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sserpente · 5 months

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The Mistletoe Tradition

There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.

With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.

“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.

“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”

A/N: I’m not sure if Christmas/Yule is a thing in Faerûn but if it wasn’t… I sure made it a thing now! Worked in some of his actual quotes for it to be even more relatable because we're all simps, lol. Also using Yule and Christmas interchangeably here because I can. Merry Christmas to you all! ♥

Words: 2197

Warnings: fluff

“Jingle Bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” Humming to yourself, you rummaged through your bag to take a closer look at the items you had snatched on your journey today. A bag full of peanuts, perfect to still your hunger on the road, a new dagger you had taken from a corpse, for your old one was falling apart at the hilt, a letter from an Iron Fist written to Lord Enver Gortash himself, and—perhaps most importantly—a little snow globe you had found in an abandoned cottage. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing and had definitely been worth Lae’zel’s eye roll.

You were headed towards Baldur’s Gate and decided to rest in the Elfsong Tavern where Gale, Wyll, and Halsin were currently discussing the price of a room to stay in for the next couple of days. The air smelled like mulled wine and pine cones, and the tables in the tavern were decorated with tree branches, candles and sliced oranges and cinnamon sticks. The atmosphere was lovely—festive. You leaned against Astarion with your cheek against his chest, a sigh escaping your lips.

The pale elf was quite used to your—at least by his standards—unusual behaviour by now. Well… sort of. He’d expected more hostility toward him after the night he tried to bite you, that much you knew. Instead, you’d offered to help and… huh, secretly drooled all over him.

He certainly knew what he was doing and you hated that it worked. You didn’t want to turn into a giggling and blushing mess in his presence and yet… that was exactly what happened. Every. Single. Day. You tried to hide it as best as you could but at this point, you were pretty certain that he knew you were a hopeless case whenever he was near. And once you’d started sleeping with each other… you had become putty in his hands entirely, desperate for his touch even when it wasn’t sexual.

You offered him a cuddling dose daily now and you never let go until he did.

“All right, everyone. We’re settled. The owner has agreed to give us one of the suites upstairs. It has thirteen beds, its own washing area, and a fireplace. I don’t know about you but I am knackered,” Wyll announced as he cracked his bones.

“You go ahead without me. I’d like to take care of something real quick. I won’t be long,” you said, the idea thundering through your head with a start having you beam from the inside out.

Gale lifted a hand as if to raise everyone’s attention before speaking. “I hope so! I have a perfectly hearty rabbit stew planned for supper.”

It had taken the inn owner ten gold pieces and a lot of convincing to get you a Yule Tree. Was it important in midst of everything that was happening? Possibly not. Were you still humming Christmas songs yet again as you carried a small box full of ornaments and decorations up the wooden stairs to your room? Absolutely.

Gale was already cooking. They all knew the very moment you entered the room with it that the tree someone had brought up in the meantime was your doing. And now, while the others were getting ready to rest for the day, you began decorating the room as if you didn’t have a care in the world. And for just a moment, you pretended you didn’t.

You spotted Astarion glancing at you from the corners of your eye. He’d crossed his arms before his chest, looking as handsome as ever and even more so now with his hair still a little damp from getting the dust of the road off of him.

“Need something?” You smiled, noticing how he admired the pine cones dipped in molten silver and the delicious-smelling orange slices on the tree for just a second too long. The straw stars you were specifically proud of as you stood on your tiptoes and stretched to put the biggest one on the tip of the tree, completing your masterwork.

“Oh, don’t mind me… I’m just enjoying the show.”

You blinked at him, gnashing your teeth as you felt a treacherous heat creeping up your cheeks, for his gaze was by no means fixed on the tree anymore but your behind. At times it was still hard to believe this incredible elf was attracted to you of all people.

“Is this really necessary? I mean, really? You’re wasting our time and energy on decorating a tree?”

“Hey… we won’t know yet if that’s our last Christmas. I don’t mean to be pessimistic but you know just as well as I do that there is a good chance we won’t make it out of this alive. I might as well enjoy the little things until… I can’t. You never know. Besides, this is the first time in weeks we’re sleeping with a roof over our heads. We have beds and a fireplace. I would be silly not to decorate a little, especially with a recent murder right next door.”

“Well… I suppose… but don’t expect me to help you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, oh fangy one! I’m actually done and it looks absolutely amazing, if I may say so.”

Astarion scoffed—playfully so. It was then Halsin joined, admiring your tree up close with a second portion of stew in his hands.

“Well, I think it looks beautiful. There’s no better way to get into the festive spirit than with a little bit of nature in one’s home.”

You fought hard to hide the chuckle bubbling up your throat when Astarion rolled his eyes as soon as the druid turned away again.

“The man really can’t shut up about enjoying the freedom of nature’s gifts.”

You couldn’t help it. You burst out laughing. Needless to say, your companions’ shocked expressions made you cackle even more but perhaps the surprise on Astarion’s face was what brought you even more joy than the way he had mimicked Halsin.

“In the end, it won’t be the mind flayers who kill me. It’ll be you,” you choked out, wiping your eyes with the ball of your thumb. Gods, you were actually crying from laughter.

There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.

With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.

“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.

“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”

“Do they now?”

You grinned.

“Well… in that case, we better not risk the wrath of whatever god came up with it.”

“That would be Frigg, wife of Odin and mother of Baldur who never wanted the mistletoe to be forgotten again after Loki—“ You didn’t manage to finish your sentence for in the next moment, Astarion pulled you close and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was a promise and a reward, a display of affection… and a small gesture of care warming your heart.

“How do you always do that?” you murmured against his mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to draw a deep breath. “Leave me wanting for more? Tempting me?”

“Tempting you, hmm? Well… You know what they say… the only way to cure a temptation… is to give in to it.”

A little squeak escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. You pressed your lips together to a thin line, eyes wide as your hand flew up to your mouth to cover it. But of course, Astarion had heard you. Amused, he quirked an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing.”

“Really? Because I think I heard quite the delectable little noise coming from your lips just now.”

“N-no. Oh gods, you have to stop this. I will melt, Astarion. I will literally melt and then you can go get a mop and wipe me up!”

Astarion laughed, surprise mixing with delight. “Oh, darling, I could go all night… as you well know,” he purred.

Another squeak. He’d caught on to it now, of course—that the reason for those inhumane sounds escaping your body was all his doing. Oh, for fuck’s sake…

“Okay, that’s it.” Arms akimbo, you narrowed your eyes at him. You were all but flustered when you grabbed the collar of his shirt with such vigour, the tiniest hint of surprise and hesitation flittered across his face before his smug smirk returned and you kissed him yet again, longer and more passionately this time.

“You really will be the death of me” you breathed against his lips. “It’s a nice way to go though, I won’t complain.” The urge to rip off his clothes there and then grew stronger with every passing second. You knew he wasn’t ready yet, despite his relentless teasing and you’d be the last person to push him but… judging by how he wrapped his arms around your waist yet again and pressed you closer to his body yet again, a heartfelt kiss was never off limits.

You sighed against his lips, the mistletoe dropping to the ground. Only the gods knew what would have happened if you had not been interrupted despite your fellow companions still in the room but alas, the door burst open with a bang so loud you both flinched.

“This… is… AWESOME!” When Karlach entered the room, she was wearing the ugliest Yule sweater you had ever seen. Tinsel and two baubles were hanging from her horn and in her hands, she held a massive candy cane and a mug of what you assumed was eggnog. “I LOVE Christmas! Oh, you got us a tree! We should go and buy presents for each other to unwrap tomorrow!”

“Karlach, please, it’s late and I’m tired,” Astarion complained.

“Fiiiine, tomorrow morning then. A kid downstairs just told me about this fat guy called Santa who climbs through the chimney and puts gifts under the tree if you leave him cookies and milk. Do we have cookies and milk? We have to get cookies and milk!”

You laughed. In that case… you certainly had a long night ahead of you before you could get a good night’s sleep.

Everyone was fast asleep by the time you got up and tiptoed across the cool floorboards on naked feet in the dark, past the crackling fire in the centre of the warm and cosy room, and toward Astarion’s bed. You could hear the wind blowing outside the tavern in the dead of night as you climbed under the covers and cuddled up to your lover who had, without a doubt, been expecting you. Astarion wrapped you in his arms, his lips grazing your bare neck ever so slightly.

“Hello, darling.”

At peace and content, you both listened to the instruments Gale enchanted to play quiet music to lull you all to sleep.

“Well, aren’t you brave, revealing your lovely neck to a vampire like that?”

You chuckled into his pillow, stretching even more.

“You know… I think we’re past the point now where I have to tell you each night that you can… I mean… if you’re hungry just… feed on me, alright?”

“R-Right.” For a moment, a both vulnerable and surprised expression washed over his handsome face—but it was gone before your memory could properly capture it, not to mention the darkness around you made that very difficult. He was so incredibly good at masking his feelings, that you longed to cuddle the shit out of him and tell him that it was all going to be okay. “Well… I’ve only just learned how wonderful it feels to have a choice and have your boundaries respected, all thanks to you. I’d actually prefer if you asked.”

So instead, you settled for wriggling yourself under the covers until he stirred.

“That’s… that’s good. That’s very good,” you whispered as you cuddled up to him even more.

“So? Can’t you sleep or are you just too excited until morning to see me again, love?”

You chuckled. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

In the dark, it was hard to tell whether Astarion’s confusion was real or feigned. It was amusing nonetheless. “You will find that all the beds in this room are the same, pet.”

“No. No they aren’t. Mine doesn’t have you in it.”

“Oh… my cheeky little pup.”

Your chuckle turned into a childish giggle as a jolt of electricity rippled through you as if Gale had hit you with a lightning blast.

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” you whispered.

Astarion hummed in response. “Well… yes. Though I have to admit I have never met anyone displaying their excitement as openly as you, darling.”

“I’ll make sure to never stop. Merry Christmas, Astarion.”

The vampire spawn sighed when you shuffled even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

A/N: And Merry Christmas to you all as well! ♥ I had to dedicate this year's Christmas Imagine to Astarion. I fell so hard for him thanks to Neil, it's insane. I hope you'll spend some lovely days with your loved ones! ♥

#astarion #astarion imagine #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fluff #astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin imagine #astarion ancunin x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 imagine #neil newbon

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houserautha · 25 days

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These Destined Ends

Part Fourteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: and they were cousins, poison, brief descriptions of violence and death

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being patient with me while I slowly update TDE🥺❤️‍🩹 Hopefully this chapter was worth it, I apologize beforehand for the lack of smut and the abundance of plot

You stare at the document in your hands, realization trickling in slowly, then with more force — a dam eroding before the subsequent flood. The longer you look at it the more the words and symbols swim before your eyes. How could this be? Had Jessica known about this?

She had to have, you puzzle, if it was in the study. Why didn’t she tell you? Could it be that she just never got the chance?

Or was she hiding it?

“You could at least look a little bit excited to see me.”

“Oh, Asha, I —” the content of the document promptly vanishes from your mind as it works instead to compute the image of Asha standing in the doorway of the study. “Asha!”

A shriek tears from you and you race across the room to your friend, embracing her tightly. She laughs against you. “There’s the welcome that I was expecting.”

“I’m sorry, I — actually, it doesn’t matter. What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” You hold her at arms length, examining her to make sure that she looks healthy and unharmed. “Are they treating you well?”

“The servants went sent ahead to prepare the rooms,” Asha says. “And I’m fine. How are you? Am I an aunt yet?”

There’s nothing you can do to suppress your eye roll, but you squeeze her hand assuringly. “You’ll be the first person to know.”

“Mm. The na-Baron needs to get on it.”

“Get on what?”

“Me,” you say. At the same time, Asha blurts, “Nothing!”

Feyd has replaced Asha in the doorway. He looks unfairly handsome, his skin retaining a little more color than usual from the Arrakis suns. Well, a red color, one that you’ve assurred him would fade.

Probably.

Seeing him makes your stomach flip. You’ve left the document out on the desk, and you glance at it quickly. But if he picks up on your panic, he doesn’t mention it.

“I suspected it was you when I heard all of the shrieking,” Feyd says. Then, this time to Asha, “I’m glad that you’re here.”

“Thank you, na-Baron,” Asha says with a dip of her chin.

“Do you need something?” You ask him. As casually as you can, you return to the desk and slip the document into your pocket.

Feyd’s lips twitch. “Can a husband not just visit his wife?”

“A husband can,” you retort, “but I have the sense that you are here as the na-Baron. Not my husband.”

“Is there a difference?”

You look to Asha. “I’ll be right back,” you promise her. Not daring to say anything in front of Feyd, she nods. You trail after Feyd into the hallway, who sets a swift pace, striding away from the study and out of ear shot.

“There’s a problem,” he tells you in a hushed tone.

“Other than the fact that you just stole me away as soon as my best friend arrived?”

Feyd ignores this. “My brother has generously invited Irulan and her family to the feast tomorrow night.”

“What?”

“The Emperor has declined the invitation but Irulan has elected to attend. Even though her father won’t be there, I suspect he’ll send an army of reinforcements for her.”

You mull over this new information. Both of you fall silent as a pair of soldiers pass by, then you whisper, “Could they suspect our plan?”

“No. Impossible.” Feyd shakes his head. “I’m sure the Baron just wants to remind House Corrino of their hand in…this.” He waves his hand to encompass the palace as you walk through it.

“Dethroning my family by having them killed?”

Feyd stops and pivots to you, grabbing your wrist. “I haven’t forgotten. But neither have they. We must keep our wits about us if we hope to be successful.”

“Right. I know.” You free yourself from his grip.

“You can’t let your emotions distract you.”

“They won’t.”

Feyd inspects your face, and he’s quiet for quite some time. “You’re hiding something from me.”

“No I’m not,” you reply reflexively. Feyd raises a brow. A scowl crosses your features and, reluctantly, you ask him, “What do you know of my…lineage?”

“I told you, you must not —”

“Just answer the question,” you snap. He’s acting as if you’re a petulant child, liable to pitch a fit.

Feyd recites what he knows, what you’ve told him — how your mother’s parents were never revealed to her. His mouth forms a severe line. “Why?”

There’s a fleeting moment in which you debate whether or not you’ll share the information with him. Ultimately, you know that you will never be able to keep it a secret. With hesitance you draw the document from your pocket and give it to him. Feyd’s eyes flash curiously to yours then back to the paper before reading it.

His expression remains unchanged. He hands the paper back to you. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not surprised?”

You were cousins. Cousins.

“I didn’t know, obviously,” he says, his voice nearing a growl. Then something in him softens slightly. “I’m referencing the inexplicable…connection that I have always felt. That you must’ve felt. Our hearts knew the same blood ran in our veins before our minds did.”

“You’re okay with this?” You ask.

Feyd lifts a shoulder, diplomatic as ever. “It is not unheard of. Besides, I am too entranced with you to let this affect me. If anything it just cements the bond that we have.”

He draws you close to him, his chin resting on the top of your head. You find comfort in the pulse of his heart under your ear, the familiar scent that you’ve associated with him. “You are me,” he says finally.

You smile softly. “And I am you.”

Late into the evening you help Asha with prepping for your esteemed guests, working alongside the other servants and sneaking sips of the spice wine. They’re unsure of you, at first, but Asha quickly puts them at ease with a few unflattering anecdotes. You laugh with them. It’s been too long of a time since you’ve really laughed, spent time with people who didn’t have any expectations of you except the ones that Asha dashed — you were not quite as scary as you looked, and you did not lash out at others at the slightest provocation.

“You’re confusing me for my husband,” you told them then, to weary laughter. You might not have been a threat to them, but they were all afraid of Feyd-Rautha. Understandably.

It’s a nice reprieve until you awake the next morning with a twinge of a spice headache and a spiraling sense of doom. What if your pain failed? What if something happened to you — or Feyd?

“Quit it.”

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, draped in your finest dress. Feyd stands before the vanity and you watch him slip the Gom Jabbar into a hidden compartment in his sleeve. “Quit what?” You ask, fear tightening your chest.

“Worrying,” he says.

You meet his eyes in the mirror. A protest forms on your tongue but you know it would be futile to pretend that you aren’t worrying considering that he knows every subtle change in your expression. When you fail to reply, he turns to you, straightening out the cuffs of his smart jacket.

