#but the hair strands and braid have been part of the design before I even knew the guy existed so it's more a funny coincidence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohgodmyeyes · 2 years

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Padmé helps Anakin with his braid.

It was just a braid.

A simple, stupid little braid.

Obi-Wan had taught Anakin how to tie one for himself soon after he'd first arrived at the Temple on Coruscant, and he'd been doing it ever since without incident: Once, twice, sometimes three times each week, depending on the weather and the intensity of his training. Even on missions to far-off planets (once in a while very humid planets, which of course wreaked havoc upon Anakin's natural curls), he had never fallen into the habit of letting it get too shaggy-looking.

It wasn't vanity that motivated him to maintain his braid so much as it was a sense of pride in what it represented: More than just a piece of hair, it was symbolic of his promise to the Jedi Order; thus, it also served as an emblem of the values that he himself espoused. To Anakin, his braid was a connection— an important link to both past and present; a thing he wore for the specific purpose of communicating the core of his identity to those he met.

It told them everything they needed to know about who he was, what he honoured, and how he loved; told them that if they needed help, they could ask him for it and he would do everything in his power to oblige. It meant more than his lightsaber or his clothing, because unlike his various accoutrements, it was attached to him: A part of his body, rather than a mere accessory or costume piece.

In stark contrast with a tunic that could be pulled over his head or a robe that could be shrugged onto his shoulders, the braid was a commitment in and of itself— for as small and innocuous as it might have seemed, it was something that lived and grew; like any other part of a human body, it required care and attention to remain in good condition.

Anakin may have been a person who sometimes tended to gloss over certain details (particularly when those details happened to be aesthetic), but again: He had never neglected his braid.

"...Is something wrong, Ani?"

"No— no, it's nothing."

Padmé knew better than to believe her husband when he told her it was 'nothing'; however, she also hadn't been married to him long enough to know quite how she should express her doubt. She loved Anakin more than she'd known she could love another person, but he was a sensitive young man, particularly in response to her. When she spoke, she seemed to do so from high above him— her words falling like daggers, whether she intended it or not.

"You're crying," she observed— simply and softly— as she stepped up from behind him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She could tell not only because she could hear him, but because she could see him, too: The lavatory connected to her bedchamber was where she had discovered Ani that morning, standing dejectedly in front of the mirror.

There were tears in his eyes, and a few scraggly-looking strands of soft, wavy blonde clenched between the fingers of his left hand.

"...I've done it a million times," he whispered, his own frustration bleeding into his voice and tarnishing his words. "A million times! Why can't I do it today?!"

Anakin only had a few hours left with Padmé at Varykino before he was due to be shuttled back to Coruscant— he needed to be presentable when he greeted Obi-Wan and the Council, and that meant his braid needed to look perfect.

"It isn't your fault, Ani." Padmé slid her fingers down the length of his arm, and took a gentle hold of his right hand— his new hand. "It's your prosthesis," she said. "You just aren't used it yet."

"I shouldn't have to get used to it," he protested under his breath, resisting the urge to look down at the source of his frustration. "It's mine; I designed it myself— if it can't do the things I need it to do, then—"

"Then nothing," she interrupted kindly. "You've barely had it a week; did you think it was going to be perfect right away?"

Anakin pursed his lips, and tried his best to steel himself against a fresh wave of oncoming tears. "...No," he answered. "No, but—" Cutting himself off, he swallowed hard. "But tying a braid is such an easy thing to do, and I've been doing it since I was nine years old."

"Tying a braid isn't easy for everyone," she pointed out. "And even if it was, most people who try it aren't learning how to use a brand-new hand."

"...I know that," he said, after a moment's pause. "I know that, it's just..."

Padmé squeezed his prosthesis.

When his expression changed in response to her touch, she noticed it— a sure testament to his own mechanical genius, even if he didn't see it that way.

"...It's just," she ventured to finish for him when it became apparent he'd trailed off, "that you have to be back at the Temple soon, and you don't want to disappoint Obi-Wan."

Relieved to know she understood, Anakin nodded. "I'm already going back with a secret," he reminded her.

"Maybe so," she conceded, ignoring the sharp pang of guilt that the shame behind his words drew from her, "but that secret isn't your new hand. Obi-Wan knows all about it, and if he notices you struggling, I'm sure he'll—"

"He can't 'notice me struggling'!" Anakin interrupted, almost certainly with more force than he intended. "If he does, he'll never let me face the trials! I won't progress, I won't be knighted, and then you and I—"

"Ani, stop. Don't you think you're getting ahead of yourself? It's only a braid."

"It's not only a braid, though," he insisted. "It's a symbol; a connection— one of the very first things you learn to do for yourself, when your Master begins to train you." He could feel tears in his eyes again; as he blinked them away, he ended up using his prosthesis to squeeze Padmé's hand in return, despite himself. The sensation was familiar, but somehow still unlike anything he'd ever felt through his own flesh; it jarred him enough to make him look down at it, although a large part of him immediately wished he hadn't.

Padmé felt his disdain, and regretted it— instinctively lifting his new hand to her face, and kissing its knuckles. (Anakin felt that, too.)

"If you learned to do it once," she said to him, "then you'll learn to do it again."

Not soon enough, he thought, conscious of his own bitterness and determined to keep it to himself. Fortunately for Anakin, it happened that he didn't always necessarily need to speak out loud for Padmé to understand him.

"...Why don't I tie it for you?" she offered, looking up from his prosthesis and at his face instead. "Just once— just for today."

"That isn't going to teach me anything," he said, tilting his head curiously as he gazed back down at her. Half a life mired in the Jedi Order's unique worldview had taught Anakin that there was no sense of dignity or accomplishment to be had by having one's work performed for them. Unless Padmé had something to teach him about tying braids with durasteel fingers (of which she, of course, had none), then what good would it be to let her do it for him?

"Maybe not," she conceded, "but if I tie it very tightly, it'll last for at least a few days no matter what you do with it... which might just give you time to re-learn how to fix it on your own, if you really don't want to ask Obi-Wan."

"...Oh," he said, as it dawned on him that she could very well be correct. "I— I'm not sure it would feel right, though— asking you to do something like that for me."

"You aren't really 'asking' me," she pointed out. "I'm offering." With a smile, she craned to plant a chaste little kiss on the side of his neck. "Besides that," she added, "I'm your wife, now— it doesn't need to feel strange to ask me for help."

Anakin couldn't stop his face from turning pink. "It feels strange asking anyone for help," he laughed.

Padmé only shook her head— because while she had certainly been raised to value independence and hard work just the same way as Anakin, she had also been taught that there was no shame in reaching out to the people you loved when you needed them.

"Look this way for me," she said, as she let go of his hand and took a step back to give herself a bit of room to work.

"Like this?" asked Anakin. He turned his head, allowing her get a better look at what should have been his braid.

"Perfect— just like that."

Padmé reached up, then, and began sorting his hair into sections: One; two; three, just the way she might have done for herself, or maybe one of her friends back when she'd still been attending school. Ani had beautiful hair, she thought; almost beautiful enough to make her jealous, if she'd been prone to those sorts of feelings. It was smooth and soft, with more than a hint of a natural curl and the loveliest streaks of iridescent gold.

Maybe, she mused privately as she worked, Anakin would decide to grow it out a bit someday.

"I had a doll with hair almost like yours when I was small," she murmured, half to herself. "She was beautiful; one of my favourites— I'd put her in braids, and sometimes even make clothes for her." Again, she was trying to tie this particular braid as tight and straight as she possibly could; with one eye shut and the strands pinched hard between her fingers, her focus was unwavering.

Her revelation made Anakin smile: The way Padmé was obliged to conduct herself in public sometimes had the effect of making her seem inaccessible, even behind closed doors. For him, the occasional reminder that there was and always had been another side to her was a comfort.

"Did she have a name?" he asked, trying not to move too much.

"...A what?"

"A name," he reiterated. "My mother couldn't really afford real toys, but sometimes she would carve them for me out of chalk or soap when she had some spare time. I remember her making me something that looked like a loth-cat once, but its eyes were closed— so I put it next to my bed, and named it 'Sleepy'."

"'Sleepy'?" Padmé giggled, fingers threatening to slip.

"I didn't say it was a creative name," Anakin excused himself, grinning sheepishly.

"...My sister used to call my doll 'Missy'," said Padmé, after a moment's thought. "It always felt more like a title to me than a real name, though— if that makes sense." She didn't realize what a faraway quality her voice seemed to acquire just then; however, Anakin did.

Given all of the different names and titles Padmé herself had taken on over the course of her life, he couldn't help supposing that it did, indeed, make sense. The thought made him feel a little sad, but he still didn't let his smile leave his face.

"Where's Missy now?" he asked, looking out the corner of his eye to see if he could steal a glance at her progress with the braid.

"I gave her to my sister, when she found out she was pregnant."

"Wow— that was kind of you."

"It only made sense," she said— her fingers, by that point, having stopped moving. "...Do you have an elastic?" Turning away from the braid, she scanned the countertop in front of the mirror.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry." Anakin reached into a pocket underneath his tunic, and used his new prosthesis to extract from its depths a tiny little rubber band, no more than a few centimetres in diameter. "Here you go," he said, pinching it tightly between his durasteel thumb and forefinger as he held it up for her to take.

"Thanks," she answered... and with a deftness that betrayed how very many times she'd done it for herself in the past, tied off the end of Anakin's braid. "Is that alright?"

She hoped she'd left enough of it loose, she thought— the way it was curled up just then made her think that perhaps she hadn't. Then again, she supposed she could always iron it out for him before he left for the spaceport in Theed, couldn't she?

Anakin raised his head, and immediately fixed his gaze back upon his own reflection in the mirror. The pane was both very large and impeccably clean (most of the fixtures at Varykino fit that description), and Anakin had to lean in over the countertop to get a good look at Padmé's work.

When he did, he found himself almost at a loss for words: Not only because its quality far exceeded anything he would have anticipated from someone who wasn't a member of the Order, but because he allowed people to do things like this for him with such little frequency that he truly didn't know how to respond to it.

...He did know that he enjoyed the way it felt.

"It's... well, it's perfect," he finally told her. "Better than if I'd done it myself."

"I don't know about that," she said. "But it should last for a few days, at least— a week, maybe, if you're careful with it."

"'Careful with it'?" he chortled, glancing back at her incredulously as he thought about the sheer rigour of the training Obi-Wan was sure to put him through, after so much time away from the Temple.

"I'm sorry," she laughed... because again, she didn't need to be told to understand.

Straightening himself out, Anakin drew away from the mirror— only to be jarred by what he saw, when he took in the entirety of the image it reflected back at him.

Padmé must have been able to tell, because his reaction (whatever it was) made her ask, "What's wrong, Ani— is it the braid?"

"No! No, I meant what I said; the braid is perfect."

"Then what is it?"

"...It's nothing, really," he told her, eyes still fixed on his— their— reflection. "It's just that I... well, that I almost didn't recognize myself."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Could he be talking about his hand?

"It was only for a second," he qualified, "but when I saw you standing there in the reflection, I just..."

"...You just what?" She wished she could finish his thought for him that time too, but she couldn't.

Anakin sighed, and gave his head a shake. "...I guess just couldn't believe that the person next to you could actually be me," he admitted, trying and failing to suppress the new wave of heat overtaking his face.

At least turning red in front of his wife was better than crying in front of her... wasn't it?

Padmé bit her lip. She wished Anakin wouldn't say things like that; at the same time, she knew better than to chide him for his honesty— so in lieu of trying to 'correct' his feelings, she turned her own gaze away from the mirror, peering back up at his face instead.

"It's you, Ani," she promised him simply, daring to reach up and finger one of the little ringlets at the very end of his braid. "It couldn't ever have been anyone else."

For as much as Anakin might have needed to hear that, of course, he still didn't know what he was supposed to say to it: All he could do just then was smile, and hope to whatever Force governed his fate that it would always be true.

His silence didn't bother Padmé, because she had faith in him— faith that he would learn to accept her love, just the same as he would learn to tie his braid with his new hand.

While Anakin was alone in transit on his way back to Coruscant later that evening, his mind drifted predictably back to Naboo; to the tranquility of the lake country, and to Padmé herself— the memory of her fixing his hair still fresh enough in his mind to make him feel almost warm despite the harsh, vast chill of space. Selfishly, perhaps, he took advantage of it: Let it envelop him like a warm blanket, until even he wasn't entirely certain as to where his recollection ended, and the present moment began.

For as long as he wore it, Anakin's braid would always be a symbol of his commitment to the Jedi... however, allowing his wife to tie it for him in what would otherwise have been a very lonesome moment of crisis had imbued that tightly-wound little length with a new and different meaning altogether.

Whether he recognized it yet or not, maybe (just maybe) being brave enough to accept Padmé's help that day really had taught him something after all.

#anidala #i cannot tie the braid #so i wrote a story instead of killing myself

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regenderate-fic · 2 years

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All the Quiet Nights You Bear: Chapter 19

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: General Ship: Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Yasmin Khan/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler/Yasmin Khan, Past Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, Yasmin Khan, Rose Tyler, Najia Khan, Hakim Khan, Sonya Khan, Dan Lewis, Jack Harkness, Ryan Sinclair Series: And We’re Not Out of the Tunnel Word Count (Chapter): 1,575 Other Tags: Fluff and Angst, Angst, Emotional, Disabled Character, Chronic Illness, Bad Wolf Rose, COVID-19, Self-Quarantine, Domestic, Autistic Characters, Polyamory, OT3, Slow Burn, Disability Read on AO3 / Read in order

Summary: Rose Tyler-Noble jumps out of her parallel universe, leaving her husband and family behind in the hopes that being back in the right universe will improve her well-being.

Yasmin Khan is out for lunch with the Doctor when she sees a blonde woman sitting on the sidewalk, crying.

The Doctor, Yaz, and Rose travel back to Sheffield to see Yaz’s family, but they have to leave the TARDIS so it can reset, and when they come back, it’s gone. The police have confiscated it, and they want to see proof of ownership before they give it back. And the Doctor left her psychic paper on board. And they’ve landed in March of 2020, just before everything shuts down.

Stranded in Sheffield, they have no choice but to get a flat and quarantine together. Which, when you have three emotionally volatile people who care for each other more than they’re willing to admit, can be complicated.

(Sequel to And Still I Will Live Here, but hopefully readable out of context. Updating on Saturdays and Wednesdays.)

NOTES: i. have been waiting SO LONG to post this chapter. i hope you like it

By the time the Doctor gets back, Rose and Yaz are curled together on the sofa, their heads practically touching as Rose shows Yaz the island she’s started to design in Animal Crossing. When the door bangs open, Yaz and Rose both startle. It’s the Doctor, of course, silhouetted against the outside light. She’s lost her momentum: she looks a bit lost, actually.

“Oh!” she says. “It’s you two! Brilliant.”

“Who else would it be?” Yaz asks. “There’s a pandemic on. It’s not like we’re inviting friends.”

