. Nothing would hurt more than the thought of losing you. The grass scratched at your cheek, and you winced at the feeling. Xiao tucked a hair strand behind your ear. As he leaned down to press his forehead against yours.

“Xiao... You are and forever will be my Golden-Winged King.”

And that was when the tears spilled. Your body went cold and limp in his own very hands, your eyes that shone with love and purity where now dark and lifeless. The smile that lit up his world was gone; replaced with a face of sorrow eternally etched onto your features. Xiao wondered. Death was a pitiful punishment, yet somehow so enchanting. You still looked as heavenly as ever. It was only then the pain of truly losing you settled in. You were never going to grace his ears with your melodic voice. You were never going to grace his eyes with your smile. You were never going to grace his senses with your adoring hugs.

You were never to grace his life again.

The Golden-Winged King had a fall from grace, just as you did in his own very arms.

#genshin #Genshin impact #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #genshin Xiao x reader #genshin impact Xiao x reader #xiao x reader #genshin imagine #genshin impact imagine #genshin X reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact Xiao imagine #genshin Xiao imagine

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sunsetcurvecuddles · 3 years

Note

Road trip to nowhere in particular. Bobby just likes to drive. Reggie just likes to point out cows and horses out the windows. Maybe he counts them. Maybe he names them. Either way Bobby has to pretend to be annoyed/mildly amused even as he is experiencing SO MUCH LOVE

hi this is both sadder and longer than i intended for it to be so it is now also available to read on ao3 here. warning for allusions to child abuse.

seems like i’d take a new road | boggie | 2.1k

It's still barely bright outside when Bobby pulls up and parks the car a few houses down from Reggie's, so he doesn't risk waking Reggie's parents. As he gets out of the car and goes to knock on Reggie's window, Bobby rubs his eyes, wondering what kind of insanity possessed him when he suggested they leave so early.

Reggie's already sitting on his bed when Bobby comes up to the window, hands folded in his lap, backpack at his feet. The light from the lamp on his bedside table casts shadows across his face, makes him look thoughtful, and quiet. He looks up almost as soon as Bobby comes into view, like he knew, somehow, that Bobby would be there.

Or he just heard you coming, idiot, Bobby chides himself, but when Reggie grins, eyes way too bright for the hour, Bobby feels a matching smile tugging across his face without his permission.

—

"Okay, okay," Reggie says, as soon as he's plonked himself into the passenger seat, rifling through his backpack immediately, "I've got snacks, and soda, and sandwiches for lunch later, and some mix CDs, but I don't know which one we should listen to first, since—"

"Reg," Bobby interrupts him flatly, even though it's absolutely killing him not to laugh. "Seatbelt first, thanks."

"Oh." Reggie sits back, abashed, and buckles in before returning to the contents of the bag. "It's just very important that we have the right mix for the drive. It has to fit the atmosphere. That can make or break the whole trip!" He's gesturing all over the place with his free hand, still half-buried in the oversized backpack on his lap.

"Right," says Bobby, as though he's totally on board.

"So," Reggie hums, "We've got a selection, so, I'll just read them all out to you—"

"Don't worry about it," Bobby tells him, turning the key and pumping the gas a few times as the engine rolls over before it properly coughs to life, "you just pick something."

Reggie stops, looks up at him wide-eyed. "Are you sure? I know that I like weird music. Alex would die before he let me choose a CD."

"Do I look like Alex?" Bobby retorts, and Reggie's face splits into a huge smile.

"I know the perfect one. It's gonna be so good, Bobby, promise."

—

This is how Bobby spends the next half an hour listening to a burned CD of all Reggie's favourite country songs, as the sun rises over the road and he takes them out of the city. Even this early, there's traffic, because LA is a nightmare city from hell and Bobby hates it, but leaving early has definitely given them an advantage. Reggie winds his window down and rests his arms on the window edge so he can sing Tim McGraw out to the city of angels to wake her up and ready for her the day, and Bobby settles in for the drive.

They'd both been going nuts, was the thing. Bobby’s just had too much work to do, and there’s always so much noise at home, his little siblings underfoot and on top of him and exhausting, as much as he loves them.

Bobby knows Reggie doesn't have such benign reasons for wanting to get away for the day. However, Bobby also knows better than to push him on it, especially when he's in such a good mood, belting the lyrics to Memory Lane (when Bobby swats him and tells him the song sucks, Reggie just smiles bigger, belts even louder). Reggie pretty much universally refuses to acknowledge that there's a problem until it becomes impossible to ignore.

Like last week, when he'd called Bobby from his home phone, whispering a request to pick him up — please, just for a few hours, Bobby, and then I'll get out of your hair, it's just — and Bobby had been able to hear the banging and yelling even on his end of the call. Or when he'd turned up at Bobby's place with a black eye last month, had ended up sleeping in Bobby’s studio, curled up to Bobby on the couch, shivering even under the blankets Bobby brought out for them.

It's difficult to reconcile that image, of Reggie teary and silent and meek as Bobby had given him a pack of frozen peas to press over his eye, who had only shaken his head when Bobby asked him what happened, with this image, of Reggie with his head half out the window, singing and beaming in the morning sun. Tim McGraw's voice fades out, only to be replaced by more guitar (which sounds exactly the same to Bobby's ear) and Reggie's face lights up as he whoops, says, "This song is SO good, can I turn it up?"

Forget the morning sun. Reggie's brighter than it is.

Bobby makes sure his resigned sigh is extra theatrical before he says, "I guess so."

—

The next hour or so continues mostly this way, as Los Angeles becomes a more scattered, widespread set of houses and then eventually not much except desert. They share a packet of Haribo bears, Reggie insisting on giving Bobby the 'best colours' even though Bobby is almost certain they all taste pretty much the same, but he rolls his eyes and gives in when Reggie insists there's a subtle difference. At one point, the CD comes to an end, so Reggie swaps it for the next one. Which is also full of country. "Alex never lets me play any of these," he says defensively, even though all Bobby had done was glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

Bobby just shrugs and says, "I can see why."

And Reggie delightedly retorts, "Hey!"

After winding through the open, rocky expanse for awhile, things turn a little greener. Suddenly, Reggie breaks off singing to lean so far out the window that Bobby instinctively grabs the back of his shirt in his fist.

"Jesus, Peters, ass in the seat!" he huffs, mostly because his heart is still pounding.

Reggie has the decency to look a little sheepish as he sits back down, but still more excited than anything. "Sorry, Bobby, just — there's cows! Look, a whole field of them!"

There is, in fact, a whole field of cows. "Well, don't traumatise them by falling out the window."

"There's so many," Reggie continues, like Bobby didn't even speak, and then continues at a muttered volume, "one, two, three, four—"

"Are you seriously going to count all of them?" Bobby asks. This needs to stop. If Reggie's going to be this distractingly cute — no, just distracting — the whole trip, Bobby's going to crash the car, he can feel it. "You know they're going to move around and stuff."

"Oh," says Reggie, humming, "you're right. Hang on, I should name them so I can tell them apart. What are some good cow names? I think the big one up on the hill looks like a Betsy. And the brown one is totally a Buttercup."

Bobby groans, his heart growing three sizes in his chest, like he’s the Grinch or something. "Franco," he suggests at last.

"Franco?!" Reggie bursts out laughing. "You think 'Franco' is a good cow's name?"

"Is it not?" Bobby retorts, and Reggie laughs harder, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around his stomach. The sound of him cackling almost drowns out Dolly Parton's voice still crooning from Bobby's stereo.

This Reggie. Versus the one who lives in Bobby's memory, tiny and silent, frozen peas held to his face with one trembling hand.

"Francesca," Reggie is saying, through his wheezing laughter, "now, Francesca is a good cow's name."

"Would you shut up about naming the cows and pass me a soda?"

"The calf is called Henry!" Reggie insists, as he leans to dig through his backpack. When he pulls out a can of soda and holds it out to Bobby, still flushed pretty-pink from laughing, his hair sort of a mess in his eyes, nose scrunched up extra cute, and Bobby feels his stomach softly flip over.

Well. That's a feeling he should repress.

"Thanks," he says, careful not to brush Reggie's fingers as he takes the can from him. Reggie doesn’t seem to notice. Thank god.

"You're welcome," says Reggie quietly, snuggling back down into his seat, looking out the window again. He points and says, "That one's called Oscar."

Definitely repressing, Bobby decides. Immediately. Forever. He can't have a crush on Reggie. Like, the band, and the fact that the last thing Reggie needs is for one of his friends to have feelings for him, as if he doesn’t already have enough going on. There are so many reasons he shouldn't have a crush on Reggie. Down, he tells the feeling, pushing at it in his chest, go down, stay down. "Is he?"

Reggie is oblivious, cheerfully rambling on, with no idea that he is causing Bobby a serious internal crisis. "Yeah. And that one's called—"

Bobby hopes it stays that way. He turns Dolly Parton up a little bit, and keeps driving.

—

They park and have lunch at the top of a hill looking over the valley. Reggie regales Bobby with some needlessly complicated story of the relationship between all the cows, as if they’re living a little soap opera down in the field. If Bobby’s going to be honest, he can’t follow the plot, but that doesn’t stop him staring at Reggie’s profile, the way he looks perfect here, at home among the grass and in the bright sun, how he comes alive being out here.

Bobby’s never really known what to think of the future. Before the band, he didn’t have much in his head to imagine. All his thoughts of the future were of his little siblings, what their lives would be like, but it was Luke who had first interrupted him and asked, “Well, yeah, but what about you, man? What do you want your life to be like?”

Maybe Bobby will save up and buy a farm out here, when all the band and touring stuff is done. So Reggie can come visit. Hell, maybe he’ll just buy Reggie a farm, with their millions of dollars they’re going to make when they’re all famous rock stars like Luke says they’ll be.

If we all have that much money, Reggie will buy his own farm, the voice in his head that keeps him in line sharply reminds him. Push them down. Push the feelings down.

“Here,” he says to Reggie, shoving his sandwich over. “You wanna finish this? Then we can get going.”

—

On their return drive that afternoon, Reggie is quiet. When one of the CDs loops back to the beginning, Reggie ejects it and doesn’t put in another one. The quiet is okay, Bobby thinks. It gives him a chance to catch his breath, to focus on the road, to forget all about his revelation from earlier in the day.

Winding back through the city, the sun dips lower in the sky. The city lights start to come alive as the evening sets in. Reggie starts to fiddle with the edge of his flannel, shift in his seat, like he’s nervous. A few times he breathes in, like he’s going to talk, and then doesn’t.

Bobby waits him out. He knows Reggie hates being pushed, hates stammering and fumbling for words when he doesn’t have them yet.

Still, he’s surprised when Reggie actually does break the silence. “Can I—” he starts, swallows, and then stops.

“Can you?” Bobby prompts, when Reggie doesn’t continue. His instinct is to reach for Reggie’s hand, but he does what he’s been doing all day, and pushes the thought down. God, what if Reggie’s noticed? What if that’s what he’s about to say? For a moment, Bobby feels cold, and nauseous. He sets his jaw.

“CouldImaybestayatyourplacetonight?” Reggie blurts out, all in one go.

Bobby breathes what he hopes is an imperceptible sigh of relief. Sure, it means a night of knowing Reggie’s out in the studio, probably cold. It means Bobby will inevitably climb out of bed, and out his window, bringing his extra blankets, to curl up with Reggie on the couch, to make sure he stays warm. Because that’s what always happens when Reggie sleeps over. And that’s a whole lot more complicated now that Bobby knows that he—well.

But Bobby looks at the worry on Reggie’s face, his stupid puppy eyes, and he can’t say no. Could never say no to Reggie anyway, he thinks. He needs to be there for Reggie, and that’s why his feelings have no place in this mess. “Of course, Reg. No problem.”

No problem, he tells himself, and does his best to mean it.

jatp taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!!): @queenmolina @nickalicious @bi-reginald @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @multifandom-queer @cinnamonstickrayofsunlight @malecacidd

#chickwiththepurpleguitar #jatp #julie and the phantoms #boggie #bobby wilson #reggie peters #ask #my fic #boggie brain rot

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yoditorian · 3 years

Text

lacuna - part 9

din/reader

well shit guys,,,,this is the last one.

this has been a labour of love and i just want to say a huge huge thank you to everyone who’s commented and reblogged and sent me asks and even just lurked and read it. seriously, from the absolute bottom of my heart, thank you. i’d also love to extend a special thank you to @keeper0fthestars and @chatterbean for consistently cheering me on throughout this fic. and an extra extra special thank you to @bee-dameron for being the most incredible sounding board, and without whom this fic literally would not exist. this was really my first jump back into writing fic properly and i couldn’t be more grateful for the love its received. it might be the end for the main storyline, but it’s definitely not the end of this universe 💛

series masterlist // main masterlist

word count: 4.9k

warnings: angst angst angst, rebel is healing, din is having the worst time of his life (all of season 2), swears, yes i am referencing That Monologue

He can’t stop hearing it.

How you pleaded with him, how you begged him to stay, how you cried when he left. Din’s sure it’s a sound that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.

Din has been staring out at the swirling lights of hyperspace for hours when the kid clambers up into his lap, his stomach lurches when he notices three little green fingers curled around a corner of your old blanket. The kid leans over to frown at the second passenger seat. Empty.

“I know, buddy. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” His voice is wrecked, the sound of it so harsh through the modulator that even he flinches.

Din’s still not completely sure that the child understands him, but his little ears droop down at the apology and he wraps himself up as best he can in your blanket. Five minutes and you’ve charmed the little thing. Din isn’t sure why he’s surprised, you did the same to him all those years ago.

The kid settles back down to sleep in his lap, curled up in the thinning fabric, and one of Din’s gloves hits the floor before he even realises that he’s slipped it off. The wool is a little stiff with age under his fingers, but it’s been well loved. And been well loved on if his memory serves. He wonders if it smelt of him afterwards. If you spent nights curled up in it, trying to inhale the last memento you had of him before he saw you again, the same way he spent so many nights wallowing in his own memories. He used to wish he had something physical with him to keep close, the cruel irony of your forgotten blanket doesn’t go unnoticed now.

Part of him wants to bring it back. A peace offering, maybe. He wants to let you get to know the kid better, to help him on his quest to find his home. Or maybe just to stay, like you asked. But he fucked it all up. You’d probably slam the door of your little home in his face now. Honestly? He’s pretty sure it’s the least he deserves. He wouldn’t be surprised if you pulled a blaster on him with all the ways he’s hurt you.

It feels like grief. The way the sorrow settles on your chest, curling it’s cold hands around your lungs and squeezing. You hope it chokes you, if only so you don’t have to feel like this anymore. You curl up on the kitchen floor, the cold tile freezing through your clothes, and wonder if this is it.

Kes finds you there, hours after the door was slammed and the sun has set.

“Is there something wrong with me?” You can’t help but ask, you can’t help but wonder. Because even through the pain and the silence and the arguments, you still love Din. Maybe you always will. But you’re not sure it matters anymore. Kes looks at you, confused, and you press on.

“I mean, I laid out how I feel so many times and all he ever did was push it away but- but I know that if he walked in that door right now I’d let him back in.”

“I think that’s love, kiddo.” He sinks down to join you on the floor, and if the chill of the tile raises goosebumps on his arms, he doesn’t mention it.

“Love is stupid,” You pause when he shoots you a look, “No offence to you and your ridiculously happy marriage, but this sucks.”

You sound like a child, you know that. Just like you know that things with Din were always going to end the way they have. You’ve always known you came second to his creed, so much so that you can’t even bring yourself to be angry about it anymore. The alternative is to cry until you lose your voice, so childish seems like the way to go.

“What?” You huff. Kes is watching you carefully, in that pensive way that he does when he’s about to call your bluff in sabacc and take the game. Like he always does.

“I’m not sure you really think that.”

He’s right on the money yet again, the fucking asshole.

A fresh wave of tears stings your eyes. thankful at least that Kes has found a spot on the floor to look at instead of turning those big sad eyes onto you. You’re not sure you could take it. It’s frustration at yourself, mostly, instead of just the heartbreak of being left behind so willingly. So angrily. What is it about you that made the idea of sticking around so repulsive, so disgusting, that he left without a second thought. You thought he loved you, you really did. But you’ve been wrong about things before. However much you hate it.

“I can’t stay here. I can’t.”

“I know.” Kes’s eyes lift from the floor finally, settling uncertainly on yours.

“I’m sorry, it’s not that I- I want to be close to you guys but,” You flounder for a moment, desperate to think up a reason, “I just can’t be here.”

He understands, you know he does. You’ve all lost enough people, physically and emotionally, to know when a place is no longer welcoming. And you do, genuinely, love the little house on the edge of their land. You love the way the sun hits through the kitchen window in the late afternoon, you love the way you can hear the birds in the trees when you wake in the morning, you love the way any of them can drop by anytime they want to. But it’ll always be the site of the last time you loved Din, the last time he kissed you. Ground zero of your relationship. If you could even call it that.

“I’ll be alright. I’ve been without him before.”

You have, you’ve been without Din. You’ve spent years without hearing the comm you gave him so much as click. You’ll be alright. In time.

Only, there were never arguments before. All those times you left, or he left, he’d never shouted at you the way he did. You’d never felt the rage he keeps so carefully locked away, not with you in the crosshairs anyway. It sends your stomach churning, remembering the way he denied you so easily.

You eye the pouch of credits on the table, just visible over the top of Kes’s head. Why would he leave something like that behind? The Crest is falling apart, he’s got the kid to think about now, why would he forsake a payday for someone he’d so readily abandon.

The dam breaks, and your brave face along with it.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Kes shuffles over to sit closer, to draw you into his arms and let you cry it out on his shoulder. So, in turn, you let yourself feel it. Properly. Sobbing until you’re half asleep, breath hitching every now and again, and the sun starts to rise.