“Everything will be fine,” he tells you.

“You don’t know that.”

“I have never made a habit of being wrong.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. “We have no idea how this is going to play out.”

“We’re going to take back control from the hands of our oppressors,” Feyd says, his rasping voice like a lullaby. His long stride devours the space between you until he’s positioned himself practically between your legs. “We will finally take what we deserve.”

“I know. I know,” you say again with more conviction. You roll your shoulders back and try to emulate some of Feyd’s unwavering confidence, but he hardly looks convinced.

Gazing down at you, Feyd brushes his knuckles over the bannister of your cheek. “No harm will come to you. I won’t allow it.”

“And I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”

His hand pauses. Feyd’s thumb and forefinger captures your chin, lifts it up. “Promise me that you will not jeopardize your safety for mine.”

Not for the first time, you admire the angles of his face — the smooth brow, the dark eyes looking down at you over his straight nose; the plush lips that you cannot look at without picturing them over your most sensitive parts. Your heart pangs. You would do anything for him.

You tell him in an equally soft tone, “I can’t promise you that.”

“You must.” His grip on your chin tightens.

“We’ve already established that you are my blood. My past, my future,” you whisper fervently to him, brave in the face of his obvious disapproval, “if the moment comes to it I would lay down my life to protect yours.”

Feyd leans down. His mouth slants over yours, a phantom of a kiss. “Then you’re a fool,” he breathes, words chilling you.

“So be it.”

Feyd releases his grasp on you, stealing the air from your lungs. Even the faintest touch of his leaves you wanting more.

“Come,” he says, holding out his arm, “my foolish wife. We have guests to receive.”

Glowglobes dance over your heads as you venture, arm in arm, to the front of the palace. No one has been permitted to enter without the na-Baron and na-Baroness and at your arrival begin to trickle in slowly, each guest stopping to greet you and praise you for your hospitality.

A few stop to ponder at the lack of wash troughs but after a series of dead-end interactions with Feyd cease to ask. It wasn’t a popular choice among the Arrakis staff, you had learned from your previous stay that they liked to sell the towels from which cleaned up the mess from the troughs. Your Harkonnen guest frown on this as well. Even Feyd was skeptical about your insistence on removing the tradition, but he supported you regardless, and you couldn’t be more pleased by your decision.

Water was sacred here and you would not flaunt your access to it, not even to those who had never had to safe keep it.

It’s difficult to maintain the smile on your face as you welcome noblemen and bankers, wealthy businessmen, and even the occasional individual that you sense dabbled in the more seedy side of entrepreneurship. The duel suns have just started to set when you notice a familiar dark shape approaching you.

“Uncle,” Feyd greets the Baron.

“Feyd-Rautha, na-Baroness.” His voice slips over you like grease and his eyes are even more beady than you remember. Your grandfather. “It is good to see you again and to celebrate your victory.”

“Indeed,” you reply, not meaning it in the least.

From behind the Baron, his suspenders whirring with the effort of lifting him, emerge Rabban, clutching the wrist of one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen. Her dress gives the appearance of armor but still impressively elegant, blonde hair slicked back and green eyes latching onto you immediately.

“Princess Irulan,” Rabban says. “Though she hardly needs an introduction.”

“It’s a pleasure,” you say, curtsying.

Irulan smiles wistfully at you. “There is no need for that. We are destined to be family, after all.”

“My apologies,” Feyd retorts.

“Don’t mind him,” the Baron directs at the princess. One of his massive hands clamps down on Feyd’s shoulders, a gesture that you do not mistake for anything less than threatening. “He jests as all brothers do.”

“I understand,” Irulan says with a melodious laugh. Though as the five of you take to joining the rest of the party (along with Irulan's small army of guards), you can’t help but notice the way she glances at you. You have trouble deciphering the look but it slips from your mind after another session of small talk before the first course is served.

The table has just been set with plates of all sorts of delicacies when you feel a small hand grab you. Bodies press against you as guests hurry to claim the most coveted seats at the table. A chord of surprise is struck in you when you realize that the hand is not that of someone hoping to steady themselves amongst the sea of bodies but, rather, the intentional grip of Princess Irulan.

“We must talk,” she says. “It’s not every day that you find yourself in a situation like the one we have both been put in.”

“Did you not think your father would arrange your marriage?” You ask stiffly.

Something reminds you that Irulan is studying to be a Bene Gesserit, a feat that you could never hope to accomplish. You have to admit that it’s admirable. But the less tolerant side of you resents her for it.

“I could never hope for that, much like you were unable,” Irulan says. “I meant in the nature of being engaged to Harkonnens.”

“Oh.”

Distractedly you let your eyes wander until they fall on Feyd, who is sitting in his place at the head of the table and entertaining a small audience. Rabban, on the other hand, glowers at the food heaped on his plate, fork gripped in his fist as if he wants to launch it at someone.

“Do you have any wisdom to impart?” Irulan asks.

“I’m still trying to learn myself,” you tell her. “The Harkonnens are a…unique people.”

Irulan leans closer to you. “Is Feyd-Rautha as psychotic as they say?”

“Even more,” you say in interest of feeding the rumors. They weren’t wrong, of course, but you could hardly consider him as such when it was Irulan’s own betrothed who worried you.

And they both had a hand in your family’s deaths.

Before you can say anything to this effect, however, Feyd beckons you to the table. You smile at Irulan placatingly — the expression of a wife under her husband’s control — then find your place beside him. Irulan sits down on the other side of Rabban. Is she still staring at you?

You can’t help but feel as you did when Jessica would scrutinize you, analyzing your every move and word. It unsettles you.

The dinner starts without a hitch. You do your best to move the food on your plate around convincingly and avoid Irulan’s gaze. Everyone seems content to listen to Feyd’s stories about dismantling the spice smugglers, though, which leaves you mostly adrift with your thoughts. In fact, you’re so surprised when someone speaks to you that it takes several moments for you to compose an answer.

“Pardon my niece,” the Baron interjects with a sickening smile. “She certainly has a lot on her mind. Arrakis is grueling for even the weakest of individuals, though she’s had experience with it before.”

The noblemen who spoke to you nods. “That’s right. You’re of House Atreides. My condolences about your parents. Duke Leto was a magnificent man.”

“If only other men were possessed of such magnificence,” you mutter in reply, angrily spearing a vegetable on your plate. You shoot a glare at the Baron. “My father inspired cowardice in those who could not even hope to compete with him.”

“True cowardice lies in refusing to admit when you’ve been beat,” the Baron says coolly. He licks sauce from his thumb.

You stare back evenly at him. “You would know about true cowardice.”

The nobleman stuck between you both clears his throat awkwardly and drains the rest of his glass. Conversation swells again and thankfully diverts the topic of your family, and as the dinner transpires you’re itching to enact your plan. Finally dessert is cleared and after-dinner drinks are set before all of the guests.

Feyd rises to his feet and draws the attention of the room, holding up his flute to indicate a toast.

You stand, too, and smile endearingly at him.

“Tonight we have gathered to celebrate the prosperity of the House Harkonnen,” he rasps. “In the face of adversity we have yet again come out the victors on the other side.” This is met by a small smattering of applause. Feyd continues, “Of course, where would we be without our patriarch? The Baron has…provided for us for many years. I can only hope to return the favor.”

Feyd and you both drink from your glasses, as do the rest of the party.

It takes only a few seconds for panic to arise.

While you and Feyd gaze out contentedly at your guest, they find themselves paralyzed and unable to move a muscle. It’s a temporary poison — it won’t last longer than a few minutes — but it’s one that you both have acclimated to. You are free to round the table to Rabban at the same time that Feyd strides to his uncle on the other side.

You pull the Gom Jabbar from your corset. Every Noble House is in possession of one, which is why Feyd also had to steal his own. In a movement that seems almost choreographed, you and your husband bring the needles up to the necks of your prisoners. Adrenaline soars through you.

“It was always going to end like this between us,” Feyd murmurs almost lovingly to the Baron. He brushes his finger down his uncle’s face.

You turn your attention to Rabban. Although he cannot move, the muscles in his eyes strain to glare at you. You hold the needle just centimeters from his skin. “I will give you the same mercy you gave my family,” you whisper. “None.”

“STOP!”

Time ceases to move as, from your peripheral, you watch Irulan shoot to her feet. You’re unable to refuse the call of The Voice, and you’re rendered as paralyzed as the guests who drank from their poisoned glasses.

Which, apparently, the princess had not.

“You two are both fools,” she hisses. Her fingers form claws at her sides. “Did you not think I would notice what you were doing? That I would let you unravel the hard work of my father?”

Using The Voice, she orders you to drop the needles. They clatter to the ground.

You manage a glance in Feyd’s direction. His expression is grim, jaw clenched and eyes burning with rage at having been thwarted. Out of all of the outcomes of this evening, you hadn’t expected this to be one of them. A leaden feeling fills your entire body.

Irulan holds you, frozen, until she can call her father’s guards into the room and command them to seize you for treason.

“Irulan, please,” you beg her once liberated of her hold over you.

She simply gazes at you with contempt.

Guards descend on the room without warning and, without any verbal agreement, you and Feyd do your best to fend off wave after wave of them. They drop like flies, but there’s too many of them for you both to dispatch. You step and whirl over fallen bodies as you fend off the guards with nothing but a butter knife, the Gom Jabbar having been the first thing the guards kicked out of your grasp.

“We have to get out,” Feyd snaps at you. He throws a punch over your shoulder, hitting a guard and giving you enough time to spin and kick the offender in the gut. “Now.”

You pant, “Where?”

Irulan was tending to Rabban, who had stirred and was glaring murderously at you as he waited for the rest of his body to cooperate. The Baron simply stared from his seat. You had no idea if he was fully awake or not, but you didn’t want to wait for the punishment he fettered out.

“Here.” Feyd pushes a torn up napkin into your hands and demonstrates his intention by forcing them deep into his ears.

You quickly do the same. If you can’t hear Irulan, then the Voice won’t work on you.

Right?

It seemed as good a plan as any. Like a conjoined beast, you and Feyd tear through the swarm of guards like cutting through tall wheat. Blood splattered his face and his knuckles had broken open — you were sure you looked just as deranged, hair loosened from its pins and dress ripped from where a guard had taken hold to try and stop you. You had promptly struck him in the head with your foot, knocking him out and releasing his grip on you.

A roar from behind alerts you to bigger troubles. Rabban staggers after you, face reddened.

“Y/N!” Asha cries. You’ve made it to one of the adjoining hallways, and she latches onto your arm, pulling you towards her.

“Asha, no —”

“Go! Take her!” Feyd yells.

You wrench yourself free from Asha but Feyd has already been swallowed up by a wall of guards. A keening sound escapes you. You try to push yourself back but Asha won’t let you. “No, Feyd! Feyd!”

“He made me promise that I would help you escape,” Asha tells you, panicked. “Come on.”

“I won’t leave him.”

Asha tugs your arm. “I doubt he will be able to tolerate being apart from you for very long. But he will not tolerate it if I let anything happen to you.”

A guard with a lasgun splits from the dining room towards you and Asha and, with one more prompt from her, you take off running in the opposite direction, tears of frustration streaming down your face. The lasgun fires off two rounds, narrowly missing you. You pump your legs as fast as they will go, completely disconnected from the task at hand as you remember the image of Feyd interlocking with Rabban before he was obscured from your view by the guards. Would even your husband be able to escape such force?

“Turn here,” Asha instructs, your feet thundering loudly on the polished floors. She turns and thrusts you into a segment of the wall that has fallen away, moving swiftly to replace it. Stupidly, you hover, ensuring that you’re not being followed. The sound of the guard’s heavy breathing passes by you, then disappears. Asha turns to you, her face in shadows. “Move.”

Once you’re safely away from the door, tunneling through a narrow passageway, you ask her, “Where are we?”

“Abandoned servants halls. They used to use them to travel through the palace without being detected.”

A rush of adrenaline keeps you moving. You trail after Asha as she guides you through the winding passage, relying only on touch to navigate. You can barely even lift your arms at your sides without touching the walls, and its pitch black, no glowglobes to light your way. There’s no saying how far you go until Asha is grunting and pushing her shoulder up against another segment of wall.

You blink rapidly as you encounter a burst of light and the grit of sand on your tongue. Somehow you’ve bypassed most of the palace for the hangar. It’s shaded by an awning but open on one side to the harsh elements.

“Come on, we don’t have much time. If they’re smart they’ll know where we’re going.”

Asha leads you to one of the idle thopters. “I have no idea how to pilot one of these,” you say, alarmed.

“It’s been preprogrammed to at least get you out of Arraneen,” Asha says. “The rest is up to you. It’s not hard. This is the throttle—” she points to a lever, then another, “and this is the clutch.”

“I —” the words die in your throat.

I, what? Can’t land this thing? Can’t believe this is happening? Can’t leave without Feyd?

“Come with us. They’ll kill you if they find out you helped us,” you say instead.

Asha shakes her head. “There’s no room.”

“Asha —”

Your friend, her own tears in her eyes, pushes away your reaching hand. She ducks her head to check a watch-apparatus from her pocket. “The na-Baron should be here soon. If he’s not, he instructed me to force you to leave without him.”

You growl, “Nothing you can say will keep me from him.”

As if the universe felt personally challenged by this, the sounds of lasguns going off reverberate through the hangar. Asha and you both look towards the entrance, where Feyd can be seen sprinting from a group of guards. A scream climbs in your chest, bubbling with fear, as you watch him swerve and dodge to avoid the blasts.

“Feyd!” You cry.

His eyes lock on you and, seemingly emboldened, cycles his legs faster, outrunning the guards in their clumsy uniforms.

“Y/N, start the thopter!” Asha yells. She indicates a button on the mantle of the ship and you hastily press it, the bug-like wings snapping to life and kicking up sand in the hangar.

Feyd skids to a stop beside the thopter. A blast fires off, singing the mechanical flank of the ship. He uses his body as a shield for Asha. “Come with us,” he tells her, echoing you. Sweat and blood mingle on his face and his clothes.

“No. It’s too late. Go!” Asha all but shoves him into the thopter, crying out as another blast lands at her feet. With Feyd’s broad form next to yours, there’s truly no room for Asha unless she wanted to be smashed against the windshield. Feyd takes over the controls from you.

The thopter door closes right as the guards reach it, already jerking Asha into their grip.

You howl and scream in disbelief, pounding at the doors of the thopter from the inside as it launches into the air. Feyd hovers slightly before yanking on the throttle and piloting the thopter out of the hangar. “No, no, no!” Asha’s tiny frame is dwarfed by the guards, then by distance.

“Y/N, there’s nothing we can do now. She sacrificed herself for us. Let’s not put it to waste,” Feyd snarls at you.

You swipe tears and makeup from your face. Something inside you hardens, and you push down your anguish in order to focus on your escape. Feyd is a talented flyer, but it’s nothing compared to the league of thopters and ships encroaching in the distance. Worry clamps down on you like the jaws of a sandworm.

Arrakeen blurs beneath you as Feyd soars over it, the body of the thopter casting shadows over the buildings. You’ve nearly reached the shield wall when a shot collides with the thopter and sends it staggering to one side. Feyd curses. The Emperor’s ships have caught up with you. You grip your armrests, eyes widening as you watch the ships grow larger and larger in the rearview mirror. Feyd eases your ship through a small opening in the shimmering shield wall, effectively preventing any of the large ships from following.

More shots ring out, pinging off your thopter.

“What are we going to do?” Feyd’s dark gaze flickers behind you, then back to the desert unfolding before you. It’s then that you see it — a storm. “Feyd, did you get hit in the head? We can’t go into a sandstorm.”

“It’s our only option,” he grits out.

You want to protest, to persist that there’s another way, but you have no answer. Feyd forces the throttle of the ship down as far as it will go, the wings fluttering almost imperceptibly as he urges them to go as fast as possible. Pain explodes in your head when a blast hits the side of the thopter and you’re thrown against the inner wall; much like the pain, a fiery explosion erupts outside your window.

“Fuck! They shot off one of the engines,” Feyd yells over the clamor of the thopter stalling. Teeth gritting, he swoops it out of its downward spiral and back into the air. “We just have to make it to the storm. They won’t follow us.”