"Right.” The Doctor steps inside, still looking a little unsteady. “Brilliant. I’m going to bed. Good night!”

Yaz moves to stand. “Doctor—“

But the Doctor walks past the two of them, and the door to her room slams shut.

Yaz and Rose exchange a look.

“Yeah, I don’t know what that was,” Yaz says.

Rose shakes her head. “That’s the Doctor,” she says.

They don’t really talk about it. They just go back to what they were doing, Rose showing Yaz the designs she’s made for her animated self’s clothes. Yaz winds up making her own character on Rose’s island, just so she can have a house, and Rose does the same on Yaz’s.

“Now we can go say hi to ourselves,” she jokes.

That night, they fall asleep together again. It’s becoming a routine, to spend their evening in the same bed watching the same show only to fall asleep in the middle of an episode. They don’t even talk about it tonight: Yaz just gets out her laptop, and Rose joins her in her bed. Yaz once again asks to braid Rose’s hair, and Rose obliges, this time moving to sit between Yaz’s legs, nestled against her chest. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to actual hugging while not either in tears or asleep. Some part of Rose panics at the realization: it’s too much, too fast. But most of Rose really, really needs the closeness and comfort that Yaz provides. Eventually, she falls asleep, and when she wakes up the next morning, she’s sprawled on her stomach across Yaz’s sleeping form, her head nestled in Yaz’s shoulder, blankets pulled up to cover them both.

Without thinking, Rose nudges herself even closer, burying her head in Yaz’s neck. Yaz makes an unintelligible sound, and Rose smiles. She doesn’t mind this, she thinks.

Until her grief kicks in, covering her, crushing her until she feels like she can’t breathe. She rolls off Yaz. She’s just lost John— it’s too soon to be getting comfort from someone else that she used to get from him. Never mind that he wouldn’t have wanted her to be alone— she’d rather be alone than leave him in her past. She sits at the edge of the bed, staring at the ring on her finger. Yaz continues to sleep.

Rose shakes her head to clear it. A good cup of tea, that’s what she needs. A good cup of tea, and maybe a moment away from all of this. She goes into the kitchen.

The Doctor is already there. She’s sitting on the counter, the toaster on her lap. She’s fiddling with it. Rose sighs.

“Again?”

The Doctor looks up. “Rose! Good morning. I’m just updating the toaster! Can you believe it doesn’t have a hot dog setting? Yaz’s parents’ didn’t either. Appalling, really. I must register a complaint.”

“No toaster has a hot dog setting,” Rose says slowly.

Frowning, the Doctor says, “Well, maybe that’s your first mistake, as a species.”

“Maybe.” Rose goes to fill the kettle. For a moment, the only sound is water hitting metal, and then—

“Are you and Yaz a thing now?”

Rose almost drops the kettle. “Are we what?”

The Doctor tilts her head to the side, her face scrunched up. “That’s what the humans say, isn’t it? A thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Rose frowns. “Why d’you think that?”

“I know humans, Rose,” the Doctor says. She’s laser-focused on the toaster again. “I’ve had thousands of years to get to know humans. And when humans start getting as close together as you were yesterday, that usually means a thing.”

Rose shakes her head. “I’m not dating Yaz. We just get along well.” She hesitates, eyeing the Doctor. “Anyway, pretty sure I’m not the one Yaz wants to be with.”

The Doctor looks up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be thick,” Rose scoffs. “Yaz is in love with you. Anyone can see it.”

The Doctor’s mouth hangs open.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rose says. “You can’t tell me you’ve traveled with her for the last three years and you honestly haven’t noticed.”

“I can tell you that,” the Doctor says, defiant, but it’s a front. Rose can see the insecurity flickering in her eyes.

And then she breaks eye contact. “God. Just talk to her, Doctor. I’m done with this.” Rose stalks past the Doctor, barely stopping to stuff her feet into a pair of sandals before walking outside. She walks without any clue of where she’s going: she doesn’t know the area too well yet. And she doesn’t make it all that far before her knees start to hurt and her head starts to spin.

“Fuck!” she yells into the sky. She keeps walking, slowing her pace and cursing the TARDIS for making the simple act of walking so difficult to begin with. Sure, she would have died otherwise— and sure, she would rather be disabled than dead. But— right now, it all seems like too much to bear. All her frustration, her sadness, her anger, it’s all bubbling up inside her, choking her, sapping her energy. But if she doesn’t want to collapse on the sidewalk in front of a random block of flats, she’s got to keep going, so she stumbles forward.

After what seems like an eternity, she winds up in a park, and immediately she collapses onto a bench. The metal is cold against her thighs: she has not thought through the whole “walking out onto the street in a tank top and shorts on a Sheffield morning in March” idea. She lets out another yell, scaring away a few nearby birds.

“Fine then,” she huffs at them. “Didn’t want you around anyway.” Unbidden, her right hand goes to her rings, spinning them around and around her finger. “Oh, John,” she murmurs. “What have I gotten myself into?”

She imagines him next to her on the bench. He wouldn’t have let her run out in shorts, if he were here— and if she had, he would’ve grabbed a pair of trousers and come after her, and he would’ve sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, and he would’ve asked, “What’s wrong, love?”

But of course what’s wrong is that he’s not here.

She closes her eyes, bringing her knees up to her chest. She feels John’s absence so much it hurts, like someone’s come at her insides with an ice cream scoop and carved them away. He was the one who kept her anchored whenever she felt like she was slipping away, the one who held her and told her everything was going to be all right.

It’s not all right. It was never going to be all right. Rose has known that from the start, and John knew it too, even as he told Rose the opposite. But knowing doesn’t make it better.

The thing is, Rose is happy to have Yaz around. She didn’t expect to feel so warm so soon after losing John. It’s just… it feels wrong, somehow. Not the warmth itself, just… having it without John. Having it separate from John. Existing in a space that doesn’t have him in it. She feels his absence, the emptiness it creates, every second of every day.

She doesn’t know how she feels about the idea that somebody might fill that space. That’s why she wasn’t looking for the Doctor to start with, after all. She wasn’t ready to be happy yet. She’s still not.

She’s shivering now. Her arms and legs are stiff with goosebumps. Somehow, it’s comforting: at least something about her body is behaving normally. Her head is still spinning, her bones still hurt, but at least she’s got goosebumps.

She pulls her knees closer to her chest, trying to keep in her body heat. It was so unfathomably stupid to run out here like this. She doesn’t have any way to get back, not really: she could try and walk, but the chances of passing out in the middle of the sidewalk are too high. She doesn’t even have her phone, or she’d call Yaz or the Doctor to bring her chair. She spares a moment of anger at her body, at the TARDIS for making her body this way, but then the anger settles into fear.

She’s scared. That’s what it all comes down to, really. She’s scared to be without John. She’s scared to be with this version of the Doctor. She’s scared of not knowing what her body is, and she’s scared of being all alone in this universe, and she’s scared of being vulnerable, the kind of person who maybe shouldn’t be alone. She’s not angry, not really. She never has been. She’s just so very afraid.

But there’s nothing she can do about it.

All she can do is sit here on this bench, shivering, hoping the sun will come out soon.

#all the quiet nights you bear #and we're not out of the tunnel #chaptered #fanfiction #my fic #doctor who #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #rose tyler #thirteen x yaz #thasmin #thirteen x yaz x rose #thirteenrose #thirteen x rose

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biasfactor · 3 months

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@fumalsamakah from ————— am i ugly?

They didn't look at Noe, either. The child was an unwelcome reminder of their own live's fragility, and that was before they were strange and wrong and unsettling, too quite by half, no light in their eyes, wandering the streets without a home or a name. It would take years, for them to be made into a real monster — to be made into a tool DESIGNED TO DEVOUR GODS — but the others knew the child was wrong far before their wrongness was true.

At the offered permission, though, Noe shifts closer, scarred hand reaching out once again. Their fingers are gentle when they touch the strands of hair, like this pretty person is very delicate. Like they're something that Noe isn't. ( fellstar / stareater. noe doesn't eat this kind of deity, even if they can feel the oracle cells in their chest and their weapon gnashing their teeth in hunger. ) Soft. Long and pretty. Noe wonders if it would be nice to have long hair.

They don't look away from her hair, lips parted as if a little awed, but they do shake their head no, they don't know how to braid. Maybe Mama would have taught them, had she lived long enough. Their hair was longer, when they were little, but it hadn't taken long, after everyone died, for it to get too ratty for anything other than a razor to their scalp. It's never been allowed to grow longer than this since. Wouldn't be efficient. Can hair this short even be braided? Noe doesn't know.

"Please," they add, to be polite, finally letting go of her hair. Please teach me.

#fumalsamakah #noe : main verse.#HEHEHE????? PARALLELS......???

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

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If requests are still open, could I request a gender neutral teenage reader (around 16) who is a lord. They are the kindest and most passive of the lords but they are also the only lord that every other lord likes.

Heyy, so I loved writing these they were super adorable and i did it a little differently where there’s some general head cannons for everyone and then there’s also some for each specific character! Also the reader is 18 because I just think it’s easier for me to handle, I hope that’s okay. These are gender neutral so enjoy! and sorry for the delay!

General HC’s

Being the fifth Lord certainly didn’t mean that you were at the back of the group.

Although you were younger than most of the lords, having been the last to have the Cadou implanted, you were the favourite in the eyes of not just the other Lords but Mother Miranda adored you, even the villagers love you.

Unlike the rest of the Lords, who’s Cadou allowed them to harm and take life, your Cadou allowed you to grow greenery and plant life everywhere.

You had the ability to restore old forests, letting flowers grow from you palm and giving them to the children in the village.

Amongst the village, you’re by far the most beloved of the Lords. Each week you bring down foods that you’ve grown so that there’s food for everyone, using the roots of the trees to grow tall and protect them from Lycans that may want to enter at night.

Everyone can tell where you’ve been because you’ll leave a trail of grass under your feet with little flowers appearing when you walk with bare feet.

The village hosts a week long feast for you where all the Lords celebrate with you. There’s lots of gifts, dancing and offerings. It’s the only joyful time of the year and even the Lords who seem sour like Heisenberg, Alcina and even Miranda seem to tolerate each other to celebrate with you.

Your domain is surrounded by forests and streams which have all been restored, wildlife now dwelling amongst the canopy.

Your house is in the centre of it all, the heart of the forest in a large oak tree which is hollow and now where you call home.

You’re a literal ray of sunshine in this ever gloomy world and no matter who or what you encounter; they adore you instantly

Alcina Dimitrescu

Alcina certainly wasn’t happy that the newest Lord was befriending villagers and protecting them as they were her source of food, but that all came crumbling down when she got to know you.

You couldn’t explain it but your beautiful and bubbly energy transferred to people and everyone noticed that Alcina had become warmer towards everyone else.

She saw you as one of her daughters, so sweet and innocent that she felt that motherly instinct to protect you from all the bad in the world.

She loves to braid your hair, watching as flowers grow between the weaves as she pulls it back gently with her long fingers.

Alcina never complains when moss grows on the walls of her castle as she could never be mad at you. She just gets the maidens to clean it off later.

She hates that she often has to stay in the castle with her daughters so you make sure flowers are growing in all her vases and the courtyard is lit up with bright greens for her daughters to gaze out onto.

Everyone at the castle loves you, the maidens, her daughters and especially the Lady of the House as you instantly make the room brighter.

Donna Beneviento

Donna is in absolute awe of you.

She is always so excited to spend time with you and you make her feel loved and happier.

You’re like the younger sibling she never had and she can’t stop smiling when you visit her manor.

Sometimes when you come over for lunch or spend a lazy afternoon over at her house, you open your palm and let a little white flower grow from your palm. You always tuck it behind her ear with a strand of her hair and then grow a smaller one for Angie and place it on her veil.

Donna has a tendency to close herself off from people and often feels lonely but you’re the only one who makes her feel loved.

You show her parts of your forest, places she’s never explored and if she’s scared you simply hold her hand tightly in reassurance.

Once when you were walking through the path leading from your home a deer had stopped in front of you.

Donna was instantly scared of the creature having never seen one before but you gently took her over to it and got her to hold out her hand.

It smelt her hand, it’s doe eyes looking at her before it ran off again and she’d never felt happier since you were there the whole time with her.

She loved getting to explore the woodlands with you, bringing Angie along of course. She felt safe and comfortable with you and she trusted you enough to show her your world which she was captured by instantly.

You make her happy and always manage to lift her spirits up with your powers and you friendship.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore loves your powers so much. He’s captured by them immediately and is always so excited to see you grow new things.

He can’t believe that you’d ever want to spend time with him so you always try to cheer him up with homemade meals from things you’ve grown or gifts woven out of wood for him to decorate his home with.

You’ll never forget the way his eyes lit up when you used your powers to restore the windmill that had broken. Using tree branches to make the wind turbine and watching the walls grow green.

The reservoir is no longer gloomy like it used to be but instead there is life all around his land.

The snow melts away to reveal lush green fields which reflect the water beautifully and the petals of trees fall into the water, floating on the light.

He loves to see you and always gets giddy when you visit him, watching as he jumps for joy when he sees you at the front gate.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl will NOT admit it, but you’re the literal ray of sunshine in his life, getting excited when he sees you walk through the gates of his factory.

Hes always smiling to himself when he sees moss, flowers and vines throughout the metal benches and grates of his factory but will deny it if anyone asks.

Sometimes when he’s welding away at metal he won’t hear you come in, and only realises it when he takes a break and sees you curled on the floor with three lycan puppies in your arms as you create sticks from your hands to play fetch with.

Karl is very protective over you and hates when you’re at family meetings because Miranda wants to use your gifts of growth and healing to experiment on you further. Wanting to see if you could potentially grow new limbs or heal others not just the natural world.

One time he walked into experimenting rooms ready for another trial on a potential solider when he notices the Soldat had green leaves coming from his wounds and his torso was wrapped in vines. He couldn’t help but smile at your little additions and made a note in his designs to make all his Soldat’s with your touches to them, deciding that they looked better with them anyway.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau #salvatore moreau x reader #resident evil headcanons #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil #RE8 #asks #prompt

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lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

To bargain for immortality pt.1

It's here fellas, the mutation sequel that I've mercilessly teased you with!

Content warnings: gore, torture, blood (like... lots), just a bunch of puking up blood, Miranda being her usual mad scientist self, torture in the name of science, Nicole be sick af (both literally and of crow mommy's bullshit), a little bit of blood drinking as a treat, medical procedures.

////

Tic toc tic toc

God that clock is so annoying.

Nicole wasn’t nervous. No. She chose this, at least for the most part. She had a long conversation with all her family, Alcina and Esteria both assuring her that it would work. It’s been years since the beginning of the experiments and by this point the process was almost perfected.

Miranda knew what she was doing.

That mattered little to her nerves though.

She instinctively pushed herself further into Cassandra’s side, who’s grip around her waist tightened ever so slightly.

The waiting was downright tortuous.

She, along with Cassandra and her two sisters were in her infirmary. The room mixed the ancient decor of the castle with modern medical equipment in a beautiful way. Not that anything less would be acceptable. Not that the familiarity of her workspace brought her any comfort either.