You don’t know why Din left the credits there, and it feels odd to think about using them when he’s the reason this house isn’t a home anymore. But he could never give you much, and despite everything you know he’s never been a heartless man intentionally, maybe this is his way of making up for that. A clean slate.

The first thing he thinks of as Din comes to, only seconds after the e-web cannon explodes in his face, is you. Of course it is.

You with your feet up beside you on the passenger seat and the child in your arms, wrapped up and snoring softly. No idea of what was coming. It’s that image that stays at the forefront of his mind, even through the pain of being dragged across the ground into the almost safety of the destroyed cantina.

That’s the view he wants, regardless of however futile it is to realise that now. Regardless of the fact that he’s dying and you’re not here. You don’t even know. Maybe you wouldn’t care if you did. He wouldn’t be surprised.

But he gave it up for what? For this? Denied himself and the kid safety and a life just for both of them to die on the grotty floor of the cantina on Nevarro. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Maybe he always has been, for refusing you at every turn, refusing to let himself give in and reassess and have the life he’s so desperately wanted with you for years now. Who is he, without his creed?

Yours. He knows that now.

There’s something profoundly wrong about you not being there as the blood trickles down the back of his neck and soaks into his clothes. As he hands off the child to the people he’s come to think of as his friends and trusts them to do the one thing he can’t.

“Take him to Yavin,” He tells them, desperately, “Find the little house at the end of the farm track.”

You’ll take care of the kid, despite everything. You’ll take him in without a question, in a heartbeat. The same way you so effortlessly ingrained Din into your life when you first met. Even if it was accidental on both sides.

Din can’t stop himself, as the IG unit lifts his helmet, from remembering the way you did the same. This feels so clinical, mechanical. There’s nothing of the warmth and reverence that had been in your touch. Even this close to death, it’s like his bones themselves are calling your name.

“What do you think?” Your voice echoes in the empty space. The smell of fresh sawdust is strong in your nose, but you don’t mind. It’s oddly comforting, as though the shop was built just for you. The sound of little footsteps pound over the upper floor and a messy mop of curls appears over the top of the railing.

“I love it. Can I live here too?” Poe grins cheekily.

“Your parents might have something to say about that, buddy.”

He thunders down the stairs beside the little back office and comes to a skidding halt in front of you, kicking up a little dust in his wake. You catch him easily, whirling him around in a circle as he laughs. The way the sound fills the space starts to stitch the edges of your heart back together. Maybe this is what you need to do, fill a new space with light and laughter and the people you love. Somewhere to exist, somewhere to grow. The workshop seems like a good place to start.

A child of The Watch.

What does that even mean?

His covert, his family, it’s- it’s not a cult. It can’t be. The way she talked about it, like even the thought left a bad taste in her mouth, sends a shot of anger down his spine. He is not a religious zealot. But, would he know if he is?

Is he?

Din’s never had cause to doubt his creed, or his covert. They saved him, rescued and raised him. They taught him to fight and to protect and to provide for the covert. Foundlings are the future, right? Would he be less, maybe, to those born on Mandalore? To people like Bo-Katan who wear the armour from generations past, who fought to defend their homeland and their clans. Din doesn’t wear ancestral armour, but has he not defended his family with his life? Ancient way or not, it seems like the kind of thing that would be important in any kind of Mandalorian culture. Traditionalist or otherwise.

No one has seen his face since he was a child. And yet, he still took off his helmet, every time, for you and believed he was breaking his creed. Sure, you never saw his face, but does that matter? Is it not the principal of the thing? Then there’s the glaring evidence that there are Mandalorians who can remove their helmets. What does that make him, if he’s neither followed the letter of the creed or whatever rules Bo-Katan has.

With the kid safely tucked away and snoring in his little hammock, Din pulls the helmet off and glares at his distorted reflection in the curve of the visor. He can feel your hands on him like you’re there, smoothing over his shoulders and curling around his waist. And as all the tension melts from his body, he knows what you’d say. That he is himself. Din Djarin, and it’s up to him what he wants that to mean. Whether it includes Mandalorian or not. Whatever he wants to be is what he is and you’d never love him less for it.

Love him.

He scoffs at himself. There’s no way you feel like that about him now.

“Can you reach right up in that corner?”

You’d let Poe pick the colour for the walls of the main attic space, and so he and his dad are flecked in bright orange paint as they swirl brushes over the wood they’d primed yesterday.

Kes has him on his shoulders, fully in charge of the high up sections as he’d so politely asked, while you and Shara are screwing together the fittings for the kitchen units. A pastel blue this time, also chosen by Poe. Although Shara had kindly guided him away from the neon purple cupboard doors that had caught his eye with a quick wink at you. Maybe giving a small child free reign over your interior decorating was a bad idea. But he’d proven to have quite an eye on some things.

The four of you had travelled all the way to an inner rim market to find your furniture, deciding on a deep red fabric couch that fit all of you comfortably and takes a considerable amount of effort to rise from. It’s been pushed back against the half wall that hides the attic living space from the workshop floor. Your bedroom furniture is brand new as well, all light polished wood and soft bedding. The credits Din had abandoned had gone a long way, almost long enough that you can forget where they came from. Sometimes.

It hits you again, cross legged on the floor as Shara hands you another piece to slot into place, that there should be an extra pair of hands. Pulling more pieces out of crates or rearranging the layout in the bedroom or hanging lampshades. It’s nice to be making this new house into a home with your family, but there’s still a gaping hole where there should be someone else.

A warm hand settles on your knee, breaking your focus from where it’s settled at the top of the staircase. Shara. You turn to her with a smile, and blink back a wave of tears when she returns it. You have your family, right here, you don’t need him. You don’t need him.

“Get down!” Shara calls, just as a shadow looms over you.

Poe’s feet swing over your heads and he laughs when Shara just misses grabbing his ankle, Kes lifting him deftly out of the way at the last second. This is what your life is supposed to be, definitely. The sound of everybody else’s laughter lifts the weight off of your shoulders just enough for you to breathe, to laugh along with them. For a little while.

Din loses everything in a matter of moments. Everything.

Methodically searching through the ashes of the Razor Crest, of the only home he had left, is the final barrier between him and the guilt about the child. About Grogu. The kid’s become his, undeniably, and he couldn’t do the one thing a father is supposed to do. Gideon has him at his mercy, has Din at his mercy now. Whatever the Moff and Dr Pershing have in store, it’s not good. The kid might not even survive.

All he can see is his little face, his little arms reaching out as the droid climbed higher and higher towards the cruiser. What kind of a father is he, to just let his son be taken from him? No man who would so willingly see the child in his care delivered to his doom deserves to be called such a thing.

Din kicks the dust at his feet in frustration, all too aware of the new eyes watching him. Grief is a difficult thing in and of itself, it’s even harder when it’s observed. He feels like an exhibit. Sure, the two of them stayed and defended the child without even being asked to, but that doesn’t mean he wants them sitting and watching as he sifts through the ruins of his life.

Fitting, really, that the one way he always thought he would keep you in his life went up in flames, exploded in much the same way your relationship did. That was his fault too.

But it’s all gone now. The Razor Crest, his home, Grogu’s bed, your old blanket. Grogu and you. Maybe for good, maybe this is his life now, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get either of you back. Maybe he’ll launch a rescue mission only to find his son dead and hitch a ride to Yavin only to be turned away at your door. Maybe that’s what he deserves.

“Thanks!” You call as the couple stroll out of the main doors and into the sunshine, newly repaired pit droid trotting after them.

“Which one goes to this one again?” Poe catches your attention, waving the motor over his head. He’s sitting on the desk in the back office, little eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You’ve been teaching him small mechanic things here and there on his days with you. How to wire a basic console, how to program a droid, how a hyperdrive motivator works. You’d taken him out with you on a call once, so you could show him the different engine parts of a ship that his mother doesn’t treasure. Today, it’s hotwiring lessons.

Kes and Shara had pretended to disapprove when you asked them what they thought about it, and they still would if Poe was the one to bring it up. But the larger community on Yavin still sleeps far too lightly, still sleeps far too little. The kids are learning their history and their life skills, but alongside basic combat and strategy lessons. The older kids can enroll in weapons training and piloting lessons. The war will never fully leave this moon so long as it stands.

“Which one do you think?” You ask, settling down into the chair with your datapad and a mountain of forms to fill out. Poe ponders for a moment, glancing between your expectant expression and the dead motor in his hands.

“This one?” He touches the exposed wires together carefully, huffing when nothing happens.

“No, wait! This one!” The little motor whirrs to life the moment the wires make contact, and subsequently dies again when he drops it to throw his arms up in celebration. You catch it before it can hit the floor and burst into pieces, your own smile wide enough to make your cheeks ache.

You’re living. For the first time in years you’re living, without watching over your shoulder for the Empire, without wondering when you’ll see Din again. You’re spending time with your best friends’ kid and making a living as the town mechanic. You have regular customers and people who drop by just to say hi, and things don’t seem so bad anymore. Even though there’s a gap inside of you that aches and misses him, you’re starting to be at peace with it.

He doesn’t know why he was so stupid as to think the facial scan might work with the fucking helmet on. And now the terminal won’t stop beeping and he’s pretty sure people are looking over at him and there’s only one option left and- fuck it.

Din’s hands shake as he lifts the plastic helmet off, the habit of a usually much heavier one makes the movement almost too forceful, and he sets it down.

This is wrong. It feels so wrong. The first time any living being has seen his face since he was a child and it’s a room full of Imperials. The organisation that took his parents from him, that massacred whole planets and drove his people underground, that you have spent your whole life fighting against. He feels sick.

It was supposed to be you. He’s thought about it a lot, since the first time you took him to that little house on Yavin. He envisioned standing in the bedroom, curtains thrown open to soak up the last of the afternoon sun, and you’d smile at him in that way you always did. He would pull you close to press his forehead against yours, he would take your hands and bring them up to close around the lip of his helmet. He’d tell you it was okay, and you’d lift it off together. You’d smile, maybe a stray tear would linger in the corner of your eye, and you’d finally get to see him. You’d trace your fingertips along his cheekbone and press a kiss on the little spot on his jaw where the hair doesn’t grow. You’d tell him you always thought he had brown eyes. He’d tell you you’re beautiful. And then he’d kiss you, and you’d let him.

The terminal beeps again and Din pulls the drive from the port, just in time to turn and face an Imperial Officer.

Your head is in an engine hatch when you hear one of the wide metal doors at the front of the shop creak open.

“We just closed up, but you can swing by in the morning if it isn’t an emergency!” You call, and hope your voice carries to whoever is standing in your doorway. You don’t really have the time for a customer, this speeder repair is already a day late because you were watching Poe last night, but Yavin is a community.

However long it took you to get used to after being back on the station, it’s almost like being a part of the rebellion again. Everybody works together to make things a little easier for everyone else. You hear a shuffle of footsteps, slowly edging closer to you, and you’re about to call out again when they say your name.

When he says your name.

You hit your head on the hatch as you pull yourself out of it.

“No.”

You can’t do this. You can’t.

All the work you’ve done to piece your broken little heart back together starts to unravel, just seeing him standing in your workshop. Every staple and stitch and strip of tape loosens until there’s nothing left and that gap inside you, the one that sits right under your heart, starts to ache something fierce.

How dare he.

How dare he think he can walk into the one place that you have, the one place in the whole galaxy that doesn’t stink of betrayal and heartache and him. How dare he think he can disturb the life you’ve begun to build without him, however much it hurt. There are nights where you don’t think of him now. Nights where you don’t wake in the middle of dreams of his touch and his voice and his kisses. And now he’s here and all of your work was for nothing.

“Please-”

“No. No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come back and undo everything. You can’t.” At least your voice is steadier than you feel, as you square your shoulders and plant your feet in a vain attempt to stay upright. Or to stop yourself running right back into his arms.

“I know.”

No, that’s what breaks the final piece of your heart off. The heart that belongs to him anyway. It always has, even when you didn’t want it to. He sounds so broken.

“Did you leave the baby on the ship again?”

You don’t miss the way his shoulders tighten, just barely, or how his fingers twitch nervously.

“The ship’s gone. So is- so is the kid,” Din takes a shuddering breath, “I lost everything.”

Everything? What does that even mean? Your stomach flips at the thought of what he might mean, that the kid is gone. You’re almost afraid to ask. And you hate the painful tug in your chest when his knees give out and he hits the concrete floor with a thud. There’ll be bruises in the morning.

“He’s with a Jedi, he’s with his people but-” He gestures vaguely, and you know what he means. You felt the same way every time he left you. If the kid’s a Jedi, he probably should be in the care of people who know what to do. But you can’t imagine how it must have felt to just hand the baby over.

“He’s where he belongs.” You’re trying to stay cold, you really are.

“Is he?”

It’s hard to be cruel to a man who’s just given up his kid. To a man you love.

He says your name again, softly, tearfully. The shudder of a sob ripples through his body and he heaves a deep breath at the same time you do. You can feel it creeping back, every uncertainty you had the day he walked out of your old house. Every bone in your body screams for you to reach out to him, to comfort him the way he should have comforted you when he left you crying for him on your kitchen floor. He can’t be here. You have to make him go.

“Mando-”

“My name, please use my name.” He interrupts you, desperately. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t hear you call him Mando. It never sounded right, not the way his real name does when you roll it around on your tongue. He needs to hear it.

“Din, you can’t stay.”

It’s so hard to hold steady, to keep your voice even, to not just throw it all away and gather him into your arms the way you want to. The way you need to. You were right, all those months ago, when you told Kes you’d take him right back if he walked through the door.

“You’re home, you know that? It’s you.”

You say nothing, for fear your words will crack and give you away.

“And- and every time I left or you left it just, nothing felt right. Not until we were together again, and it scared me. And I hurt you because of it, that’s my fault.” He sighs, defeated, but continues on when you stay silent.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I- it’s inexcusable. I don’t know how to- how to fix it. I don’t know if I can,” Din hangs his head in shame, “You should hate me. I do. I pushed you away and hurt you, when all I ever wanted was you. Just you.”

It’s not enough to soothe the scars in your heart, the ones that settled deep and angry and split open time and time again. The ones he put there. But maybe there’s room to make a start.

“I don’t hate you,” You press on even as his head shoots up in surprise, “Against all my better judgement, I love you. Pretty sure I always have.”

It’s quiet for a long time. And you think this is when he tells you he’s not good enough for you, that he never will be, and he leaves for the very last time. You know you won’t see him again if he does, but he’ll take your heart with him anyways.

“Cyar’ika.” He breaks the silence. Again. But it’s softer than the last time you were in this position.

“You’ve called me that before.”

“I’ve called you that a lot of times, you were only awake once.”

“What does it mean?” You’re almost afraid to know the answer.

He lifts his hand to his shoulder, to a pauldron with an unusual skull welded to it, and detaches the mechanism. It clatters to the floor, but Din’s gaze remains firmly locked on yours. He does the same with the other and lifts the bandolier over his head. That too is abandoned on the ground.

“Sweetheart.” His vambraces, this time. One, two clang as they hit the floor, followed by his thigh plates.

“Darling.” The chest plate.

He’s kneeling, surrounded by his armour, by the definition of the man you thought he was. All but the helmet. You love him, you can’t deny that. He’s baring himself to you in ways he never has before and you know what it means to him to do this.

“Beloved.”

Your brain stops working. You were so ready to shout and scream and punish him for what he put you through but suddenly none of it matters. Because he’s here, he’s finally here, and he’s telling you he loves you and that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Take it off, please?”

And so you do.

Your feet are moving towards him before you can even register what they’re doing and you haul him up off of the ground. Din winds his arms around you automatically, without a second thought, until there isn’t a breath of air left between your bodies. No armour, no barriers, just two people who have done far too much damage to each other to ever know anyone else the way you do.

His eyes. Oh god, his eyes.

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, careful not to disturb the peace that’s settled. Finally, finally.

“That’s my line.” He chuckles as you smile, as you feel that gap in your ribs quiet after all these years. An unfilled space, no longer.

Din kisses you, and you let him.

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @rebloogggs @keeper0fthestars @remmysbounty @sirianisrock @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @altarsw @darnitdraco @greeneyedblondie44

#lacuna #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars #fic #liz does words #oh my god........oh my god its over #sfw

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 3 years

Note

Oh my god NSFW alphabet requests are back open. Can I ask about Commander Cody for those?

Requested by Anon: commander Cody NSFW alphabet?

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Slow kisses up and down your body, praising you with soft words while he cleans you up.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I’m going to go ahead and say he’s an ass man. Can’t tell you why, I just feel it in my soul.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Let the man cum inside you. He will do just about anything to feel your body clench around his cock and milk him dry. If you’re not keen on that, his next go you place is on your back and ass. Either way, it’s almost like he’s marking you with his cum.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

One of his more recurring fantasies is having a three way with you and General Kenobi. He has no idea how to even approach Kenobi with something like that, and doesn’t dare give it voice. But if he sees you and Kenobi talking and laughing together? It gets his mind turning.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not as prolific as you’d think. He’s had a few one night stands, but genuinely prefers having an emotional connection with his sexual partner. After the first few times, he decided he was content just to wait.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Genuine tie between you riding his face or him taking you from behind.

Having you sit on his face, lets him just get lost in your taste while giving you full control. He can just focus on the view and bringing you so much pleasure he can feel your thighs shake with every stroke of his tongue.

On the other hand, having your on your hands and knees while he fucks you into the mattress is it’s own kind of thrill. He lets himself forget everything but the feel of you gripping his cock, using your body as he sees fit and filling you with so much cum it’s still dripping out of you in the morning.