Giant columns of smoke billow from the decimated engine, the right wing also engulfed in flames. The thopters chugs along awkwardly, dipping and faltering as Feyd does his best to keep it in the air, relying on the gusts of wind from the oncoming storm. Your stomach churns.

And, quite literally jumping from one problem to the next, the storm seizes upon your thopter with furious force. From all sides you’re battered by wind and currents of sand and rocks, sounding like you were being pelted with boulders on all sides. You realize too late that the screaming you hear is from you. Feyd battles against the storm but at this point he’s at its terrible mercy, both of you being tossed around with no sense of control.

There’s a split second when you catch a glimpse of fear on Feyd’s face — the first time you’ve ever seen it — before another blast rockets into the thopter. One of the ships had followed you.

Flames converge with the whipping sand and an alarm starts wailing as the thopter plummets to the ground. Well, logical leads you to believe that it’s the ground, there’s no way of telling which direction you’re going.

Feyd releases himself from his seat’s harness and crosses over the console, throwing his body over yours right as the ship collides with something solid and everything goes black.

Part Fifteen

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #fanfic #writing #these destined ends

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sleepy-writes-stuff · 1 year

Text

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #9

(An idea I had late last night when I should have been sleeping)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas

✦

Lost Children Saved by the Lost

After being rejected by his parents and almost captured for experimentation, Danny escapes into the Ghost Zone. He wanders listlessly for nobody knows how long. It could have been days, months, years, but he wouldn't know how much time had actually passed.

He missed his friends, his sister, hell even his bully. However, the longer he wandered, the more he began to forget their voices, their facial features. Everything. He couldn't even remember what his obsession was. He wandered so long that the only thing he remembered was the aching and devastating feeling of his parents rejection of half of himself.

Eventually growing bored of the neverending expanse of the Ghost Zone, he takes a random portal and winds up in the DC Universe. Although, not in modern times. He finds himself hundreds of years in the past but couldn't find it in himself to care.

At least until he hears the cries of a child in distress. He goes searching and finds a little boy, weeping while curled up on the filthy ground, begging for his parents. The boy was emaciated, clearly not having had food in a very long time. His core jolted and ached at the pitiful cries. Was this his obsession? What was he supposed to do?

He only hesitates for a moment before he approaches the crying boy.(1) The boy flinches at the movement of shadows before looking up to meet the aurora green eyes of a man made of starlight.

"Hello, little one." He greets softly, automatically speaking the boy's language he heard only moments before. (2) "What's wrong?"

The boy is quiet as he wearily examines the man before him. Long hair the color of snow illuminated by moonlight. Olive skin that seemed to have a blue tint to it. The pointed ears and the loose, black clothes that seemed to have the cosmos playing across them. The most striking of all the man's features, however, were the rays of blue-green light flowing from his back like the tails of comets racing across the night sky. Despite the light they exuded, the wings seemed to absorb the heat from the air, letting off a cool but pleasant temperature. (3) The boy gazed cautiously into the man’s eyes, looking past his odd features, and found only kindness as well as a strange, deep-seated sadness. No matter how his mind said no one can be trusted, his gut said the man meant no harm. He decided to respond to the strange man's question.

"My parents," he began, stopping to wet his painfully dry lips. "They don't have money for food. They left me here because I am too much of a burden to keep."

The boy looked down, avoiding the man's eyes as if ashamed. His words made the man's core ache even more than before, vague and foggy memories flashing briefly behind his eyes. His core pulsed in his chest, urging him to do something. He didn't know what exactly, so he simply said the first thing that came to mind.

"Now that won't do. How about we look for others who would take care of you instead?" He said as he gently picked up the small boy and carried him cradled in his arms. The boy stares up at him as the man walked with his head held high and looking forward.

"Who are you, mister?"

The man's eyes became clouded as he mulled over the question before answering, carefully measuring his words.

"I've long forgotten what my name was. It's been so long since anyone's called me by it." He said, with sadness coloring his tone. They walked in silence for a couple of seconds before the man seemed to brightened a little. He looked at the little boy with soft, green eyes and a smile. "Why don't you choose a name for me, little one?"

The boy gained a look of concentration as he took the request seriously. The man continued walking in silence as he let the boy think, eyes forward as he searched for a family to take the boy in. His core was tugging him towards one particular house, practically singing as he came to a stop in front of the door. (4) He leaned down to gently set the boy on his feet before he himself kneeled to the boy's level.

Hands on either side of the boy's face, he kissed the child's forehead. Silently, he placed a blessing on the boy, a faint glow that went unseen to mortal eyes. He wished for the boy to know true love and happiness. For his parent's abandonment to leave no scars on his mind or in his heart. With that, he stood up once again and knocked on the door.

"Goodbye, little one. I've done what I can." He said as he turned to walk away.

"Wait!" The boy called out. The man stopped and looked back with a curious light in his eyes, the stars on his clothes seeming to briefly brighten as well. Once the boy saw he had his attention again, he continued.

"I thought of a name for you. If you'd like to hear it?" He askes hopefully.

The starlit man smiled, before nodding. "I'd be happy to hear what you've come up with."

The boy brightened up before opening his mouth to speak once more, hurrying as he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.

"What do you think of..." (5)

✦

Whelp. That was interesting.

Notes:

(1) Should the boy be an actual character that's established in the DC Universe or just a random child?

(2) When I thought of this, I was thinking Danny wound up somewhere in Ancient Rome. So, I think he'd be speaking Latin here.

(3) Comets are made of stardust and ice, which means they are also cold instead of hot. At least until they're warmed by the sun. I thought it was quite fitting, honestly. They also are often seen to give off a blue-green color! How cool it that? Ha!

(4) Danny's obsession is so ragged and starved after wandering for so long that it latches onto the first thing it could to give it a jumpstart. Protecting lost children (lost in one way or another) and leading them to families who would actually care for them. He is the one who urged Martha and Johnathan Kent to adopt Clark. He helps Billy Batson eventually find a forever home. This even plays a role in how Bruce meets each of the Robins. Jason will be the first and only child Danny ever fails to give a permanent home to because of Jason's feelings towards Bruce over his death. Danny adopt Jason?

(5) When I was thinking of what the boy would name him, I immediately gravitated to the names of stars, which seems pretty obvious considering how I described Danny here. Anyway, what I chose was Regulus because it's a blue-white star and the brightest one in the constellation Leo, also called the Lion's Heart. Not only that, but the Latin meaning of Regulus translates to "little king" or "prince". Not to mention it's also a common name among Saints. You don't have to use the name Regulus tho! Come up with anything you want to call him!

(*) Should Danny just be an immortal patron saint of orphans and lost children, or should he be upgraded to a patron God?

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roses-prose · 1 year

Text

Your Love Isn't Gone

park chaeyoung x reader

word count: 1005

a/n: inspired by an ao3 fic i read a long time ago

You're not sure what made you believe this was a good idea, meeting up with your ex and coming over to her apartment alone. But here you were now sitting the opposite of her, catching all the small things you remember about her.

Roseanne park. The woman who had it all and at the same time, feeling like she had nothing at all. Her fingers dragged across the edges of the pages in her tiny journal, the one she always brings around to jot her ideas down, as she always loved the way the pages felt against her fingertips. She sets the journal down, her lips meeting the probably now very cold rim of her cup to take a quick sip of coffee.

"Hi Roseanne."

Her face seems almost shocked as she puts her cup down, her pink lipstick marking the edge of it, "I haven't heard you call me that in a long time."

"Well", you continue to avoid her gaze, eyes scanning through her apartment, "We haven't spoken together in a long time anyways."

Sitting in front of her now, you hate to admit it but your heart still feels that spark of affection you've felt all those months ago. Neither of you speak up as you pour yourself a glass of water, the quiet jazz of the speakers in the corner of her room not enough to drown out the silence.

It was common for you to be left alone, sitting in the silence but for her, maybe not so much. She hated it. She hated how it made her feel. Maybe that's why she was away so often.

She lets out a small sigh, her face riddled with the look of disappointment, either because of you or herself, you don't know. "I'm sorry."

Your brows knit together, "For what?"

Her hands start trying to talk for her, the words not seeming to be able to come out of her mouth, "For... you know."

And this was where she, the global superstar, seemed to fall short. The way she can't seem to tell you what's on her mind. The way she can't express herself. "I don't know."

She lets out a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood as her fingers fiddled together under the table, "You're really not making this easy for me."

Your lips turn into a wry smile as you poke at your food that she prepared for you, not really wanting to eat a single bite despite it all looking honestly delicious. "I'm not sure what you mean, Roseanne."

Her face visibly seems hurt at the name that escapes your mouth, "Please, can you... not call me that?" Her voice almost seems to crack at the end her question, her eyes softening as she lets out another dreadful sigh, "I know... I fucked up. Badly."

Invisible strings seemed to pull at your heart, your strong façade seeming to break away as you mulled over her words. She never admitted her mistakes. She'd always cover them up with kisses and lies.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me nor am I asking you to even let me back into your life but... I want you to know that I am sorry." Her tone is soft. And for the first time here, you see her smile, albeit wryly. The silence envelops the two of you again as you took a sip of your drink, her eyeing you from across the table.

The silence never was comfortable per se between the two of you, but it was always there whether you liked it or not. "... Do you remember our first date?"

She seems to be caught off guard by the question, before she laughs softly into her hand, "I do. When you fell on your face, right?"

You smile gently, "then you fell right behind me so I quote on quote, "Wouldn't feel embarrassed doing it alone"."

"I'd still do it now, you know." she remarks, the awkward and stiff tension in the air seeming to disappear slowly between the two of you. She points at the bridge of her nose as you laugh, "If you look closely enough, I still have the scar. All the staff members were so mad at me that day."

You two begin to reminisce about all the fun memories you two had together from that time she baked madeleines and accidently used salt instead of sugar leaving you thirsty and disgusted, to that time she came over to your house at 2 in the morning to celebrate your birthday early with a song she made, or to that time you thought you misplaced your favorite hoodie but in reality she was wearing it the entire day.

It's the thought of the quick kisses you two shared in the morning before she went to work, the days you two decide to sleep in and call in sick, and the stupid things you two did together that makes you realize it slowly but surely.

You missed her. You missed the fun you two had despite everything that's happened and you see the way she remembers it all, the memories seeming to spark something inside of her. You set your glass aside again, the sight of her feeling so happy and carefree making you smile.

"... I do forgive you." The words don't come easy to you as your emotions begins to clog up your throat, the words coming out so abruptly, that even you weren't expecting it.

You see her eyes light up as she stares at you in surprise, her lips almost beginning to twitch into a small smile at the name you call her. "It's hard to hate you... Rosie."

"So does that mean... will I see you again?" The question is abrupt as your own words, almost interrupting all train of thought as her tone is hopeful and ambitious.

You smile gently, "I still have the same number." And that's all she really needed to hear to know you weren't gone for good.

#roses prose #r writes #rosé x reader #park chaeyoung x reader #chaeyoung x reader #kpop imagines #blackpink imagines #blackpink x reader #rosé x yn #rosé scenarios #rosé blackpink #rosé imagines #rosé fluff #blackpink fluff #rosé angst #blackpink angst #park chaeyoung angst #chaeyoung fluff #chaeyoung angst

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

happy new year lovely!! thank you for blessing us with wonderful content <33

i saw that youre taking request and id love to ask for maybe a flashback fic with javi and dulzura when she's at the height of her pregnancy. javi dealing with cravings, mood swings, and h0rniness and all that lol oki tyyy

AN | Oooh, I’ve missed these two! Can be read as a stand alone or part of the ‘verse! ❤️

Pairing | Javier x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language,

Word Count | 3.8k

Masterlist | Main, Javier, A Good Man ‘Verse

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were going to kill Javier. If not that, you were at least never letting him touch you again.

It was the height of summer, and you were hot, miserable, and very pregnant. There were moments when you wanted to cry about it, moments when you really just wanted to throw yourself in the shower and stand under the cold water, and moments where every little thing annoyed you.

There were only a few months left…you could manage that. And then you’d never have to do it again. Good on Javier for actually going through with getting a vasectomy.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Javi woke up, it was still the middle of the night. He reached across the best for you but found your side of the bed empty. He sighed lightly, having wanted to pull your warm, soft body into his. Ever the diligent husband, he slipped out of the bed in search of you. He completed a trek through the upstairs, checking in on the four kids before making his way downstairs. If you weren’t up there, you had to be somewhere down there, and if he knew anything about you by now, he had a feeling you’d be in the kitchen.

“Dulzura?” he called out softly when he saw the faint light in the dining room. He walked in and did his best to stifle his laugh; it wasn’t at you per se, but the sight was a little funny. You were sitting at the table, reading a book while you munched on some mac n cheese - the cheap Kraft kind is what you insisted upon these days - doused in sriracha and a side of pickles. Tears were running down your cheeks as you looked up at him and sniffled, “baby, what’s wrong?”

“Javi,” you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand before holding up your book, “he just told her that he’d been waiting for her and he’d always wait for her because she’s his soulmate. They’re so in love and now they get a second chance!”

So in love just like we are, he wanted to say. Instead he came over and crouched at your side, gently taking the book out of your hands before touching your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. You huffed slightly, but leaned into his touch, “you’re up late, honey.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted quietly, on the verge of tears again, “and your kid was hungry. So I came down to make a snack and then I remembered I’d left my book down here so I started reading and then just…eating and reading.”

“Eating and reading,” he echoed as you nodded sweetly, “aye, what am I going to do with you, huh?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” you pouted and Javi couldn’t help but laugh before he leaned up and pressed a kiss to your lips, “Bump makes it hard to sleep comfortably and I’m always hungry.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and truthfully, if he could have taken the burden of being pregnant away from you, he would have in a heartbeat, “it’s not for much longer though.”

You mulled over his words for a few moments before a new wave of emotion washed over you and big, fat crocodile tears welled up and ran down your cheeks, “I-I don’t want to be pregnant anymore-”

“It’ll be over soon - forever.”

“I don’t want that either,” you choked on a sob as you reached for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze, “I’m not ready for another baby. I want to stay pregnant.”

“Honey,” he chuckled fondly, reaching to put his arms around you and holding you as tightly as possible. You hugged onto your husband as best as you could despite your bump and held onto him as tightly as possible, “it’s okay - it will be okay. We’re gonna figure it all out together, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded in agreement, “you’re right. You’re always right. You’re so smart. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he gently rubbed your back in soothing circles as he let you get it all out, tears wetting the cotton of his shirt, “it’s okay, just get it all out. I’ve got you.”

“I know,” you pulled back to look at him, to study your sweet, sweet husband and his handsome face. You tenderly cradled his face in your hands, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” he teased softly, “but I’ll allow it. C’mon, let me take you to bed and help you get comfortable.”

“Can I bring the pickles?”

“Of course.”

“Will you read to me?”

“Whatever you desire, Dulzura.”

“Do you still love me?”

“More than anything in this world,” and with that he pressed a kiss to your lips and took your hand in his, “more than anything.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It wouldn’t be a normal evening in the Peña household without some sort of chaos. And usually, it wouldn’t bug you or phase you but right now, being so pregnant and going through a particularly emotional period caused you to almost have a breakdown. Lucia was a bundle of energy bouncing around the house as she pretended to be a popstar. Santi and Thea were playing with Legos, something that still made you nervous so you kept stealing glances at them every few minutes to make sure no one was choking. Javi was sitting on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table as he graded some papers.

Meanwhile you were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner with Diego following underfoot. He must have been going through some sort of phase because he was really clingy with you and wanted to be around you all the time. Javier had offered to help but it was already hard enough with one of your boys next to you, so you’d insisted you had it handled. Once the counters were cleaned off, you leaned against the counter and let out a heavy sigh.

“Mama?” Diego tugged on your leg and gave you a sweet smile. You reached down and ran a hand through his dark curls and gave him a soft smile, “are you okay?”

“Oh honey,” the little look of concern on his face made you want to cry. You hated the idea that he could tell that you weren’t feeling great. You kneeled down as best as you could before pulling him into a hug, “I’m okay, Diego. I’m just tired is all. It’s not anything you or your sisters and brother did. None of you are in trouble or anything. I love you so much, my sweet boy.”