All their eyes snapped in the direction of the door when a heavy set of footsteps, with two lighter ones, were heard down the hallway outside. Soon the door opened with a barely audible creak and the two matriarchs entered, followed suit by Mother Miranda. Her presence alone was enough to make Nicole’s breath get lost somewhere in her throat, on its way to an exhale. The black wings, even partially folded as they were, did their job of making her look so much more intimidating than she was. Not that she needed them to begin with, a look from those icy gray eyes more than enough to send anyone to their knees.

Mother Miranda was, in all ways that mattered, a goddess.

A goddess that was about to infect her with the same thing that failed countless times in the past. The same thing that made the crawling mindless beasts used as guard dogs in the undergrounds. Or that made all the lycans.

Nicole gulped, a gesture gone thankfully unnoticed to anyone other than her painfully dry mouth.

But Miranda didn’t spare her a glance. She simply busied herself with some tools she had brought on one of the metal tables. With each clink the room seemed to close in on her slightly more, until Nicole felt as if she somehow ended up in one of Heisenberg's death traps. Spikes moving closer and closer until they would pierce her body and leave her in a messy pool of blood and entrails.

She shook her head and took a long inhale. No. This was going to work. She was not about to lose her family over a pesky thing such as mortality. She was not about to lose Cassandra. If getting infected by the Cadou was what it took to spend eternity with her lover then so be it. Possible side effects be damned.

Mother Miranda finally seemed to have finished, a now empty flask labeled Cadou sitting on the desk behind her while the parasite was writhing in her hand, thin whip-like tentacles extending frantically around itself. She called her over with a nod, and with a deep breath and a parting hand squeeze from Cassandra, Nicole forced her legs to take her across the room. Her steps didn't waver, she'd be damned if she'd show any hesitancy in front of this.

"Shall we begin."

It wasn't a question really, merely veiled impatience. Miranda did not like her, plain and simple. The fact that she was there to begin with was already a miracle. Miracle that wouldn't have happened were it not for the Ladies themselves asking for it.

"Yes of c-"

Before her words even had time to completely slip out of her mouth, golden talons plunged into the base of her sternum.

"Hopefully this can teach you that I don't like people going behind my back."

Nicole let out a choked gasp, hands instinctively wrapping around Miranda's arm, weakly grabbing at black robes. Ironically enough, those very talons were keeping her upright and, when they were removed from her flesh with a disgusting squelch of blood, Nicole curled in on herself, falling to her knees.

"Wha-... cking ki-... -er!"

Cassandra's voice reached her ears broken up, barely passing through the deafening ringing. Miranda also gave a reply and then seemed to address someone else but her much calmer tone meant that it only sounded like a vague mumble.

Not that Nicole particularly cared at the moment.

She curled into a ball, her hands almost clawing at her chest trying to find some sort of relief. It seemed as if vicious tendrils were making their way into every vein and muscle, tearing their way through any tissue they found. Her chest felt as if it had a hot iron pressed directly onto the skin, searing pain radiating in a cruel pulse matching her frantic heartbeat. By that point she was either sobbing or heaving, something that involved shallow breaths for sure. Her lungs were protesting fiercely, emptying of oxygen and then refusing to refill if not with great strain.

To make everything worse, the pain seemed to shift, now engulfing her spine and sending jolts that made her head spin and want to throw up despite her jaws being clenched shut so tightly that she was sure she'd start to taste copper soon.

She was only vaguely aware of hands shifting her body and soothing words that fell on deaf ears. She was now on a softer surface, but that did nothing to alleviate the assault on each of her senses. Probably she had thrown up at a certain point as her sinuses felt like being scraped by sandpaper with each shuddering breath. Her mouth too had a lingering taste of both bile and blood that made her stomach turn all over again. She would give anything for her body to finally shut down.

Why was she still awake and conscious god damn it. There was only so much her body was supposed to take before the brain shut down and she was reaching her limit of how much agony she could endure at a moment.

Please please please just pass out please.

She didn't though. Her body seemingly deciding to feel every single bit of the infection process, complete with the unending waves of pain and nausea that hit her more than she wanted to count. Any bit of sanity left in her would've probably disappeared had she tried.

---

It took two days for the agonizing pain to subside. Another two for Nicole to be able to form any kind of coherent sentence. Cassandra's soothing voice was of immense comfort, always there to tell her how well she was doing and how it would all be better soon.

God she hoped.

On the fifth day, her stomach still lurched at any movement too sudden. Her lungs seemed to fill with blood, courtesy of the still gaping wound at the bottom of her sternum, with any inhale too deep. The fact that she got used to the coppery taste rising up in her throat was disgusting in and of itself. At least there weren't jolts of pain shooting through every nerve and muscle in waves anymore though. That was something.

The fog in her brain was still clearing. It was hard to focus on anything, and each time Cassandra, or anyone else, asked her a question they would have to repeat it at least three times. It was beyond frustrating, the mind that got her through med school drunk half the time was failing the insurmountable task of saying whether or not she'd like some water. Glorious.

A faint knock on the door reached her ears. A redundant gesture really, as she didn't exactly have the clarity of mind to answer. Besides it was hard to catch her in a more compromising state than curled up in the fetal position, covered in sweat and most likely blood clots stuck to her lips.

Esteria came in, her one blue eye that wasn't covered looking at her with all the gentleness neither of her parents had ever offered her. Or it was just the cruel trick of a delirious brain. Either way, light barefoot steps took the Mistress to her bed. She sat in the chair adjacent to it and, with taloned fingers brushing strands of auburn hair out of Nicole's face, she spoke softly.

"How are you feeling today?"

Her voice was just as melodious as ever. It was the voice one imagines they would hear from an ancient being found deep in the forest. It made Nicole just a tad guilty when the only answer she could give was a pathetic whine.

Esteria simply hummed, talons running through the long messy locks of hair sprawled on the sheets.

"Would you like me to braid this for you dear?"

Nicole frowned. The Mistress was an expert at braiding, quick fingers able to make beautiful designs, both simple and complex. Comes with having floor length hair, her hazy mind guessed. On any normal day, Nicole would've accepted without a second thought. But now? Now she was painfully aware of the state she was currently in.

"It's filthy," she croaked, her voice raw and like stones in her mouth.

And it was. Her hair was waist length and right now it was slowly becoming a curse. It was greasy and sweaty thanks to barely being able to move a limb for nearly a week, which meant no showers. Not to mention how she lost count of the times she bent down to empty the contents of her stomach into a bucket, only to have some rebel locks fall in her face and get subsequently dirty. God she felt awful.

Esteria didn't seem to care too much though, as she simply helped Nicole shift slightly and talons started to work at some pesky mats. In no time, her hair was in a comfortable braid that started relatively high, keeping the locks away from her nape which meant just a tad less overheating. Not to mention it kept it in place and away from her mouth that she didn't trust in the slightest right now.

"Thanks," she actually managed to not let her voice crack this time.

"Oh it's no problem. Also," there seemed to be an odd strain in her voice, "Mother Miranda is coming this evening. She said something about an examination."

Nicole couldn't help but openly wince and curl in on herself a little more at the mere mention of the woman. Her chest seemed to pulsate painfully at the memory of the golden talons embedded deep in her flesh. Right now she wanted those hands anywhere away from her.

"What time is it?"

Esteria looked at the clock placed somewhere on the wall behind them. "About twelve. Still got time."

How hard would it be to drag herself to the adjacent bathroom for a quick shower? The only way her situation could get worse was if none other than Mother Miranda came in to see her in that state. She took a deep breath that her lungs protested against and pushed herself onto her elbows. At Esteria's skeptical expression she tried to sound less horrible than she felt.

"I need a shower."

Esteria pursed her lips. "Sorry dear but I don't believe for one second that you can stand for more than a minute. I'll ask a maid to draw you a bath."

Nicole only nodded weakly and let herself fall back into the cushion.

---

It took far longer than Nicole would ever admit to get herself fully clean. Her muscles were sore and protesting at every pass of the soapy sponge. Her hair was a whole other battle and she had to bite down on her pride and ask the maid positioned outside her door for help. It was a tortuous fifteen minutes until the poor girl managed to detangle the long locks enough to be shampooed and washed.

After she was content with the level of cleanliness of her body and the maid was dismissed, she stood there preparing herself to get out of the basin. In the meantime she looked down at the wound at the bottom of her sternum. Maybe wound wasn't the right word. It looked more like a gray and black scar with vein-like tendrils spreading across pale skin. It looked downright gruesome. Miranda really did not try to do a clean job in the slightest. Didn't even think to use anesthesia, like she had with most other experiments, according to Alcina.

She sighed and finally pushed herself out of the water with shaky arms.

By the time Mother Miranda arrived she was feeling slightly better. Why she came personally was still a mystery to Nicole. Maybe some sick sense of satisfaction in seeing her in pain.

Either way, by the time their so-called goddess came into the infirmary and told Nicole to lay down on one of the tables, she managed to shuffle her way over without her body protesting too much. Cassandra also quietly made her way on the opposite side of Miranda, gaining herself a glare.

"Must you hover over her like that?" Miranda's tone was as even as ever, but her eyes betrayed annoyance.

"Does it hinder you?"

Cassandra was not an idiot, the growl she wanted to add into her question was instead replaced by a tone not too dissimilar to Miranda's own, who simply tugged her lips into a grimace.

"Very well."

At first they went through a normal examination. Pupil dilation, reflexes, all things a normal doctor would do. Then Miranda told her to unbutton her blouse so she could take a look at the infection scar.

Nicole couldn't help flinching when thankfully gloved fingers would poke and prod at the sensitive flesh there. Her cold digits felt like hot coals were spread on her chest and nails dragged uselessly on the metal underneath her body for some sort of distraction.

Mother Miranda decided to get a tissue sample and that's when Nicole decided that maybe she would rather spend eternity as a ghost. She squeezed her eyes shut when a scalpel was brought to the overly sensitive skin. It took her back to when she would do autopsies, years ago. Tissue samples were always an integral part of her work. How ironic that she found herself on the other side of things.

It's fine.

She winced when the blade cut into flesh and sent a jolt of pain through her chest. Nicole couldn't help but think of the long days she spent agonizing while her chest felt like it was burning her alive and hoping that it wouldn't repeat. A sigh of pure relief slipped past her lips when whatever fake deity there was besides this woman, listened to her and the sensation died out quickly. She dared to open her eyes, only to see Mother Miranda frowning down at the small vial in hand.

It was quickly given to an assistant and she unceremoniously grabbed Nicole's wrist, dragging the blade across the length of her forearm.

Nicole gasped at the sudden sharp pain, and even Cassandra dropped a few choice words in romanian due to the surprise. No. No no no. What the hell-

Any questions, or less dignified reaction, died in everyone's throats as they watched the skin stitch itself back together. The repairing muscles gave a tingling sensation but soon the only proof that a cut had been there were thin trails of blood.

Mother Miranda chuckled and wrote down something in the notebook she brought with her. "Accelerated healing. That can be of use."

Nicole couldn't help but throw a glance at Alcina, who was sitting in one of the many chairs with Esteria by her side. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of conflicting emotions flashing in her eyes like rapid lightning. She would've tried to decipher their matriarch's probable thoughts were it not for the smell that was starting to assault her senses.

"Ugh what's that…blood… "

Coherent sentences were still not something her brain wanted to do apparently, but judging by how her nose scrunched up in a grimace, Cassandra got the gist of what she meant.

"Um… your arm," she pointed to the still fresh blood slowly dripping from her skin.

Right. Dumbass.

"Or damaged sinuses. Should go away soon," Miranda added from where she was noting something down and giving instructions to her assistant.

Also fair.

She sighed and tried to ignore it. Her sinuses still felt like sandpaper all the way to the back of her throat. Every time she swallowed, it felt like needles scraping the inside of her neck down to her stomach.

Ugh.

Thankfully, Mother Miranda did not linger for much longer. She wrapped up any samples and was out of the room soon after with her assistant in tow. Then, Nicole could finally go back to laying down in bed and feeling miserable.

And miserable she felt. Her body seemed to have decided to rewire itself into its new mutation. It didn't have any effect on her physical appearance, but the insides seemed to want to liquefy only to be mended back together. It was another week of basically living with a bucket in her lap and throwing up blood clots that seemed to invade her lungs and organs. How she didn't straight up asphyxiate was a mystery that she didn't think she wanted solved.

And to top it off, she was starting to think that humidity from some leaky pipe somewhere in the castle was causing a slight mold problem. Almost everywhere she went, there was this faint moldy scent lingering in the air and it was mixing horribly with the coppery feeling inside her still offended throat and sinuses. Nobody seemed bothered by it though, so maybe it was simply a side effect of the infection that was yet to go away. It wasn’t nicknamed the Mold for nothing, after all.

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x maiden #momma esteria #mother miranda #fanfic #tw: gore #to bargain for immortality #in which nicole gets way too familiar with miranda's petty side

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joucearchived · 3 years

Text

Something About You

Summary: After you joined the Avengers, you had quickly bonded with all the team members and accepted even Loki. Loki finds himself drawn to you and develops a begrudging fondness for you. He doesn't realize just how deep that affection was rooted until you are injured on a mission.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mostly none, minor injury (nothing graphic), minor angst

Word Count: 2965

Notes: Hi! This is my first ever fanfiction and the first time I’m posting on tumblr! I’ve read many (many, many, many) Loki/Reader fics and I wanted to give it a try to see if I could write a short interaction between Loki and the reader. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes, and if you enjoyed, any feedback/comments would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Loki despised the Avengers. It was impossible to miss the distrustful looks thrown his way, the way the air shifted uncomfortably when he entered a room, or the thinly veiled jabs at his loyalty despite him living in the compound for well over a year. However, their treatment of him wasn’t the source of his contempt. It was you, and for all the Norns he couldn’t determine why.

You had moved into the compound a few weeks after he had and every single occupant of the tower had been immediately infatuated with your charm. Not that Loki could blame them. You maintained a sense of innocence he could hardly believe, especially due to your history. He didn’t know much about you, but you had been rescued - and then recruited - into the Avengers after all. A tragic backstory was practically a prerequisite. You were also contradictory; for though you exuded innocence, there was also a complexity and rage that simmered underneath your skin. During missions, you were a force not to be underestimated - you stuck down enemies with a certainty and ease that even Loki respected. But in the safety and comfort of the tower, you were, for lack of a more eloquent term, adorable . Walking around in oversized Midgardian articles of clothing and fuzzy socks that often sported cartoonish designs of various animals, you almost appeared soft. Paired with your bright, but not blinding, personality, it only made sense that the others warmed to you so quickly.