My point is, the man is a switch.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It switches back and forth. He can be surprisingly funny in bed, teasing you and making off color jokes. But just as often it can feel like he’s trying to forget the outside work exist and it’s just you and him. The man is a mystery at times.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Very well maintained, like the rest of his body; closely cut and clean at all times.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Whether he’s being funny, serious, submissive, or dominant, he is constantly aware of your body. It’s just as much about making you feel good as making him feel good. So, even if you’re fucking like animals, there’s always a sense that he’s going to take care of you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’ll use it as a stress reliever, but will try other methods before then. He honestly gets a little embarrassed, like he’s a cadet again hoping not be be caught by one of his batch mates.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Daddy Kink, Competency Kink, Loves being called “Commander” and Light BDSM

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s not picky; barracks, your place, shower, bathroom at 79′s, it’s all the same to him. He just wants to be with you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Going back to the competency kink, if he sees you kicking any sort of ass, either on the battle field or just doing your job, it takes everything in him not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to the closest empty room.

He also does get worked up after a battle. Usually he can either work out or focus on reports to calm him down; but if he as the option to fuck out his adrenaline on you, he will.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Age Play. Daddy kink or not, he hates the idea of you pretending to be a literal child. That’s just a step too far.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Tie between giving and receiving. Like I said before, you could suffocate him with your pussy and he’d die a happy man. He loves being the one to make you feel that good, and that’s just with his tongue.

On the other hand, you on your knees with your hands tied behind your back looking up at him with tears in your eyes as he fucks your mouth is an image he can get off to again and again.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually on the faster side, but varies from rough to more playful. First round is always a scramble to pull clothes off and just find some release. Second round can be a bit more slow and methodical.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Usually down for a quickie. Mostly like to happen just after a battle and he just wants to let go of some of his pent up energy. Or you haven’t seen each other for a while, and you go for a fast fuck in the bathroom before pulling each other in a cab to go home. Either way, a quickie is never just a quickie.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Cody is perfectly open to try new things so long as you talk about it before hand. He might be considered and older clone but in some ways he’s still exploring his sexuality and is happy to know you’re willing to try things as well.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

All the clones have the stamina of Gods. Three rounds average a night and he can go for as long as you want.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You’ve got a nice little collection at your apartment; vibrators, dildos, cock ring, strap ons, binders, the works. There are some you’ve used more than others, but there are always choices.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not as good as a tease as he wants to be. When he’s in a more dominant mode, he tries to string it out, denying you again and again. But he usually cave, deciding to go into the opposite direction and overstimulate you until you cry. Either way it’s the best kind of torture.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s surprisingly talkative. It’s like the filter he usually keeps on in meetings or among his brothers gets switched off and he says anything and everything that comes to mind. He only get louder the closer he gets to coming to the point where you’ve gotten a few noise complaints.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Absolute switch. You cannot tell what mood he’s going to be in when he starts kissing you in that way, but that’s what makes it exciting.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a thousand times: ALL CLONES HAVE BIG DICKS! The man had BDE and he has the anatomy to prove it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Solid 5. Certainly has a sex drive and can get stressed if he hasn’t been laid in a while, but knows how to keep it in control. Don’t let that fool you though. Just because he can go a while without sex, doesn’t mean he’s not going to go completely unhinged when he finally does.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while to come down. You’re usually long asleep by the time he lays his head on the pillow and finally drifts off.

#star wars #the clone wars #commander cody #commander cody x reader #lemon #sw: the clone wars

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

Text

Teddy Bear Anon has purposed yet another interesting addition to the Immune AU which gives me plot ideas! In particular, a scene that would really help give past Dream a strong push into his character arc.

I like to image that immune!Dream’s character arc starts with the death of immune!Puffy. Sure, maybe he’s not sad yet, but he feels something for the woman who declared herself his pseudo mother. It’s what helps to crack the shell enough for the rest of the immune gang to start weedling their way into his heart. Immune!Dream after spending enough time watching the group he, starts to realize that yeah, connections to other people isn’t a weakness. It really is a strength. It’s something that takes time for him to come to terms with because Techno seems like a testament to the fact connections are a weakness. He was unbeatable until his horse got kidnapped. His only connection, his only weakness. But then there’s Tommy who seems to represent the complete opposite.

Where Dream represents strength from caring too little, Tommy represents strength from caring far too much. Now I’m a sucker for bamf Tommy, and I like to personally imagine that maybe the Immunes hold out for a year or two before they cave and try to make the portal. So Tommy has what really boils down to a two year training arc on top of already being a child veteran (I like to canonize SMP Earth as well because personal preference and it gives me even more room to make Tommy suffer. SMP Earth being canon? God, so much fucking trauma considering how the others treated him, a 15 year old child, like an adult.) Anyway Dream slowly realizes connections with one another are what kept the remaining Immunes alive, and he tries to force his younger self to understand that. Tries, but doesn’t really get far. Up until what everyone else calls The Fight.

Tommy’s always just kind of screwed around in fights as long as there’s only a threat to him. We know he has a tendency to throw if MCC is any indicator. But then they time travel and maybe they spend some time in the past trying to get the situation sorted and the past’s Dream maybe just kinda does something to Tubbo. Doesn’t even have to be big, it just needs to clock as a threat to Immune!Tommy who’s already lost his Tubbo and refuses to let his younger self go through that. So Tommy goes completely ape shit on the younger Dream. Sure, it’s only been two years for this Tommy. He’s probably, like, 18 or 19 at most. Still a child as far as a lot of people are concerned. He shouldn’t be stronger than Dream or Technoblade, and in the few cross group sparing sessions they’ve had he isn’t. He’s stronger than his younger self but no where near these two demi gods of combat. But then Dream suddenly registers as a threat to Tubbo in Immune!Tommy’s eyes and he makes the mistake of mocking Tommy while he’s at it. He knows that immune!Tommy lost his Tubbo and maybe the past Dream is lashing out slightly or trying to get some kind of foothold in Tommy’s psyche. He isn’t doing anything near what immune!Dream has done, but it’s enough to piss Tommy off. So immune!Tommy challenges Dream to a fight and Dream immediately realizes the mistake he’s made when Tommy starts to destroy him.

Say even Techno’s there for some reason or another and he realizes what’s going down so he tries to calm Tommy down, joining the fight just as Dream is loosing it. The situation quickly turns into the first time Techno’s ever gotten his ass thoroughly kicked by Tommy, leaving everyone spectating baffled (Tommy’s younger self partly included). They’re certain this kid is going on some rampage and none of them can stop him but the moment Dream and Techno are both taken care of (wounded, not killed, the older Tommy is always careful about that. He even throws a splash healing on them with some indifferent kind of disgust that hides the fact he does still care to some extent even hurting as he is.) Tommy immediately just switches focus to outright doting on Tubbo, ignoring any muttered Clingyinnits in favor of ensuring Tubbo is fine. Tubbo is completely find and just as confused, but the point stands and neither Tommy ends up leaving Tubbo’s side for the rest of the day. The younger Tommy, after all, is the only one the older Tommy’s told the full story to regarding the future (even when he couldn’t trust his own family he was always able to trust himself with the secrets that mattered, so he prepares his younger self in case the worst comes to pass.)

The older Dream, immune!Dream, he doesn’t get involved. He sit on the side lines and just kinda laughs, the sound drowned out by Sapnap’s loud encouragements and Sam’s half hearted attempts to get Tommy to stop (he could have stopped Tommy immediately if he’d stepped in. Sam is after all the only person on earth Tommy listens to without hesitation, but Sam lets it happen and pretends he tried.)

Immune!Dream just kinda smirks at his younger self later that night and mentions something about attachments really making you weak. After all, it’s not like the only time Tommy takes a battle seriously is when someone he cares about is in danger. It’s not like Tommy would turn the world into a seared ball for Tubbo, and Tubbo would do the same in return. It’s not like they’ve watched the people they care about temporarily rebuke the Crimson just to give the Immunes those precious extra seconds needed to survive in a fight. Attachments, they’re just a weakness.

The younger Dream doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s the first time he thinks about his older self maybe being right.

Before I go I wanna leave you with two more ideas for the Immune AU

First up, Wilbur is eight years older than Tommy give or take. Wilbur had Fundy when he was around 16 and Tommy was around 8. Tommy was the best damn uncle he could be and for a while Tommy and Fundy were really stupidly close. They were both apart of the raised by Wilbur club and Wilbur was trying his damn best. Fundy aged/matured (physically and mentally) faster than a regular person for a while. They believed it was because he was a fox hybrid and Wilbur was ready to lose Fundy too soon. When Fundy was equivalent to 18 in human years though his aging process suddenly slowed to a crawl and his tail split into two, at which point the group realized he was actually a kitsune and it was just those first 8 years that passed by quickly (and Wilbur had a lot of questions for the now missing Sally who he’d thought was a salmon hybrid, genuinely, but became exceedingly less sure.) His family knows he’s a kitsune, but Fundy hid it from most of the rest of the server. A good thing considering later events.

Fundy was part of the Immune group for a while and I like to imagine that he and Tommy had a falling out during the Pogtopia era but after the egg started to take over they started bonding again and acting like, well, family. Unfortunately when it came time for them to activate the portal, Fundy ended up getting separated from the group and getting caught. The eggpire didn’t actually know Fundy was fully immune or a kitsune so he just kinda pretended to get infected, using his illusions to make his fur look crimson. I personally like the idea that Fundy at some point managed to get back to the time machine and being a little code wizard manages to get the thing working and yeets himself in. He shows up a little late but after fixing his appearance manages to catch up with the rest of the group.

Fundy is underrated. Tommy being a good uncle is underrated. Sam would absolutely adopt the traumatized fox baby in Eret’s honor. What’s not to love?

The last concept I wanna bring up that I really like is hybrid Tommy. Tanuki would be good since it’s another reason for the Sam Nook bit. Maybe Sam specifically picked Sam Nook since Tom Nook was Tommy’s favorite character on the grounds he was the only representation Tommy had ever gotten and it made the kiddo happy. However, I also personally really like phoenix Tommy and it would make an interesting plot point. Tommy accidentally losing his third life at some point and realizing he’s an immortal creature of fire would have led to him taking a protector role for his new family. He can’t die, but he can burn anything around him, why not send him out to get supplies when the worst the eggpire could do would be capture him. Even then he just literally cannot hear the egg. Which could lead to both some interesting comedic moments and some really good angst if Sam agonizes over his desire to protect Tommy and let him be a child suddenly being at odds with the fact Tommy is literally the best person for the job so to speak. Not to mention Sapnap, who I headcanon as a Blaze hybrid, would be even more attached the moment he found a new fire proof friend to burn forests with him. Regardless of which hybrid type he is, I could see him hiding it from everyone except for Fundy when he was a child and only ever admitting it later to the other Immunes once they become a found family.

Personally I like the idea of Tommy being part tanuki hybrid and part phoenix hybrid, but is that too mary sue? Is it just a little bit too cheesy to have him be both? I will never not try to incorporate phoenix Tommy into my fics but also tanuki Tommy would be such a mood for this au.

Like image Tommy just builds a den that’s in reality a vault/panic room a la Techno and he hides it under Church Prime since that is The Safe Spot in Tommy’s mind.

~Snapdragon & Firefly

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tessiete · 3 years

Note

If you still take prompts: Rumors of the Duchess of Mandalore (bc patriarchal bs and misogynistic beliefs about female leaders) potentially getting married reaches Coruscant and Obi-Wan copes as well as can be expected. Cue sad boi sadness with maybe fluff at the end? Or go full angst I’m ok with either

I AM! I am still taking prompts, and I know this took a while to get around to because I’m also sloooooow at filling them. But here we are, dear anon. I hope you enjoy this little snippet! <3

THE GRAVITATIONAL DEFLECTION OF LIGHT

There is some silly, selfish part of him that he never outgrew, and like a weed in his gut it twists and writhes when he hears that the Duchess Kryze is to marry.

And suddenly, he finds himself thinking of her more often, and more frequently during situations where his attention would best be put to use elsewhere. In council, he is forced to ask Master Windu to repeat a question he’d failed to hear, his mind being drawn by the gleam of light off the Senate dome on the horizon. During a sparring match, he takes a hit he’d never have missed except that Anakin threatens to deliver him a close shave at the end of his saber, and he’s struck dumb by the memory of her hand upon his cheek. There are peace lilies in a vase in the Archives, and pure beskar changes hands in a deal he’s meant to disrupt at a Separatist camp, but by far the most egregious lapse comes in the midst of relief efforts in a small village on Taskeed. He is caught, for a moment, by the sight of a woman with blonde hair and a young boy on her hip turning away from him. His focus slips. A blaze of light flashes more quickly than he can see, and by the time he hears the retort of a blaster rifle he is already on the ground.

The clones close ranks around him. Cody kneels, calling in a medevac even as Obi-Wan tries to rise.

“No, sir, stay down,” he says, laying one hand against his shoulder. Obi-Wan winces at the contact. His muscles strain at the effort, the nerves at the site of his injury ruptured and ragged.

“Cody,” he chokes out. “There’s a hostile.”

His second is a merciful man and makes no comment on the idiocy of that statement. Instead, he bites open a pain tab, and shoves it between Obi-Wan’s teeth. Then, so rapidly he has no time to protest, he removes his belt, and tears apart the fabric at Obi-Wan’s waist, sprinkling sulfa powder over the gory wound, and pressing a bacta patch down to cover it.

There is no more blaster fire to mark their passage back to the ship, but the wound is too serious to treat on board The Negotiator. He is sent back to Coruscant as a consequence of his foolishness.

There, he is dipped in bacta, where he doesn’t dream, and he spends the next week of his convalescence thinking of her.

It had never been this bad during their first separation. The months following her ascension to the duchy had been painful, that he cannot deny, and he spent hours in his room lonely, and self-pitying, but he had been a child then and he can forgive himself now of the folly of youthful indiscretions. There followed more than a decade between them and he had gone days, weeks - upon the outbreak of war even months - without thinking of her at all.

But with one touch of her hand, he’s fallen again, his resolve crumbling into dust as though his indifference to her were only a veneer grown thin and brittle with being stretched over so much time.

The Duchess of Mandalore is to marry.

Why should that matter to him? They are friends. Hardly that, and nothing more. And it was he who had defined those terms. So why should he be restless, and anxious, and fretted up like some craftsman’s handiwork at the thought of it? It is silly. It is demeaning - to her, and to him.

And yet...he wants to know.

Who is she to marry? And when? How did they meet? Is he a Mandalorian, like her? Or did she meet him here? Did they meet at the Senate while he walked in the Temple only a few klicks away? Have they much in common? Do his political aims match hers? Does he long for peace like she does? Will he stand by her side in upholding it? Would he die for it? Would he die for her? Does she love him?

She must, he thinks. She must love him. She would not choose him, otherwise.

And that, perhaps, is the cruelest thought of all.

He is confined to medbay with nothing to occupy his time but his holopad, his dispatch reports, and her when he sees a news story flash on his screen.

At Last! The Lily is Plucked

He cannot help himself as he reads about a chance meeting, a whirlwind romance, and plenty of private assignations held at various hotels and restaurants across Capital City. There are holos, too, and reels. He sees her leaving the Bal Silvestre on the arm of Corellian senator, Garm Bel Iblis.

Senator Bel Iblis is older than her, and seems a bit unkempt, his long hair pulled half back in a simple style. Obi-Wan knows of him by reputation, and heard him called a rake. His politics brand him a maverick, and a rogue, and he has been known, once or twice, to engage in backdoor negotiations in order to ensure a vote swings one way or another in his favour. Beside him, while he stands smug in his dark brocade, she shines. She is spotless. Luminous. They are not well matched.

He scours the net for more, and because he is looking, he finds it. There are many articles - hundreds. Some map out timelines of their courtship (they met years ago, apparently, at some gala held while Obi-Wan was still helping Anakin with Basic), some tell the history of their previous romantic entanglements (he was engaged to a woman now dead. She was once rumoured to be promised to a Vizsla. Obi-Wan’s name is not mentioned). Some merely provide pictures of their exploits, and comment on their mutual friends, making conjecture after conjecture about how their romance came to be, and what must happen next now that the flame has been rekindled. It is torturous. And tedious. And soon, Obi-Wan loses track of the details that appear in one article, and again in every other.

But one thing remains clear to him: Satine Kryze is going to be married. She has forever slipped his reach.

A reach, he pathetically reminds himself, he never intended to extend. All this self-flagellation is for naught. He is being ridiculous.

So he thumbs off his pad, turns out the lights, and tries to sleep with the image of Satine, smiling and resplendent flickering in his mind. The next morning, feeling no better for the little rest he managed to steal, he deletes the history of his pad, and determines to feel absolutely nothing at all about Satine Kryze.

Then Padme comes to the Council and requests a padawan be sent to Mandalore’s aid.

It is Ahsoka who goes. Of course it is. He takes small solace in the fact that it had not been he who suggested her, but since she was assigned, he feels well within his rights to enquire about the Duchess upon her return.

“She seemed fine,” Ahsoka tells him. He has invited her for tea following her report to the Council, hoping he might, in his hospitality, coax a few more personal details from his grand-padawan. “I mean, there was a moment where Almec - that’s the Prime Minister, or rather was - anyway, there was a moment where he had her in a shock collar, but like I said, the cadets and I managed to sort it out.”

“Right,” he concedes. “As you said.”

A moment passes between them. Obi-Wan sips his tea, struggling to swallow as the fist around his throat grows tighter and tighter. Ahsoka, blissful in the aftermath of a successful solo mission, grabs another biscuit and a strip of perami gammon.

“And tell me,” he ventures. “What of her - her consort? Any word of him? Where was he during this mess?”

“Her consort?”

“Her husband.”

Ahsoka scrunches her nose, and cocks a brow at Obi-Wan’s wild inquiry.

“She had a nephew,” she says. “But no one ever said anything about a consort.”

“Ah,” he says. “Perhaps he was occupied elsewhere.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, amicable and amenable to letting the whole thing slide. He only hopes she won’t think it significant enough to mention to Anakin later. His curiosity won’t be as easily sated with tea and deflection.