“I love you too,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek and you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. He really was the sweetest little thing and you were just so lucky that he was your son, “it’ll be okay, mama.”

“I know,” you smiled softly, “how could it not be when I’ve got all of you? Hey, we need to make brownies for Lucia’s class tomorrow, do you want to help me?”

“Okay,” he nodded happily, his big brown eyes lighting up, “can I lick the spoon?”

“Of course, mijo,” you promised, grabbing the back of the counter and slowly standing back up. You cast a quick look into the living room and found that everything was still as it should be. A small sigh of relief escaped your lips. It wasn’t that you were inherently worried that something was going to happen, but you’d been on edge lately, all part of the wonderful pregnancy experience.

Diego popped to the other side of the counter and climbed onto one of the stools to watch you closely, ready to be your little assistant. You grabbed a bowl and a few other utensils before turning to the pantry to pull out the things you’d need. Part of you had been tempted to just use a box mix, but you wanted to go full on and make everything from scratch. You’d never thought you’d turn into one of those moms, but here you were.

But as you pushed through all the stuff that was there, you realized that the items you needed weren’t there. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, and you took a moment to calm yourself down. Everything was fine…in the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. But right now it seemed like a huge deal.

“Javi?” you heard him hum in response but he didn’t even look up from the paper he was looking over. You crossed your arms over your chest and sighed heavily, “Javier. Can you come here, please?”

Almost as if he could sense that something was wrong, he immediately set down his stack of papers before coming over to you. He offered you a tentative smile as a frown settled on your features. Uh oh, “what’s wrong, Dulzura?”

“Where are the things to make the brownies?” you asked and confusion clouded his features. That just confirmed your suspicions that he indeed had not purchased anything that you needed, “did you not get the stuff?”

“W-what stuff?” Javier had been through a lot in his life and dealt with some bad, scary men. But that still didn’t compare to how nervous his pregnant wife made him, “baby?”

“Seriously?” you groaned and threw your hands up in exasperation, “I asked you for one thing and you couldn’t manage it?”

“I don’t remember,” he admitted sheepishly, “I’m sorry, honey.”

“I gave you a list,” you sighed heavily, “as you were leaving this morning. I asked you to stop at the store and pick up the stuff when you picked the kids up.”

“Oh,” yeah…you had done that. And he had managed to let it slip his mind. He even remembered that he’d taken the list and put in the visor of the car so he’d remember. Which he obviously hadn’t done, “I completely forgot. I’m so sorry, Dulzura.”

“I guess at least you remembered to pick up the kids,” your voice was thick with tears and Javier entered into crisis solving mode. He put a hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze before wiping away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “they’re more important.”

“We can get the stuff for brownies tomorrow, yeah?”

“No,” you pouted deeply, crocodile tears welling up, “Lucia needs them for class tomorrow in the morning. I planned on making them tonight so they were fresh in the morning.”

“How about I go and everything now?” he offered and you knew that his response was logical but you really didn’t want to admit it, “and then I’ll bake the brownies.”

“It’s not the same! The stores are going to be closed,” you huffed slightly, “it’s already getting late and oh no. The kids - we should be getting them ready for bed. I don’t want them up too late. I’m a horrible mother.”

“Dulzura,” Javier put his hands on your upper arms and gave them a gentle squeeze. He would do anything to keep you from crying, to keep the tears from falling down, “it’s okay. It’s still before their bedtime and we can start getting them ready. Once they’re asleep, I can make cookies or something…Lucia will have something to bring to class, yeah? And you are anything but a bad mother. You are a wonderful, amazing, mother - the best.”

“Really?” you perked up at his sweet words and he nodded before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I love them so much. And you. All of you.”

“I know, and we love you too,” he whispered, “very, very much. How about you sit down and relax and I’ll put the kids to bed?”

“There’s four of them,” you sniffled softly, “that’s a lot of them! How can I just leave you to do everything?”

And you were crying again but you wrapped your arms around Javi, holding onto him tightly. He rubbed your back gently, softly whispering sweet words of reassurance in your ear. He’d been through this with you enough by now to know that it was a whole lot of hormones talking, “it’s not everything. It’s really not a big deal, I promise. Besides, how many times have you done it alone in the past?”

“B-but-”

“But nothing,” he insisted firmly, and your lip trembled with effort as you tried not to cry. He was just so sweet and wonderful that it made your heart constrict, “I will handle it this time and you will relax. That is an order.”

“Okay,” you nodded and he kissed you softly, “thank you, Javi.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he smiled and oh. He had the loveliest smile, “they’re not just your kids, they’re ours. And you’re currently growing the last one, and you deserve and need to relax.”

Before you could say anything else, a small pair of arms wrapped your legs. You looked down and found Diego looking at both of you, “you’re a good mom.”

“Yeah?” you asked as Javi picked him and settled him on his hip. Diego was getting a little big to be picked up and carried around easily, but Javier would do it for any one of his kids as long as he could and they were willing, “I think you’re a great kid, Diego. I’m so lucky to be your mom.”

“C’mon,” Javi put his free hand on your lower back and started to guide you to the living room, “you can say good night to the kids and then I’ll get them to bed.”

“They’re such good kids,” your voice almost cracked with emotion and Javi nodded softly in response, “all of them. We’re so lucky.”

“Mhmm,” he watched as the rest of your brood came over to hug you, “and all of us are very lucky to have you.”

“I love you,” you whispered to your husband, “thank you for putting up with all my craziness and all of…this.”

“It’s not putting up with you - I love you. That’s what you do for those you love,” you gave him a sweet smile, “and I happen to love you very, very much Dulzura.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You always wanted Javi. In the metaphorical and very literal sense. You’d always enjoyed a very…healthy sex life with him, but being pregnant made you want him even more. And, you know, that was nothing that Javi would ever complain about.

This particular evening found you waiting for Javier to get home and for the first time in a while, you had the house all to yourself. It might have been some planning on your part, but it wasn’t hard to convince Chucho to take the kids for the night. That man loved spending time with his grandkids, and who were you to deny him?

As soon as you heard the door opening, you almost ran (as much as you could these days) to the door to greet him. His face lit up when he realized you were right there, and he immediately dropped his bag so he could pull you into a hug, “hey baby.”

“I’m so glad you’re home,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his, hungry and searching, “missed you. Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” he almost growled at the feeling of your lips on his, “missed you too, Dulzura.”

You continued to kiss him, finding it easy to get lost in him. You started to drag him towards the stairs, feeling your need for him increase with every passing moment, “need you, Javi.”

“W-wait,” he groaned, loath to pull apart from you, “the kids.”

“They’re not here,” you grinned coquettishly, “Pop has them for the night. We don’t need to pick them up until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Seriously?” He loved his kids, he really did. But sometimes having four of them made it hard to get a moment alone with you. And knowing that he had the entire evening alone with you caused him to almost lose it. You nodded and he pulled off his jacket, not even bothering to hang it up, instead tossing it on the floor. He almost growled as he kissed you again, letting his lips trail along your jaw and then down your neck. You made a soft sound and Javi groaned, before pulling back and looking at you, “you’re going to kill me, Dulzura.”

“Can’t have you dying on me until you fuck me at least one more time,” you reached for his hand and started to pull him up the stairs. Not that he needed any encouragement, he was the one that ended up leading you, “eager, are we?”

“It’s been a long minute since we’ve done this,” he reminded you, “and even longer since we’ve been able to go without any kids around.”

“We still have one around technically,” you teased, rubbing your hand over your bump, and he snorted in amusement, “hey - this is your fault so don’t laugh!”

“It takes two,” he taunted with nothing but fondness lacing his voice, “never heard you complaining before, baby. And last time I checked who was the one that was bad at remembering their birth control?”

“Who could have gotten a vasectomy years ago?” he laughed, loving that you were able to give it all right back to him.

“Alright, I’ll give you that one,” he threw open the bedroom door and immediately ushered you towards the bed, “it was both of us.”

“Yes - but no regrets,” you insisted and nodded in agreement. You sat down and stopped for a moment, suddenly feeling very conscious of what you were wearing. You were in an oversized, old ratty sweater, and some unassuming pajama shorts. It wasn’t anything special and it made you grimace for a moment. Javi seemed to catch and put finger under your chin and turned your face up towards his, “hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated tenderly, “what’s on your mind?”

“No-”

“Don’t lie to me,” his eyebrows raised and you stuck your tongue out at him, “we’ve been together over ten years now. I know you a little better than that.”

“It’s just….look at me,” you pointed at yourself, and he shrugged in confusion, “I just feel…not very sexy. Not that I have to feel that way, but I feel frumpy. Like a sad and frumpy mom.”

“Oh baby,” he got on his knees in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. You offered him a soft smile; getting all emotions; over this hadn’t been part of your plan, “you could be wearing a potato sack and you would still be the most beautiful thing in the world. You are so gorgeous and you don’t even have to try.”

“But I could-”

“But we could be or do a lot of things,” he dragged his thumb along your lower lip, “but I love you just like this. You’re perfect to me. And I couldn’t care less if you were in old pajamas or lingerie or nothing at all. Nothing could make me love you any less. I could only love you more - and I do every day.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed in between your sniffles and a huge grin grew across his face, “why do you always have to be so wonderful? I love you so much, Javier. So, so much.”

“I love you too,” he grinned and leaned up to kiss you, “I mean it though.”

“I know,” you promised, scooting back on the bed and tugging on his arm to pull him along with you, “now touch me. Need you, Javier.”

“I can do that,” he made quick work of undoing the buttons on his shirt and tossing to the side. He got on the bed, his legs around yours as he leaned down to kiss you, caging you in between his arms. You felt like you were going to melt into putty at the feel of his lips all over your body. He tugged on the hem of your sweater, “may I?”

“Yes,” you were already breathless as he gently started to pull the fabric up your body, hands gently skimming over your soft skin. Gooseflesh raised with every little bit of his touch and your tummy felt like it was all butterflies. His touch was reverent and tender as he pulled off your sweater and tossed it to the side to join his shirt. You hadn’t been wearing a bra and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes widened.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbones. You made a small sound of happiness as he leaned back and studied you. His fingertips ghosted over some of the stretch marks you’d acquired over the years. Sometimes they made you feel self conscious but they were there for a good reason. And he always reminded you of that, “every little part of you.”

“So are you,” you put your hand on top of his where it rested on your belly and gave it a gentle squeeze. His hand drifted to the waistband of your shorts and he gave them a playful little tug that caused you to snort in amusement, “take ‘em off. Unless you don’t wanna-”

“Never,” he playfully nipped at your neck, causing you to sigh wistfully at the feeling on your delicate skin, “I’d never say no to you. Dulzura.”

“So don’t start now,” you nudged him with your leg, “please.”

“Say no more,” he hooked his fingers in the side of your shorts and pulled them down in one fluid motion, letting them join the growing pile. He inhaled sharply at the sight of you on the bed, bare and looking up at him with soft eyes, “like a work of art.”

“You’re wearing too much,” you playfully frowned, hooking a friend through his belt loop, “lose the pants.”

He chuckled warmly before making quick work of stripping down. You looked at him with dark eyes and a hungry look that caused him to tilt his head to the side in amusement, “can I help you?”

“I think you can,” you feigned innocence as you gently nudged him to the side before straddling his hips. He made a low sound, a guttural thing as his hands found purchase on your hips, "you look like you've got something to say, handsome. What is it, hmm?"

"Fuck me," he whispered in awe as you grinned like the Cheshire cat, "please."

"I can do that," you leaned down to kiss him softly, "with pleasure. I love you, Javi.”

“I love you more, Dulzura.”

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier Peña x fem!reader #javier Peña x you #javier Peña imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader

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snek-panini · 7 months

Text

Happy Halloween! Have a book:

This is Siren's Song by @kedreeva (Hi! I asked to bind your fic months ago, sorry it took so long XD). It's an incredible Good Omens siren AU, which needs no introduction from me but it gets one anyway. It's one of the most in-character fics I've ever read, tackles a lot of the most resonant themes of the original (love in the context of aromanticism and asexuality, human labels in the context of non-human perspective), and has incredible world-building. Later parts of the fic always make me cry but they're good tears. You'll see. When I first learned that fanbinding was a thing and started looking into how to do it, this was one of the first fics I thought of. It just took me a while to learn the skills I needed before I could do it.

More pics and process talk under the cut!

So the cover up there is black faux leather and momi paper that I bought...about two years ago? And just kept on hand till I was ready to do this project. This is the first time I've worked with it and it was fairly nice, though harder to get a nice crease into than lokta or chiyogami. It felt very fragile when I was handling it but I didn't have any issues with tearing or glue bleed-through like I thought I might. It did bleed some color when I got it damp with the glue, and it took way longer to dry than normal, but once that was done it's been fine. Which is nice because I have a lot left over, so it'll probably be making many future appearances in my binds.

Look! It's rounded! I got a backing setup recently and this is my first time using it. It was Very Hard and I am not very good at it yet. But I think it looks pretty good for a first attempt, and there was really no other way to mitigate the spine swell on this one. I used a thick paper so I've got a thick book. I also tried something new with the case, though it isn't visible. Usually I make the text block and the case separately and then attach them as the last step, but for this one I actually built the case around the text. Like, boards attached to mull/tapes (sandwiched between thinner boards, with grooves cut for them so there are no bulges), then covered with momi, then leather corners and spine, then paste down the endpaper. It's got an oxford hollow, too! The tapes and mull actually wrap around the outside of the boards instead of the inside like I've done before. Endpapers are my favorite feather chiyogami. Combined with the marbled momi they make for a very opulent look, and I had just barely enough to do this. Like, down to the millimeter. I had to trim the edges and then glue the endpapers after to be sure they were right. I'm glad they were, because I didn't have a backup plan. Handmade endbands, colors picked to match the cover. Also, last note, I got the corner bits right for the first time. Measured properly, with no weird pointy bits that come out at funny angles. Very proud.

Title page and bookmark/interior shot. Did you know that some basic fonts in MS Word look different when you use a huge font size? Because I didn't until I made this title page. That's Parchment for the title, and it only gets those swirly bits around the capital letters if you take it to 26pt or higher (I used 72 here). Now I wonder if any of the other fonts have easter eggs in them like that. The ribbon is very fancy, to go along with the rich endpaper/cover combo. I think it's pretty appropriate for a mythological golden age of piracy story, as are the text ornaments:

Chapter header image, chapter end image, and section break image. It was a very image-heavy typeset. I was originally planning to only have a header and a section break, but I couldn't decide whether I liked the ships or the book/shell/feather better, and they both suited the story so well that I just went with both. Again, opulent, but I think it fits. All the images came from rawpixel, all I did was resize them.

There was a small error in the trimming process. Comes of having to calculate so closely the exact amount you can trim off, that you have to trim off so your slightly-too-small endpapers fit. I think something got misaligned when I poked the sewing holes because only the first signature is like this. The rest of the book has a more appropriately-sized margin between the page number and the edge. I got very lucky here, and I know it, and I'm never cutting it this close (lol) again. Next time we just order another sheet of chiyogami.

And that's it! I have one author's copy and one new bind in progress right now (that's taking a while because I'm learning more new stuff for it), and then I have two Christmas gift books to do, so it might be a bit before I have another book to share.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #fic rec #this one was months in the making #maybe years if you consider i bought the momi in 2021 #long before i started working on the typeset #i love it so much though #when i was done i wanted to carry it around all day and show it to people #like a kid who wants you to put their drawing on the fridge

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prime-adeptus · 3 months

Text

AND OUR LOVE IS A GHOST – HANZO SHIMADA X READER

Hanzo faces another ghost from his past.

CONTENT.⠀gender-neutral reader. angst. hanzo and reader are exes. unhappy reunions.

NOTES.⠀part of an Overwatch ficlet collection I've started on ao3 :) this one's dedicated to @kakujis, the Older Brother Character enjoyer <3 I couldn't let us teehee over him too much so here's some angst to balance it out

Hanzo has faced more than his fair share of trials and tribulations in his life.