Stark was the first to fall under your spell, pampering you with his latest inventions before showing anyone else. Loki supposed it had to do with your genuine enthusiasm when Stark talked, and the team had quickly learned that besides Pepper, you were one of the only people who could persuade Stark to venture from his lab to get the rest that all mortals needed. Rogers had been next. It wasn’t hard to see why the Captain had taken such a quick liking to you. Loki personally believed Rogers only saw the innocence and not the complexity, but that innocence had apparently activated his protective mode, for the Captain was oh-so-careful whenever he reluctantly sent you on any missions. Next, it had been Banner. You and the shy doctor had bonded over your shared love of quiet relaxed conversation and he could often find you in Banner’s labs, assisting him with various mundane tasks. You had even swayed the ever-suspicious Widow. How you did so, Loki had no idea. Even now, months later, the Widow only gazed upon him with open hostility. Finally, his oaf of a brother Thor. Thor had loved you from the first time he met you, but that was no surprise. What was surprising was how you tolerated his boisterous brother’s extroverted and often over-enthusiastic nature with a never ending well of patience. He could see how you flinched when Thor would sometimes talk too loudly, but you were always quick to cover it up with a smile and a hug for the oaf.

Loki noticed that like many Midgardians, you seemed to crave touch. Even among the highly suspicious Avengers, they all seemed to trust you intimately. Stark, who, putting it lightly, was not a hugger, seemed to enjoy the occasional brush of your fingers across his arm. Rogers loved to ruffle your hair whenever he saw you, his large hand continuously running through your soft locks during meetings. Loki wondered briefly what it would be like to feel your silky strands of hair between his fingers, to have you sigh contentedly and close your eyes while he wove intricate braids into your hair. He didn’t know. The only one besides Rogers who touched your hair was the Widow, and you could both often be found brushing and braiding each other’s hair. With Banner, you seemed to be fond of side hugs, quickly smooshing the entire side of your body against his, and with Thor, well, you seemed to be the most comfortable with his brother. Your customary greeting was a hug, and it often annoyed him when his brother would abandon whatever interaction he was having with Loki to embrace you and spin you around while you giggled with a childlike glee. During the weekly movie nights, you could usually be found next to Thor, curled next to him with one of his arms thrown haphazardly behind your shoulders. Loki hated it.

When you had first moved into the compound, you had been cautious around all of your new companions. Slowly, that careful apprehension had faded away, and you had become an integral part of their family, while Loki had remained an outsider. He had tried to hate you, and for a time, he was successful. He looked down upon your openness, your softness, and categorized it as a weakness. Over time, he began to see your courage and ability to trust as a strength and as a sign that you were truly comfortable with all the occupants of the tower, and he admired it, rather against his will.

Though Loki refused to admit it to himself, his fascination with you had nothing to do with how the others saw you; Loki couldn’t care less about the opinions of Midgardians. Except you. There was something about you that drew Loki to you, for when he noticed you were relaxed with all of your roommates, he was startled to see that it included him. Not to say he was your favorite by any chance, or that you paid special attention to him, but he was excruciatingly aware of your perfectly average treatment of him. The way your eyes met his without flinching and how your body refused to tense when he entered a room and the way you didn’t hesitate before contentedly dropping into a seat next to him made him feel accepted. Though his pride prevented him from acknowledging it, acceptance was one thing Loki strived for but could never reach, regardless of his Silvertongue or magic, charm or tricks. But with you, Loki didn’t have to strive for acceptance, he simply was. As uncomfortable as it made him, Loki begrudgingly began to develop a fondness for you.

Not only did your laid-back treatment of Loki prompt him to lower his defenses around you, your complete and inherent trust in him pleased him immensely. He wasn’t talking about you sharing all your deepest and darkest secrets with him, but rather the way you trusted he wouldn’t hurt you or betray the Avengers. Occasionally Loki would unintentionally hear snippets of conversation between ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ making jabs regarding his ability to be trusted and simply at his expense, but you were never a part of the unpleasant discussions. In fact, Loki would often see you frowning disapprovingly at whomever had made the disparaging comment, and while the others’ opinion of Loki did not matter to him whatsoever, seeing your discontent had him appreciating you even more. More than how you acted when Loki wasn’t present, Loki still mostly enjoyed the interactions you did have with him. Loki typically hated movie nights as he was forced to suffer through the combined presence of all the people who disliked him crammed into a single room. He constantly craved to distance himself from everyone, including you, until he had experienced your closeness for himself. Though it was unbearably harder to see you interacting so affectionately with Thor after he knew just how intoxicating you were, the times you would touch him always kept his negative feelings at bay. On the rare occasions when you weren’t glued to Thor’s side during movie nights, you opted to sit next to him. More often than not, you ended up falling asleep, either right next to him, or on him, though that seldom ever happened. The few times it did, Loki found himself paying even less attention to whatever repetitive and predictable Midgardian film was playing and focusing on you. The steady rise and fall of your breaths against his skin, the warmth your body radiated, contrasting deliciously with his own icy interior, and the unpredictable actions you took in your sleep, such as the occasional tightening of your fingers on his chest or the charming way you enticingly nuzzled your cheek into him. Whenever you feel asleep on him, Loki would take extreme care to keep his breaths as even as possible to not disturb you. He once mustered up the courage to drape his arm across your slumbering form, and you had sighed ever so softly and only burrowed deeper into his side. When you woke up, you always looked mortified and apologized profusely, as if Loki could ever be displeased by your actions. Unbeknownst to you, the moments you spend curled up next to him warmed him during the days you were absent or off on missions.

He doubted you knew how much you mattered to him, and he himself didn’t understand just how deep he cared for you, until he almost lost you. You were on a mission with Thor and the Widow and were supposed to be back a week ago. Various complications had arisen, and while worry grew within Loki, he pushed it deep within himself as missions rarely did go completely smoothly. However, his sleep quality, while usually less restful when you were not within the compound, deteriorated at a rapid pace, and he found himself in the kitchen making tea when the Quinjet returned, announcing your return. Loki immediately knew something was off, for he did not hear any quiet chatter or soft laughter that usually accompanied you, Thor, and the Widow. Convincing himself that he had nothing better to do, Loki had gone up to the roof with the intent of offering his brother tea as a guise to check on you. The sight Loki was met with had his fingers tightening on the mug and his teeth being grinded so hard he could almost hear it. For there Thor was, leaving the Quinjet with you held in his arms and the Widow prancing along behind. A concoction of emotions began boiling within Loki: confusion, hurt, anger, disgust. As Loki continued to watch from the shadow of the roof, his revulsion only increased as Thor lowered his face to yours in a disgustingly sweet manner and whispered in your ear. However, as Thor and the Widow drew closer to where Loki was standing, he began to pick up on the oddity of the situation. Why would Thor be carrying you in his arms? The Widow was not prancing, she was running. Why was she running? Why were you still limp? Was that blood? Loki quickly emerged from his corner and walked forward towards you. The sight he was met with had the tea in his hands dropping to the floor and shattering with a crash that Loki couldn’t hear. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything but a distant buzzing surrounding him, for you were there, lying in Thor’s arms with your eyes closed, skin sickly pale but shining with sweat, hair matted, and coated in blood that seemed to ooze from your body. Without a word, Loki had teleported all of you into the doctor’s lab.

As Thor positioned you gently down onto the bed and the Widow ran to summon the healers, Loki could only focus on you. Your breaths, so solid against his side a few days ago, were erratic and thin, your chest barely rising at all. Your fingers twitched, not in the peaceful way they had against his chest, but painfully. Your brows furrowed and you whimpered pathetically. Loki’s heart shattered. Under any other circumstance, he would have immediately demanded what had happened, but he could not tear his eyes from you. Oh, you precious little mortal. Loki had forgotten how frail Midgardians were and how easily you could break, how utterly short your existences were. He reached towards your fragile form, carefully brushing your tangled hair away from your face. He poured his seidr into you, praying to all the Norns - Hel, even to Odin - that you would survive this ordeal, all the while cursing himself for not going with you, for allowing you to become injured to such an extent, and for not practicing healing magic when he had a change. His desperate attempt to heal you and self loathing was cut short by the arrival of doctors, nurses, and the other Avengers, all wildy alert after receiving news of your injury. Loki allowed himself to be jostled away while medical personnel surrounded you as the others began questioning Thor and the Widow on how you had arrived in this condition.

Now, Loki sat by your bedside, where he had resided ever since they had stabilized your condition. He refused to budge, plainly ignoring anyone who tried to take his place and brushing off Thor’s half-hearted attempts to get him to eat. No, Loki spent all his time here, watching you for any sign of recovery and ensuring that your breaths kept coming. Your clothes had been changed. You were no longer wearing your bloodied uniform, but a set of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt taken out of your bedroom. Your body had been cleaned and hair had been brushed. You looked so peaceful, just laying there on the crisp white sheets. Your eyelids fluttering randomly and the occasional wince and groan were the only signs of life you exhibited. Your body convulses, and your face tenses as sweat begins to bead across your forehead. Loki recognized these symptoms all too well. You were having a nightmare.

“Darling? Darling do you think you could wake up? I know you can. Come on, you can do it.”

Loki whispered encouragement into your unconscious body, hoping he could rouse you from whatever torment your subconscious decided to inflict upon you. Surprisingly, you do awake, though it was not with the grace he typically saw from you. Instead, your eyes jolted open with a start and you immediately attempted to sit up, falling back down onto your back as your injury took over you. Your eyes were clouded as a result of the medication the doctors had pumped you with and your lips were chapped. Your hair framed your face haphazardly as a result of your incessant twitching from the nightmare. Your eyebags were prominent and half of your body and face still swollen. Norns, Loki thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Seeing him, your half alert face breaks into a genuine smile and Loki hands you a glass of water, prompting you to greedily gulp all the liquid down.

“Loki?” , you croak. “I'm cold.”

Loki’s relief at your awakening is palpable, and he immediately shrugs off his hoodie and bundles you up in the dark green (and insanely soft) fabric. His heart seems infinitely lighter as you look up at him wearing his ridiculously large hoodie and softens when you lay back down and burrow yourself into the fabric. You looked so small there in the hospital bed, your body still recovering and drowning in dark green cotton, and Loki has a sudden desire to brush his lips against the top of your head. Justifying his actions of simply that of a concerned friend, Loki gives into his want. The instant his lips come into contact with your skin, Loki never wants to let you go. The warmness of you seeps into him and fills a void within himself he didn’t even know he had. But Loki lets go, and you sigh happily. Looking down at your now sleeping figure, Loki decides to alert the others. As much as the Avengers dislike him, he does not take joy in witnessing their restlessness as they wallow in guilt. Moving away from you, Loki is stopped by your voice.

“Don’t go.” , your sleepy voice whispers, “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Though he wasn’t sure of the exact details of your past or what experiences prompted you to ask him to stay, but in that moment Loki vowed to completely annihilate not only those who put you in your current state, but also any being who had ever dared to harm you in any way, even if he had to track down the man who had cut in front of you when you were in line getting coffee for the team a few weeks ago. Your eyes look at him with sadness and pleading within that whatever miniscule amount of conviction within Loki dissipates. He quickly returns to your bedside, dragging the chair closer to you. Selfishly, Loki wants to touch you again, so he reaches out a hand to close your eyelids.

“Shh. It’s okay love. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you. I promise. Try to get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you. You’re the best you know. You’re my favorite,” you mutter almost incoherently as you doze off again. As he moves his hand away from your face, you grimace and grab his hand before he can pull back entirely. Your fingers intertwine with his as you bring it back to you. Turning onto your side, you pull your connected hands back up to your face and cuddle with it. You. Cuddling. With him. “Thought you said you weren’t going to leave,” you mutter as you frown, “Lokiii” you drawl. You smile then, and truly drift off.

Something inside Loki cracks. He had been suppressing and denying it for weeks, months now even, but he could no longer run from the realization that his heart belonged to you. Looking at your sleeping form, willingly grasping onto him even though you knew his history and all that he had done, Loki finally let himself believe he might not need to run anymore.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #reader insert #soft loki #feelings realization #protective loki #jealous loki #loki x you #loki fic #marvel

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ladyartemesia · 4 years

Text

The Terms

◐ PART III of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Series Masterlist ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Mature (for this installment)

Warnings: ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming. Violence and discussion of violence relating to ritual combat. Jin’s pheromones need their own warning. Yoonji and Yunli are not the same person.

Word Count: 2300

Author’s Note: As promised, this chapter is twice as long as the previous two and a lot of what people have been speculating about in the asks is discussed in this chapter... along with a few surprises...

“Luna rex provocatione means ‘the moon king’s challenge.’ It is never invoked lightly as its consequences are grave indeed... If an alpha believes that he is the true Alpha and the goddess has placed another in his path as a test of worthiness and dedication to the pack, then he will acknowledge his acceptance of this test by declaring luna rex provocatione. Once the challenge has been set forth only the death of the Luna’s first mate or the total surrender of the challenger can satisfy it...”

Text of the traditional speech given by a chief elder to begin a luna rex provocatione ritual [7th century]

“I know you won’t understand, but this isn’t personal-”

Jimin offered his rival an overtly feigned smile.

“You plan to kill me and claim my mate. Which part of that could I possibly take personally?”

Tae snorted somewhere in the background and Yoongi elbowed him hard.

Tradition dictated that both alphas meet with their second-in-commands in the chief elder’s chambers to discuss the terms of combat.

Namjoon brought Min Yoongi and Jimin had somehow ended up with Taehyung.

He didn’t remember actually agreeing to make Tae his second...

It just sort of happened somewhere between calming his hysterical mother and quickly reading up on archaic pack law.

The chief elder coughed uncomfortably. Goddess, this ascension was supposed to be easy. He never in a million moons thought he’d be in this position.

The last chief elder who oversaw a luna rex provocatione ritual had immortalized it in his journal as “the single most horrific moment of my life,” describing in detail the Luna howling in torment at the loss of her mate and the victor collapsing over the corpse of his foe in misery and guilt.

As in the past, the outcome of this conflict was already decided by fate...

Pain and regret weighed heavily on the older man as he considered the younger of the two alphas.

Park Jimin was going to die violently and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Because Kim Namjoon issued the challenge, his opponent will decide combat form. Your choices are human form, half-shifted, and wolf-form. After your choice is declared, Namjoon may add a minor alteration if he so desires. Park Jimin, please declare form.”

“Human,” he answered softly - and every single occupant of the room recoiled in response.

It was bad enough to witness a fight in wolf form or half-shifted... but to engage in ritual combat as a human-

It would be brutal - even psychologically disturbing - without the benefit of a wolf’s hide to mask the savagery.

Namjoon’s eyes widened in shock, but he recovered quickly.

“I request teeth and claws.”

Not quite a half-shift. Teeth and claws allowed for attacks using lengthened canines and claws.

It could make a kill slightly more... humane.

Jimin nodded and the elder pressed his seal over the first of the terms.

The were no windows in the small, stuffy chamber and between the heavy ceremonial garb and the nearly twenty braided praesidium bracelets wrapped around his wrists, Jimin felt as if the blood in his veins was literally coming to a boil.

Though he dared not remove them to relieve his discomfort.

Each bracelet represented a prayer to the goddess. They were given as protection to a loved one before a great trial.