He is not a lucky man.

Anakin comes blazing into his room with an ambitious stride, and a grin that speaks of imminent mischief.

“Heard you were asking Ahsoka about the Duchess’ consort,” he says, throwing his cloak over the back of a chair and dropping to lounge across Obi-Wan’s low couch.

“I was asking about her mission,” he corrects. He turns his back to set some water to boil, knowing that such an entrance by his padawan indicates a visit of extended duration. “And the key players, therein. Purely professional.”

“Purely.” Anakin smirks.

The subject is dropped when Anakin is diverted by the service being laid before him, and the inclusion of several of his favourite confections.

“Noorian memba tarts!” he cries. “Where did you even find these?”

“An old recipe,” Obi-Wan says. “But I remember you enjoyed them when we dined on Belasco and thought I’d try my hand at it.”

It is not a bad effort either, judging by Anakin’s display of enthusiasm. He eats the first with some degree of etiquette, but the fourth, fifth, and sixth are gone with no display of decency or shame whatsoever.

Obi-Wan sips his tea. He is thinking of Tahl while Anakin is thinking of the sweetness on his tongue, and making excuses for his absence the previous night.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but I was unavoidably delayed after the Senate recessed for the evening. I had to - to assist a delegate with a personal matter.”

Obi-Wan says nothing, but remembers how Qui-Gon, too, used to invent reasons to disappear unchecked. He invents nothing. He only cleaves to his duty, while time and fate conspire to keep him absent anyway.

Anakin must hear something in his silence, because his expression loses the tension of equivocation, and he falls to studying Obi-Wan’s face.

“I was only teasing, master,” he says. “Before. I didn’t think to ask Ahsoka anything about the Duchess. She spent most of her time with the nephew, but he seemed a bright kid. Close to Satine. I can ask her to ask him if he knows anything -”

“Absolutely not,” says Obi-Wan. The words are soft, but definite. He rises swiftly to clear the detritus of their meal. “Thank you, Anakin, but Duchess Kryze is only a friend. I merely inquired out of a desire to assure myself that the report issued to the Council lacked nothing in the thoroughness of its presentation. I should hate to think that such a personal association might be overlooked as an avenue for effecting harm.”

“Oh.”

“But I thank you in any case. Ahsoka’s report was well done, and you should be very proud of your padawan,” he says. “As I am of you.”

He turns to Anakin then, smiling and benign. His padawan meets his look with a vaguely skeptical one of his own, before patting him on the shoulder, and shrugging back into his cloak.

“Alright, master,” he says. “I’ll let her know how thorough she was.”

“Goodbye, Anakin.”

“Goodbye,” his friend replies. Then, just as he crosses the threshold of the door and moves into the open hall, he looks back. “Oh,” he says. “There’s a quick supply run being made to Mandalore for relief in light of Ahsoka’s investigation. Scheduled for tomorrow, but unfortunately, I’m needed back at the Senate. I meant to ask - you wouldn’t mind making the trip for me, would you? You don’t even need to get off the ship.”

---

There is nothing he can say to Anakin, so of course, as contrived and embarrassing as the whole thing is, he goes. And he does get off the ship.

Satine is there to meet him.

“Master Kenobi,” she says, extending her hand. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

He drops a brief, and reverential kiss then lets her go.

“Cleaning up after my padawan and his padawan, it seems,” he says. “Apparently, a master’s work is never over. Congratulations on your recent engagement, Duchess. I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

The look which passes over Satine’s face is one he cannot decipher. He thinks she looks in equal parts shocked that he has heard, disgusted by his presumption in speaking of it, embarrassed by his boldness, and wearied by his presence. But she doesn’t deny it, so he makes his excuses to leave.

“Excuse me, Duchess,” he says. “But this was only meant to be a very brief visit, and I should prepare for departure.”

“Can you not stay for midmeal?” she asks, and he hesitates upon the precipice of her invitation. “Surely you don’t mean to tease me with a visit as brief as this? And surely your men would enjoy some rest and repast before you go?”

The troopers at his back shift, and he can feel their eagerness undulate in the Force. It would be cruel to deny them for the preservation of his own fragmented dignity, so he relents.

“Of course, your grace,” he says. “We would be most honoured.”

“Captain,” she says to the Protector at her right. “Have these men fed and watered immediately. The kitchens and my staff are at their disposal.”

He clicks his heels, and disappears, while she steps forward, and wraps her arm around Obi-Wan’s as though completely uncaring of any beau or consort or husband who might see.

“You, my dear master,” she murmurs slyly by his ear. “Are to be attended elsewhere, at my discretion.”

He does nothing to resist as she pulls him along.

Soon, they are at the Palace. Soon, they are sat at a small table in her private quarters, drinking Mandalorian kava, and eating freshly baked land’shun. Soon, they are alone.

She sets her drink aside, and dusts her hands on a fine silk napkin before broaching the subject trapped between them.

“Now, what is this about my nuptials?” she asks. Her blue eyes are steady upon his own, and he feels his palms slick with sweat. She is radiant. She is regal. There is no holo or reel or word that could do justice to the beauty of this woman in the flesh, and he feels that insidious root of jealousy writhe with agony.

“Satine -” he begins.

“No, no,” she protests, seeming to anticipate his deflection before he has begun. “I should like to hear why you think I ought to accept your congratulations, and why you felt you ought to offer them personally, in particular. Mandalore seems a rather dull trip for a High General to make.”

“I came in Anakin’s stead, actually,” he replies pertly. Another sip of kava lends some sophistication to this claim.

“Of course,” she says, but she does not look away. He can feel her gaze upon him. He can feel her glittering in the Force. She is laughing.

And he cannot bear it.

“Forgive me, your grace,” he says, rising to his feet. He sets the cup upon a saucer where it clatters inelegantly against the pot of sucre next to it, overturning the dish and sending the crystals spilling across the table. “Forgive me,” he says again.

She lunges forward to right the pot, and still his hand beneath her own. For a moment, he doesn’t breathe. Then, he pulls away.

“I read about it on the net,” he says. “I saw the holos, and the reels. I only wanted to see you one last time, to see...I wanted to see that you were happy. That’s all.”

“Oh, Ben,” she says, his name like a sigh upon the breeze.

“It is nothing,” he says. “A foolishness all my own. I am sorry if I have troubled you, and I offer you my sincerest congratulations.”

He bows, though when he raises his head, his eyes do not rise with it, so he does not see the look of sorrow upon her face. Still, he imagines it as pity, and moves to make his escape. She is faster than he is.

“No,” she says, standing between him and the door. “I will not accept your congratulations, and I will not accept your departure on such callous terms as these.”

“Duchess -”

“Ben,” she counters, leaning on the name. “I am not engaged. I am not married. And I do not intend to be, no matter how devoted to the idea of it you are.”

“I - devoted?” he asks, his voice rising to the height of his indignation. “I am devoted to no such thing. I have only - only been reconciled to it for weeks, thinking only of you and your happiness.”

“And your own misery, too, I’d wager.”

He chokes on his denial because he knows it is too big a lie to fit through his lips, and stares at her in dismay. She is smiling. Force, he thinks. She is incandescent. Like she has swallowed a star, and he can’t look away. He would that he could be consumed by her too, and finally, he gives in.

“Yes,” he says in an admission of guilt so great it brings relief. “I was miserable. I am, I think, an infinitely miserable person.”

“You are,” she agrees. “But I am not getting married, I am not engaged, and I am only as in love as I ever have been. And if you are foolish enough to forget that, then you are deserving of every misery you heap on yourself.”

“Have pity,” he begs.

“None,” she says.

“Have mercy,” he pleads.

“For you?” she says. “Always.”

They fall together like gravity and sunlight, and for a moment, whole galaxies bend to their will.

#my fic #prompt fill #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine #garm's here #and anakin #and ahsoka #i mashed everyone in #star wars #fic #gffa

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 30

First time reader click here

TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter is a horror movie. There's blood, gore and psychological horror elements. Lemme know if it was actually scary - I'm desensitized to this shit. This was written to come out on Halloween but I was too slow with writing.

Wooden floor creaking behind me, I couldn't feel the cold of it, not even a single splinter piercing the arches of them, I ran like my life depended on it. The darkness behind me was alive; it breathed, pulsated, spreading along the walls of the hallway like mold. The hallway seemed to be endless.

As soon as I realized that, I noticed that it, in fact, did have an end and not a door was in sight; that quickly proved to br also just a trick of the eye - there were doors, the hallway was riddled with them, each one dark, identical and placed neatly about five feet apart. With shaking hands, I turned the knob, slamming the door behind me with a loud bang.

Panting, I let myself slide against the door, eyes closed, sheet landing in a puddle of white fabric on the floor around me. First five seconds passed quietly; then, a noise interrupted my panicked thinking and my eyes flew open as the scene in front of me produced more confusion.

The familiar scene of the pond behind my grandparents' stables, the poppies - a splash of blood red against the dull greens and browns - swaying in the breeze. A Dora the Explorer bucket hat and a six-year-old me, hair in pigtails, poking at a spot of moist soil with a large stick.

I knew where this was going yet I couldn't pull my eyes away from the scene that was going to unfold. A stallion my parents had recently bought, ill-tempered and moody, jumping over the low fence and galloping noisily right at mini-me. The terrified animal was screaming yet I was oblivious to it's distress, too busy trying to fish out earthworms out of the wet ground. Almost in slo-mo, mini-me noticed the running, screaming animal and bolted for safety, its hooves missing my little body barely by a feet.

I felt the cold water of the pond on my skin. It was dirty and blooming at the time, musky smell assaulting my senses, murky water choking the life out of both versions of me. In the distance, I noticed a much younger and slimmer dad sprinting full-speed towards the splashing child in the pond. He was screaming something and I leaned in, trying to hear him better.

The scene vanished into thin, wispy smoke. My head was once again clear and the suffocating dread and panic subsided, letting me take in several deep breaths and try to assess the situation calmly. I had survived that accident, even successfully overcame my fear of swimming later on.

Hands shaking and heart fluttering like a frightened bird, I recoiled from the locked door when it began to rattle, the noise deafening in the eerie quiet of the house.

The shadows were taunting me. Trapping me in my worst fears, making me relive my worst memories. The artifact needed something from me - what was it? I wondered, tucking the sheet in some semblance of a toga and standing up to explore the room. Save for a few outdated pieces of furniture, it was cold and empty, void of life. Nowhere to hide.

I paced the room, coming to a halt next to the heavy, thick velvet curtains. Expecting to see a window behind them, I was surprised with another old wooden door with a bent handle that had gathered an impressive layer of dust. With rattling behind me increasingly growing in volume, I had no other option but to press it down and quickly dart into the next dark room.

Clint. Lifeless eyes wide open, his body laying at my feet, sheet-white and rust coloured stains adorning his mouth, nails black and broken as if he'd been clawing at the dilapidated wooden floors. I backed away from him, further into the room - the archer's body began to move and tremble, tiny little gashes appearing on every inch of exposed skin. The thing that was breaking out of him glowed, pale blue and sickly.

"That's not..." I whispered to myself. "Clint is alive," As if I had been doused with cold water, the images of MAFS incident seeped into my mind, the what-ifs of my past actions weighing heavily and clouding my mind with guilt.

"Come on, we don't have much time," Steph's voice appeared behind my back, loud and out of nowhere. I was rightfully sceptical about the reality of him - while his face was the usual, tense expression of boredom, he stood differently. I couldn't describe the difference if I tried; it just felt wrong. Like a puzzle piece was missing.

"I don't think so, demon dude," Squaring my shoulders once again, I prepared myself for the inevitable pain.

"Who?" The copycat asked, faking concern surprisingly well. "It's the artifact. It's making you see things that aren't real," With a wave of his hand, the door flew open, exposing the hallway filled with the void that was chasing me previously.

"Oh what I saw was real alright," I countered, tilting my head to examine the entity. Unknowingly, it had given itself away - Stephen's magic always glowed gold and orange, in the sense that he wasn't like Loki - Strange's spells were always visible. "I'd rather you kill me then spread your vile disease beyond this... Space," With none of the bravery I actually had, bluff came surprisingly easy. Perhaps, I really was ready to die so my friends and family could live.

Not-Stephen tsked and grinned maliciously, once again waving his hands about. "Killing you? So barbaric and an absolute waste of potential." The shadows pushed something into the gaping hole of the doorway, something curled up in a fetal position and whimpering. The entity picked up the man by the shoulders, forcing him to kneel in front of it, teary baby browns staring back at me, wide with terror.

Tony. My feet took an involuntary step forward, where my Tony was trembling, whimpering in the creature's grasp, unseeing eyes looking straight forward. As if I wasn't there.

"Submit and I will let him go. Right now, he's relieving the worst memories of his life," The entity raised an eyebrow, a mock imitation of Stephen's expression. I could hear Tony mumbling faintly, something about his chest and Afghanistan and bombs and Obadiah.

It pissed me off. Firstly, how dare this wannabe-Pennywise, this LOST-fog-monster-reject to lay his filthy metaphysical fingers on my Tony. And secondly, for the sloppy intelligence job - I had been woken up by Tony's nightmares more than enough to know his biggest fear wasn't Afghanistan. It wasn't Obadiah and it wasn't Bucky killing his parents, it wasn't even the vast, consuming black emptiness of the space behind the wormhole.

Anger burning my throat, I lunged at not-Stephen with a bloodcurdling scream, feeling my nails dig into the cold, clammy flesh of the thing's throat. Taken by surprise, both of us stumbled, falling into the abyss of the hallway, me kicking and scratching and screaming all the way, fingers squeezing deeply into the lifeless imitation of flesh. His screams mixed with mine and Tony's into a shrieking cacophony.

The darkness was laughing, cackling, noise sharp like nails on a chalkboard. It hurt, but the thing's grip on me hurt even more. "He'll never love you like you expect him to. They don't care about you. The mage said he'd help you and now you're dying here, alone," Black smoke began leaking out of the impostor's mouth along with the words, both acrid and venomous.

My head was pounding as more and more of the stuff came into contact with my body. My vision swam, bordering on unconsciousness. "If I'm dying, I'm taking you with me, bitch," I screamed out, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until I exploded together with my surroundings, in a short of white, blinding light.

And then, there was darkness. My limbs were once again filled with concrete, mouth dry and skin burning like I'd been branded with a hot iron.

I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of the room with the fireplace. The fire was roaring, crackling and and shooting noisy sparks, accompanied by heavy breathing to my left. Disregarding the nausea that followed my every movement, I hung my head over the side of the car coming to witness both sorcerers laying haphazardly on the floor, a thin river of blood seeping into the carpet from Wong's head.

Confused, disoriented and terrified, I called out for them, voice barely audible and terse. Had I been screaming?

The sorcerers' chests rose and fell rapidly; my panic subsided but not by much. I crawled out of the cot only to land ungracefully on my face, body refusing to cooperate and feeling about as well as after I'd ran a marathon. Inch by inch, I crawled over to the chair I had left my things on, fighting with my body for every movement I made.

Fumbling, l pulled out my phone and pressed the green call button on the one person one would call in this situation. My best friend.

"Yes, dear?" His baritone was tense but nonetheless calm.

"Help, some-something happened," I managed to say, no louder than a whisper. "Sanctum," I clarified, hearing a noise of things falling over and several distressed voices shouting in the background.

"I am coming, do not end the call," Loki replied immediately, barking out several commands I didn't quite catch. There were more noises of distress as I obediently stayed on the phone. "Darling, can you tell me what happened?"

"I- Killed?" I tried to articulate my thoughts, tongue becoming more and more uncooperative by the second.

"Oh my God, who's dead?!" I heard Bruce yell, probably, right in Loki's ear.

"The Thing," I clarified, hoping to calm him down.

Loki cursed in his native language, I heard him trying to wrestle the phone from someone - unsuccessfully so, I might say, as Tony's distraught voice was the next thing I heard. "Princess, listen to me. Are you okay? Where's Strange? We're gonna be there in 10 minutes. We're coming."

An avalanche of information for my overtaxed brain and aching body, I struggled to keep up with Tony's rambling and filtering out Loki's screeching in the background. So much noise. My head hurt. "No, Steph and Wong are down. Alive." I managed to convey the most important part, a terrified sob leaving my chest burning. "Please, talk," I begged Tony, not wanting to be left in that terrifying, consuming silence ever again.

And Tony talked. He babbled nonstop, things that I didn't really catch neither care about, having enough strength to give a hum of approval every few seconds or so. It appeared to be as calming to him as it was to me, I didn't hear any more complaints from the team, only brief increase in volume as one of them got closer to the phone. A part of me conceded I should've made at least one joke about being put on loudspeaker, however, my brain was exhausted.

Burnt out, rather. The emptiness settled in my bones, chilly, like the blood had been sucked out of me, making my body just a vessel for the darkness that stalked my nightmares. I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my bare thigh, feeling none of the pain, just the relief when blood seeped through the cuts, crimson and warm.

That's how they found me. Loki threw open the door, breaking one of the hinges, eyes immediately darting between me and the laying sorcerers, as he swiftly cast a bright golden spell on the room, warming us from the inside out. Carefully stepping over the two men, Loki kneeled in front of me, green eyes staring right into mine.

I heard cursing and thudding but all I could focus on was the shining emerald of Loki's eyes. "Oh, child," He whispered, reaching out with both arms to pull me into his chest. I couldn't have resisted even if I wanted to, my body was utterly drained of fight.

"What happened?" Tony asked, a hysterical pitch to his voice.

"I can assume there was a failsafe left behind by the artifact, it took out both sorcerers and attempted to finish the job it started," Loki spoke up, hand gently petting my hair, still clutching my limp body like I was dying. "She fought it off, I don't know how, but she fought it off. It has entered a dormant state again."

"What do you mean took them all out?" In his distress, Tony seemed to have lost all sensibility. "What happened to her?!" He was getting impatient, angry.