Those, however, pale in comparison to where he stands now—injured on the doorstep of someone he had selfishly abandoned years ago. It hurts his pride that he was even in this position. He knows he’s damn good with a bow and arrow. He spent years honing his skill, doing everything he could to take back the honour he lost. But it wasn’t enough to fight against a machine.

Though he could treat his injuries himself (he always does; when you are alone, all you have to turn to is yourself), these are too much for him to deal with by his lonesome. He’s not sure what hurts more. The cuts and bruises steadily marking up the skin of his torso or the emotionless stare you’re giving him. He deserves it, he supposes. He’d left you behind without so much of a letter, gone under the radar and never contacted you again. At the time he thought it was for the best. Without anything left to his name, having been stripped of all he had, he didn’t deem himself worthy of you. He was too caught up in his hurt and completely disregarded you, the one who loved him, cared for him—

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it,” you speak up, tone laced with impatience and remnants of anger. “Just come in.”

Hanzo tries not to wince as he follows you inside your home. It’s different from what he remembers—it feels… bleak, barely lived in. He doesn’t have the time to mull over what he’d done to you when you’re pulling him by the sleeve and urging him to sit down. He’s left by himself for a few moments as you disappear into a room before reemerging with a sleek glove in your hand.

You don’t say a word as your hand presses against his chest, a faint white-yellow glow emerging from the glove as pleasant tingles surge through his system. Without knowing it, he closes his eyes and lets himself succumb to relief, his pain and tension leaving his body with each touch.

“A friend of mine gave this to me when he visited.”

The mention of this friend has his eyes snapping open. There’s something akin to irritation—envy—stirring in his chest, but he begrudgingly lets it go. After all, what right does he have to feel possessive of you?

“I’ve been volunteering at the hospital as a nurse. They’ve been understaffed since the last Null Sector invasion.” You’re not even looking at him as you talk, instead focusing on treating him. After a glance at the holopad by your side, you withdraw and step back from him. “What are you doing here?”

“I…”

“There’s nothing for you here, Hanzo.”

His heart sinks. It constantly dawns on him how no apology will ever make up for how he left you—he’d taken a piece of your heart and broken it beyond repair.

“Instinct,” he finally says. “My heart led me here.”

You roll your eyes, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Five years late?”

He knows you don’t owe him forgiveness. Hell, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Still, seeing what used to be love in your eyes turn into resentment hurts him more than any blade ever could. The walls you’d let down for him were built back up, stronger than before, and there’s no way he can possibly get through.

“You’re still living here after Null Sector’s invasion?”

“Some of us can’t just leave things behind to go on our own,” comes your response, quick and snappy. You sigh, your tense features softening just the slightest. “I have friends and family here. I have to help where I can.”

“I… am sorry. I hope they are safe.”

“Sorry enough to help?”

Your words are hauntingly familiar, reminding him of yet another loved one he failed—the young shrine maiden who’s turned to a life of vigilantism to do what he couldn’t. He bites on the inside of his cheek, his eyes downcast. For a man who’s spent years with the most beautiful of words, all of them are lost to him under your glare. Guilt, regret, sorrow—feelings that are even more familiar swirl in his chest, drags him into the depths of the dark.

“I’ll let you stay. It’s late.” You sniffle, and his heart sinks. “But I want you gone by the morning. I don’t care where you go, just… don’t come back.” Then, in a barely audible whisper, you continue, “Please.”

All he can do is watch as you disappear into a silhouette walking down the corridor, leaving behind nothing but faint sobs in your wake. How many tears have you shed because of him? How dare he expect your forgiveness when he has done nothing to earn it? Your agreeing to help him had already been unexpected—miraculous—enough. A selfish part of him wonders if he can ever make it up to you, take away your hurt by being a better man for you.

Hanzo no longer dreams. There is nothing to wish for, nothing he will ever get back. But for you, he dreams that you’ll find it in your heart to look at him the same way you used to again. He’ll do anything to make amends and treat you better if you consider him deserving of a second chance.

For now, he’ll do as you wish and leave just like he did all those years ago. He can’t bear hurting you anymore.

#all #hanzo shimada x reader #shimada hanzo x reader #overwatch x reader

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tieronecrush · 1 year

Note

Hi! I loved water in your hands even though I accidentally read part 2 first 😩, can I please request a little drabble from readers pov when Joel just cut her off and missing work etc when he got married? No worries if not! Just wanted to say I really enjoyed reading :)

well thank you anyways for returning to read part 1!!! and i am so happy that you enjoyed reading!

i’m not sure if you checked out the playlist for the series that i made (spotify / apple music), but liability by lorde made it on there because it is literally what i imagined reader would feel during that time. my hopeless romantic who has never felt chosen </3

liability

drabble for “water in your hands” series

rating: M

word count: 1.2k

summary:

They say, "You're a little much for me / You're a liability / You're a little much for me" / So they pull back, make other plans ' I understand, I'm a liability / Get you wild, make you leave

warnings: angst, insecurity, self doubt, mentions of water/drowning

You didn’t even have any last words from him to mull over. The last thing you’d heard from him was him asking if you were okay as you lay next to him in the middle of that field.

Instead, his silence has sharpened the knife that he’s driven into your heart, his lack of acknowledgment of everything that happened twisting it to carve out a large space for the pain to seep in. And when you’d heard that he was dating someone else, seriously dating, according to Tommy, the knife was pulled clean out and stabbed into your back.

He’d spent one night with you, and somehow that was enough for him to know that he didn’t want you. All of those messages you thought he’d sent now mixed, your recollections of those fleeting, flirty moments poisoned by the knowledge that he didn’t want to be pulled into your storm.

It was the only reason you could think of that maybe drove him away. You knew that you weren’t settled, that you had your own issues to grapple with from everything you’d been through prior to Jackson, but you were secure in yourself. Maybe Joel didn’t want to deal with your shit on top of his own.

You were a little too much for him; a liability to his own healing.

You were on your own at the end of the day, superficial friendships and mere acquaintances belonging in the daylight. The only seemingly real friendship that you’d grown here was with his brother, and the saying goes “blood is thicker than water.”

Returning to a lonely house, yellowy lamplight bathing your space but doing nothing to warm your insides. You spent nights on your own, re-reading your favorite novels from the worn shelves in your cozy living room or spinning a record to dance around and forget for a few minutes. In those times, you were thankful that you were still looking out for yourself, that you still had your own back despite all of the doubt your own mind had grown.

In those solitary hours, all you had were your thoughts, which revolved around him, throwing you into a cyclical whirlpool of heartache. Only when you thought you’d pulled yourself out, had finally felt the heat of the sun on your face above the surface, one single memory of his fingers brushing your thigh or his lips ghosting over yours or a whisper of your name rips you right back into the current.

He left you behind and moved on.

Dating someone else, ignoring you for days that turned into weeks, that’s now become months.

You remember the day you found out that they were engaged.

It happened at the end of your shift, your coworker Tracy popping in to have a nightcap. She was tipsy already, spilling where she had been prior to coming to the bar. There was a party at Tommy and Maria’s, she’d said, a wide drunken smile on her face as she excitedly gossiped.

“They threw Joel and Heather an engagement party! How sweet is that?”

Engagement? Engagement. Engagement.

Engagement led to marriage.

Marriage was meant to be for life.

And Joel never does anything half-assed.

One time, a few weeks after Joel had returned to Jackson, you’d let yourself daydream indulgently. It’d been about him, about what you envisioned a life with him would look like. You’d pictured your own wedding, the closest people to you both the only ones in attendance. In your imagination, you’d seen your brother there, your sister, too.

It was a dream because, even if you ended up with Joel, you never thought he would get married. He was loyal, devoted, committed no matter what jewelry was on your fingers. Those traits were intrinsic to him. You didn’t think something like that mattered to him; he would be a husband, a partner to you without any ceremony.

Clearly, you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

Their engagement was fast. You’d heard from Tommy about a month later that the wedding was happening at the weekend. Bile coated your throat, burning acid settling there for the rest of the afternoon that you spent at work. You’d returned home that evening, crawling into bed and crying yourself completely dry and numb.

You didn’t leave that spot for days. Skipped out on work. Ignored the knocks at your door from Tracy, Maria, even Tommy. Limbs felt too heavy to move, bones ached deeply, dull pain sawed at your constricted heart.

Thoughts kept steamrolling each other, your brain was unable to shut them out as you spiraled silently alone.

A toy. A plaything. A little doll.

An achievement to be conquered.

He’d played with you; bantered with you. He was flirty -- suggestive at times. But once you’d given him everything, unveiled your thoughts and feelings to him in hopes of him returning them, even just accepting them, he’d gotten bored. There was no more chase. You’d rolled over like prey, submitting to anything he could have wanted from you.

You were only exciting to seek in the night, ghostly touches in the bar and a chance encounter under the moonlight.

Naive. Childish. Too much.

Delusions of a perfect summer with Joel changing with the leaves and eventually becoming rooted together had blinded you from his true intentions with you.

You were better off on your own, so it seemed the universe was telling you. Losing your siblings, your family, lacking friendships, and now your prospect for love slipped through your fingers in a rush, fleeting efforts made to contain it like water in your hands. No matter what, it would have found cracks to drip through, and eventually drained completely.

He evaded you, leaving you in an unrequited romance. You were in love with him. And now he was married to someone else, in love with someone that he could easily be with no disadvantage or opportunity for embarrassment. There were no means to confess your found feelings, so you lay for hours in your bed while tears soak your pillow and words are branded into your mind.

I’m in love with Joel Miller, and he won’t ever love me.

You repeated it so many times that it sounded like the truth, like gospel, and then, at a certain point, like a foreign language. The words eventually meant nothing in their countless repetitions, the weight of your self-confessional lessening with each second passing. Your limbs felt lighter, bones less sore, and the grip of pain on your heart loosened.

In the next moment, all you could think about was feeling the warm summer air on your face again. Finally, after days isolated, you were going to take a chance to disappear into the sun. You’d pulled yourself out of bed, changing into fresh clothes.

With one glance out of your window, the plans were soured when you saw it was sunset, that you’d have to wait until morning for your walk in the light. You decided to stay up all night to be able to catch the sunrise in the grazing field. To occupy yourself, you milled about your kitchen and living room, doing the small pile of dishes that had accumulated and straightening up the place. The clock on your wall read the early hours of the morning, and with no other chores to do, you turned towards your collection of books.

As you thumb through your shelves to find another novel to escape into for a few hours, the sound of knuckles lightly rapped on your door.

tagging the usual mutuals: @swiftispunk @joelsversion @johnwatsn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @pedrit0-pascalit0 @theelishad @undrthelights @ladamedusoif @ruinedbylanadelrey @thetriumphantpanda @pedgeitopascal @dinsdjrn @thepascalofus @pedgito @soaringcloud @somedayauthor @alloftheimagines @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters @atinylittlepain @scrambledslut @lunapascal

#joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x yn #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tw insecurity #tw self doubt #me #writing #requests

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ancientwastedlores · 1 month

Text

Getaway Car [T.Swift-inspired LOKI Fic]

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Ask: I am OBSESSED with your stories <3 <3 <3 could you write a Getaway Car themes fic about Loki and reader when it's them against the Avengers for some reasons, they get away together and reader thinks Loki will betray them so they betray him first? All angst and pain (. )(. ) thx <3 <3 <3

Note: HELLO, I know it's v late and been a while. But I heard Taylor's new album, and the need to write awakened. Thought I'd revisit my old requests for some inspo and found this one I've been wanting to do for a while. Hope you like it! And leave me your TTPD requests as well <3

WORD COUNT: 2756

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Getaway Car

I’m in a getaway car I left you at the motel bar Took the money in the bag and stole the keys That was the last time you ever saw me…

Partners in crime. Brothers in arms. That’s how the Avengers saw you and Loki, forever up to some mischief together. The way you both shared one mind was insane, and while Tony was glad it gave you a battle advantage, that brilliance was too often used for useless pranks around the facility, tiring out Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner the most.

So what? They were harmless. These were ‘morale boosting’ and ‘team building’ activities, as per you. If anything, it brought the team closer together. And your pranks were your way of keeping the Avengers always alert and ready for danger. You had endless justifications.

‘When do the excuses end?’ Tony once asked you. ‘When do Earth’s mighty Avengers stop screaming about grasshoppers in their pancakes? It’s a protein-rich breakfast.’

Meanwhile, Loki never scrambled for a justification. He did things because he wanted to, and the chiding and complaining only encouraged him. Together, you made life hell for villains and heroes alike. You and Loki were the first response to an attack because of the way you could significantly weaken the enemy's psyche, prepping them to be an easy kill for the rest of the Avengers.

You made a good team. A powerful one. And while your pranks kept things light, the Avengers were not unaware that if you decided to turn against them, you would succeed in wiping them out.

___________________________________________

You and Loki weren’t the type for meetings, which made things easy for Tony that evening. In the bi-monthly meetup in his grand tower, he brought up a subject he’d been mulling over for quite some time.

‘Do we have any reason to suspect they are plotting something against us?’ Steve asked.

‘We don’t want to assume the wrong thing and risk actually inspiring them.’ Natasha said.

‘You see, there’s the problem!’ Tony barked, ‘Why are we so afraid of them? They’re supposed to be on our side, dependable and loyal. Instead we’re afraid of pissing them off!?’

‘What are you saying exactly, Tony?’ Bruce asked.

Tony sighed frustratedly and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t know. I just never want to be in a situation where we’re compromised from the inside. They’re too close to each other, and they know things we do not. I don’t like that.’

‘Fine. We’ll give them other tasks to keep them occupied separately,’ Natasha suggested.

‘Like it’s school?’ Bruce said.

‘I truly think Y/N was far more focused before Loki came along.’ Tony said. 'She was responsible. Tame.'

‘We’re starting to sound like parents, ’ Natasha said. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, but if you’re worried, we’ll occupy her in the lab and him in training facilities.’

Tony thought this was a good idea. ___________________________________________

The next morning, at breakfast, all the Avengers received an agenda sheet. It was placed on their seat at the dining table, and you were taken aback.

‘Since when do we have a timetable?’ you asked.

‘Since I saw things slacking around here,’ Tony declared. ‘We’ve got new trainees, new equipment, and new space stuff to unpack, and we’re doing nothing.’

‘You mean Loki and I are doing nothing.’

‘If the shoe fits,’ Tony said.

The agenda was clearly made for you, and the rest of the team was in on it. You looked through your sheet - which honestly wasn’t that bad. You just didn’t like being taken by surprise. Mornings in the lab testing Tony’s “space stuff.” Afternoons running any one of the Avengers’ many charity initiatives - education, rehab, food drives, what have you. And evenings pulling apart and examining weapons scavenged from aliens kindly brought to you by either Carol Danvers or Gamora.

And then you picked up Loki’s (who was sleeping late as usual). Mornings in the training facility training new recruits. Afternoons doing weapons testing with Tony. And evenings at any of the charity drives.

This was deliberate. You couldn’t fathom why the Avengers would play such games, but you weren’t about to be taken for a ride. ___________________________________________

Later in the morning, when Loki finally woke from his prolonged slumber, you told him about Tony’s passive-aggressive comment and the new agenda sheets. His green eyes flickered with the same spark of rebellion that mirrored your thoughts.

"Why the sudden change, you think?" Loki questioned.

"Control," you muttered, piecing the agenda with the prior night's conversations you had eavesdropped on through the vents—a risky yet fruitful habit. "They fear us, Loki. They're splitting us up, weakening our position."

Loki's smirk was as sly as ever, an idea brewing in the back of his mind. As he leaned closer, the proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and the air between you charged with a dangerous excitement.

"Then perhaps, my dear..." His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, his breath a warm caress against your ear. "...it's time we teach them the folly of their paranoia."

The words, scandalous and provocative, ignited something within you. Your heart thudded violently in your chest, a wild drumbeat echoing in the hollow of your ribs. It was the thrill of the forbidden, the allure of stepping into the shadows with Loki by your side, not just as a partner in crime but as a co-conspirator in a game most perilous.

His eyes locked onto yours, green fires that burned with mischief and an unspoken promise of chaos. It was an unholy proposal, stepping over a line you knew well but had never dared to cross before. And yet, as your heart raced and your thoughts spun, you realized that the decision had already been made in that fleeting heartbeat.