His mother had not stopped making them since the ascension. She’d torn apart her most expensive dress and spent hours twisting the fabric strips into intricate traditional braids while she prayed...

Jimin’s fingers sought them out for comfort as the miserable parade of ritual legalities marched past the two hour mark.

Many agreements (like Jimin’s insistence that his mother not be allowed to attend the fight and Namjoon’s pledge to financially support the Park family in the event of their alpha’s death) were settled quickly, however the sheer number of details to be solidified was overwhelming.

“I think it best if we adjourn for a short recess,” the chief elder sighed wearily and Taehyung nearly ran Yoongi over in his desperate scramble to finally use a restroom.

Jimin turned to leave, but a hand on his elbow drew him back.

“I want you to know, I did this for you as much as for the rest of them.”

His tone was low and carefully respectful, but Jimin’s wolf snapped irritably at the elder alpha’s presumption.

“What an... interesting statement to make.”

He pointedly removed Namjoon’s hand from his arm with calculated nonchalance.

“No one expected you to be chosen... Jungkook, or even Hoseok, would have been an understandable alternative, but you’ve never taken being an alpha seriously-”

“According to you,” Jimin fired back, finally allowing his voice to harden in cold fury. “I have always known and valued what I am. I simply never felt called to your version of it.”

Namjoon tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Park Jimin might not look particularly dangerous ... but for the first time, the Kim alpha considered that he may have underestimated his opponent.

“Either way - the pack does not trust you. They are not confident in your ability to lead them,”his hands fisted reflexively at his side as he considered the weight of his next words, “...but if you beat me, they will never question your strength.”

Jimin’s hands tightened into fists.

Namjoon might be an overconfident windbag, but he had a point.

He faced an uphill battle to subdue a restless pack as well as increased threats from rival clans looking to expand their own power and territory.

The challenge was a chance to establish his claim.

Or die trying.

“You think rather highly of yourself,” he chuckled and Namjoon bristled indignantly.

“I have devoted my life to the pack. I have never questioned my duty to them.” He leaned forward a bit, holding the younger alpha’s gaze with purpose. “That is why I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“And what of the Luna?” Jimin wondered in mock contemplation. “Do you think she will take kindly to the loss of her mate if you win?”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched. The Luna was clearly a sore subject.

“If I win, then you were never really her mate were you? Your entire existence boils down to nothing more than a sacred test in my destined path.”

Silence stretched heavily as the two alphas regarded one another with open hostility.

“I will fight you till the last shred of life is ripped from my body,” Jimin snarled.

A shiver ran down Namjoon’s spine, though he was far from intimidated.

“At least now you sound like an alpha,” he scoffed.

Then he was gone.

Jimin waited till the sound of the older man’s footsteps faded before slamming his fist into the table.

He needed air and to be alone with his thoughts for moment before he could civilly resume the endless negotiations.

Unfortunately, the only place offering both of those things was a cluttered balcony near the back of the building.

The room traditionally designated for luna rex provocatione proceedings had been used as a storage closet for at least the last hundred years (and therefore needed to be hastily cleared after Namjoon’s inconvenient declaration). Consequently, the room’s former contents (piles of toys from this season’s charity drive) were now strewn haphazardly across the narrow outdoor space like debris from a brightly colored bomb.

Jimin carefully navigated his way to the balcony’s wooden rail and lifted his eyes to the moon.

“Please,” he begged softly “... send me a sign.”

“If he did not hate me before, he surely does now,” you sighed, staring morosely at the lights flickering in the old chamber building. Somewhere within the bowels of that archaic fire hazard, your mate of less than twenty-four hours was negotiating a nightmare.

“This is not your fault, Luna-“

“Isn’t it?” you snapped. “That’s who I am. I’m the Luna, if I could just accept another mate without someone getting their throat ripped out, then none of this would be necessary.”

Jin sqeezed your hand sympathetically.

The council placed you under guard in a small cottage across from the elder’s chambers in order to prevent the alphas from having any contact with you. Since then you kept a constant vigil from its rickety porch, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young man whose life you had ruined.

“Would you do it then - if you could?... Would you accept another mate to spare the Park alpha?”

Bitter tears burned at the corner of your eyes.

“Yes,” you whispered, “...I think I’d do almost anything to save him.”

Comfortable silence settled between you for several minutes - until a small flutter of movement drew your gaze to the chamber balcony.

Then he walked out.

And just the sight of him was enough to slam your heart up into your throat.

Jimin...

Jin quickly turned to your guard and unleashed a wave of pheromones that would have knocked out a grizzly bear. The guard whined and abandoned her post to follow him inside without a second thought, leaving you conveniently alone.

Male omegas are a rare and dangerous breed, you observed wryly, before retuning your attention to the man across the path.

A painful ache twisted hungrily in your gut as you watched him tilt his face to the sky. Somehow the relentless beauty of his features was even more captivating in the moonlight...

Suddenly a strong breeze braided though the air around you, playing with the loose strands of your hair and carrying your scent away from the small cottage and up to the balcony where the young alpha sought solace.

Jimin’s eyes shot open as the rich, unforgettable essence of you exploded over his senses. His gaze immediately locked with yours, cutting through the distance and darkness with an intensity that left you reeling.

You could not see his face at the ascension - instead the blindfold left you burning with curiosity as your mind conjured a thousand variations of how he might have looked on you in that moment...

Yet every last one of them fell short.

You could never have imagined the naked longing - the fierce desire - that burned boldly in his regard.

A strange, desperate frustration overtook you.

He was too far away - and Namjoon was going to take him from you before you could touch him again - before you could breathe him in again-

The cruel wind continued to pull your fragrance toward Jimin like an erotic incense, yet it offered you no such gift in return. You could not discern his scent and you wanted to - needed to - with a voracity that was almost blinding.

Please...

A mournful whimper tore from your lips and Jimin’s body reacted instantly to your distress.

Suddenly he was digging through the piles of mismatched trinkets and toys on the balcony, tossing aside all manner of discarded treasures till he finally found what he was searching for.

“Jimin-hyung! Where are you? Chief elder wishes to resume-”

Jimin glanced toward door as his fingers worked frantically over the object his hands.

“I’m on my way!”

His eyes found yours one last time, then he drew back-

A muted thwack echoed a few inches from your shoulder as whatever Jimin threw embedded itself into one of the porch beams.

Your fingers trembled with anticipation as you reached forward to retrieve (what appeared to be) a pointed metal dart - probably from a wall-mounted Darts game someone donated...

A length of braided cloth was tied tightly to the shaft and you recognized it immediately as a praesidium bracelet.

Soothing waves of Jimin’s scent drifted up from the fabric where it had rubbed repeatedly against the glands in his wrist.

Your body calmed instantly. Cold desperation gave way to the soft warmth of tenderness.

He knew.

He knew what you needed and he found a way to send it to you.

Your hand closed tightly over the bracelet as you crumpled to your knees and sobbed.

A gentle knock sounded at Namjoon’s door and a familiar figure slipped inside.

“...Yunli?”

Namjoon blinked for several moments in confusion before closing his evening read to approach her.

“Yunli... why - what are you doing here? It’s late - the ritual set to begin at sunrise.” He glanced at the door behind her, “Is Yoongi with you?”

She shook her head.

“My brother doesn’t know I’m here.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened as he considered all the ways his best friend’s younger sister sneaking into his house (in the middle of the night no less) could go horribly wrong.

“Ah. Well... that’s ...not good,” he mumbled, running his hand over his face. “Are-um - are you here to wish me luck for tomorrow?”

He reached for a glass of water to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

“No. Frankly I hope Park Jimin beats you to a bloody pulp.”

Water sprayed comically out of Namjoon’s mouth as he began to cough violently.

“What?!” *wheeze* “Why?!”

She offered him a sad smile.

“You know why, Kim Namjoon.”

He did know why.

Yunli had loved him (or believed she loved him) since she was a little girl.

He sighed heavily.

“Yunli, we’ve been over this-”

“One week. The change comes to me in one week-”

“You’re Yoongi’s sister-”

“I’ll be twenty years old, and for the last time I’m not your sister-”

“Goddess above, Yunli!” he shouted, “You’re just a child!”

Yunli’s hands gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.

“I am not a child!” she growled.

Then her mouth was on his and every single thought he ever had disappeared.

There was only her.

Heat poured through him like heavy syrup as his senses surrendered one by one. His arms wrapped around her without the slightest hesitation, as if their sole purpose was draw her in.

Sweet... Oh goddess, she’s sweet.

Yunli whined needily and a possessive growl rumbled from his chest in response.

Then she was pulling back - wrenching herself away from him with an anguished sob.

Bitter tears flowed freely down her impossibly beautiful face and Namjoon - who spent the majority of his life barely acknowledging his heart - suddenly felt it shatter.

“You should have waited for me,” she whispered.

“Yunli-I-” he tried calling out to her, but it was no use.

She was already gone.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?”

Jimin offered his second a distracted smile and nodded. His room looked the same as it did the morning of the ascension, yet his entire life was different...

“You were great today, Taehyung. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Tae felt his chest swell with pride. He didn’t want to think about what sunrise might bring, but he was determined to serve his old friend well.

For as long as he could.

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckled, recalling that he fell asleep on his feet for three entire terms before anyone noticed. “You’re a surprisingly ruthless negotiator. I barely contributed.”

“I wasn’t alone though...” Jimin whispered, “and when Namjoon first issued the challenge... I thought I might be.”

Taehyung gulped, pushing back the oppressive sorrow settling in his gut in favor of some levity.

“You - uh - you actually missed the wildest part of the whole day.”

“...I did?”

“Yeah it was bizarre. Did you notice the table was different after our break?”

Jimin shrugged. His thoughts had been... elsewhere at that point.

“We couldn’t find you at first, so you missed the whole ordeal but - when we all came back to the room, that big oak table was split in half.”

Hello my precious readers! If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments.

(If you are already on the taglist, I will automatically tag you in all future chapters, you do not need to ask to be tagged again.)

Please please please PLEASE let me know what you think! This chapter was HARD and I genuinely aganized over it. Your feedback and support are what kept me pushing though. Truly. I would love to hear from you! I treasure every word of feedback like diamonds.

End Note: Yoonji was mentioned earlier in the story. She is Yoongi and Yunli’s cousin. Yunli and Yoonji are separate characters.

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tangledinmdzs · 3 years

Note

Hello. Can I request a reaction for LXC, JGY, and Wen Ning with a physically affectionate reader? I personally am all about the physical displays of affection such as hugging, cuddling, braiding my friends hair, etc. I wonder how they will react or if they will even allow it, especially if the reader is just a friend. Whether the reader is a friend or s/o, is up to you. I don’t mind either. Thank you.

hi there!

me too, i’m a very big hugger person, so i get you. specifically for Wen Ning, i’m going to be writing him when he was still alive, even though he’s just as chill as a fierce corpse (when he’s not possessed by the flute aha)

i’d be happy to write for you!

hope you all enjoy!

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Lan Xichen

the fire crackles in the night,

you stare, almost lost in the orange and red of the flames

you had just finished your designated night hunt, aiding with the Lan sect as you always did

but even though the demon had been defeated hours ago

your heart still beats too loudly in your chest,

and you can’t still the shaking in your hands

because it had been so close to-

“y/n,”

you blink as you look up, clasping your hands together in your lap to find the gentle voice

Lan Xichen, your long time friend, companion, meets your eyes

your shaking hands don’t go unnoticed by him

even when you hide them in the long folds of your sleeves

“Xichen...” you greet quietly as he takes a seat next to you

the pops and cracks from the fire serve as the buffer between the lack of conversation that you both make

you don’t know why you are so scared after this particular night hunt, having been a cultivator (a good cultivator) for so long, having confronted death on a handful of occasions-

the rest of your thoughts are halted when you feel a warm hand on your lap, clasping your shaking hands hidden in your sleeves

you turn to look at him, a quiet scared look

which he answers by leading you to lean into his side

his long robes come to wrap around you, warmer than the fire before you

with your head on his chest, you hear his heartbeat

“i’m alright, y/n, i promise,” Lan Xichen reassures you,

although it had been close before, it wasn’t close enough to injure him

kill him

you nod quietly, holding Lan Xichen’s promise close

Jin Guangyao

you don’t expect the hand that comes up to brush your hair out of your face

you jolt your head up, making the strand of hair that was being tucked away fall to the front of your vision once more

Jin Guangyao, donned in his elaborate, lavish, golden robes, smiles his dimpled smile at you

looking at him as he moves your hair out of your face for a second time, you see the gentleness of his touch,

a gentleness that should not be there

“thank you, master,” you say quietly, because you are a servant and could never have accepted such help from him that way

he simply, silently, shakes his head, stands up tall from your deep bow

you hold your tray in your hands, fingers clenched over the handles of the wooden designs as you depart back to the kitchen

your forehead burns with the phantom touch

that his hands had left behind

Wen Ning

“do you think it looks alright?”

Wen Ning looks up at your question, has to sniffle a laugh at the sight of your hair

you had tried to braid your hair by yourself, but Wen Ning guesses since your hair is so long, it’s a bit harder

especially at the top

Wen Ning doesn’t have a full laugh on his face when you suddenly turn around to face him, though you catch the residual grin morphing into an impassive, neutral face

“oh, Wen Ning? does it look bad? why are you laughing?” you whine out and he has to smile and shake his head at you

“it doesn’t, it’s just a little messy” Wen Ning tells you quiet and honesty and you huff out an annoyed sigh

“i’m never going to get it, where’s jie?” you ask, referring to Wen Qing, though her younger brother just shrugs

you sigh, stand up to look out towards the awning of the port you’re sitting at,

Wen Qing was no where to be seen

“can you braid the back of my hair for me? Wen Ning?”

and he looks at you look you’ve grown two heads,

“please! i have to go to the marketplace soon” you tell him and Wen Ning doesn’t quite sigh be he looks close to doing it

“don’t tell me jie has never asked you to braid her hair for her,” you tell him and he shakes his head, because of course Wen Qing has, they were each other’s only siblings

and that seals his fate,

“so help me, please, Wen Ning?” you ask, staring at him with puppy dog eyes

he’s quiet

“ge?” you try and Wen Ning cringes, waves you back to sit in front of him

you skip over and take a seat, getting comfortable as Wen Ning takes out your sloppily inserted hair clip and begins to part your hair again

you’re not surprised by the gentle and smoothness of his fingers

you’re only surprised at why he didn’t braid for you sooner

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whatanoof · 3 years

Text

Cal Kestis Headcanons that No One Asked For

So I’ve slowly been going through story mode of Jedi: Fallen Order, and I’m about to go to the Fort Inquisitorius so I haven’t even finished yet but I’m absolutely in love with Cal Kestis, so here are some hc about him, romantic and non-romantic.