"With an artifact like that, it's a blessing they are still alive. It is ancient and unpredictable," Loki explained patiently, none of his usual vitriol present. "And she... You could say she was mind-raped," He stated, quieter.

I groaned in protest. Loki's spell of gold did what felt like a wonder: the light was slowly coming back into the room, into me, filling me with warmth I didn't know I could lack. "As if," I slurred. "As if that Pennywise wannabe could ever," My body was, nonetheless, exhausted. "I've swallowed more kids than he could ever," My eyelids dropped, the comforting noise of Tony's and Loki's combined chuckle amplifying the surplus of warmth within me.

Last thing I saw was Tony's watery smile, tears crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he lifted me from Loki's arms, hot rod red of his suit saturating the room with color. Feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my eyes close voluntarily, a smile crawling onto my face. I was right. Tony was alright, it wasn't really him that was getting tortured in the nightmare-verse.

"What..." I heard Stephen croak from somewhere. "Baby?!" His voice raised a whole octave; Thor's fond chuckle followed the rustling of fabric and a few stronger choice words from the sorcerer as Loki briefed everyone on the situation at hand.

"How is she, Tones?" Bruce asked quietly from above me.

"Pretty out of it but on her way back to health," Tony replied with another watery laugh. "Cracking jokes and whatnot clownery."

Bruce exhaled in relief, stroking my face with the side of his fingers. It was almost palpable, the general atmosphere of respite in the room, the sudden free flow of oxygen to my lungs.

"I am so sorry," Stephen's whisper was more felt than heard by me; the spice of his cologne and copper of blood reached my nostrils, burning them, keeping the warmth from leaving my body ever again.

My fingers weakly held out to him, finally coming to grasp his more-than-usual shaking hand. "Not your fault," I breathed. "Persistent cursed box," Were my last words before my consciousness gave out. Sleep sweet sleep.

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changbin-froggy-jimin · 4 years

Text

Heartbreak House (Mafia!Namjoon X Reader)

Summary: Mafia boss Kim Namjoon has stolen your heart. He was your first love and kept you safe no matter the cost, but suddenly he throws you to the curb. No reason given except that fact that he's completely over you and that it's time for you to go.

Soft hearts get you killed, but Namjoon's heart is only soft for you and his closest men. He knows he messed up big time, can he fix it before it's to late?

(The story is better than the description, it’s just been so long since I’ve written one)

Pairings: Namjoon X Reader, Kinda Yoongi & Jimin

Tags: Angst Angst Angst, But! With a happy ending, Mafia boss Namjoon, Discussions of mental health, Dissociation, Break up/Post-break up, 2nd person pov, And Reader (you) is kept gender neutral.

Word Count: 5.5k

Oh! also reader is referred to with Angel as opposed to Y/N

"You were stupid if you thought this was ever truly going to last"

His words sting, tears build up in your eyes despite you not giving them permission to do so. You shouldn't have gotten attached you knew it, but you couldn't help it. Namjoon was dangerous, more dangerous than anyone you have ever met before, but he was also so sweet with you. How were you not supposed to fall for him?

"I- I thought-"

"You thought wrong. Now leave"

This man was your first kiss, your first... everything. How could you have been so stupid.

"Joon what happened? We can work on it, wherever it is, I just don't understand where this is coming from?"

You're met with silence. Where was this coming from? You had known Namjoon for almost three years, and had spent the last two in a relationship. And yeah finding out the well dressed man was actually a mob boss had been quite the surprise but as long as you kept your head down you had never minded. He always told you business got left at the door step and never once had that not been true so you let it go. If you were eventually caught up in some kind of sting they wouldn't have anything on you so you really didn't have a reason to be scared. And you knew above anything else that Joonie would protect you with his life and he had even done so before. The most recent of his scars, one that sat right above his eyebrow, was a testament to the promise he has made you. So whatever attitude change this was... Wherever this mood swing came from you honestly didn't know.

You try to wrack your brain for something he could be upset about but come up with almost nothing. You follow the rules set in place for you to stay here, you don't cause undue trouble for yourself or anyone else here. Sometimes you could be loud or annoying but that wasn't against the rules and most of the time it was encouraged by those around you.

Most of the time Joon was never angry but especially around you. Yeah, he had a big of a harsh image. Most people who knew him, knew him as heartless. His kindness is what surprised you most once you actually learned who he was past the first initial meeting one crisp October afternoon.

You had seen him looking quite lost outside of the shop you worked in, and had pulled him inside. He was charming and kind, and asked you for directions, stating he was lost and was just looking for help. He ended up staying for a lot longer then you both thought he would, finding the conversation easy and light. At the end of the night as you were closing up, having no idea where the time went, he had asked if he could see you again. You really had no reason to say no, so you didn't. Later he told you he was hiding from the cops and needed a good cover, but that you had been the best cover he had found yet.

You refused to believe that everything you felt, everything you knew he felt was fake as well. You knew he had moments, moments where this harsh side of him came out, he told you about it before. But you had never seen it for yourself. If this was what it felt like to be on the bad side of Kim Namjoon... You didn't even want to think about it. You just want your Joonie back.

"I had your things packed for you. They'll be at your apartment around noon." When did your boyfriend start to sound so dead inside?

"What are you talking about? I haven't lived there for at least a year. This is my home!"

"Not anymore it. Now leave, or I'll have someone make you." It was so cold. So absolutely lacking of any of the warmth you were so used to. More tears fell down your cheeks.

Maybe it was just a mood, maybe something happened, you just couldn't believe it was over... Just like that with no real reason. You know he always makes good on his promises. No matter how much you screamed and yelled, no matter if it ended with someone three times your size coming and physically moving you, it would still end with you leaving. And you were not interested in someone moving you like a child. It's not like you wanted to cause that big of a scene outside of these doors either. So you head for the door, there's just nothing else you can do at the moment. The shock from this whole situation confusing you more than anything.

You rest your hand on the door frame, slightly turning back to him. Hoping that somehow, some time he'd tell you it was all a mistake, he didn't mean it and he'd pull you back into his arms and hold you like he did only hours ago.

But he didn't. He said nothing and started to read the papers that were left for him on his desk. He glanced over at you just about the rim of his reading glasses that he must have put on while you were turned.

"Leave" and so you did, not sparing another glance to the man who you thought had cherished your heart.

Several days later, it's Yoongi who walks through Namjoon's door. Disappointment and longing hit Namjoon, dashed hopes of someone else walking through the door feels like a tangible weight in his heart. Namjoon sets aside his emotions like he always has, ready to talk about updates on the arms shipment they were hoping to intercept. Except he knows the look Yoongi is giving him, and that look means trouble. Namjoon and Yoongi have known each other since they were just kids causing trouble on the streets. This is the face his oldest friend makes when he's about to cause trouble and knows he can get away with it because Joon has a soft spot for him.

"Save it" He turns back to his work, not at all interested in what Yoongi has to say.

Yoongi meanders around the room, taking loud steps and overall doing his best to annoy the man at the desk.

"What do you want?" Namjoon says, more annoyed at the pacing then anything else.

"Thought I should 'Save it'. Are you really flip flopping so easily? You know that's not a good look for us right? Makes us look sloppy, like we don't do our due diligence." Yoongi comes to a short stop in front of the desk, tapping his nails without any set rhythm, before continuing his trek around the room. Picking up any objects that piqued his interest and setting them back upside down or facing the wrong direction.

"Yoongi..." The Namjoon says, sighing like he had the whole world on his shoulders. How sad for him.

"I just find it interesting because just last week you called every single crew member into a meeting in which you said that, and I quote, 'Angel 'Wasn't going to leave anytime soon' and anyone that didn't treat 'Your precious darling' with respect was going to feel your wrath. So when's your execution appointment Namjoon?" Yoongi leans against a bookshelf near the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Letting the words sink in. And sink they do.

"It's not safe here Yoongi and we both know it. My Angel is better off without me, and better off not being here."

Yoongi pauses at that. Taking a second to think this 'revelation' over. It just struck him as... Wrong. How was everything fine last week and a mess this one?

"What are you talking about? It's safe here. There's at least 50 armed guards at any given moment and that's just outside. Your 'Angel' is always with someone you trust and never wanders off alone, and we both know that everyone would die to keep them safe. Not even just you and me, everyone. Anyone who tried something would be put down with more bullet holes than you could count."

"That doesn't matter. One wrong move and we'd have to clean up another body. Do you want to deal with that on your conscience? Knowing that one of ours got killed trying to keep Angel safe? It's not our crew's jobs to keep our lovers safe."

Yoongi scoffs at that. It's exactly what he thought. Somewhere in the recesses off Namjoon's brain still lives the scared kid who's so afraid of losing people that he just pushes them away. Yoongi didn't let Namjoon push him away and he absolutely wouldn't let him do it to the obvious love of his life.

"You did this to save your own skin, none of this was to save our crew and we both know it. You caught feelings and heartless Kim Namjoon couldn't deal with the aftermath, so you push everyone away and then you don't have to deal with your emotions do you?" Irritation drips from every word and he states it as fact because he knows it is. Knows it'll hurt to hear. He hopes it wakes the idiot out of his stupor. For someone so intelligent he can be an absolute idiot.

Namjoon's body tenses at Yoongi's words, trying to hold the anger back and not lash out like he so desperately wanted to.

"Think very carefully about what you're going to say next"

"What? You gonna throw me out with the next trash cycle just like you did with your 'Angel'. Real heartwarming."

The Namjoon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, fists clenched and jaw set. Yoongi knows well enough by now that if he doesn't want to be burnt after playing with fire its time for him to go. Yoongi pushes off the bookshelf, heads towards the door instead.

Yoongi pauses in the doorway, hand on the same place Angel's was, the visual doesn't help Namjoon try to forget.

"Fix it, Namjoon, before its to late Otherwise, you'll destroy yourself and end up in that dark pit again." He wants to say more, wants to dive more into the meat of the issue, but it's just not who they are. So he closes the door behind him and hopes that his boss figures it out himself.

The door lightly slams behind him. Inside Namjoon realizes the truth in what Yoongi said.

Namjoon takes out the painkillers, a headache coming on.

Outside the door Jimin waits.

"Did you get through to him? Will he fix it?" Angel's bodyguard, well, ex-bodyguard is practically bouncing off the walls with nerves. It's not at all how any of them should be acting, but Yoongi figures none of them really act like they're supposed to anymore. He throws a comforting hand on the kids head; it's enough to shock him out of the bouncing.

"I don't know, but I hope so." He fluffs the kids hair a bit. Jimin sputters at the action, pulling away in a huff to fix his hair. Yoongi chuckles as he watches the other.

"Let's go get something to eat, huh, take your mind off it for a bit."

Jimin's face goes from annoyed to shocked in a second, no doubt remembering when Yoongi was more likely to shoulder check him then even say hi. It's splits into one of those wide grins that only Jimin can pull off which makes Yoongi's heart flutter.

"Ok!"

Yoongi wraps his arm around the other mans shoulder to pull him towards the parking lot so he doesn't have to look directly at that smile anymore. The kid starts rambling on and on about what he's been doing recently, always glancing back to make sure Yoongi is still paying attention to him. Yoongi hangs off of every word even if he doesn't show it.

When did he become so soft?

The first month back at your old apartment was the worst. You were so used to visiting the complex that to not be there constantly was a big shock to your system. It didn't help that you were all alone. Joon didn't always have time to spend with you but someone always kept you company. Most of the time you went to hang out with Jimin where Hobi worked in the makeshift infirmary, making jokes about the organs and blood while Hobi stitched back up their lower ranking members. He didn't mind you two being there as long as you both kept a respectful distance and weren't to loud, If you were, it only resulted in Hobi just lightly scolding you guys and continuing his work without missing a beat. You and Jimin would just laugh a bit quieter and whisper for a few minutes before turning back to a more normal volume.

The reactions to your teasing were usually just the patient on the table grimacing but not saying anything as they knew they couldn't without significant repercussions. The last guy who complained was made into a spectacle, and while you did feel kinda bad about it, he did call you a "Disgusting whore who was only there for the money". So, you weren't really crying over his loss. The rest, who had a good sense of humor tended to laugh at the jokes and sounds of disgust, this actually annoyed Hobi more as he kinda needed his patients to be still on the operation table and not shaking from holding back laughter. If the injury was serious enough he might have kicked you both out but you would just go down the hall to where Jungkook was most likely playing a game and join him instead. Plus, it actually helped morale in the heath center as Hobi tended to stay completely silent and the frowny face he always wore around the lesser ranking members was enough to skin the confidence off any man.

The memories make you smile.

The second month was a bit better, having fallen back into a routine again. You still miss the rest of the crew, and try to avoid thoughts of Joon like the plague, keeping yourself busy by working yourself to the bone. Your boss had thankfully let you come back no issues, apparently the business had fallen a little sideways in your absence.

Months three and four are about the same.

You're doing pretty well if you don't think about the fact that you cry yourself to sleep every night, but really other than that you're honestly great.

Month five hits the worst.

You had gotten sick, so very sick. All the endless overtime having finally caught up to you. Your boss, who was trying to be helpful, had told you to not come in for at least a week. He grateful for your help in getting the business standing on two legs again, and the kind old man had told you to take the proper time to recover. You were able to distract yourself for a while. Keeping yourself from the very thoughts that had haunted you so much these past few months. But the distractions stopped working about day two and things mostly went downhill from there. It took a lot of ice cream to help calm you down. But after spending the whole week on the couch crying you did actually start feeling a bit better. Most days after that week left you feeling lighter and happier then the next. Sometimes you still had bad days, missing your friends who you had really considered family at that point. None of them had come to visit despite promising they would. You just assumed they had forgotten.

So at six months it was a surprise to hear a knock on the door. You knew better than to answer the door to strangers, but that wasn't a strangers knock. It was one of the coded ones that you were taught fairly early on in yours and Joon's relationship. You stupidly didn't check the peephole, hoping it was Jimin who would finally make good on his promise to meet you.

It wasn't.

Instead it was a rain drenched Namjoon holding slightly broken roses as if he had been running with no care for the flowers that he was holding. You didn't even like roses.

The smile instantly dropped from your face. Joon for the most part looked exactly the same, minus the water soaked hair. Suit was still expertly pressed, black metallic hoops still in place, the scar above his eyebrow still not fully grown back.

You try to close the door quickly in order to shut him out. Namjoon's hand flashes in between the door frame and the door itself, adding a leather shoe for good measure.

"Can we please talk?"

You want to say no, everything inside of you is screaming to say no. That this man broke your heart and wasn't worth your time or effort. You're in pajamas, it's pouring out, and your ex of six months has just shown up with the only flowers you've told him you despised.

You open the door.

Namjoon walks in with one of the small smiles you've only ever seen him make at you. It kinda makes you feel sick.

You sit at the small island bar in your kitchen. Namjoon moves as if he is going to sit next to you. You glare at him, putting your feet up on the seat. He sighs before walking around the island so he can face you. He sets the roses down; the crystal vase shines like diamonds even with the terrible lighting you have in your apartment. No doubt it was stupidly expensive and bought at some famous boutique-y store. How pretentious. You pick out one of the roses, you start peeling away its petals as you wait for Namjoon to find his words. Instead he seems to focus on the stain that's spreading over your fingers from where the petals are being torn apart viciously.

When he doesn't say anything you supply your own commentary. It's the first words you've said to him since he abandoned you almost 6 months ago on the dot.

"I don't like roses."

"Jungkook said they were romantic" He supplies back, as if that would help his situation. Jungkook was a textbook romantic. You on the other hand, were not, or at least not with these cliche flowers.

"And I said I hated them, so you're really racking up points here"

He visibly swallows at that.

"Listen I know I messed up-"

"Messed up huh? You told me I meant nothing to you and that you never wanted to see me again. Then you show up out of the blue with a gift that really makes it look like you didn't even listen to what I told you when we were together."

"I didn't say you meant nothing to me. You're putting words in my mouth."

"Oh I'm putting words in your mouth? How could I? Me?" You grab at your chest for dramatic affect, hoping your words landed as scathingly as you meant them. You knew you were losing all control over your temper in the face of his complete stupidity. The words tumbling out of your mouth from pure anger. "You only viciously kicked me out of our home, packed up all my things and sent me to live by myself with absolutely no rhyme or reason. Abandoning me despite promising that you would never leave me. Forced me to leave all my friends behind and I'm sure, threatened them into not talking to me either. You threw me out without a reason, you held me before turning on me seemingly only two hours later when I left your office because you asked me to! Do you know how many nights I spent crying over you?!" You felt angry tears forming in your eyes. You wipe them quickly, he shouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

"Yes." The reply was small, like it wasn't even meant to be heard. He's not looking at you anymore. Looking at the countertop like it's so much more interesting instead.

"Yes? What do you mean yes?"

"Your apartment has been bugged since we first met."

You groan. "Why did I even like you, you're the absolute worst. Do you know how creepy that is? How horrifying it is to know that you've just been listening to me? That you sat there and thought that you should listen to me crying, not only just crying, because that would be to easy, but me crying over you because you broke my heart."

"Did?" His face fell, not that it has maintained a happy expression since you decided to tear up the roses he brought you right in front of his own face.

You just sigh throwing down the now much more miserable looking rose, ready to just tell him to get out of your apartment and your life, before he surprises you by continuing.

"I couldn't stand not hearing your voice. I thought about you every night and couldn't get your face out of my mind. It was the only way I could keep myself sane. He shuffles in his seat, discomfort etched across his entire face. "Everyday I spent watching the clock, hoping that the day would end knowing that you were going to be getting back from your shifts, and I could finally listen to your voice again. Our room has been so lonely without you. Even if you were crying there was a sick part of me that was just happy you were still thinking about me like I was thinking about you. Open and sore, still bleeding with feelings that you couldn't help but hold onto. I missed you so much. More than I thought one person could miss another."