"Yes," you breathed out, the word less a reply and more a surrender to the exhilarating unknown. "Let's make them regret ever doubting us."

With that, your fate was sealed.

___________________________________________

Under the guise of your newly assigned tasks, you and Loki meticulously orchestrated your daring plan. Each task provided unique opportunities to prepare for the heist without arousing suspicion among the other Avengers.

In the mornings, Loki was stationed at the training facility, instructing new recruits in the art of combat and deception. Utilizing his godly charisma and depth of experience, he subtly wove lessons on unpredictability and misdirection into his training, skills that would prove essential in the upcoming heist. While training these recruits, Loki also discreetly surveyed the facility's layout and security details, noting any potential vulnerabilities.

In the afternoons, his task shifted to weapons testing with Tony. These sessions, fraught with the clang of metal and the buzz of new technology, provided Loki with the perfect cover to engage Tony in technical discussions, subtly extracting information about the latest security updates and the locations of key research projects, including the cloaking device. Loki used his wit to keep Tony focused on the tasks at hand, ensuring his own activities went unnoticed.

Evenings saw Loki participating in various charity drives. These engagements offered him a public face of benevolence; all the while, he used these outings to establish alibis and build trust within the community and among his team, masking his true intentions under the guise of philanthropy.

Your mornings were spent in Tony’s lab, ostensibly testing new equipment designated aptly as “space stuff.” This task was critical because it allowed you direct access to some of the most advanced technology within the Avengers’ arsenal. While your official task was to test and report on these devices, you utilized this time to familiarize yourself with the lab’s security systems and to map out a discreet path to the prototype device. Your expertise in technology helped you to handle the equipment convincingly, all while preparing for the eventual theft.

Just like Loki, you used your time at the afternoon charity drives to make connections with community members and the other Avengers, enhancing your image as a dedicated member. This wasn’t a farce - you did care about the community. But right now, you had an underlying feeling of anger and hurt that the Avengers you gave your life to were doubting your intentions. So, you networked and built connections that could be useful for creating diversions or obtaining information indirectly related to the Avengers’ operational security.

The evenings were dedicated to examining and dismantling alien weaponry, and this time was invaluable not only for understanding potential alien tech that could be repurposed to aid in your escape but also for ensuring you were updated on the latest extraterrestrial technologies that might impact your plan. ___________________________________________

Days turned into weeks. You and Loki could only ever meet at night, and though you expected a whole day of events to make you too tired to plan a heist, you were actually excited. These secret meetings were charged with an electric anticipation that both thrilled and unnerved you. What started as a time to go over your respective findings turned into something far more intimate. As you poured over maps and schematics, your discussions often went into other things. Your pasts, your stories, your motives for joining the Avengers… everything you both usually kept hidden under bravado or mischief.

Loki’s usual façade of indifference was replaced by a passionate intensity about your joint mission. It was during one of these evenings, while reviewing security layouts, that he looked up from the papers, his gaze piercing. “You know, in all my years of schemes and conquests,” he confessed, his voice a low rumble, “I’ve never felt quite as... exhilarated as I do now, planning this with you.”

These words struck a chord within you, igniting a warmth that spread through your chest.

Nights passed… you sat close to each other, naturally relaxing into each other. Soon, you moved the meetings from the facility terrace to each other’s bedrooms, comfortably laying in bed and discussing everything and nothing.

“I’m the only kid in my family to get a job’ you once revealed. ‘And now I feel like their lives all depend on me.’

It’s true that you were more focused and serious before Loki came in. But that was because you never allowed yourself to do anything else but meet the expectations of your family. Loki was a breath of fresh air. The child you wished you could be for once.

You didn’t have to explain all that to him. After you spilled your secret, Loki pulled you closer to him and stroked your head softly as you fell asleep. As you drifted off in his safe and warm embrace, you thanked Tony for his harsh comments. Were it not for him, you and Loki might never have bonded this way.

But a day after that fact occurred to you, your mind began to wander. Was this love destined, or was it just something that happened due to an unfavorable circumstance?

Did he realize he was in danger? Were you his escape plan?

With this deepening connection came a vulnerability that was new to both of you. The fear of betrayal, so ingrained in both your natures, loomed large as the day of the heist approached. Could you truly trust Loki with your heart, just as you were trusting him with your life?

___________________________________________

The night before the heist, as you both sat back after hours of meticulous planning, Loki turned to you with a seriousness that was rare for him. “No matter what happens,” he said, his voice steady and sincere, “I want you to know that I... I value this. Us. More than I thought possible.”

His admission was a confession, and in the dim light of your secluded meeting spot, you allowed yourself a moment to truly look at him—not as the God of Mischief or an Avenger, but as a man who had unexpectedly become so much more. The stakes were higher now.

Could this connection you created in the night - in the seclusion of the terrace and the safe confines of your bedroom - last in daylight?

___________________________________________

4 PM.

Your heart hammered as you bypassed the final security protocols and laid your hands on the prototype device, its field of light flickering with the promise of freedom. With the device secured, you slipped away to meet Loki at the designated rendezvous point, ready to disappear. As per today’s schedule, the Avengers were all at a school for at-risk youths, so it would be hours before anybody even realized what had happened.

As you ran, the back of the backpack hitting you with every step, you felt a sense of dread in your stomach. Why didn’t this feel exhilarating? Why didn’t it feel freeing?

You reached the entrance and saw Loki in your getaway car - a dark green sports Jaguar with the top town. The feeling of unease did not rest when you saw his face. The plan had gone too smoothly. Was it all too convenient?

Your own thoughts a traitor to you, your heart sank as you opened those doors and jumped into his car. He put his lips to yours in absolute delight, barely able to stop smiling as he planted kiss after kiss on your face.

"Are you with me, truly?" you found yourself asking, voice edged with a fear you hated to admit.

Loki's expression softened, a hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "Always," he reassured.

The escape was a blur—for a moment, you forgot your reservations and reveled in the thrill of the wind in your hair. It was so romantic. So powerful. As night closed in and you left the sparkling city, the car drove into the darkness, but your heart was never lighter. His hand was on your thigh, and the music in your mind swelled as you imagined a whole new life with him. You were his savior, and he was yours.

But the high soon crashed.

As you reached the motel you decided to spend the night at, you looked over at him, and your heart sank again. The love was only alive in safe spaces. In comfortable places where it was nobody else’s business.

You got out of the car and checked into your room - cash only. The room was nothing grand - it didn’t have to be. It would suffice until your contact made you fake passports, and you could get the hell out of the country.

Loki did suggest simply teleporting the pair of you to Asgard, but that would hardly be a safe place to hide. And besides… why would he make such a ridiculous suggestion? Because he expected it to be shut down? Was your plan - your dream - to run away to somewhere in Asia and live a simple life actually his plot all along? And which god would agree to a simple life? Was it a ploy to make you feel safe before he betrayed you and left with the cloaking device?

Questions upon questions filled your head. You weren’t sure if you were being your own worst enemy, so you decided to sleep on it. Loki asked if you wanted to get a drink at the motel bar, but you just wanted to creep under the covers and sleep the adrenaline off. He didn’t protest - he wanted you to be comfortable.

It only made you more paranoid. Why didn’t he care enough to insist on a celebratory drink? Was he going to take this time to plot his escape?

If betrayal were inevitable, you’d strike first.

As soon as you heard the door click shut, you leaped out of bed and got dressed. You grabbed the bag with the device and the car keys and ran to the door. Then you paused… if you left right now, Loki wouldn’t stop looking for you. And nowhere on earth would be safe from a god.

With a heavy heart, you called the Avengers facility from the motel landline.

___________________________________________

You watched from the shadows as Loki drank his whiskey all alone. Your heart ached as you turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Maybe it wasn’t too late… maybe you could grab him from the motel bar, drag him to the car, and keep running.

Those hopes were dashed when you saw the Iron Suit’s unmistakable lights draw closer to the motel. For a moment you looked back at Loki to mouth a silent apology. He managed to lock eyes with you for a split second, confused and hurt, before the roof crashed in on him.

Nothing good starts in a getaway car.

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I hope this is similar to what you wanted <3

Feel free to leave requests here, and you can find my Masterlist here <3

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #loki x you #loki x reader #loki fanfic #taylor swift #taylor swift reputation #getaway car #loki marvel #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #tva loki

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witchofthesouls · 11 months

Note

I am in a mood. I want nothing more than to kiss Op all over his face and tell him how handsome he is.

(That's a Mood, anon. Here we go with TFP Optimus because that mech really needs some soft moments that won't kill him.)

This is a rare moment of privacy between you and Optimus. Something precious as everything seems to be in order long enough for him to step away for a break, and made far more dear with the clear night of constellations hanging above and no other humans for miles and miles. Whole areas are blocked out due to massive mudslides and the subsequent damage to popular trails. An easy fix to get around with the ground-bridge and a being that's nearly 30-feet tall to step around most obstacles.

Optimus has a fondness for nature, particularly for the deeper wilds that are relatively untouched by the modern day. There's something wistful and nostalgic in his expression as he gazes out.

And right now, you're straddling him. Optimus is mass-displaced, putting his height and frame in a more human-friendly size. Still large, but far more manageable to reach.

You lick your lips and his gaze flickers down for a moment, and your mouth dries out a little more at that subtle tell. "So anything I want, Big Guy?"

"Yes. Anything." He says with that gentle self-deprecating ghost of a smile as his servos curled over your waist, digits resting on the hem of your shirt.

He still feels guilty that there's only so many places you and he can go. Between his obvious paint-job and the tumultuous levels of Energon production at the base, it's better to cautious with his holomatter usage.

"Okay. Close your optics," you command and he obeys.

"You," you say clearly, "are wonderful." You press a firm kiss to the base of the decorative grill piece.

Those 'brows lift, startled but then his face smoothes out, optics clicking but still shut-closed, mouth parts slightly. His fingers curl across some bare skin, but he remains under you.

"Strong." You press a feather-light kiss over his left optic.

"Attentive." You do the same to the right one.

"Absolutely gorgeous." You kiss the subtle hint of a nose-bridge and he makes a noise, engines thrumming as you linger over his mouth but you go to his chin instead, lips brushing over the protective gear. "Stupidly brave."

"And yet you still have kindness in you after everything." You press your lips over his cheeks, feeling the slots of his mask on both sides.

"That was two," he murmurs and a far happier smile graces his own lips.

"A freebie," you quip as you steel yourself for this one.

You don't have his easy way with words or that innate sense of poetry, but this had been mulling in your thoughts for a long while and you might as well spit it out before you lose your nerve. You cradle his face in your hands and press your forehead to his. Optimus has to hunch down to meet you as you stretch up. "If you are the ocean and I am the lighthouse, then I hope I shined enough light to guide you through some terrible storms."

There's the immediate prickling of intent upon your skin, leaving goosebumps and shivers, and your throat catches as he pulls you close and rasps out, "You've been holding out on me."

Your tongue fails to language properly, so you meet his mouth with your own and Optimus falls back and you follow.

#ask #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #optimus #optimus prime #reader insert #maccadam #My writing #I would love to smooch and praise this mech and tell him my 3 am poetry thoughts #we need more soft moments #and yall need to check out arabic love poems its a different level of romance

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melmedarda · 6 months

Note

tell us more ur thoughts on marcus arcane? i can send more specific qs if that helps

thank you :)

hello anon! feel free to send any questions, because at this point, marcus arcane is my chew toy, and i mull over him likely the most after mel. i simply cannot be normal about him.

so i just reblogged the character motivation sheet for jayce, and i really believe that marcus is parallel to jayce. how so, gentle, you may wonder. i'm so glad you asked. what marcus wants most seems to be the ability to keep piltover safe, and to fill the shoes that grayson left behind. we see this in act one, where he follows her religiously, acts in ways for HER best interest because that is how much he loves and respects grayson. AND LET ME PAUSE HERE BECAUSE!!!! WHEN EVERYTHING GOES DOWN AND GRAYSON DIES IN FRONT OF HIM AND SILCO THROWS HIM THE MONEY... and he says this wasn't the deal. JUDAS ISCARIOT!!! iykyk (and if you don't know i will soon be making a set so you see. so you understand). also... the fact that he kept the coin that was encrusted with grayson's blood. as a reminder. marcus,,,,,, baby boy... anyways. let me continue.

I think it's also important to realize that this is likely when he becomes sheriff, seeing as he was grayson's protege. AND THIS IS ANOTHER THING. he and caitlyn were both proteges of grayson. and i believe part of him hates caitlyn, because he realized, in the end that he was a fool, just as grayson had said. that caitlyn was somehow bringing more change/peace than he could. and here's where i strongly believe that if grayson had been around longer, died later, marcus would have been completely passed over as sheriff and the job would have gone to caitlyn, if it had been up to grayson.

ANYWAYS. so then, timeline's a little fuzzy, but i think the year grayson died was the year marcus became a father. after the time skip, i estimate ren to be about 6-7 years old, which means that marcus' main motivation had switched from continuing grayson's legacy to keeping his daughter safe. again, how can we tell? during the funeral for the enforcers, where he's talking of the enforcers protecting mothers, fathers, sons. the camera zooms in to focus on marcus as he mentions daughters.

AND THEN. when he meets with silco, sees the bomb and envisions himself pulling the trigger, and killing both himself and silco. yeah, that scene lives in my head rent free. marcus has always been ready to be the marytr, and i believe, already he considers himself one. the only reason he does not, i think, because then his daughter, ren, would have no one else. i think silco sees he is losing marcus that day, and that is why he turns up to marcus' house, ren's room. and marcus' face when he sees her with him.... people died. (it's me, i am people). it breaks him because the only reason he has remained under silco's thumb, is his desire to protect this daughter, despite the fact that doing so corrupted him.

and then when he holds the gun at caitlyn, he cannot bring himself to pull the trigger. why? WHY can't he pull the trigger? perhaps because of grayson's memory? or perhaps does he think of his daughter in that moment. does he remember that she is someone's daughter too. like, marcus isn't a killer. it's not what he does. he had the opportunity to kill vi, but didn't. he could have killed cait, but again, he didn't. in any case, she does not end up dying, and it is marcus who dies instead.

WHAT ARE HIS LAST WORDS?????????? "Tell my daughter..." I love her. we never get to hear him say it, but we know. we know because after all, everything marcus has done is protect his daughter. to give her safety, and a home. she was his reason for living, and she becomes his undoing, too. he's just a man who was doomed by the narrative before he'd even begun. and in the end, he failed to protect his daughter. i really hope that next season, we get to see marcus' daughter, that caitlyn tells ren that her father loved her.

anyways. if you read this far, kudos to you. if you have any further questions about him feel free to drop them on me.

#marcus makes me so unwell so insane #as you can tell #he's become my second favorite character in arcane after mel #asks #arcane #marcus arcane #arcane marcus

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vaya-writes · 1 year

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The Wyvern's Bride - Part 3.4

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

2900 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

It's finally here. Please enjoy conflict resolution, gardening, and somebody finally taking the initiative. No notable content warnings. Mild descriptions of food and profanity.

To his credit, Slate does return on time. Adalyn watches him land, guarded and curious, from her spot at the dining table. There’s a thunk as a large wooden crate is set upon the balcony. A billow of shadow, and Slate appears after it, dressed neatly in his human form.

He smiles. “Good morning, dearest!”

“…good morning, Slate.”

“I brought you something.” He waves her over, oblivious to her reticence.

Reluctantly, she approaches. He bounces on his heels and grins at her again, cheeks flushed. His enthusiasm fazes her a little, but she’s not ready to forgive his unplanned absence.

“Open it.”

“It’s nailed shut.”

He hesitates for a beat. “Right. Do you want me to..?”

She gestures that he have at it.

Slate uses his bare hands to pry open the crate. The lid groans and splinters under his touch, before cracking. His strength impresses her, but she doesn’t let it show.

He steps back and removes the lid, now in several pieces, with a flourish. “Ta-da.”

Bags of dirt. No. Bags of fertiliser. And... tools; pots, seedlings. She blinks. Everything she’d need to start a garden. Almost as if he’d read her mind.

Adalyn doesn’t know what to say.