SPOILERS FOR JEDI: FALLEN ORDER

Cal x female!reader

You both love it when you play with his hair. The first time was almost an accident on your part, because you were just sitting behind him on the bunk while he’s tinkering with his saber and staring at the back of his head. It’s so red, and you’d honestly rarely seen such a bright color naturally occurring, much less growing out of a human head? Your hand brushed a strand almost of its own volition, and you both just froze. He slowly turned to look at you, and you almost stopped breathing because Did you just mess up did you just fuck up the relationship oh shit shit shit--. And he just whispers, “Uh, could you do that again?” And you’re in such a state of shock and relief that you just scoot back on the bunk and gesture at your open lap. Cere walks in on the two of you later, him dopey and almost asleep with his head in your lap, your fingers running through the silky strands. She doesn’t say anything, even when Greez points out the two small braids that you left at the nape of his neck.

He’s so competitive. Like come on, this man refused to back down from two or three separate fights against fully-fledged Inquisitors and one insane Jedi Master while he was still technically a Padawan. So he won’t let you beat him. At anything. You’re watering the latest seed that he brought back from a planet? Bam, he’s got Greez’s special plant food and he’s giving every single one of them a five-course meal. If you’re a Jedi, and you’re meditating in the back of the Mantis? You open your eyes after ten or so minutes and he’s right there in front of you, doing that little concentration face that you fell in love with so easily. If you’re a Jedi, you’re evenly matched in almost everything that you do in terms of abilities, and you teach each other where you’re not. Greez is terrified of watching you two spar, because you don’t hold back, but you’re also so equal to him in skill that it’s a whirl of light and blocking known attacks.

Him and BD-1 were a package deal, but as soon as you were welcomed aboard the Mantis, Cal couldn’t believe how easily the little droid warmed up to you. Of course, BD sticks with Cal and is his right hand man on adventures, but Cal no longer occupies 100 percent of BD’s free time. You refuse to tell Cal exactly where, but you found a spot right behind BD’s “head” where if you scratch it, the droid is on the ground and kicking a leg in the air in happiness. If you’re a mechanic, you can usually be found in the back, tinkering with BD’s processor to make it run more efficiently, or oiling his joints again, or designing new paint jobs for the happy little droid. Either way, you’ve stolen a decent fraction of the droid’s affection, and none of the Mantis crew has any idea how you did it. It’s actually the first thing that urged you and Cal to start spending more time together, and you remember BD’s happy little hops after you’d finally kissed Cal for the first time.

There is absolutely no backing for this, but I think that Cal can sing. Nothing fancy, of course, it’s not like there are vocal lessons available on Bracca or in the Jedi Order, but he can carry a tune. It’s sometimes the only way you can fall asleep on the Mantis, because even though Greez and the crew make it cozy, it’s not home. But as soon as you’re curled up in the twin-sized bunk, and Cal starts humming to you, you’re out before he’s finished the chorus. Sometimes the songs are happy, but they’re often little ditties that he heard from the clones before Order 66, or mourning songs that fellow workers on Bracca would sing during the night when the rain was pounding on the metal and creating a natural rhythm and harmony for the tired mechanics. They’re songs of lost love, fallen brothers, and vague longings for newer, better lives. You fall asleep to his soothing voice, but you often wake with an ache in your heart for the suffering and pain that Cal has experienced and witnessed in his short life.

He’s ticklish. He hates that you know. He hates that you told Merrin, and now she can blackmail him into getting her favorite foods from supply markets. But you love the childish giggles that you’re able to pull out of him when you finally corner him and run your fingers over his neck. Tickle fights always end in make-out sessions.

+18 NSFW under the cut

So... Cal never had the chance to understand wanting intimacy before you, sexual and non-sexual. He was terrified the first time he looked at you and didn’t recognize that strange feeling in his chest. He’d never felt it before, was there something wrong with him? Was he sick? It takes a sit-down with Greez for him to figure out what’s going on, and it’s even scarier than the possibility of illness. Jedi were forbidden to love, it had always been a taboo in his mind, even if he had never had the opportunity to find out what it felt like.

He pushes it away at first. He ignores the flutters in his chest when you’re laughing with Merrin at dinner. He denies the complete shorting out of his brain when he accidentally brushes too close to you while trying to get to your shared bunk.

He has his first wet dream, and wakes up absolutely throbbing with the memory of the dream that involved you and him and way too little clothes for his repressed childhood. He tries to grit his teeth and go back to sleep, but it’s too uncomfortable, and he can’t get the image of your body out of his mind. Jedi Masters always gave their Padawans the sex talk, and Jaro Tapal was nothing if not a good Master. So Cal knows basically what he has to do to relieve the tension so that he can get a little more sleep. He just doesn’t expect to lose control of himself to the point where he grunts your name when he comes. His heart just about stops when he hears the bed above him creak, and he yanks the sheets over his head until he’s sure that you’re not awake. He gets up early the next morning so that he can clean up without fear of you catching him.

After you get together, Cal is even more scared of the relationship. He had checked with Cere, and though she skews more traditional in her beliefs, she knows that Cal’s trauma and overcoming of it is more than she could hope to understand. Maybe this relationship could bring a stability to his life that nothing else could provide. She cautions him on the power of Dark Side, and how the fear of losing love dragged many great Jedi astray. But she also trusts you, and she knows that you would never do anything to hurt him. She hadn’t missed the lovesick puppy eyes you’d been sending his way.

You start out promising to take it slow. Neither of you had much experience in the areas of relationships and dating, much less sex, so at the beginning, you make sure to clarify that there’s no pressure to rush through anything. It’s mostly just spending more time together, slowly exploring each other. You both learn about each other’s pasts, and spend time talking through the different experiences, rationalizing and comforting each other. Before you even begin to experiment in bed, he’s become your best friend.

When you finally do, it’s short and sweet and perfect for two people who are trying to take their relationship slow. You teach him about what you like, and he gasps out in between moans what feels good and ohhh, what feels even better.

Okay, a bit of a time skip here, but after Cal’s more experienced, he is a sucker for you riding his thigh. He’s built and strong, so the ridge of muscle beneath you and rubbing against every single spot that sparks delicious warmth in your belly brings you to climax so much more quickly than you could have expected. He loves looking up at you, mouth open and eyes half shut in ecstasy as you chase your high, your heat leaving sticky wetness on his thigh that only serves to make him harder. He’ll grind his leg up if only to hear that heavenly little squeal and whimper that he can get out of you. You’re beautiful to him even on the worst days, but when you’re above him, sweaty and on the brink of coming all over his thigh? Stars, you’re the most glorious thing he’s ever seen, and he rode a shyyyo bird over the untouched forest of Kashyyyk.

Sadcanons. Don’t read if you don’t want sad feels tonight

There is no denying that Cal’s not a whole person at the beginning of the storyline. He definitely regains some of himself back, but there are parts of him that I believe died with the clones and died with Jaro. There are times where he has nightmares, and when he wakes up, he doesn’t want to be with anyone. Even you. He’ll lapse into silence for hours and days at a time, staring at the blank wall while you try to get him to eat or drink something because damnit it’s been days and he hasn’t so much as moved. Your heart breaks at every sign of his damage, because you know that there is only so much you can do to help. This is a journey that he has to complete independently, though it doesn’t mean that you won’t be here for him when he wakes up.

You trace his scars to comfort him. He’s insecure about them, and is terrified of the memories that they bring back. But when you’re there, loving even his jagged edges, it’s all marginally better and he can bear to live with himself a little more.

He comforts you too. Whatever your background, the Clone Wars and the Purge gave everyone a little bit of damage, and you were no different. He holds you when you’re crying, and comforts you after your nightmares. He’ll purposefully pick a happy song to sing when he knows that you’re down, and he never fails to make you laugh through the tears.

His psychometry allows him to understand your trauma better than you could hope to understand his. Before you even allow him to sense your past, you make him promise to not internalize any of it. You know that he would, though it makes no logical sense. He promises.

Oops I made myself yearn. Now back to our regularly scheduled program of single life. School’s kicking my ass right now, but this made me feel better so I can’t complain too much.

But in all seriousness, I recommend this game 10/10. The Star Wars content is absolutely impeccable, the graphics are gorgeous, it gives me a thrill in my chest to know that every single second is canon. Cal is a beautifully written character, and even though his story breaks my heart, it’s written so well. He doesn’t lash out in anger, rather internalizing his fears and pain in a way that I can relate to, and he’s scarily powerful. It’s a feel good story for me despite the pain, and I’m looking forward to finishing it this weekend!

#cal kestis #headcanons #cal kestis x reader #smut #fluff #angst #cere junda #greez dritus #nightsister merrin #jedi: fallen order

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lambden · 3 years

Text

What better way to break in a new blog than by immediately posting fic? In honour of Nightmare of the Wolf, here’s some Vesemir and Filavandrel!

(read on AO3)

M, 2.9K words, no warnings, Vesemir recognizes Jaskier’s lute when he arrives at Kaer Morhen

Vesemir has been expecting this day for decades. It’s rare for witchers to meet a trusted companion out on the Path, and even rarer to find one who wishes to travel alongside them. But the reputation of witchers has changed in recent years, for better or worse. Their focus is no longer on maintaining the traditional practices of their schools, but on protection— of other witchers, and of helpless commoners. Perhaps the humans can sense that change.

More curiously, the folklore surrounding witchers has changed. Vesemir very badly wants to meet the man who has done so much to change the narrative, but years pass and all Geralt brings home every winter are stories. The younger witchers entertain (and tease) him but no one ever asks where the bard goes during the cold months that Geralt spends at Kaer Morhen. Perhaps even Geralt doesn’t know.

Finally, after hundreds of stories of Geralt-and-Dandelion, Vesemir receives a letter one autumn before he himself has even considered the journey home. His chest warms as he reads Geralt’s careful penmanship, noting how the ink blots at the start of each new sentence. The paper and wax are fine, suggesting that Jaskier used his academic connections to perhaps land Geralt a few contracts near Oxenfurt. Geralt’s lettering may be nearly flawless but his message is stilted, reminding Vesemir of when his pups were nervous children. Does Jaskier really make him act this awkward? Their relationship must be serious, then.

I am hoping you will welcome my guest with open arms, or I fear he may freeze over the coming months. Vesemir looks for a signature but there is none, save a very fancy G at the bottom. No returning address has been provided either, and while he could easily pen a missive to Oxenfurt, it’s probably best not to respond. Each day Nilfgaard only grows stronger, and crueler. Perhaps Jaskier has been caught up in their hunger for power. Vesemir folds the letter up and hides it in his saddlebag.

When the frost begins creeping in, the oldest Wolf begins his trek up the mountain. He’s almost always the first one to arrive; Coën had beaten him to it once and apologized for weeks, and Vesemir would do anything to avoid that again. And if he makes an effort to arrive early this year so that he can make the Keep look as important as it is, well… nobody needs to know.

It takes a week and a half before Geralt arrives, Jaskier in tow. Vesemir spends the time flushing out a bat infestation and dealing with the most perishable of his spoils from the past year. The White Wolf seems to bring the cold with him most years but Vesemir, cognizant of Jaskier’s inferior body, made sure to set out enough furs in advance. As soon as he hears Roach’s hooves approaching he starts a roaring fire, and when the inner doors of Kaer Morhen burst open, Vesemir is ready to make a great first impression.

Upon seeing him, Geralt smiles right away, crossing the room to greet him. Vesemir looks him over; no obvious new scars, no missing body parts. Must have been an uneventful year, but… Geralt is here, safe and alive, so Vesemir allows himself some private, selfish, unwitcherly joy. It’s the sort of thing Deglan would have lectured him for. He finds he doesn’t care.

“I got your letter,” he tells Geralt, who nods solemnly. “I thought it best not to reply. Is Nilfgaard on your trail?”

“Our trail,” Geralt sighs, stepping aside so that Vesemir can meet his companion. “Vesemir, this is Jaskier.”

The bard, dwarfed by a large fur coat, moves forward so that Vesemir can properly scrutinize him. He certainly doesn’t look his age, but Vesemir knows he’s travelled as far as any witcher has gone, and seen sights no human should really have witnessed. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you, Jaskier. I was wondering when Geralt was finally going to bring you along for the winter!” That makes Jaskier perk up, and Vesemir chuckles. “I promise that no harm will come to you here.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says. “Geralt doesn’t like sharing much about the other witchers, but I’m sure you must have a wealth of stories for me to hear!” Sure enough, Geralt frowns. “And I don’t know how much help I’ll be with hunting or gathering, but I would be happy to regale you on the coldest nights—”

And before Vesemir can read into that unfortunate phrasing, Jaskier shrugs off his fur coat to produce a lute. He must have been wearing it strapped around his front on the journey through the mountains, not wanting to condemn such a fine instrument to being jostled around in Roach’s saddlebags. Vesemir squints at the red-brown wood and the golden details under the strings. They almost look like a particular elven design.

Oh. Vesemir’s realization nearly bowls him over. Geralt and Jaskier stare at him, respectively concerned and curious, but Vesemir can’t take his eyes off the lute. “My apologies, I… I forgot something in my chamber. Make yourselves at home, and… I’ll leave you to it.” He leaves without any further explanation, hastening to his quarters and abandoning the pair of them to their own devices. He can still feel their gazes drilling into his back but he suddenly feels weaker than usual.

---

“I heard there was a witcher skulking around this forest,” the spy says. Vesemir is almost relieved to hear them speak; he’s been glancing over his shoulder for nearly an hour now to try and reveal an invisible pursuer. He should’ve known he was right. Just because the spy doesn’t lumber like a human or reek of magic like a monster doesn’t mean he won’t be in trouble.

He stops in the middle of the path, still facing forward. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the second he turns, a very unfriendly knife is going to introduce itself to his ribcage. Or perhaps an arrow, although he hasn’t heard the sound of anything and he’s been listening very closely.

His pursuer approaches. Fuck, they’re light on their feet. If Vesemir was just an average bandit, he’d be done for. He braces himself for an attack, balling his hands up into fists at his sides. The stranger continues, tone still pleasant enough, “Why not stay in town? A warm bed must beat trudging through mud in the early hours of the morning trying to find ground. I’ll give you some advice, witcher; there’s no dry ground. You’re heading towards a swamp.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay in town,” Vesemir admits, already grumpy. He whirls around and sees the stranger; a lean man, just slightly shorter than him. The long hood of their cloak casts a dark shadow over their face, blocking them from view. “If you’re here to rob me, I hate to disappoint, but you’ve followed me all this way for nothing.”

He holds up his empty coinpurse; not to prove himself, just to complain. The stranger titters, a lovely, high-pitched sound like glass clinking against glass, like chimes. Like birdsong. Vesemir’s eyes narrow. “That’s a shame,” they say. “You do love coin.”

There’s something disturbingly familiar about the words. Vesemir decides to gamble with his own life, stalking forward until he’s face to face with the stranger. Up close, his scent is even stronger. Frowning, Vesemir is about to reveal the man’s identity when he does it himself, pushing his hood back. His hair is tied up in complex braids unlike any Vesemir has ever seen, only a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. But it would take more than a lifetime for Vesemir to forget that face.