He takes a breath before continuing, fidgeting in his seat and playing with his fingers. Eyes not meeting yours. "It made me realize how much I love you, and that I can't let you go. How I made the most stupid decision in my life based of fear which then became anger because I was scared I couldn't protect you." He runs his hands roughly through his hair messing up the slicked back look he had been sporting in his rain drenched state. "So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I pushed you away." Namjoon looks up into your face, his eyes wild, and willing you to believe him. "But I swear I never abandoned you. Someone was always with you, watching to make sure you got home safe and no one bothered you. I never once stopped thinking about you. I never once stopped protecting you. I kept my promises even if you didn't see them because I couldn't stand the thought of losing you. Even if you find someone else, I will always be here for you."

"Joon... You still hurt me." You look down, trying to not be swayed by the pain and franticness in his eyes."You still made me feel like everything we were was fake and that I meant nothing to you. How do I know that you won't just throw me away again tomorrow?" Your arms cross over your chest, trying to subconsciously protect yourself from this man who had broken you. "You left me alone for six months and come back and say all this stuff about love and care but you didn't show that to me once then. Now you want to get back together and for me to pretend like what? We're fine and nothing happened? Do you know how much what you did hurt me?" You look up to meet his gaze again. "You obviously spent all that time listening to me crying but never once thought about telling me why you did what you did? Do you know what I would have told you, if you had let me know why you were scared?" You stare him down, hoping that he can feel the pain that's settled in your soul. He looks back into your eyes with all of the emotions he's probably been hiding for months, it spills from him like a fountain. It's enough motivation to continue talking, knowing he was hanging off of every word like he was.

"That you worry about me Joon, but I am never in danger at the complex because of everyone there that respects you and will take care of me because of that. That if anything I'm scared for you every day you leave that office because I never know if you're coming home or not. Because I know it's not safe outside those walls but you spent months making sure I felt comfortable in ours. I knew what I was getting into when we started seriously dating. But I have always trusted you to keep me safe. There has never been doubt in my mind that you will do everything in your power to make sure all seven of us stay safe. Fearing for each other's lives was just going to be our normal but we both knew that. We both signed up for this knowing that. How could you just let that go?"

"I started slipping."

That... wasn't good.

"Joon... What happened?" You knew about his past, his history. That because of all the horrible things that Namjoon had to deal with, sometimes he would just go into a disassociate states. It's when he was his most destructive, most volatile. It was something you had only heard of and had never seen with your own eyes. Mainly heard from hushed whispers from the crew.

"It was bad this time. Someone broke into the complex. I got scared. More scared then I've ever been in my life and the switch just flipped back on. I couldn't feel anything. So I started doing what I always do when I get like that. I started problem solving, and the biggest problem was you, there wasn't anything else in that complex that I cared about more than you." His face scrunched up with pain, before evening out into something so sorrowful it stole the breath from your lungs. Everything about him seemed so small all of the sudden. Like all the air he used to puff himself up with, caused him to pop like a miserable balloon. "In my head it was like if I just got rid of you then everything would go back to normal and I could go back to not feeling so small and helpless. So that's what I did, even if it seemed like everything that was happening, was happening to someone else. Watching you listen to those words, what I was saying, felt like it was somewhere else, that I was someone else and it wasn't real. Nothing felt real..." He sighs deeply, rubbing his face like it could remove the bad memories before continuing.

"It took Yoongi coming in and telling me off, as much as I didn't want to hear, it for everything to finally click. That I had messed up, big time, and needed to fix it. But I knew that mindset was still lurking, that it could come back and hurt you accidentally." All of the sudden, his face breaks out into a sad smile. His eyes start to shimmer with tears. "So I went to therapy." He laughs out his confession. It feels fantastical, the way he spoke it, like he didn't actually expect that it would work at all before making himself serious again. "I actually sat down with a therapist and talked about my issues, that's why it took so long to come back to you. I had to know it was safe, to know that I couldn't hurt you like I did before. To know how to deal with all of those feelings in a healthy way. I didn't want to make it worse so I just waited, waited everyday to make sure I could keep you as safe as possible, listened to you laugh, and sing, and cry, every night to remind myself to keep it together, and that I was doing this to make sure you would never cry again. That I wouldn't ever make you cry again. I'm sorry it took me so long to come back to you Angel." His body seems to relax with the confession, as if he had finally gotten the burden off that was holding him back.

"Do you know how bad that hurts to hear?" You were torn up. You thought he had... That he had abandoned you? Thought you were left for dead only to find out he did something so out of character of anything you thought he would ever do. It took him months to start opening up to you! You can't even imagine him going to someone to talk about his emotions.

"Then give me the chance to learn."

"Joon-"

"Please. I promise I'll treat you right this time. I'll take you on all the dates you want. We can go to the food stalls and get the greasy food you love so much; we can even go feed the ducks at the park; it doesn't matter how disgustingly domestic. I just don't want to be without you anymore. Please. I'm sorry." He let's out a curse before wiping away his own tears that had gathered in his eyes. Namjoon isn't one to beg, you don't think you've heard him say please once in the entire two years you've known him.

You sigh, you know his character, knows he means what he's said. But you also trusted him to mean it before.

You could feel all of your anger leaving, instead in its place was the want to have your old relationship back. The one where you both snuck Jungkook's console out of his room and played games till you couldn't keep your eyes open. Or when he would take you out to see the stars on the rooftop of one of his buildings, complete with a picnic and a stupid live band. The one where when you found out your mom passed and he held you while you cried for days, holing you both up inside his office and not going to any of his important meetings to make sure you were ok. The one where you brought him breakfast in bed but he didn't even eat it just pulled you into the bed for more cuddles. You missed it, there's nothing on this planet you missed more.

You wanted to believe him. More than anything you did.

"I don't know if I can trust you Joon. You absolutely broke my heart and it took me so long to get over you. I'm not even sure I really am..."

"Let me prove it to you. How serious I am about this. I'm more serious about this then I ever have been about anything else in my life. Please believe me Angel."

You cover your face with both hands, trying to rub away the actual emotion from showing. Hands grab your writs, pulling them gently away from your face. He was so much closer than he was a minute ago. He leans in and you don't stop him. His lips meet your tentatively, fully expecting you to pull away but you don't. You pull him in closer trying to make up for all the time you've spent apart. You had missed him so much, missed this, how soft he was with you. That despite what he chose to do as a profession he always held you like you were fragile, like if he held you to hard, you were going to break. And he had broken you, but he came back to put together the pieces and promised to do better, and you would hold him to that.

You pull back from the kiss, resting your forehead on his.

"The minute you pull something like that again I'm leaving and I'm never coming back."

"I know. But I won't give you another reason to."

"You better not." You intend it to come out with malice but it just sounds relived. "Now come here, I've missed you so much." If the kiss was desperate the hug seems starved, Namjoon repeats 'Thank you Angel' while kissing the top of your head. You're just happy to feel his warmth again even if the hugging is a bit awkward due to you still sitting.

If he was serious about this, and you knew he was, you would fit back together. Something about him just pulled you in and it was hard to ignore. He was one of the sweetest and kindest people you had ever met. No one just does what he did not only for you, but for the six other men he considered family if he didn't truly have a heart. And you really had missed him just as much as he had clearly missed you. You wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life in his arms, even if the pieces are shattered right now and he'd really have to prove you could trust him again. You really want it to work, for both of your sakes.

#bts x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #bts mafia fic #also theres really not that much mafia besides dynamics I'm sorry #(also the only thing I'm thinking of when typing out mafia is freaking Jooheon's 'I.M MA-FI-A and it's making me giggle)#I wrote this months ago but after working on it some more yesterday I think it's finally ready to be posted #NOW if only I could finish that hybrid jimin fic I've been working on for a bit #or the namjoon werewolf one...#Please tell me I did a good job or I will cry #froggy writes #fanfic #froggy creates

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rigelsenshis · 4 years

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the old guard + dæmons

a completely self-indulgent au bcos dæmons sit squarely in the Top Five Best Storytelling Concepts Ever Created and i will absolutely fight you on this it’s the hill i will die on

i made a post about this that evolved in a beautiful thread, with so many great ideas being shared by a lot of wonderful people, and then spent a couple of days thinking about possible shapes and possible names and this probably longer-than-comfortable post is the result of all that so i hope you enjoy let’s discuss let’s talk about this god i just love dæmons so much

first things first, some ground rules of how dæmons might work when taking into account the old guard’s particular flavor of immortality. @fleurdufeu suggested that the dæmon gets Severed with the person’s first death, the one that triggers immortality. and with each death (@en-sam-malas also brought this up) the dæmon can travel farther and farther away and can stay awake when their human is sleeping, contributing to the general idea of Otherness™ the old guard carries with them, especially in a world with a dæmons. @dearest--gertrude also suggested that just like the first deaths takes longer to return back from, dæmons would be slower to reappear— taking maybe two or three days the first time (which would add to the shock of having discovered immortality bcos like??? i’m alive??? and without my dæmon??? what the fuck???) to movie-time when the dæmon’s body is already there even before the human comes back to life. which only leads to the fact that when the final death comes the dæmon does disappear in a puff of golden dust like in hdm and creates a general wave of Angst (like i imagine that’s how Andy and Quynh knew that it was Lykon’s time, bcos his dæmon just disappeared and didn’t return)

@en-sam-malas added two Great Ideas, which is that most of the old guard would not have grown up with the taboo of not touching other people’s dæmons and so would use them in battle against other humans (which highlights their Otherness™ once again), and that their dæmons can probably undergo changes of shape— not as frequent as a child but following big traumatic events, like their first death, huge losses and grief and so on, and that’s the idea i’ve built on when looking for suitable shapes for each of them so here we fucking go (note that i did omit Lykon bcos we know so little of him atm but maybe when more material comes out we’ll be able to figure him out better???)

Nile

i’d like to think that as times grow more modern, dæmons’ names grow more modern as well— bcos Nile’s from Chicago, her dæmon could be called Jazz (bcos of the city’s history with the music genre) or Hopper (bcos Hopper’s Nighthawks is in Chicago and Nile loves art??? is it a stretch??? i’m open to better ideas for sure). her dæmon probably settled sometime after her father’s death into a german shepherd, as suggested by @stevie-harrington bcos in hdm many soldiers are shown to have a dog dæmon and dog dæmons are reliable and intelligent, pack animals that can hold their own in a fight. when she comes back from her first death Hopper is not with her, which only adds to the uneasiness the other marines feel around her bcos how tf is she alive without her dæmon this is just Wrong. he reappears when she wakes up in the back of the van, and it’s only on the plane that she realised that something is different about him and that he’s not exactly a german shepherd anymore— i’d like for his first changed shape to be one of those dogs that could be wolves and toy the line between the two (bcos it’s a bit more wild and also bcos i’d like Andy to have a wold dæmon and for Nile’s to resemble Andy’s since it’s vaguely implied she will take her place as leader of the old guard)

Booker

Booker’s dæmon is called Manette (which means “bitter”/”bitterness” and i mean,,,,nomen omen) and when it first settled it was a marmoset, as suggested by both @mewbotz and @fleurdufeu, an animal dexterous enough to help him with his forgeries and also deeply family oriented (marmosets mate for life are very involved in bringing up younglings which would make sense to Booker falling deep into desperation once his family passes). Manette changes the first time when he dies, and again @fleurdufeu suggests she could turn into a carrion crow to blend in with the others while Booker hangs for three/four days, brings him idk insects to eat and stays on his shoulder and they both cry bcos they don’t understand what happened to them and they feel each other but they’re also so different (crows are also family oriented and they mimic sounds so in theory she’s like her previous form but also with trauma and the imagery of death). she could turn into a cinereous vulture when the last members of Booker’s family die, reserved and passive and isolated, and then during movie-time she’s something even smaller, maybe even a mouse, bcos grief has twisted Booker into something that he himself cannot recognise and he sleeps with Manette in his hands like he used to do when she was a monkey and it feels almost the same but not quite. i’d assume that after the ordeal with Quynh she changes shape again, maybe if he starts healing up a bit???

Nicky + Joe

they go together bcos a) obviously and b) their dæmons have very similar stories and changes of shape so it makes sense for me to talk about them together

i called Nicky’s dæmon Glauca, which is a sort of shortening of the Homeric epithet given to the goddess Athena, glaukôpis aka bright-eyed (you get it??? like Nicky himself when will Luca’s eyes leave me in peace the answer is never). bcos he was born in a coastal city i’d like to his dæmon to have settled into a sea bird, and i chose the shape of a scopoli’s shearwater, a bird that’s native to Liguria and a good swimmer

i chose Zahara for Joe’s dæmon, a name that means most exquisite bcos i thought about the fact that he was an artist and a poet but i’m Very Much Open to more informed opinions than mine. Zahara’s first shape could have been a fennec, native to Northern Africa and a very outgoing kind of animal which i feel would match Joe’s personality

the first change for both of them is, again obviously, when they kill each other for the first time. when they find their dæmons again after having spent like three days in a blind rage and confusion and pain and where is my dæmon have it lost her what have i become it’s his fault they’re both smaller in dimension, bcos they’re in shock, and more vicious than their original shape, so i picked a stoat for Nicky and a genette for Joe— both small carnivores, native one to Europe and the other to North Africa, and they just tear into each other again for a not-better-specified amount of days it’s just sword scimitar teeth claws whatever. i then see Nicky and Joe sort of “making peace” and travelling together from Jerusalem to the sea, where they part ways, and the shock is so great, the reflection they go through when they’re apart so massive that causes another change, this one the farthest away from their “personality” as they struggle to understand who they are now and what they have become. Zahara becomes a blackbird and Glauca a cape hare, shapes that neither of them feel like are right

when they both start to make peace with what they have become and realise that there might be Feelings popping out, say like a couple of centuries after Jerusalem they’ve caught glimpses of each other in other Crusades and such, both dæmons change into cats. smaller cats for now, and when Joe and Nicky go and look for each other and find each other in Malta and realise that they love each other and share some poetic and lyrical declaration of eternal adoration they wake up and find their dæmons in similar shapes— big cats, like @mewbotz suggested. Joe’s dæmon settles into a leopard, majestic and sun-like, while Nicky’s becomes a panther, hiding in the shadows, fiercely protective and betraying Nicky’s nature of actually being a Pretty Dangerous Guy. and @mewbotz goes on to say that Joe and Nicky are so inseparable that their dæmons actually follow the other around, a way to always make sure they’re safe, and so it looks like Joe’s the one with Glauca the panther and Nicky’s the one with Zahara the leopard and in that way they’re never really apart and it’s Beautiful

Quynh

bcos they’re both so old, i have this idea that neither Quynh not Andy remember the actual very first shape their dæmon took (like Andy says that she doesn’t remember the faces of her sisters, for example). i’d like for him to be called Giao Long, a name lifted from Vietnamese myths about dragons, but again i only acquired this knowledge through internet searches so if anyone more informed wants to weigh in i’d be Very Happy

when Quynh’s riding with Andy, her dæmon is a crested serpent eagle, as suggested by @fleurdufeu, with the beautiful image of it flying close to Quynh’s arrow as it sails towards its target like @mewbotz said. the fact that their dæmons are so eerie and strange contribute to the English townspeople believing Quynh and Andy are witches, and when they throw Quynh overboard her dæmon is left flying above the water and it’s just a horrible cycle of madness with the dæmon changing shape to a bird to a fish to an insect reaching her into her cage flying above just mad with grief and pain like Quynh herself is

they find each other when she gets out but they’re both broken and twisted in an ugly way, and the dæmon has turned into something she can keep close— i’d partial to the idea of a snake bcos she was “a pit viper in a fight” and even tho they can separate like every other immortal they never do bcos the trauma is too great

Andy

i got Andy’s dæmon’s name from the Italian wikipedia page about Scythians and for the life of me i can’t find the same info in english but like, apparently there was a mythical/semi-mythical Scythian king called Colassai??? i find it a very fitting name and like Andy herself he could have shortened it to Cole in the modern age

Andy doesn’t remember his first shape (but i realised the deer was a pretty important animal in Scythian culture so maybe it could have been one???), but when she meets Lykon her dæmon is a wild boar— still an earthbound animal, brutal in a fight to match her axe-wielding fighting style. when she meets Quynh, their dæmons match (immortal wives and immortal husbands with matching dæmons for the win) and @fleurdufeu suggested it might be a golden eagle, The™ steppes’ predator

losing Quynh definitely triggers a change of shape and Andy’s dæmon becomes earthbound once again, as if Quynh’s death clipped its wings, and it become maybe a fox??? smaller, still vicious, still useful in a fight. then, when Andy’s in Australia with Achilles (as per the comics but also the movie bcos i think they showed Andy’s portrait in the cave) her dæmon could take the shape of an Australian-born animal, maybe a dingo??? and in movie-time her dæmon is a full out wolf, leader of the pack, brutal in a fight— and Nile’s dæmon slowly starts to resemble Andy’s wolf

and that’s the end of this dissertation-length monstrosity if you managed to get here wow i’m truly Moved

#the old guard #daemons au #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #sebastien le livre #booker #andy #andromache the scythian #quynh #nile freeman

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dtrhwithalex · 3 years

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TV | Loki (104)

104: THE NEXUS EVENT

D: KATE HERRON. W: ERIC MARTIN. Original Air Date: 30 June 2021.

Non-spoiler-free recap and review of the fourth episode of LOKI, which airs every Wednesday on Disney+.

RECAP

As Loki and Sylvie watch the world around them slowly but surely fall into complete destruction and collapse, the TVA is scrambling to locate the two and recapture them. Ravonna Renslayer especially is desperate to have the two variants located, being put under pressure by the Time Keepers. It is also revealed that is was Renslayer herself who was the one to pluck Sylvie from the time line and declare her a variant -- when Sylvie was merely a child, still on Asgard. It is also from Renslayer that Sylvie subsequently escapes and, as she reveals to Loki, has been on the run and in hiding ever since, growing up in apocalypses which were the only place her mere presence did not cause any nexus events.