At her silence, Slate’s smile falters, and he musses his hair, sheepish. “You left your garden plans out. I’m sorry I looked without asking. But I already had to go to Cheywyn so I thought I’d pick up your supplies... I can bring up soil from the forest and take you to Fleecehold to get clippings from your old garden. And I was thinking that once your garden is more established we could even talk to folks at one of the apiaries and see about getting a small hive up here-” He hesitates when he sees her expression. “Are you okay?”

Adalyn closes her eyes. She lets out a long breath and takes a moment to compose herself. To relax her jaw. She doesn’t know how to answer his question. Doesn’t know if she should be honest, or if that would be showing too much vulnerability too soon.

“This is a thoughtful gift. Thank you.” She speaks the truth, but struggles to inject any warmth into her tone. Instead she trudges inside and finishes making her drink.

He follows her. Hesitates by the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She works in silence. Mulls over her words while she takes a sip of her tea. Then shrugs. “I was - I am – quite upset with you. But you’ve gone and done something sweet and now it doesn’t seem fair to be mad.”

He takes in her dejected posture. Pulls up the seat beside her. Puts his hand on the table, inches away from hers. “You can still be mad. How did I upset you?”

She struggles to meet his eyes. “You told me you’d spend time with me. Show me your armour. And then you left without saying anything.”

He pales. “Ancestors. I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.”

She turns away. “It’s fine.”

“No. It’s obviously not fine. You’ve every right to be upset.” He hesitates, “Look, I don’t want you to even consider the gift until I’ve made it up to you. I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to buy your affection.” He shifts again, floundering at words. “How else can I make this better?”

Adalyn lets her eyes drift back to him. He really does look concerned.

“I don’t know.”

“I owe you some quality time. Why don’t we go over the armour this morning and the weapons? Unless, of course, you wanted to be alone.”

Adalyn leans back in her chair, arms crossed. She’s still upset. And a petty part of her wants to turn her nose up at Slates offer and sulk in privacy. But she knows she’d regret it.

She scowls down at her drink. Tries really hard to be nice. To be forgiving. To move past the upset, just a little.

“It’d be a start.”

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He taps one of her fingers with one of his own. “Did anything else happen? I mean, did I do anything else?”

Her eyes flick to him, before dropping back to her drink. She sits in silence while she tries to straighten out her upsets.

“I wish you’d said something before leaving. Even with your note, I still felt left in the dark.”

Slowly he creeps one of his hands around hers. Absently, his thumb brushes the back of her hand. “I didn’t realise leaving would bother you. Does it usually?”

Adalyn shrugs. She hadn’t expected him to take her so seriously. And with his gentle touch it’s getting increasingly difficult for her to pull away. “I’m used to it.”

She misses his wince. His frown. “Okay. Barring emergencies, I won’t do it again. I’m sorry I didn’t consider how you’d feel about it.”

Adalyn looks up.

He’s completely serious.

She’s surprised by his reaction, and slightly warmed. She’d felt like such a fool, being upset over something so small. He hadn’t made her feel like that at all.

Feeling bold, Adalyn shuffles closer. Leans across the space and rests her forehead against his chest.

“Tomorrow you can make it up to me some more.”

“Yes?”

“By helping me with the garden.”

He strokes her hair. She tries not to melt completely at the touch, but it’s nearly impossible. Adalyn realises that she’s starved for these small affections, and presses her face harder against him.

Her words are muffled, but Slate still hears her when she next speaks.

“Thank you for listening. And taking me seriously.”

He clears his throat. “Uh. Well. Of course. You listen to me every day, even when I talk about boring things.”

“I like listening to you talk about boring things.”

Her face heats at the admission. She wants to pull away, suddenly aware of her proximity, but doesn’t want Slate to see how embarrassed saying that had made her.

There’s a long silence.

“Do you… want to hear me talk about my amour collection?”

She nods. Then, with great reluctance, pulls back, standing and clearing the table before she’s able to meet his eyes again.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

---

Adalyn barely stirs when Slate touches her shoulder. The room is still dark. The fire burnt to embers.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to start bringing up some soil. If I’m not back by breakfast, I’ll see you outside.”

“M’kay,” she mumbles, drifting back to sleep.

She forgets the encounter.

The sun rises and Adalyn drags herself from bed. It’s not until she notes the lack of construction noise, which typically rumbles distantly, but surely, that she connects the dots of Slate’s absence. Excitement rises in her, but she ignores it, dressing and eating, focusing on one step at a time. Finally, she makes her way to the surface.

In the first week Slate had carved several doors for her, emerging into the lush and stony mountainsides. The one she uses now had been discussed last night: located halfway down Slate’s Tower and exiting onto a small plateau that clings to the spire’s side.

She adjusts to the sunlight and takes in her surroundings. Her garden supplies are in a precarious pile, and the wooden crate that had housed them is nowhere to be seen. To the side is a large tarp, weighed down by a pile of loamy soil.

Confused, but happy to start, she begins working, filling and placing pots, drawing lines in the dirt. She’s just beginning to wonder how soon she can start building garden beds when a shadow appears overhead.

The missing crate creaks when Slate sets it on the ground, and Adalyn can’t help but wonder how many more trips up and down the spires it can survive. Lid missing, she has a clear view of the dirt inside.

Good morning.

“Hi,” Adalyn greets him, craning her neck and allowing a shy smile. “You’ve been busy.”

The wyvern stretches his neck, and adjusts his wings, allowing them to flare momentarily. It could be construed as a shrugging gesture. Adalyn thinks it looks a bit like Slate preening.

I’m used to early starts.

She hides her smile at the forced humbleness. Then looks over the plateau. “Do you want to build some garden beds with me?”

Shadow streams off of him and he shrinks in size until his demi form remains.

Adalyn blinks, letting her gaze linger over his horns and his scaled cheeks. She doesn’t get to see him like this very often. Especially not out in the light. Aside from when he’s busy digging, or around his family, he tends to present as human around Adalyn.

She uses the chance to stare, greedily taking in the glint of his claws and the shine of sun on his scales. The way his profile changes with his muscles shifted to hold the extra weight. The almost imperceptible change in his stance.

She meets his eyes, and realises she’s been caught staring.

His cheeks darken a shade. “I’m stronger like this. How can I help?”

She forces herself to stare at the unbuilt garden surrounding them. “I’ll need some materials for the garden beds. What do you recommend?”

He rubs his chin, smearing dirt without realising. “Wood will break down over time. You could use it for temporary garden beds and build outwards after. Or reinforce and replace the edges. Stone has better longevity. I’d use larger slabs for an elegant, but basic look. You could do cobbled stone for something quaint looking, but it would take much more work to assemble. Plus, it wouldn’t be as durable, and roots could grow through if we left it unpatched.”

“I like the idea of large slabs. And perhaps some pavers. I don’t want the path turning into mud or washing away every time it rains.”

“Well, I’ve plenty of limestone. I wouldn’t use it for carvings though. It weathers kind of poorly outside. But it’ll work for slabs and pavers. I could size it for you today?”

Adalyn straightens. “That sounds like a plan. Why don’t you bring some out while I get us some drinks?”

The pair part ways. When Adalyn returns to the budding garden, sandwiches and hot drinks in tow, she finds Slate already at work, shaping the stone with his claws, and smoothing it further with a chisel.

She offers him food, and he smiles gratefully, reaching for a sandwich before pausing. His hands are covered in dust. He looks to his shirt, about to wipe them clean, when he notices the garment is also grey with powdered limestone.

She bites back a smile at the defeated expression on his face, picks up a sandwich, and holds it to his mouth.

They lock eyes for a moment, and at the proximity, Adalyn can’t help but flush at the unexpected intimacy.

“Thanks,” he says in a mumble, before clearing his throat and taking a bite.

Slate tries to keep busy, turning back to his work between bites, and discussing with Adalyn. They chose the size and shape, decide against using mortar, and finish eating before Slate starts walking the slabs into place.

Adalyn puts her gloves back on and continues work, filling the first garden bed with stone and soil, while Slate builds and assembles the other beds. By afternoon they’ve built four and filled one, which Adalyn regards with pride.

“Last thing I’ll need is a source of water.”

Slate sits on one of the garden edges, sprawling out. “My fancy bathroom won’t be far. I could probably extend the piping.”

Adalyn tries not to roll her eyes or quip about his growing list of architectural projects. “A rain catcher would also work.”

He looks sheepish for a moment. “I suppose it would. Until Winter.”

“Does fancy plumbing not freeze in Winter?”

“Not if I really shell out. I could have them built from dwarven metals. Or hire an enchanter.”

She does roll her eyes this time. “And I could do what most of the locals do, and not grow crops in Winter.”

He blinks. And Adalyn swears he also blushes. “Yes. I suppose you could do that.”

---

That evening Adalyn accompanies Slate downstairs and offers to help with dinner. He brushes her off with a smile and insists on cooking. Content, Adalyn sits in the dining area during the interim, going over the mail she’d picked up that afternoon.

The pair had made a trip down the mountain to visit Gwen and Grace, and to take cuttings from Adalyn’s old garden. They’d returned one mysterious package heavier.

Adalyn pointedly ignores the lower half of the dining area. The table from the third trial is gone from the walkway, but the memory still lingers. Adalyn puts her back to it when she sits at the dais table, looking closer at the parcel.

It’s wrapped tightly in cloth and leather, in a desperate attempt to keep its contents safe, and when Adalyn opens it, she sees why.

‘St James’ Treatise on Wyvern Physiology’

It’s a hefty tome written on parchment, with detailed diagrams and illustrations, inked in colour. A handful of bookmarks protruding from the top draw the eye, and Adalyn opens to one.

A subheading written in bold jumps out at her: ‘Mating Habits of the Duopedes Draconis’. Adalyn shuts the book and purses her lips. It’s then she spots the letter, nested among the book wrappings. It’s sealed shut with red wax. She eases it open.

“Dear Adalyn,

I’ve enclosed a gift you might find useful. I regret that I was unable to unearth it from my home until recently, but I imagine you’ll appreciate it all the same. I’ve marked some passages you may find particularly insightful.

Unfortunately, the treatise does not go into great detail on wyvern societal customs. By the time my letter reaches you, I imagine you will have run into a few cultural differences in your courting expectations. In case Slate has not thought to tell you, please know that females usually take the lead when it comes to approaching partners. When males assert themselves or make the first move, it’s considered crass, or disrespectful.

I also realise I didn’t explain the reasoning behind your wedding gift. You’ll understand after you’ve done some reading. A small dab on the wrists and neck is usually enough to be noticeable, though I’d advise against mixing scents unless you have Slate’s assistance.

I’ve been busy with my travels this year, but I’ll be nesting at home during the Winter. I’ve attached my return address for your convenience.

Warm regards,

Rin

She scans the letter again, rereading the second paragraph as a knot begins to form in her stomach. A surge of emotions washes over her. Shock. Bewilderment. Irritation. Relief. She’s a bit annoyed at the conclusions Rin is jumping to, but since the female isn’t entirely wrong, Adalyn can’t begrudge her the letter or the advice.

Could Slate have been holding back for these reasons? Sure, it’s still possible he holds no interest in her, but...

Before she has a chance to ponder it further, the wyvern in question emerges from the kitchen, two plates in tow. Adalyn stows the book and letter away in their wrappings, hurriedly. She ignores Slate’s curious stare, and forces a smile. She’s not ready to talk about the book yet.

“What’s for dinner?”

He raises his brow and looks pointedly at the bundle pressed against her chest. He knows precisely what she’s doing, but goes along with it.

“Rabbit. It’s a bit threadbare, but it’s all freshly foraged.”

Adalyn looks over the meal. It’s just meat on a stick, but it’s been seasoned with fragrant herbs and served with a side of greens.

“It’s fine,” she digs in. “Like you’ve said, variety is the spice of life.”

He huffs and smiles, before sitting opposite her and digging in.

Adalyn had only lit the closest torches, and the room is mostly in shadow, the pair seated in the dim glow. Still, the clink of cutlery and scrape of the plates are small sounds in a large room, reminding Adalyn of the cavernous shape to the place. Huddling in the low light, it’s somewhat... cozy.

“I was thinking,” she starts, trying to work up the nerve. Is now really the time?

Slate listens attentively between bites.

Fuck it. If Rin is right, she’d never get anywhere, waiting for him to take the initiative.

“You’ve been working nonstop these past weeks. Perhaps we could take a day off together. Go on an outing?”

He considers. “That could be nice. Somewhere in the valley?”

Adalyn forces herself to continue. To be bold. “I was thinking just us. Maybe a picnic or something? You could show me the east side.”

She’s surprised when he agrees so readily.

“I’d be delighted. When would you like to go?”

She considers. “Well, I want to get those cuttings sorted tomorrow.” And take the time to do some reading. “The day after?”

“I’ll adjust my schedule.”

She huffs at the poor joke. “I’ll look forward to it.”

#the wyvern's bride #monster romance #vaya writes #exophilia #tetaro #dragons #wyverns #my writing #ths took so long not because i had to write a bunch #no like 80 percent of this i wrote last november #but because i had to revise and reorganise scene order #so so much

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buckysswinter · 2 years

Text

all you had to do was stay

18+ minors dni

warnings: large age gap(implied; lee is late 30s reader is early 20s), angst, fluff, happy ending

not edited or beta’d- do not repost or translate!

any mistake i make is my own!

lee bodecker x f!reader

word count: 2,062

part two to right where you left me

here you are now, calling me up, but i don't know what to say; i've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made

lee looked at the ticket in his hand, inspecting it. it has been months since he picked up that ticket at the diner. the ink on it slowly fading the more he held it in his hands. he thought of what life could be with her. if he stayed, if he was selfish, he could be happy right now. he hears shuffling feet and he attempts to hide the one thing he has left of y/n.

-"you don't need to hide it lee," dot's voice sounds as she peeks through the door, lee sighs at her statement. he knew dot had been lurking, seeing him look at the faded ticket. he wanted to be happy with her, give her the life she deserves- but everytime he moves on a speck of y/n floods his brain. he can't help but compare them, how y/n's skin is softer, how her eyes sparkled more. lee couldn't bring himself to hurt dot too, he decided to leave y/n, to leave the restaurant with her looking like a dream with tears running down her face- tears he put there.

he left her, he shouldn't be feeling like this. he chose to leave- after weeks of mulling it over, lee decided to put an end to their relationship. albeit, he never gave y/n an explanation as to why or have her the real reason as to why. lee knew of y/n's ambitions, he knew she was more than this town, she could do better with her life than be here, than being with him. that was the final straw to his decision, on top of the silent whispers of her wasting her youth with an old fat guy like the sheriff. lee chose to leave her be, to live her life, to figure out who she wants to be, who she needed to be with. it was the most painful thing he ever had to do- but he did it in the name of love, for y/n.

dorothy's looming presence forces lee to speak up,

-"dotty, i think we need to talk" the strain in his voice surprised him and looking at her she knew.

-"i-" lee sighed continuing the need to end it, "i'm so sorry but i need to leave. i need to break this up. i am so sorry in promising you the life you needed and deserved." lee looked up at her, his eyes watering, he didn't mean to hurt this many people and as he looked up at dot, her understanding eyes looked at him.