“Fil,” he declares, delighted, and doesn’t think twice before crashing into the elf. Filavandrel laughs again and though it makes Vesemir feel a little silly, the sound still fills his heart with joy. He embraces his friend tightly, clinging to him for so long that both their boots sink down into the flooded dark soil of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s like I told you.” The elf pats the back of Vesemir’s neck, unwittingly sending a shiver down his spine. Vesemir’s grip tightens. “My scouts said I might find a witcher lost in the woods.”

“I’m not lost,” Vesemir grunts, finally pulling away. “I just… don’t know where I’m going.”

“Come to my camp,” suggests Filavandrel. As if he even had to ask.

Unsurprisingly, elves make their camps much differently than witchers do. When they arrive Vesemir doesn’t immediately see any sort of bedroll, and then he feels embarrassed for looking. He never feels this way around anyone else; he can make bawdy jokes with Sven or blatantly hit on Luka, but in the company of Filavandrel aén Fidháil, shame bursts through him so easily.

Maybe he just has a thing for pretty blondes who he leaves behind.

Except Fil is here, smiling indulgently as Vesemir gapes like a fool. “It’s nice,” he finally manages to say. “Want me to set a fire?”

“A campfire, sure. Not a big one,” Filavandrel teases. Swallowing, Vesemir turns to a firepit that the elf must have fashioned himself. He takes a bundle of wood that’s already been cut and easily ignites it, all the while trying to figure out why his heart is pounding so damn loud. Thank fuck that Filavandrel isn’t a witcher.

“Have you eaten?”

“No. You?”

“I was going to have some bread, and go hunting in the morning.” There’s a small noise and when Vesemir turns to look, his friend is holding out a large chunk of bread. It doesn’t even look that stale. Vesemir sees that Filavandrel has taken a much smaller piece for himself and growls about it, but the elf snatches the smaller piece away before Vesemir can lunge for it. “I don’t want to hear any self-sacrificial bullshit about how witchers don’t need to eat. Take the damn bread, Ves.”

“... Fine,” Vesemir relents, cowed. He accepts the bread, fingertips accidentally brushing over Filavandrel’s when he takes it. It’s fucking delicious, melting in his mouth almost instantly. Seeds and herbs have been baked into it too, and Vesemir savours every bite, moaning. “You should quit being a professional elf and start a new life as a baker, fuck.”

“I can do both. It’s an old recipe, needs a stone oven. And what does being a professional elf even mean?” Filavandrel reaches up to shove him, except they aren’t very far away from each other so the push nearly knocks Vesemir off his balance. Before he can tip over onto the grass Filavandrel grabs him by the collar of his gambeson and tugs him back, and, well. Vesemir may be a witcher, but parts of him are still human.

Neither of them has to say a word; he opens for Filavandrel like he’s been thinking of nothing but this since the second they laid eyes on each other. Honestly, he sort of has. Fil runs a hand over the shaved part of his head, pressing his palm against the back of his neck to pull him in closer. Vesemir moans, chasing the taste of something sweet and acidic and magic. It certainly isn’t the fucking bread.

Afterwards they lie together by the smoldering remains of the fire, both too spent to clean themselves or dress. Vesemir glances over at the cinders and thinks about making an exit soon. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to stay with Filavandrel. He’s comfortable here, especially right now, and his friend always makes his heart feel lighter. But the Path calls to him; lying here without his weapons or armour, Vesemir can nearly hear Deglan’s scolding. And that thought is enough to ruin anyone’s afterglow.

Before he can move, Filavandrel sits up, arching his back. Vesemir turns to watch him, nearly salivating at how he looks in the low firelight. His hair is radiant, and his skin isn’t nearly flushed enough. He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Selfishly, Vesemir wishes that he’d left more marks.

Fil climbs to his feet and crosses the campsite to retrieve something out of reach. Vesemir cranes his neck to try and peek, and Filavandrel laughs kindly at him. “I was just thinking that something’s missing.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Vesemir says, lowering his head back down onto the ground. “I should have kissed you more.”

The elf pauses at that before finally demanding, “Kiss me later.” A note resounds through the air, clear and beautiful; then a chord, and another. Very soon their little clearing feels more like a fairy circle than a campground as Filavandrel plays music.

He finally walks into view, still naked, still beautiful. Now holding a lute. Vesemir tries to sit up so that he can properly see the performance but Filavandrel is faster, moving over him and then sitting atop his stomach, resting his back against Vesemir’s thighs. He plays the entire time, fingers moving adeptly over the instrument.

It’s a beautiful lute, probably made of some holy dark red wood. The golden design etched into it is mesmerizing, and the strings could have been plucked from the mane of a unicorn. Vesemir hardly spares it any attention, too wrapped up in the sight of a naked Filavandrel straddling him and singing.

He’ll only realize decades later that the elf was probably trying to court him.

Someone knocks on the door to his chambers and Vesemir jumps to his feet, caught off-guard by the sound that plucked him from his memories. He finds Jaskier waiting outside his room, toying idly with the sleeves of his doublet. Vesemir shakes his head, holding the door open for Jaskier even as he apologizes. “I’m sorry for running out earlier. I meant to give you a tour of the Keep, hopefully Geralt will have stepped up in my absence, but I am sorry—”

“No— please,” Jaskier interrupts. Once more he pulls his lute from around himself, holding it out to Vesemir. “I just… Your countenance changed dramatically upon seeing this, so…”

Fuck. “Yes,” Vesemir sighs, staring at the lute. Jaskier has managed to keep it in good condition after all this time. “I… Filavandrel and I are old friends.”

The bard’s eyes bulge out of his head but he enters Vesemir’s chambers, heading straight to the desk to perch on the edge of the chair. Vesemir finds another chair for himself, moving its previous occupant— a stack of books— onto the floor. In his defence, he hadn’t expected the tour of Kaer Morhen to begin in his personal chambers.

“He didn’t mention knowing any other witchers,” Jaskier hums. “How did you meet him?”

“You’re sure you want to know? It’s sort of a long story.” The bard just nods, eager and polite. Instantly Vesemir can see why Geralt likes him. “Alright,” he obliges, reaching for the bottle of wine on the desk. They’re going to need it. “We met long before you would have been born…”

---

South of Kaedwen, the seasons are more aligned than any other part of the Continent. The winters are crisp, the summers lazy. Filavandrel likes to spend his summers here, where the canopy of trees is thick enough to provide shade but thin enough to provide colour. Everything is verdant, the flowers calling to him as he passes each one. When he was a child he had longed to visit towns and experience human delights like festivals but now he knows better. The elves live off the land well enough anyway.

Some of the younger people in his company these days have that same yearning, and some of them even manage it. One elf who resembles Toruviel always runs off to see some different show, take in some new performance. If Filavandrel thought that she could get away with it, he would pay for her to attend Oxenfurt— she’s very good. And the upside of her risking her life just to listen to music is that she’s got a very good memory, and she always brings the songs back home.

Today she’s singing some new ode to a witcher; not that bigoted anthem of lies that the bastard warbler from Posada somehow spread through the Continent, thank the Gods. This one seems to revolve more around making the right choice, and how a real hero does good deeds not for coin or his own profit, but just to be good. Filavandrel thinks about the few witchers that he’s had the misfortune of contacting over the years, and under his breath he scoffs.

Cheesy chorus aside, the lyrics seem to have some merit. The first verse is all about some terrible monster that was taking young girls, transforming them into half-beasts. The hero witcher’s judgement fails him and he blames himself for years, even losing a lover in the process. Filavandrel scowls; despite his own experiences with witches, he doesn’t want to listen to a song written by yet another prejudiced bard.

Then the third verse lands. The witcher grows old and wise and has children of his own, and he regrets his inaction and he tries to reach out to contact his lover. But at that point his lover, who devoted his life to protecting those in danger, was too busy being King of the Silver Towers. Filavandrel stops dead in his tracks as he realizes which witcher this must have been inspired by.

The elven king huffs, starting to compose a route in his head. He thinks a trip up north is long overdue.

#vesemir #filavandrel #nightmare of the wolf #the witcher nightmare of the wolf #geraskier fic #my writing #hey did anyone else see young vesemir talking to his friend fil in the bath and think we were gonna get a Bath Scene Part Two: The Remix?

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mediocrevideopodcast · 3 years

Text

Long Haired! S/O

Request: I love your stuff to much. its exactly what I'm in the mood for right now. whenever you feel up to taking request or something let me put this idea out for you if you like it: Any of the Turtles (Plus April but I'm mainly here for the turtles) with an S/O with long hair? Or maybe even the opposite way and an S/O with short hair. like I personally prefer the long hair option but I know someone out there would probably love to see the short hair option so that would be nice too.

either way you write them so well I'm sure it would be sweet.

A/N: Assuming that it’s straight hair, by the way! Although if people are interested, I’d love to do a curly-haired version as well <3

Characters: All! Separate, Non-Poly {Raphael, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, April O’Neil.)

Content Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1149

Raphael:

He loves your hair so much! It takes a lot of patience and dedication to grow your hair out that long!

He loves to braid your hair so much! He likes it when you sit in between his legs during movies so he can braid it.

He’s so gentle too: You can’t remember a single time where he’s tugged on it while brushing or braiding it. You’ve fallen asleep so many times while he plays with your hair.

He googles so many intricate designs to try out. Although, he usually defaults to a waterfall braid if he’s tired and there’s nothing in particular you want. He also likes to weave in flowers, if you’re not allergic to them!

He always has a bunch of hair ties on hand for you. (Most of them are in red!)

If you fight with them, he always makes sure your hair is tucked away and safe before engaging. Long hair is too easy to grab!

He loves to play with your hair while cuddling, especially. There’s something so calming about laying on his plastron while he runs his hands through your hair.

Bonus! He’s so fucking tall, that he’s actually exempt from being suffocated by your hair while spooning. Love wins <3

Leonardo

Low-key jealous </3 Just kidding, he loves it.

He loves to brush your hair, but he hits his fair share of tangles. Please teach him how to hold your hair properly.

He’s also one to look up cool braids to put in your hair! He takes a lot of inspiration from fantasy hair styles. (Specifically, he really wants to do the Legolas braids.)

He carries scrunchies in your pocket for you because he thinks they’re cute.

He doesn’t get that hair just falls out sometimes? He’s so confused and concerned when he finds a random strand of hair in his room. He thinks you’re dying, lmao.

He’d love to dye your hair someday! He’s instantly mind-boggled at how much time it actually takes, but he’s still super stoked anyways.

Absentmindedly plays with your hair during movie nights. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half the time, but it feels really nice.

He loves to pet your hair while cuddling. It’s so gentle and sweet, and it puts you to sleep really quickly.

Donatello

Oh, long hair? Cool. He thinks it’s impressive that you’ve managed to grow it out so long, and keep it healthy as well!

A lot of the sweet routines you form in regards to your hair actually takes a bit of time to develop! It’s something that certainly grows over time.

One of the first things is simple. He installs a little hook next to the entrance of his lab where he leaves a bunch of hair ties for you. (Always in purple, unless you ask for more colors.) He doesn’t want your hair to get damaged, or for you to get hurt, if there’s a stray spark in the lab. After a little while, he starts carrying some on his person as well.

He gets overstimulated really easily when it comes to texture, and having hair in his face while cuddling really hits all the checkboxes with that. But obviously, he’s not going to give up cuddling time, so what does he do? He starts braiding your hair before bed! And that’s when he finds out he really likes to play with your hair.

Every night before bed, he braids your hair. It’s a really sweet routine that you share with him. (And you get to listen to him talk about his day! Brothers, inventions, WOW lore, it could be anything really.)

When you’re watching something together, he’ll absentmindedly play with/pet your hair. After a while, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Michelangelo

TIME TO BUST OUT THE HAIRSTYLE MAGAZINE... HE’S BEEN WAITIN’ FOR THIS ONE

For real though, he loves long hair. (And short hair! He thinks it’s all super pretty…)

He’ll bust out the bobby pins, the hairspray, everything. People will literally ask you who does your hair, and your brain fucking fries trying to think of how to describe your non-human boyfriend in a human way. Halo braids, half-up bows, flower braids… he’ll do it all.

He’s a little rough at first, but he gets the hang of it pretty quickly. He’s not immune to the stray tangle, though.

He likes to carry bobby pins around for you, which is a contrast to the rest of his brothers! (Bangs are Hell, and you never know when you’ll need one! For your hair OR for breaking into someone’s house! <3) He also carries around little butterfly clips and stuff. If you ask he’ll start carrying ties around though <3 King.

Loves to screw around with your hair at the randomest of times. He loves to hold your cheeks when you kiss, and sometimes when you part he’ll lift up your hair a little and make silly monster noises. It’s so dumb but it makes you laugh so much.

He’d be so good at dyeing your hair, please let him!! He’s really patient, and his eye for color is great.

He loves to play with your hair while cuddling. He does a really specific thing where he’ll part your hair into a bunch of different sections before scooping them all back together and running his hands through it. It actually feels really nice on your end (and helps combat tangles), and it keeps his brain busy. You fall asleep super quick every time.

April O’Neil

Oooh, pretty!! She has super long hair herself, her’s is just really curly. So she has a lot of respect for long hair!

Loves to play with your hair during movies, if she’s the big spoon that night. She usually twists the strands around her fingers, or gently pets them. It’s really relaxing, and her touch is so gentle. You can’t count how many times you’ve fallen asleep like that.

She always has these really nice hair ties on hand, it’s great. Her hair ties are super stretchy and never snag, which is awesome. She has like, three on her wrist at any given point in time.

Loves to run her hands through your hair after kisses.

She’s never actually dyed her own hair, just because bleaching natural hair is such a process. (Plus, she does NOT want to deal with teasing from the boys during the early stages of bleaching. They would never let it go </3) However, she’s really good at dyeing hair once she gets into it! She’s meticulous, and there’s not a single strand left uncolored. Her hands are steady as she works, and it’s so calming. She has the best hair-dyeing playlists too. She always makes you laugh too, so sometimes a little dye will get on an un-vaselined patch of skin, but honestly? It’s just a cute reminder of her.

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt imagine #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt donatello x reader #april o'neil x reader #tmnt april x reader #tmnt imagine #TMNT x reader #rottmnt april x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #rottmnt Donatello x reader #rottmnt raphael x reader

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

Note

hi! i love all of your writing, especially your abby fanfics. i know you’re in the middle of your eivor series right now, so pls disregard if you don’t feel like writing this request or don’t want to write for abby, but i was wondering if you could maybe write a hurt/comfort type imagine where abby either comforts the reader when they’re sad or after they have a nightmare. i get really frequent nightmares and love to read fanfics like this but totally understand if you’re not into the idea. all the love and i hope you’re doing well; merry christmas if you celebrate!

so this is half a year late, but I finally have a little more time to go through my requests so here it is! this is also the first time I've actively avoided gendering the reader as I've gotten a few requests for a nonbinary or genderfluid reader. This is not a cop-out on that, I definitely want to write an explicitly nb reader but I figured this would make the reading experience better for quite a few people!