Sharing a heartfelt moment as Sylvie recounts her life, she and Loki create enough chaos to spark a nexus event even within an ongoing apocalypse, allowing the TVA to locate and recapture them. Once captured, they are separated, with Renslayer forbidding anyone to interrogate Sylvie, while Mobius has Loki thrown in a time-loop -- where he is repeatedly threatened and beaten by LADY SIF (JAIMIE ALEXANDER) in a memory from Loki's earlier life on Asgard, where he as a joke cut off Sif's hair. After finally admitting that he played jokes out of loneliness and a desperate need for attention, Mobius retrieves Loki from the time-loop and takes him back to one of the TVA's interrogation rooms.

Loki tries to make Mobius understand that everything about the TVA is a lie -- as Sylvie has told him -- but Mobius does not trust him. He baits him into revealing what caused the nexus event on Lamentis-1 by telling him Sylvie has been disintegrated, and gets Loki to admit that he cares for her. Accusing him of such narcissism that he fell in love with himself, Mobius closes the case and has Loki returned to the time-loop.

Despite his distrust in Loki, Mobius questions Renslayer about what had happened to C-20 and her intentions behind not letting him talk to Sylvie, and eventually steals her TemPad to investigate the matter further. He learns that C-20 confirmed what Loki had tried to tell him: everyone at the TVA is a Variant, plucked from the timeline and brainwashed to serve the Time Keepers. Returning to Loki's time-loop he admits that Loki was right and wants to help him, but they are quickly found out by Renslayer, and she disintegrates Mobius.

Meanwhile, Hunter B-15, despite Renslayer's orders, went to see Sylvie and took her back to the apocalypse they had found her in. Questioning her about her powers, B-15 reveals that she, too, had been having memories of another life since Sylvie had controlled her. Sylvie shows her the memories again, effectively gaining B-15 as an ally.

Following the disintegration of Mobius, Renslayer takes Loki and Sylvie to see the Time Keepers who wish to witness their destruction. However, once in their chambers, Loki and Sylvie are freed from their constraints by B-15 and a fight between them and the TVA ensue. Gaining the advantage, Loki and Sylvie eventually find themselves free of any enemies, and Sylvie attacks one of the Time Keepers with her sword. The Time Keeper is beheaded and, as the head falls to their feet, Loki and Sylvie realise that these three beings are merely robotic avatars and not the real Time Keepers.

Without any way to destroy the Time Keepers and the TVA, Sylvie is lost. Loki, reminiscent of their moment on Lamentis-1 and Mobius' accusation of romantic feelings between the two, tries to communicate to Sylvie whatever it is he is feeling, but before he can make her understand, he is disintegrated by Renslayer who turns out to be alive, still.

The mid-credit scene reveals that Loki did, in fact, not die, but finds himself in another realm where he is greeted by various other incarnations of himself. Prominently among them: CLASSIC LOKI (RICHARD E. GRANT), KID LOKI (JACK VEAL), and BOASTFUL LOKI (DEOBIA OPAREI).

FAVOURITE MOMENTS

Loki is back in Mobius' presence and we are immediately back to bantering like an old married couple and I very much appreciated that. These two have such a lovely dynamic, I adore it. Never thought I would say that, but I really do. I love Owen Wilson in this role very much and he and Tom have such great chemistry.

I also really liked Hunter B-15 taking Sylvie back to the apocalypse they had found her in, and asks her about C-20 and the memories the both of them have lived while Sylvie controlled them. Her chocked back sob and then the "I looked happy" was just so nicely done. I was very happy to see that B-15 was immediately ready to team up with Sylvie and drop the TVA at a moment's notice.

The same goes for Mobius. I loved that, despite Loki's betrayal and the fact that he was so set in not wanting to trust him again, Mobius still couldn't shake the feeling that Loki's comment was more than just a quip and went to investigate. He is not just a mindless follower of orders and I love that very much about him.

FAVOURITE CHARACTER(S)

My main man Loki, always and forever. I adore this version of Loki so much. He is so much fun! I love that we get this actually, truly mischievous Loki, this chaotic mess. He isn't brooding and full of evil plans. No! He wants shenanigans and fun. I love it. And I love that we get to see more of his vulnerable side too.

But also, Mobius! My man! He's back!!! If this man doesn't get to ride a jet ski at least once I will be very upset. I will also be very upset if he is actually gone now. (Cannot believe I am saying this about an Owen Wilson character. This is new. Good on you, Owen, good on you.)

QUESTIONS, CURIOSITIES

Less a question and more a demand: if the mid-credit scene means Loki exists somewhere after being disintegrated, Mobius better be alive somewhere. I want that lad back, whole and in one piece. You hear me, Marvel? Otherwise you might have yourself another CoulsonLives on your hand, you just watch.

I've already seen a bunch of reactions to the whole Loki/Sylvie thing and most either go with happily shipping along, or being very against this concept out of some sort of incestuous concerns. And I feel like, am I the only one who watched that scene as neither romantic nor incestuous as such, but more as Loki being very confused?

Apart from Frigga, and possibly, to some degree and especially earlier in life, the brotherly love of Thor, I don't think Loki has ever felt love. And for the first time there is someone who not just understands him completely, but also accepts him exactly as he is. Especially following their conversation about love in 103, I think what was between Sylvie and Loki on Lamentis-1 that caused the nexus event, and makes Mobius accuse Loki of being in love with her, is not a romantic sense of love, but in a way a certain self-acceptance?

I'm sure Loki has some kinds of feelings but he doesn't know what they are or how to categorise them. And he is very confused about liking Sylvie and caring that she is alright. But I don't think he would have understood it as romantic love without Mobius' accusation of it. I don't think it's narcissism either. What I saw, was a glimmer of Loki realising that he can love himself, he can accept himself. If Sylvie, who is him, understands and accepts him, then so can he. But yeah, I'm curious to see where they're gonna go with this, certainly.

OVERALL IMPRESSION

Generally, this episode was absolutely amazing. Every week I keep finding myself becoming the shocked Pikachu meme while watching the episode, but this week especially. I can't wait to see what next week brings, and I hope very much that we find out Mobius is, in fact, still alive somewhere.

[still image taken from the episode's imdb page]

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tosikoarts · 4 years

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SFW Alphabet | Kikuta

Ogata is next. You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Kikuta is so serious that it comes off extremely funny. He hasn’t been in a stable relationship for quite a while so getting back in the game gives him headache and upset stomach. For a person that pompous, with a damn jacket made of collected guns, he acts awkwardly sweet and romantic, and he is also a little afraid that it will push his potential partner away. In short, Kikuta is a mess.

Opposite to his own state, Kikuta wants to bring peace to his loved one’s life. He tries to pull off image of ideal man, one that will take off his jacket and cover a puddle with it just for his partner to stay clean. Seeing encouragement makes him more confident, less nervous, and therefore more refined. You’ll be drowning in attention, gifts, praise. Later, Kikuta gets comfortable with his own clumsiness and awkwardness and just laughs it away.

Relaxing together is a must. Impromptu rest in hot springs, not in those controlled by establishments, but in wild ones, is a great example. Reading aloud? Yep. Chilling under the blankets? Yep. Massages and back rubs? Yep. Kikuta manages to make everything wholesome. Thankfully, war couldn’t kill his kindliness.

He voluntarily takes on the role of a guardian angel to protect his loved one from world’s harshness. Kikuta wouldn’t want them to see what he has seen - pain, cruelty, disease - so he made it his goal to improve himself and the world around.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

The highest possibility of becoming Kikuta’s friend is either being soldier of 7th division or being nurse that patched him up few times. He is rarely seen out of his missions so chances to get acquainted with him randomly on a street are low.

Kikuta is the friend that bails you out of problems, no matter how serious they are. In a street fight, he will kick any thug’s ass and make them beg for mercy. If you lose the bid while gambling, he will offer his own money and give you a chance to win some back. Overall, you can always rely on him.

Get ready for philosophical conversations over the glass of whiskey. He likes to talk on a variety of topics, especially abstract ones, like life and death, moment and eternity, love and hate. Most of the reasoning comes down to Kikuta’s military experience but can you blame him for it? Many allegories with weapons: “time flies like a bullet”, “life is just being at gunpoint without realizing it”, etc.

Most likely, he will be looking for a person whom he can serve as a father figure. Kikuta needs someone to look after thou he will rather die than admit it.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Kikuta has to be in specific mood to initiate cuddles and receive them. If he is busy, he will give his partner a faint smile and ask them to wait a little. Surprise, he doesn’t like spooning since it deprives him of the possibility of seeing their adorable face. Half-spoon sounds good and gives more opportunities like kissing his loved one in the top of their head or ruffling their hair. Honeymoon hug is the all time favorite that he likes to initiate right before falling asleep.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Mediocre in both cooking and cleaning, but, boy, does he want this domestic life? Absolutely. Kikuta dreams about getting away from military, finding a new, maybe, not that exciting, stable job, and settle down with his favorite person and few pups. Hardly anyone knows about it, but thought about a small yard where one can sit and watch the slowly falling leaves in autumn or play in a first snow with his own child in winter makes him so soft. Waking up in the comfort of own bedroom, cooking dinner for the whole family, wandering around his own house… Kikuta can’t wait for it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Comprehensive information about the break-up will be presented at its best in oral or written form. Kikuta addresses everything they are interested in, from reason to the wish to stay friends since his care for their feelings is infinite and he wouldn’t want to leave them without proper closure. After parting ways, Kikuta gives them space to recollect themself, let off the steam, and recover but he plans to come back in their life as a good friend (if they are okay with that, of course).

Kikuta is one of the people that got your back even after bad break-up. You could throw a tantrum, tell how much you hate his guts, and still he will check up on you, protect your name behind the back, and treat you with the same respect as always.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Typical traditional looks on marriage, would want to get married after 1-2 years of relationship. After the appearance of attachment, Kikuta can’t imagine himself with anyone else even if there is a more suitable partner right under his nose. His trust in them is immeasurable: their worst flaws do not don't bother him that much, and when they do, Kikuta tries to gently persuade his loved one into more appropriate behavior. Their past doesn’t matter either unless it is associated with straight-out high treason. Like he doesn’t justify anything but doesn’t seem to emphasize attention on the past wrongs. He is one of the most committed man around, really.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

You have to have Kikuta’s heart set on you for him to show the gentle side. He is polite, it's true, he knows how to court person, but he must force himself to put tenderness in action. Good news: it works like a physical exercise. The more often you do this, the easier it gets. Over time, Kikuta feels comfortable enough to call them pet names like angel or dearest, even in public, without worrying to appear vulnerable.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Not the biggest fan of the hugs, but likes to put one arm around loved one’s shoulder. There is no particular reason, Kikuta is just too awkward when someone hugs him. Only his fingertips land on their back or waist, never the whole palm, and he tries to keep some space between them too. The exception to the rule is first meeting after long time apart when Kikuta wants to press them into himself, hold them as close as possible, and live this moment to the fullest.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Hard to say. If Kikuta sees frivolous attitude on their part, if he feels that he is just another pit stop on the road of their love victories, he will keep confession for someone else. Also, Kikuta either chooses the best romantic moment to confess or does it in the most awkward inappropriate time possible, no in between. After this, he is still hesitant to throw sweet words to the left and to the right but he eventually thaws and turns in the softest man, muttering sweet nonsense in his loved one’s ear.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Kikuta can be characterized as selectively jealous with a high threshold of tolerance. He has few people he wouldn’t want see his loved one around and he doesn’t care about everyone else, seeing them as unworthy opponents. One of the chosen people is Usami. Despite belonging to the same division, Kikuta doesn't trust him one iota. Superior private irradiates chaotic energy and aggression that easily can transform into harassment just to annoy Kikuta and bug him. Another one would be Tsurumi, known for the persistent love conquest and violent ways of achieving his goals. The last one would be Tsukishima, simply because he looks like a competitive man in his silent seriousness and devotion.

Poorly tolerates his loved one acting flirtatious, especially with three people listed above. His main coping mechanism is distancing which allows Kikuta to think about the situation and make sure he isn’t overreacting. After that, he decides to discuss the problem since he does want to make this relationship work.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sensual kisser. He starts out as a man who knows what he is doing, skillfully and gently, and grows pretty demanding over the time. Kikuta likes to kiss in a secluded environment where there is no need to worry about anything other than the person in front of him, completely surrendering to growing passion. Yep, lip biting, tongue sucking, everything at the right time and in the right place. Lip kisses are his favorite because Kikuta knows nobody does it better, okay, but he is down for anything else too. He likes to kiss his loved one on the neck as well as plant kisses on both of their hands. And where he likes to be kissed? Lips and, who would expect, clavicles, and chest.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Seeing little kid automatically makes Kikuta nervous since, despite the efforts made, he has difficulties in communicating with them. The only fear Kikuta has is not death, nor prison, it’s crying baby that won’t fall silent after few coos and short cuddle. After several unsuccessful interactions with kids, he wondered if he could become a good father in the future and self-given answer was depressing. If his loved one wants to have children with him in the future, they have to rake the mountain of his doubts.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Chances are you won’t catch Kikuta in the morning because of important business he has to run through the work week. Maybe, you will hear the sound of a slamming door or receding footsteps but nothing more. On the weekends, this man always wakes up earlier than his partner, and almost immediately gets out of bed. Half of the times there will be an easy breakfast waiting for you on the table, and the other half you’ll find Kikuta industriously doing varied housework Cuddles (or something more intimate) are rare, but Kikuta is more than willing to make up for it during the day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Balances time at home and nights out well. Small dinner parties play great role in Kikuta’s life, he loves to invite guests to come over for a cup of tea and small talk or for whole evening of playing hanafuda. Kikuta isn’t the best host but with the help of supportive partner he will be more confident and better one. Spending time alone with the loved one, he likes to talk about the future and about anything at all, play games, or simply cuddle. If we speak about nights put, Kikuta is a big fan of Japanese theater, especially Western-derived shingeki that gained popularity in 1900s, and he insists going there at least once a month.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

First, he needs to get accustomed to the person, to observe their actions towards others so he can build an approximate image of them in the head. After the probationary period, Kikuta begins to gradually open up: his personality is revealed in short conversations over a cup of tea, in talk by the flickering fire, in single phrases like greetings or goodbyes. He often brings up old memories but needs a slight push to go deeper than nostalgic sighs. Never ever has word outburst so you’ll never hear information not meant for your ears.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Scarily cold-blooded when angry, but you have to push to piss Kikuta off, put some effort into it. He is used to deal with all kinds of people. Therefore, there’s already dozen of prepared lines of conduct that can be put to work when somebody is deliberately trying to mess with him. When angered, Kikuta’s first reaction is to shut the person up with one sentence if not a single word. Usually, it works. Sucks that it doesn’t when it comes to broken plate or spilled hellishly hot tea.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Here is the deal: good memorization doesn’t guarantee correct interpretation. Just like the case about the relationship between Ogata and Yuusaku, Kikuta may confuse something and come to the wrong conclusions, so often he chooses too subtly ask a leading question about thing that interests him. He is quite attentive and catches slightest changes in their behavior, listens carefully to the words they speak, but Kikuta can make a fool of himself once in a while. Like he forgot that they have a peach allergy (and he bought like 2 kilos) or they are scarred of big dogs (and he thought they would want to pet that sharp-toothed Kai Ken).

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment would be either proposal or moving in together. Both events mark a new stage in the relationship and keep him on the tiptoes. The day before Kikuta loses his composure: everything falls out of his hands, he cannot eat, cannot drink, cannot sleep because electrifying thoughts don't let him concentrate at all. The limbs seem foreign to him and Kikuta reaches new peak of awkwardness, tripping over his own legs. When the time comes, he is calm again. With the last bit of strength, he puts on a confident face and does his thing. The selected ring fits finger just right as well as his lips land exactly on theirs. After all Kikuta is absolutely sure of his choice and would not want to spend life with someone other than his chosen loved one.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

The closer the person gets, the more worried Kikuta becomes. You never know who is friend and who is enemy in the ongoing treasure hunt, who can stab you in the back because of newly devised action plan. To calm the soul, Kikuta may teach them self-defense both barehanded and with the use of firearms. Also, he is always straightforward about people to be careful with and people who can be trusted. For example, he will do his best to hide his loved one’s existence from 1st Lieutenant Tsurumi even if it means Kikuta has to stage their death.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Kikuta is your dream man when it comes to dates, he keeps things classy in the best sense of this word. Outside the military profession, Kikuta has the ability to appeal to the more refined side of himself and share his views with other. He is the one to take his loved one to historical museum or secluded beach at sunset, the one to look for a restaurant that follows Japanese cooking traditions that have been passed down from generation to generation. The only thing that can make him late is the doubts while choosing the best bouquet. On the anniversaries, there’s no tangible difference since he is used to spoil them with attention pretty much every day. Performs home tasks diligently as well.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Kikuta can be stubborn as donkey, godlessly, unapologetically stubborn. On some occasions he agrees with what another person is saying but still does it his own way, without any explanation, just because he thinks his option is better. It is more common in in the professional field but may pop up in domesticity too.

Speaking of work, Kikuta tends to over-work himself when case includes the thing that really interests him. Digging in paperwork brings him a feel of being needed and sense of stability, both of which are not always present in relationships with people. A person can drastically change his mind and words, stab you in the back, leave… but work? Work could never.

Kikuta can be a bore that wants to stay in one place, talk with the same people, speak out the same ideas. Such company will seem dull to over-active, expressive, and extraverted people.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Oooh, you can’t tell it from his face, but Kikuta takes good care of himself. Not a metrosexual, but a type that wants to be presentable at any time. His style is consists of neutral dark colors, smooth lines, as the opposite of his sharp facial features, and even his casual stubble is thought-out accessory. Probably carries his favorite comb in inner pocket to keep his hair smooth.