-"lee bodecker, you are one of the nicest man in this planet, maybe the nicest man to exist in this rotten town- you taking a chance on me and my son is the best i could ever hope for. i hope you be happy with her, go after her lee- apologize and beg for her back." dot gave lee a bone crushing hug and wiped the tear running down his face. this hurt lee. the pain for leaving comfort to chase something that might blow up in his face. though for lee it was all worth it, he had to show y/n all the love he still had for her.

the bustling city still surprised her, in the two months she's moved to new york everyday she saw something that she deemed odd. yet the city air was fresh to her, different from meade. the tall skyscrapers stand with the sky instead of broken down brick buildings. the way the sun felt against her skin was different too.

it surprised y/n to see other women studying in the same college as her, everyone acting nonchalant about it. two years was all she needed to be a nurse. she’d always loved helping her dad when he got into brawls or even lee when he’d sneak into her house with a cut open lip. lee, she had missed him but it seems to be too late to vocalize it now, he’s moved on and he’s also the one to break it off. though she never got the explanation from him, she thought it was better that way.

the basking thought of him would come up late at night when she realized how alone she was in the city. how she was singled out from her friends that she had made. her mind always wandered back to lee when she thought of home. she would have sacrificed everything to be with home right now but as fate would have it lee did not want her back. the hurt from the breakup keeps her going, lee would have cheered her on if they were still together, though she might not be where she is now if they were still together. she was unsure if lee would leave the power he had back in knockemstiff. maybe if they were still together she would be content in life, in a house somewhere in brewer heights. all the maybes got to her head and tears streamed down her face.

if only lee had explained why he wanted to break up- maybe if she had a reason and maybe if he hadn't moved on she would have stayed.

y/n wiped the tears off her face and focused on her task, needing to finish her assignment which had taken her all night to do. she had to wake up early tomorrow to apply for job, her savings running low.

lee struggled when he arrived to new york, the fast paced walking and talking made him miss knockemstiff where nothing ever happened. the search for y/n was going to be tough and he knew it, a big city like new york and he hadn't got the faintest idea where she was staying or where she went to school. but lee was determined to search every corner of the city if it meant getting her back, or trying to at least. lee hadn't slept since he got to new york, sitting in the first diner he found at the corner booth on his third cup of coffee. the bell rung and something in him willed him to look up and as he did he saw her. the one he was looking for, she looked healthy, her eyes weren't as sunken in as the last time he saw her; she also looked grown, she had more confidence in her. she wasn't the innocent doe-eyed girl lee had met.

lee had taken the menu the waitress had left and hid his face, he was suddenly nervous for her to see him. would she think he was crazy? even perhaps shoo him away without him having a chance to give her an explanation? hearing her sweet voice for the first time in a while brought him back to the first time he ever heard it,

a sweet giggle lured lee back to consciousness, he had gone to church to campaign. married women were swarming him, fawning over him; yet he grew tired of this as soon as he heard her, his head turned to her and a white-like halo surrounded her figure. the dress she wore fitting her whole personality. lee had become addicted to someone he didn't know.

-"excuse me, i saw the ad on the newspaper and i was wonderin' if the waitress position is still open," she still had her accent, it was a slight drawl but it was still there.

if fates would have it, this was lee's chance to talk to her yet he seemed to be choked up on the what ifs.

y/n enters the diner and asks the first lady she sees about the ad on the newspaper and as she was looking around she sees a familiar figure hiding behind a menu. a simple menu couldn't hide his broad shoulders, or his familiar hands. the same hands that was all over her body not long ago. those hands that she loved so much, the same hands that she thought wouldn't let her go and yet it did.

y/n felt ridiculous, maybe it was a man that wasn't lee. the ghost of him was everywhere, lingering and following her around. just as she thought she moved on, he still haunts her.

yet, as they lowered the menu those familiar cerulean blue eyes stared at her. as she made eye contact with him, y/n's heart stopped beating.

why would lee be here? is he real?

as if someone was puppeteering her, y/n made her way to his table,

-"what are you doing here?" her words laced with venom and hatred, though she didn't mean for it to come out that way.

lee stuttered, he took a deep breathe before answering her,

-"i followed you here," y/n didn't even let him finish his sentence.

-"well that's obvious, get to the part why you're here." she was more snappy than he was used to.

-"i saw your train ticket fall at the diner the last time we saw each other and i realized i was wrong. i was wrong for breaking it off and i was wrong-" then again she scoffed at this interrupting him.

-"lee bodecker, i had given you more than enough time to get me back but you turn to another woman. and what's worse is that you never gave me a reason why. do you know how many nights i stayed awake staring at myself trying to look for imperfections, trying to ask myself why you left me? because maybe if i learned why then i could change it and get you back." y/n's tears were running down her face, sitting opposing to lee, she saw how his face changed.

-"do you wanna know why i broke up with you? it was because of my own insecurity, because i know you could be better without me. because you can achieve so much without me holding you down. because you wanted to go to a big city and i wanted to stay in that small town, and y/n you deserve more than me and if i had told you all of that you would have assured me that it's not the case and we would be what? together but you would be unhappy because you have so much more to offer than be in that fucking shithole." y/n never knew the gravity of lee's insecurity, they have gone over it a couple of times. first when she heard a couple of guys, younger deputies sneering and poking fun of how lee looked. you had told him to ignore it because you loved him for who he is, part of what attracted you to him was because how soft he was, how he felt when he was on top of you.

-"all you had to do was stay lee, it would've been enough for me. even if i didn't get to chase my dreams, even if it meant me being stuck in a house. that would all mean staying with you lee." her voice was meek, her heart pouring out to lee. if she had known lee felt that way then against all odds she would have figured something out.

-"i know honey, but i couldn;t. i was holding you back and i'm here now. i realized that leaving you, not being with you; it's slowly destroying me. i tried distracting myself with work, playing house with dot but nothing worked. it's always been you and only you. so here i am, as a man asking for you back. i would get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness if that's what it meant." lee got up preparing to get on his knees and y/n opened her mouth to talk before he could.

-"would you leave knockemstiff for me? would you leave all that power you've collected, that cushy house in brewer height, all for me?" it was a question that has been gnawing her brain. if the answer was yes, no hesitation she was willing to give lee a chance.

and without hesitation, with pure love in his eyes,

-"anything for you sugar. i would fight anyone come hell or high water to keep you y/n."

y/n dragged lee to her apartment, their lips clashing filled with desire for what felt like eternity yet it wasn't enough. the electric feeling between them, buzzing and keeping both of them alive. their breathes synced, bodies intertwined.

a/n: this has been postponed so many times just because i couldn't find a way to end it hehe

tags: @extremelyblackandwhite @tharros-auris-black-asimi @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @elbell20-blog @smartycherry @weirdowithnobeardo @queenofshinigamis @greeneyedblondie44 @harrysthiccthighss

#sebastian stan #lee bodecker x y/n #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker angst #lee bodecker fluff #lee bodecker x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfic

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wardenparker · 2 years

Text

Sassenach and the Spaniard

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.

With just a touch of the time traveling magic used in Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series, this story is not a crossover (since it takes place in an entirely different time and place) but inspired by the books and tv show. If you have never read or seen it, don’t worry!

❤ Like or comment on this post to be added to the taglist! ❤

An Excerpt from chapter 1:

"Your horse," you ask after the pause, as Binx settles comfortably in your lap. "Does he have a name?"

Pero looks up from the bowl, frowning slightly. “Horse.” He tells you, wondering why the hell he would name his horse.

“Right. Of course.” It nearly makes you laugh, the way he looks completely confused by the question, and you scratch your cat’s little head affectionately.

“This is Binx. She will come when she is called. And fetches well. And also hunt is small game occasionally.” The clever feline has graduated from chipmunks and field mice to squirrels and rabbits, and while the notion of skinning and dressing your own animals made you a little sick at first after a lifetime of supermarkets, you have had to adjust. Meat is expensive here, unless you procure it yourself, and you’re not exactly going around with a shotgun looking for big game.

He sends you another confused look and glances at the cat. “Gato.” He mutters to himself, never really paying much attention to the creatures. Why would he ever call one? Calling his horse, yes. But calling a cat?

“No.” Thank fuck you’re wearing a mask, it muffles the sound of your amused snort perfectly. He seems mildly offended that you would impose a name on the sweet, fluffy girl and it’s the first good laugh you’ve had in ages. “Binx.”

“Gato.” He mutters again, pointing at the feline. “Cat.” He explains, remembering that you don’t speak his tongue.

“You are Pero. I am Sassenach. She is Binx.” It’s probably much funnier to you than it should be, but she’s sitting so proudly and purring so happily in your lap that it just makes you that much more amused.

He’s never heard of a name like that before. He’s heard a lot of names, but it’s making him search for meaning. Instead of asking, he just grunts and shakes his head. A second later, curiosity gets the best of him. “Sassenach?”

“It means ‘outlander’.” You explain, feeling an odd kind of nostalgia pang for the old way of explaining the word. ”It’s from that new show Outlander!” You used to exclaim to anyone fool hearty enough to ask about the thing that would make you light up from the inside out....“When I arrived in this part of the world, it was the way the villagers referred to me.” The highlanders had been kind in many ways and not at all in others, but when you left them you had taken the name with you as a shield against the unknown. Of course you did not know the customs or the language. You were just a Sassenach. An outsider. No matter where you went.

He mulls that over in his mind and looks around the cottage again with a more critical eye. "Bruja." He decides, figuring that you spooked the religious and simple people in this village. He had learned from his travels that people feared what they did not understand and they did not understand the things they feared. Thank god for the mask hiding your face from his discerning eyes. You know that word as a practicing Wiccan woman...and even though your neighbors never say it with the same kind of derision he just did, it’s very obvious that he now understands exactly what the people in this time think of you.

You don't answer him and again he is reminded that you don't speak his tongue like William did. "They think you are a witch."

#Sassenach and the Spaniard #Soulmate Sunday #Pero Tovar #Pero Tovar x female reader #Pero Tovar x you #Pero Tovar x reader #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fanfic #The Great Wall #soulmate au #outlander inspired

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doomednarrative · 1 year

Text

So this is a thought that I’ve been mulling over as I keep watching Donbrothers, and after finishing episode 44 it’s one that finally fully formed in my mind, and I think I have the words to articulate it in writing now.

It’s a thought about Taro Momoi. As the Red Sentai Ranger he’s obviously going to impact the story a lot, it’s in his nature to from the moment the series starts. But there’s one specific aspect of his character that keeps catching my focus, and it’s his inherent inability to lie about anything and everything.

The thought that I keep coming back to is that if you chose to watch Donbrothers with a queer reading in mind, that specific characteristic has such a farther reaching impact on both Taro and the narrative as a Whole.

(And before I go any further, I’ll put my little disclaimer here that this is not me saying you Should watch Donbrothers with this reading or anything to that effect. It is after all at its base level a sentai show meant to sell cool toys. You don’t have to give it this depth, it’s fine without it. I however am a queer person and I find it fun to do these kinds of readings as a thought experiment and I like writing about it for others to read.)

But anyhow.

Putting the rest of my thoughts under a read more because it got very long ~

The thing that gets me about Taro and his inability to lie and the fact that he has such an obvious tell for when he Is lying - that being that it literally kills him - is that it Forces Taro to go through his life living as his 100% authentic self. There is no way for him to hide from the rest of the world, no shield of little white lies or even a false persona that he can put on to keep himself from getting hurt. And he’s more than aware that A. His inability to lie Does hurt other people, which in turn hurts him as well, and B. It often puts him at odds with others due to how it can make him come off as ruder or more careless than he might mean to be. But it’s not something that he can change about himself. He’s tried, multiple times, and it’s just not something he’s capable of doing no matter what effort he puts into it.

And this has been a persistent issue for him since early childhood. It’s this very fact about Taro that makes an entire village move away when he’s still a young boy because in his attempts to help people by being honest and upfront with them, he drove them to hate him for his perfectionist streak instead. He couldn’t soften his words or tell them that they were doing just fine but that he wanted to help them, instead everything comes off blunt and matter of fact and over time it drove people away from him, until only he and Jin were left in their little neighborhood.

Taro’s inability to lie is something that the rest of the Donbrothers challenge him on throughout the entire series. It’s something that they actively either try to work to get him to break on, or they bemoan the fact that it’s not something he can fix about himself. Sometimes this is played for laughs, but more than a handful of times it’s also the cause of actual annoyance or even a level of anger from Taro’s teammates directed at him for this thing that he cannot change about himself. Over time Taro has learned a good bit how to at least supplement his blunt honesty with some careful phrasing so that he’s not as rude to people about things, but this still doesn’t change the fact that he cannot lie, and therefore cannot change a core part of himself or use lying as a way to shield himself from things like the others can.

That’s exactly why its such a huge deal to him when Sonoi is the first person to show up in his life, very early in the series, and tell Taro upfront that not only is his honesty a fine trait that he has, but that it’s also something he likes about Taro. Sonoi, before their shock at finding out each others true identities, literally calls Taro his hope and reaffirms when Taro comes to him about this issue more than once that he thinks Taro is fine as he is. This is something that I think ends up being a huge part of why the two of them end up still being close even after all of the fighting and literally killing and reviving each other that goes on through the series. Even after the many shocks and betrayals, the fact that their relationship (whatever you chose to view it as/whatever the narrative might imply it is) started with such openness and honesty makes for a very good foundation for the two of them. There’s already so much out in the open at that point that neither of them can pull back for long. Sonoi’s efforts to do so barely last more than a few episodes, and Taro never stops being anything less than genuine with him in all of their interactions from the first time they meet.

And speaking of Sonoi and his fellow Noto companions...

Sonoi may not have a problem with lying in the literal sense like Taro does, it certainly doesn’t kill him at least and he can lie with his words all he wants with no repercussion physically. But as the series goes on, you start to see that he’s lying to both himself and his teammates about a lot of things, and it slowly stops working and starts becoming something that is an actual roadblock for not just himself but for Sononi and Sonoza as well. And Sononi and Sonoza are also lying to themselves and each other as well, and it’s not working for Any of them! Sonoi has to be called back to the purpose of their work multiple times in the beginning of the series because it becomes clear to the others that whatever fascination he has with Taro is beginning to impede their goal of wiping out the Hitotsuki, and then post the first time he kills Taro, he visibly Wilts and states that he does not like himself for what he’s done. He becomes unable to lie to both himself and to Sononi and Sonoza that he’s happy with this outcome even though he should be. He’s a Noto who just took down Don Momotaro! In any regular circumstance, this would be something that he’d be proud of, no matter the method he used to do so. But because he did so by exploiting Taro’s inability to lie to him, something that he told Taro multiple times he liked about him, his victory rings hollow, and instead becomes something he’s actively upset that he did, even when the others think he did just fine. It’s why he helps to bring Taro back, it’s why they both agree to a fair duel that they won’t regret, it’s a catalyst for so many things later on down the line.

Sonoi’s inability to lie to himself and keep going with his duties as a Noto general without interference is what eventually leads to his realization in episode 44 that he and Sonoza and Sononi are all alike in the fact that they’ve grown attached to or become fond with humanity, and this fact puts a target on all of their heads and makes them enemies to their own people. Sononi got so caught up in the love affairs of Tsubasa and his search to bring the real Natsumi back that she fell for him in the process and took multiple hits to protect him, and it almost kills her! And Sonoza, who only ever wanted to understand human emotions and how they work, ended up as the manga editor to a teenage girl who he genuinely wants to see flourish in her work that brought him such joy and who’s respect he’s earned in the process. All three of them start off the series as very serious in their duties to take out the Hitotsuki (and later the Beastials) and slowly over time it gets so put to the back burner due to the connections they’ve made that even their superiors had to intervene to remind them of who they are and what their purpose is. And in the end even that doesn’t work. Not only can they not lie to themselves after a point, but they can’t lie to Sonoshi either. And he makes it very clear what kind of mark that puts on them and their fates before eventually leaving them to their own devices again.

Sonoi, Sononi, Sonoza and Taro are all alike in the fact that they end up being unable to lie/hide things about themselves to themselves or others for one reason or another about core parts of who they are. And it’s this fact alone that either puts them in direct danger, or makes their attempts at navigating the world around them a lot harder than it might otherwise be if they could just lie and shove things under the rug.

I don’t personally read Sononi or Sonoza as queer themselves, but in the case of Taro and Sonoi specificallty, especially with how the overall narrative hints at things and all of the imagery and implication and even outright textual statements, I think it becomes very easy to see how this can all be viewed in a queer light. It at least rings true for me as someone who went through the struggle of being unable to hide myself and having to pay the price for it by running from my home and the dangers that staying there held for me.

Seeing as I haven’t finished the series yet I have no clue if this is something that the Noto trio will end up doing for themselves, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they had to do so, and that in itself would lend even more weight to the comparison I’m trying to make here. Either way, it’s been an emotional journey to watch all of these characters come to the place that they are now in the narrative and how they’ve grown and are trying to make their way in the world as they are, and it’s certainly not something I’ll be forgetting anytime soon.

#avataro sentai donbrothers #donbrothers #taro momoi #momoi taro #sonoi #my meta #kief rambles about donbros #god this took me forever to get down so im sorry if it reads a little disconnected or anytging #i tried my best to convey what i was thinking here

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