He has a collection of neckties for all occasions as well as he knows how to tie them in different, often whimsical ways. Kikuta would really like to pass on his knowledge to the son since in his imagination this is excellent example of cool father-son interaction.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Impeccable self-control helps to get though the loss partially. Right after the break Kikuta excuses himself and leaves. He needs fresh air and, maybe, cigarette. Or a drink. Or start his evening routine hours earlier than usual. Crushing awareness comes day later, when he cannot habitually hug his loved one or get an unexpected kiss on a cheek. Heartsore grows harder and goes away for weeks before Kikuta gathers strength to let them go. Restrains himself from relationship for year or two and secretly hopes they will come back.

If they were killed, Kikuta does not pursue the idea of revenge at any cost. He bears the loss steadfastly, self-reflects through long conversations with Ariko, and plunges in overtime work. If Kikuta gets a chance to cross roads with a killer, he will strangle him with them with bare hands, looking straight into the eyes, and watching their life slips away.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Kikuta is a dog person that has never in his life owned a dog. When a stray dog runs up to him on the street, Kikuta always scratches it behind the ear, and asks “who is the best boy”. While in army, he took care of fluffy mongrel that was sneaking around the military base until First Lieutenant Tsurumi ordered to get rid of it. Kikuta still has a dream to adopt few dogs with his loved one so they both can take care of them (and the puppies).

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Eccentric personas. The man is already working with Usami, he is already under tremendous pressure, okay? His psyche can tolerate one freak but no more. Eccentric persona does not mean a common person who has one or a couple of distinctive features. We all have specific oddities. No, we are talking about a walking circus, loud, bright, and defiant. Kikuta tries to avoid this type of people at all cost.

Outrageous rudeness makes him tic too. Ill-timed swearing, terrible table manners, inability to behave in society. Small annoying details add up to one big picture that Kikuta physically cannot ignore. He'll definitely try to change that in person.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Kikuta has an evening ritual he performs every day before going to bed. It starts with attentively checking if all the doors are closed, then he puts out the lights everywhere except bedroom and bathroom. While washing his face Kikuta makes plans for tomorrow. He revises them while choosing clean outfit for the next day and putting them next to his bed so in the morning he could instantly jump into his shoes, pull on pants, shirt, and run on important government affairs. Kikuta is mysteriously silent whole time. Attempts to break the silence with small talk result in short dry answers. This routine never changes, even if someone requires an urgent meeting, since repeated actions bring at least some stability to his life.

Calm sleeper until he has to share a bed with another person. Kikuta’s peaceful sleep turns into terrible insomnia, bags under his eyes start to resemble Tsukishima’s, and he feels just awful trying to explain another person that it is not their fault at all. Intensive training, special meditation, counting sheep do not work so he quietly lies on the back and listen’s to another person’s breath.

#golden kamuy #kikuta #golden kamuy headcanon #golden kamuy imagine #tosikowrites

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gigilberry-wips · 3 years

Text

the bonds of kinship

(image used can be found here)

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairings: None

Warnings: Brief mentions of fighting and violence, Spoilers for Season 2 Finale

Tags: Reader-Insert, No (Y/N), GN!Reader, Jedi!Reader, Creative Depictions of The Force, Action, Angst, Feels, Character Study, Healthy Relationships, Hopeful Ending

Word Count: 2.9k

Summery:

You’re a Padawan training under Luke Skywalker when your master recieves a distress signal from a Force sensitive child. He follows the lead and brings you along for the ride.

AO3 link

A/N: A few days after the season 2 finale I was lurking in the mandalorian tags, as you do, when one of those “i wish someone would write-” posts (this one) got my muse to drop by long enough to toss this one shot through the window.

- Obligatory disclaimer that I don’t know a thing about Star Wars. This show is my first introduction to the franchise and at the moment I am in absolutely no hurry to enlighten myself further (is there anyone else who’s here for the authentic experience of being as clueless as Din about this show? Because I’m having a blast :D Just about every subtle reference, easter egg, and character mention has gone flying over my head and I honestly find that hilarious)

I don’t know how well I’ve written the Force here, so just ... roll with it, please and thanks.

- Apparently Luke's ship is supposed to be a one seater kind of deal, but for the sake of this fic let's just pretend it has room for two people, yeah? Yeah? Good.

While writing this I thought of the song King of the Fairies, performed by The Dubliners. It'll make more sense near the end bit of this. I hope.

@ctrlmando I hope this turned out alright! Enjoy! ^_^

The Imperial battle ship made an imposing figure in the vast, glittering expanse of space. Under the cramped confines of your knees, R2D2 stirred, blinking and beeping in a way that made you mildly concerned for your shins.

“… so, this is where he is?”

“It is.” Master Skywalker nodded, his eyes trained on the floating craft. “Do you remember your part of the plan?”

“Get in, find the kid, get out.”

“Correct.” As a port came into view, he added, “Are you sure you’re ready for this? If you want to, you can stay here with R2D2.”

You gripped your saber’s hilt where it was clipped to your belt. In all the years you’d been under your master’s tutelage, there hadn’t been much in the way of students to train with on your level, few and far between as they were. This wasn’t just the first student to contact your master first, and through the Force no less, this was the first time you were being trusted on a mission like this.

For you to pass up such an opportunity? Out of the question. “Born ready,” you said, your tone firm.

“Then by all means, lead the way.”

The ship’s hull passed through the entrance just as the comms came to life. A woman’s voice spoke through it, but neither you nor your master answered. The moment the ship docked, you jumped out and took off at a sprint.

Keeping low to the ground, you focused all your powers on stealth and speed, dodging around the combatants before they had time to react. It wasn’t your job to take care of them, not yet – and from the sounds of it, your master was doing well for himself. While he took the brunt of the fire, you focused on navigating the corridors and opening your mind to the Force.

He was there. The child was a strong, bright little beacon, his presence lighting a path that ran clear as truth. The droids that tried to block your way you shoved aside with your powers, until you were well past them and they were left to face another, far more deadly opponent to charge at.

You hardly registered the fallen bodies you skipped over. Didn’t matter. You’d think about it later. Rescue came first.

The child’s presence led you to a lift. Above your head, a humming, artificial energy grew stronger and stronger the further up you went. When the lift opened, it was to a short corridor lined on either side with battle ready droids.

But by then you had your lightsaber out. Time to fight.

In a blur of sparks and tearing metal, you sliced the first droid in half. The next to come at you got its gun tossed out of its grasp through the Force and its head swiped off. One after another you cut them down, using the lightsaber and Force as needed, switching between the two with an efficiency that had been drilled into you until it had become habit.

The last droid fell in a twisted pile at your feet. You stepped past it. You waited.

In the few minutes of sizzling silence, you contemplated the dented metal door before you, so large it encompassed to breadth and hight of the corridor. There were … five? Six? Six adult creatures, all facing the entrance. Or no – one was unconscious. There was also that bright little child. He seemed unharmed, but you couldn’t be sure until you saw for yourself.

The door slid open. You marched into the room with lightsaber in hand and smoke curling at your heels. You allowed your hood to drop, finally showing your face to the gathering.

Front and centre there stood a humanoid clad in armour. Beskar armour. In a style you never thought you’d see more than once in your life.

A Mandalorian.

And it wasn’t just one. There were two more in the back, with slight modifications in their armour design, but distinctly Mandalorian all the same. Save for the first Mandalorian, the rest of the adults had their weapons raised at you.

The Mandalorian spoke. “Are you a Jedi?”

“… I am a Jedi in training.” You tilted you head. “My master should be arriving shortly.”

He had just finished down below. You felt more than heard him board the lift; he would be there in a few moments. Deactivating your lightsaber, you clipped it to your belt and stepped to the side of the entrance, closer to where several monitors idly hummed.

A very long, very green ear peeked out from behind a chair and you were met with the beseeching gaze of a child.

He … was tiny. You doubted he’d even pass your knee. He clung to the seat with tiny, tiny hands, and he was dressed in a brown, smock-like thing that made him look even tinier. But no matter how fragile he looked, no matter how impossibly wide and dewy his eyes were, the presence that radiated out of him was unmistakable. He was the kid.

Curious, you reached your thoughts out to him. A warm, exuberant little mind eagerly found yours, shy and hopeful.

What do you want? You asked.

You were met with a flurry of sensations. A sweet smell, a full belly, a metal ball?, gentle hands, a human chuckle.

… well. That wasn’t … unexpected, per se. He was a baby after all. But he hadn’t quite understood your question.

You tried again. Why did you call my master? Why are we here?

The child’s ears twitched. He opened his mind further and allowed you to see.

There were many emotions there, confusing in how strong they were and how drastically they contrasted. Nostalgia, safety, joy, peace. Sorrow and pain, loss and rage. They all held a strange depth to them, like a mind that had lived far, far longer than its apparent youth suggested.

Eventually, the emotions solidified into thoughts. Make me strong. They said.

… You want strength? Why would he need more? He was already strong, incredibly so.

… I have been hurt and I have been lost. But he protects me. The child looked up and to the side, towards what you now realised was his caregiver. I love him, and he loves me, but I can’t protect him. He fights for me and he saves me and he will die saving me and everyone dies saving me and it’s MY FAULT. Without warning, a barrage of memories flashed through your sight, followed by feelings of fear, panic, and helplessness. So make me strong. If I can protect me, then he doesn’t have to. He can just love me, and we will be happy.

At this, a sudden wave of love flooded out from him. It was a selfish love, needy and possessive. But that wasn’t unexpected either. Most of it was just simple, baby love, a “this is mine to keep and mine forever” love. You would’ve been surprised had it been anything different.

A hand landed on your shoulder. At once you felt your master’s presence, bringing you out of your observations and back to the present.

“… he doesn’t want to go with you.”

You looked up sharply. It was the Mandalorian who’d spoken. He glanced between the two of you and his charge.

“He is waiting for your permission.” Said your master, oddly gentle.

The way you were reading into the Force meant that you could feel a little of the surface emotions coming from those in the room. You imagined that if you could see it, the Mandalorian’s face would’ve taken on a complicated, pained expression.

Not receiving a reply, your master continued. “He is strong with the force, but talent without training is nothing. I will give my life to protect the child. But he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

Although he spoke quietly, his words carried a weight and authority that could not be refuted. One that came from being the one and only Luke Skywalker, the Jedi master who had earned the right to use it. And when he spoke, most tended to listen.

Something in the Mandalorian seemed to fall apart at those words. But at the same time, many other things fell together, forming a picture of resolve and acceptance.

He walked to the chair and carefully picked up the child, his hands steady even as his voice shook. He spoke to him and him alone, words so soft you barely heard some of what he said.

“… I’ll see you again … I promise.”

The kid reached for him, an unspoken request. Without hesitation, without a second thought, the Mandalorian did something that shocked what little knowledge you had of the Mandalore right out of you.

He removed his helmet.

Where before there had been a nondescript Mandalorian, there now stood a man. A heartbroken man with tears in his eyes. The tears did not fall, not even when the child touched his cheek and he shut his eyes to them.

“… time to go.”

The kid’s ears drooped.

He said something else and let the child down. Straightening up, he nodded to you and your master.

While your master nodded back, you furrowed your brow. There was something strange about the emotions that came from this man. Not so much that they were bad or wrong, but that they were different from what you knew. It wasn’t just sadness or longing, as it often was in the parents and family of the disciples your master took into his care. It was more … complicated. Deeper, somehow. Even the love that came from him felt different. You couldn’t quite place your finger on how or why.

It perplexed you, made you want to reach into his skull and see what was there. But that would be rude.

“Are you sure you want him to come with us?” You asked.

Because if he didn’t, if he really, truly had a problem with it, then the kid wasn’t coming. Family drama was messy, and your master knew better than anyone else not to get in the way of that.

The man considered you. You crossed your arms. His gaze darted to the monitors, where the view from different parts of the ship still showed.

“… do you know, I took out one of those droids.” He smiled. That is, his lips tilted up at the corners. “One of them. And I barely did it. But you, you took on dozens of them. I saw you. You did it in moments, and you say you are in training.”

Glancing down to where the child clung to his leg, the smile became something sad. “This child has been hunted across the galaxy. I have done what I could, but this … this is more than I can do for him. I cannot give him what he needs me to. I cannot protect him the way he needs me to. He’s made a choice. The least I can do is see that he gets it.”

“Even if it doesn’t make you happy?”

Because it didn’t. It shouldn’t have, not with the bond that stretched between the two of them.

But he only shook his head. “I’d rather he be alive with you than dead with me.”

Before you could think further on that, a loud trill interrupted the air. R2D2 rolled past the doors and came to a stop to the right of where you and your master stood, happily beeping like it either didn’t notice the tension in the room or else didn’t care.

It caught the child’s attention. His entire face lit up – oh. Oh. There was a bond there, too. Something to ask about later that you tucked away in your head.

Letting go of his caregiver’s leg, the kid toddled up to the robot and babbled at it. R2 responded in kind. The sight created a bubble of cuteness strong enough that you didn’t have to look to know that most of the adults had eased their collective guard.

While the two conversed, the unmasked-Mandalorian idly held his helmet. And there was another contradiction – to ask, or not to ask, that was the question. To get it over with now or leave it alone. You didn’t have to; it’s not like knowing the answer would affect you in any way.

But then again, it was the first time you had a Mandalorian to give you an answer. Might as well.

“… You know, I’ve never met a Mandalorian before.” You said conversationally. “Doesn’t taking the helmet off go against your creed?”

He blinked, looking down at the helmet like he’d forgotten about it. Meanwhile, Master Skywalker did the mental equivalent of a tsk, but you ignored it.

“… yes, and no. I thought it did. But there is more to it than that. When you reach the heart of it.” His eyes settled upon the child. “I am a Mandalorian. I have my creed. I have not betrayed it, not in the way that matters. It … took me some time to realise this.”

He sighed, closing his eyes again. When he opened them, it was with a clarity that shone in his emotions. “I trust you. Both of you. Please look after him.”

“We will.”

At the sound of his voice, the child seemed to notice your master for the first time. He tilted his head curiously up at him. After a moment, he shuffled over and lifted his arms up.

Master Skywalker obliged him. Picking him up, he nodded his thanks to the room and walked out the door. Taking one last look around, you gave a slight bow and did the same, not turning back or minding the still sparking heaps of broken metal strewn across the floor. Propped up on your master’s shoulder, the kid had a good view of what you were walking away from, kept in his sights all the way to the lift.

It was when you were in the lift yourself that you saw what he saw. The gathered adults back in the room, but especially, the man who had cared for and protected him. And as you contemplated the two of them, you felt that something again, reflected in the child as he felt it from his guardian and held fast to it.

It stayed with you, as your little rescue party traversed back through the wreckage that was a once heavily armed battle force, as you climbed into your seat and your master guided the ship into the embrace of space.

Of course, he called attention to it first. “Your mind is troubled.”

You shrugged, even if he couldn’t see it. The lights of hyper space flashed by the windows, reflecting in the child’s eyes while you held him securely in your lap.

“I’m just somewhat … confused, is all. I know what I felt, but I don’t know what to make of it.” You bit your lip, giving the kid’s cheek a tap. “You felt it, too. What do you think?”

“Why don’t you ask the little one? He should be the most familiar with it.”

Ah. That reminded you. So far you’d spent the entire time referring to your new fellow disciple as “child” and “kid” and had yet to ask his name.

You mentally nudged him. He twisted around to look up at you and gurgled.

Grogu. He said.

“Grogu.” You nodded, brushing your thumb over his nose. I have a question for you. That person you cherish, he confuses me. When you think of him, what do you see?

Grogu pushed his hands against your chest, and his bright little mind painted a picture of the man who’d come to span the entirety of his world. Who’d lifted him from a life of darkness and pain and given him another, one filled with safety and warmth and home.

Through his eyes you saw what he saw. Through him you felt what he’d felt. A man who bore the marks of loss and terrible grief. A soul that had been shaped by duty, devotion, and sacrifice. Of promises that were honoured, of kindness for the sake of kindness, of extending peace when there was a choice to be had. Of an unconditional, selfless love, that gave itself freely and demanded nothing in return.

That you knew. You knew it in the way you were taught to connect with the Force and all it touched. Because the truth was that being free of attachments did not dictate that there had to be no love. To protect something, you first had to love it enough to protect it. To honour life and all it entailed, you had to accept it and grow with it and still learn to love it, faults and all.

That is what it meant to be on the side of the Light. That is what it meant to take the gift you had and use it to restore balance and peace.

The way that man had loved carried a protectiveness and freedom that was entirely for the one he gave it to. A love that was given freely, that cherished what it held and asked for nothing in return.

And this little child held it in his heart and his hands. He pressed them into your cheek, and his dull claws made indents in your skin. You dazedly blinked out of your thoughts, his face coming into focus and the warm weight of him held against your front.

“… I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a thing in someone.” Even to your own ears, you sounded faint.

Your master didn’t ask what you were talking about. He’d probably felt it as well as you had. “He has a good example set for himself.”

The ship’s dashboard blinked with lights as it exited hyperspace. It made Grogu perk up and try to turn around to see it, wiggling in your arms. You quietly smiled.

“Yes … yes, he does.”

I have my own thoughts on the finale and people’s reactions to it that I might share eventually, but for now I’ll give credit where credit is due:

Din and his beliefs

Din being a good father: here, here, here, and here

Din being a kind, wonderful person in general

What got me thinking of that song for Din in the first place

R2D2 & Grogu headcanon

From Grogu’s perspective: here and here

From a storytelling perspective: here and here

#the mandalorian #the mandalorion spoilers #grogu #din and grogu #din and baby yoda #baby yoda #din djaren #luke skywalker #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #reader self insert #jedi reader #my writing

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