Summary: The reader has recently lost a family member and stranded with the WLF. They struggle with frequent panic attacks and nightmares. Abby notices and tries to take care of them.

CW for loss of a family member (sibling), death and grief, heavy trauma, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares, and struggling to breathe. The nightmares are also fairly violent and creepy so please watch out for yourselves and only read this if you're in a good state of mind <3

I've Got You

The truck rattled as Leah drove it up the road to the WLF stadium. It had been a particularly rough day on patrol. You and the other wolf had run into a group of freshly infected that seemed to have been three families once. The children had been the worst. The youngest had probably been about ten years old before she had turned, her eyes bright blue and her blonde curls matted with dried blood. You had taken care of them all, of course you had. But it had been horrible. You folded your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

You had joined the WLF a few months ago after losing your team and your little sister in a clicker-infested cellar you had set up camp in. It had been so fucking stupid, so careless. But everyone had been tired, you hadn’t seen any infected in days, and so only one of you had kept watch. He barely had time to scream before the clicker had ripped out his throat. It had been chaos, madness, everyone scrambling to escape into the network of damp corridors and storage rooms, more and more clickers being drawn to you by the noise.

Leah raised her hand at the armed guards at the gate and they opened for your truck. The sun was setting behind you and most people were inside the stadium now, eating or spending time with friends. Both of you were quiet. Leah’s legs were covered in slowly darkening blood and the smell was nauseating. The tall wolf pulled the truck into its designated spot and took a deep breath.

“Y/N?” You looked up at her. The circles under her eyes could compete with yours, but her face was still as kind as ever.

“Yeah?”

“You take care of yourself today. Take a long shower, get something to eat. I’ll let Martha know to give you a double portion for dinner.”

You smiled faintly at her. This was how it was here. All the wolves had seen terrible things and probably done even worse. They all chose to let it out in training and then leave it behind them. No sense in holding on. You nodded.

“Thanks, Lee. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

The brunette grinned and patted your thigh.

“6 am sharp!” She jumped out of the car and gave back the keys at the checkpoint, then she vanished inside the stadium.

You stayed in your seat. Your fingers had cramped up and you were scared to unfold them, scared you would never be able to stop them from shaking again.

Sierra had held your hand all the way, not letting go as you dragged her through the darkness, fought off four infected, stumbled up stairs you had not come down on, and found yourself in a ravaged theater. You had run all night and only stopped when you were unable to go a single step further. When you had found a small pawnshop that you could lock up safely, you had made a bed of your jacket and a moth-eaten blanket from the theater. Sierra had started to cry. You would never forget the way dread had started to creep into your limbs, seeping into your skin and stretching dark tendrils toward your throat. You had rolled up Sierra’s sleeve and there it was. A relatively small mark, just the puncture wounds from two teeth turned into mean scratches as Sierra had pulled her arm from the jaws of a clicker and kept on running. But it had already begun to fester, the edges of the wound an angry red contrasting the white blisters forming around the site. It felt like the ground had been pulled from below your feet. You fell and fell, unable to speak, to do anything, just staring at the thing that meant the end of the world. The end of your baby sister.

A shout caught your attention - another car had returned to the stadium and was pulling into a spot a few paces away. It was Manny and Abby, everyone’s favorite duo. The attractive joker and the stoic warrior. They were among Leah’s best friends and she had introduced them to you a while ago, all of them welcoming you warmly. It had been strange, being part of a group again, a team. Your heart was still too sore.

So you had quietly pulled yourself out of most of the group evenings, the film nights and game nights and arm wrestling tournaments and what else there was to do. Manny had tried his luck flirting with you a few times and one time you had even joined him for a dance, but after realizing he wouldn’t land with you he had respectfully backed off and now treated you more like a little sister. Mel and Owen had been nice, too, both very secluded when they turned up together, but Owen was funny and enthusiastic and always yelled your name across the cafeteria or the training course when he saw you. He was one of the few people who could make you laugh no matter how hard you tried not to.

Nora was a whirlwind, the smartest person you had ever known and unfaltering no matter what the universe threw at her feet. She liked poetry and hard rock music, big men and even bigger women. You had often wondered whether she and Abby had ever hooked up. But you weren’t sure of anything concerning Abby. Always the stony face, the impenetrable wall, the arms-length smile and polite nod in the hallway. It could be infuriating at times. Especially because despite it all, against all your better judgment, you could feel yourself growing more and more interested in her, constantly looking for her in a crowd and sneaking side glances to see if she was listening to you or laughing at the same things.

The car doors banged and the sound echoed through the small space. Manny was laughing about something Abby had said and walked with a bounce in his step as he approached the counter to hand back his keys. Abby looked like she always did, khaki cargo pants and a black cutoff, her green backpack slung over one muscular shoulder. Some strands of hair had escaped her braid and curled up at the back of her neck, slightly damp from her sweat in the hot summer air. Trying to calm down and distract yourself, you let your gaze wander up her strong build, freckled biceps flexing as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. And then she looked straight at you. You didn’t move, stayed frozen as you had for the last few minutes, wishing you were invisible.

Your face felt hot and suddenly there were tears blurring your vision - what was happening?! Your knees started shaking as well, bouncing uncontrollably as your nails dug into the backs of your hands. Your throat was closing up and your bottom lip was quivering. All you saw were specks of grey and green, all you felt was your body resisting every command and rebelling against you, trying to hold you in place and suffocate you silently.

Suddenly the door opened beside you and a soft, deep voice said your name. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision wouldn’t clear up, panic blinding you further. You began shaking your head as your chest convulsed in a desperate attempt to draw breath.

“Fuck, Y/N, okay.” Abby’s voice was determined and suddenly her hands were on your wrists. Her skin was warm and dry, her grip firm. She softly shook your clasped hands and somehow moved so her face was in front of yours, a mess of green and brown and there, soft pink where her lips moved, speaking quietly and telling you to breathe with her. One hand stayed on your wrist and her thumb massaged the cramped up muscle there, digging painfully into your flesh but pulling you back to her slowly. One hand came up closer and a calloused thumb brushed the tears from your cheek before her hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing into your upper back.

“Hey, look at me, look at me, Y/N, you’re okay, I’m here. Can you try to breathe in with me on three? Just stop fighting for a moment, count with me and then we’ll breathe in together. Okay? One.”

You tried to sit up straighter and stop the erratic twitching of your chest, still choking on your breath as you waited for her commando.

“Two. Three.”

Her hand pressed between your shoulders from behind and suddenly you could breathe again, a loud gasp that turned into quiet sobs as you fought to release the air from your lungs before breathing in again.

“There we go, you’re doing so good,” Abby’s hand was on your cheek again, “so good, Y/N, breathe with me, that’s right.”

Your vision slowly returned to you now, though it was still distorted by tears. Abby had half-climbed into the truck, one foot between yours and one dangling out of the open door, her weight held up only by her right leg as she pressed her back against the dashboard. A wet laugh escaped you. Abby shot you a confused look, paired with the hint of a relieved smile.

“What?”

“You’re gonna get a cramp as well,” you rasped, “if you keep that up.”

You slid further to the inside of the broad seat, making room for Abby next to you. She grinned and sat down, one hand still on your wrist. Her eyes went down to your trembling hands, your knuckles still white from your iron grip.

“Okay, let’s take care of your hands, hm?”

Her fingers wandered softly over yours, then she rested one hand over your tangled fingers and pushed her other thumb between your palms, gently loosening your hold. She pulled back each finger slowly, starting with your thumbs and stroking each one as they relaxed. Finally, your shaking hands lay freely on your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, don’t worry.” She took one of your hands in her lap and started massaging the inside of your palm. “Wanna tell me what got you there?”

You sighed, breath still shaky with tears.

“Um.. We ran into infected today. Runners. Families, it seemed.”

Abby sucked in a breath and gave you back your hand before taking the other and starting the same gentle procedure.

“Those are the hardest. Kids?”

You nodded and Abby made a soft noise. You took another rattling breath.

“I… I lost my little sister. Back when… before I came to you.”

Her head shot up and she stared at you, shock and sympathy playing over her features.

“Fuck, Y/N, you never said…”

“I know.” You lowered your head.

When you had stumbled out of the woods around the WLF stadium and begged them to let you in, they had stripped you and searched you before bringing you to their leader. After hours of questioning to make sure you weren’t a spy for any other group, he knew about your team and everything you had done in the last three years, but you hadn’t mentioned Sierra once. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. They had brought you to Nora who had patched you up, examined you, and fed you before showing you to your new room. It was a small closet on the base level of the stadium, with only a tiny window letting in some light. You were thankful for a roof over your head and the armed posts surrounding the stadium.

“I didn’t want to talk about her. I didn’t lie to Isaac or betray you. It wasn't anyone's business.” You gave Abby a fierce look. Nothing would change your mind about this. She just nodded, her eyes wide. You sighed, brushing your hands against each other.

“She was bitten. I see her every time I close my eyes. It wasn’t fair.” You dropped your hands into your lap. “I just don’t… I can’t -”

Abby’s hand was on yours again, her fingers sliding between yours.

“Hey. I won’t tell anyone. But I’m here, okay? If you want to talk.”

You scoffed.

“No one ever talks here. You’re all made of stone.”

Abby contemplated this for a few seconds, then she squeezed your hand.

“My dad was murdered a few years ago. Almost all of our families are dead.” Now it was your turn to be shocked. Fuck. You had been so insensitive. “By us, I mean Owen, Nora, Jordan, and me. Owen lost his parents to infected and his brothers to the scars just last year.”

Abby leaned back and stared out of the windshield, the garage now dark except for a few small lamps at the exits.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Of course, I’m in no place to tell you how to deal with it.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, you know. We don’t talk about those things.” She looked at you, her gaze so intense you almost pulled back. “Would you like to?”

You forced yourself to hold her gaze.

“I think I would. Now that it’s all… further away.”

Abby nodded, squeezing your hand again.

“Then we’ll talk. You can tell me all about your sister. And… I haven’t talked about my dad in a long time. I think I’d like to tell you about him, too. He was great.”

A small smile played around her lips and you felt a rush of gratitude for this wonderful woman. You could practically see the memories playing through her head behind those green eyes. She blinked, looking back at you.

“Wanna get something to eat? You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Sure.” You shared another smile and exited the car together, fingers still intertwined as you crossed the lot and Abby held the door open for you.

Dinner was already over, but Leah had kept her word and the elder woman at the counter gave you both gigantic bowls of beef stew with thick, coarse bread. You told Abby about your patrol that day and she hummed sympathetically. She knew what it felt like to deal with infected children. After a while, the door to the cafeteria flew open and Manny came in, sleek black hair still wet from a shower. He grinned brightly as he made his way over to you and sat next to you on the metal bench.

“You coming along tonight?” he asked you, drumming his fingers on the table. You raised your eyebrows.

“What’s happening tonight?”

He tutted at Abby and gave her a theatrical frown.

“You didn’t invite Y/N? It’s Mel’s birthday! Owen got his hands on some prime hooch. You celebrating with us?”

You smiled at your plate. The last thing you needed was to get wasted and completely lose any shred of sanity you had left.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll join you. I still haven’t showered and I had a terrible day. I’m just gonna read a bit and pass out, I think.” You gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Read and pass out? It’s a special occasion! You sure?”

“Yeah, but really, thank you for inviting me. Maybe next time.”

He sighed heavily, then he clapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Abby, you need to get moving, girl. We’re meeting in 20 and you stink.”

Abby just raised her eyebrows and shook her head, finishing her stew. Manny's laughter echoed through the empty room as he left.

“Do I really smell that bad?” There was a twinkle in her eye, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. You smiled back.

“Not at all. He probably smelled me.” You grabbed her empty bowl and placed it in yours. “Go have fun, I’ll clean this up. See you at training.”

Abby cocked her head to the side, seemingly not sure what to do. You gave her another encouraging smile.

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you for taking care of me, I owe you. Go celebrate!”

The tall blonde stood up slowly. She still seemed hesitant.

“I’ll come check on you later if that’s okay. And you can always come over and talk to me if something’s wrong, alright?”

Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, but not in the way it had earlier. It was the feeling of reaching for something knowing you’d never have it, of wanting something so bad and only being able to admire it from a distance. It felt like being homesick. You thought of Sierra again and how she had been your home, the only anchor in your life. Fuck, not now.

You shook your head as if to get rid of your thoughts and gave Abby a brave smile.

“Okay. But I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

Abby gave you a last look over her shoulder before exiting the cafeteria and you made your way over to the kitchen. The cooks had already left and a lanky red-haired boy was the only one still there, washing dishes and listening to music on an mp3 player. The metallic sound in his headphones echoed through the peacefully quiet kitchen. He almost jumped two feet into the air when you approached from the side, bowls in your hand.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me! Jesus Christ.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest, the suds leaving a dark print on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how not to scare you, music and all. Sorry.” Both of you had to laugh and he held his dripping hands out for your dirty bowls.

“Don’t worry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone this late. You just come back from a mission?”

“Just a patrol run.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him clean the dishes.

“Anything exciting happen?” His eyes were bright and excited. He was even younger than he had looked at first, he couldn’t be older than 15. “My brother is on patrols too. Maybe you know him, his name is Danny.”

You crossed your arms and tried to remember the face that matched that name. Danny had been on patrol with Owen for a while when you had first arrived, but now he was stationed on some outpost and you hadn’t seen him for a long time.

“Yeah, I think I do. He’s not here at the moment, right?”

“He’s at the Serevena Hotel. I may be able to visit him there soon, depending on how my training goes.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Training to be a soldier?”

“Of course.” He stood up straight. “I want to do my part, protect our people. Fight the scars.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. Even though you were thankful the WLF had taken you in and even though you had also participated in rigorous training from the first day on, soon being cleared for missions, you didn’t really have the same loyalty and faith for the organization. The seraphites were your enemies now, of course, but they were just people. You all were. Sometimes you wondered how it could have come to this - so few people left on this earth and here you were, slaughtering each other.

“I hope you can visit your brother soon.” You let your arms fall to the side and turned to leave. “Thanks for the dishes.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, putting his headphones back in.

You were in no rush to get to your room and so you took a few detours, passing the gym which was filled with quite a lot of people getting their training in after work. You looked into empty classrooms, trying to decipher what was written on the board. Would Sierra have studied here? Sat in the front, eager to learn the things you hadn’t been able to teach her? What if you had come here earlier, before it all happened? Could they have protected her better than you had? She would probably be walking next to you now, telling you about her day.

When you finally arrived at your room, you just quickly grabbed a towel, a clean shirt, and some shorts and headed for the showers. The hot water seemed to help somewhat. You wondered what Abby was up to right now. Probably getting drunk and having fun. Was she the type of person who danced? You had never seen her dance before. Maybe Nora would persuade her. There it was again, that heavy, pulling feeling. You turned the water off, got dressed, and went straight to bed. Enough heartache for one day.

You woke up confused, not knowing where you were at first. It was pitch black and there was some kind of noise outside. You reached around you and finally found the flashlight next to your pillow, turning it on and trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes. What was going on?

It had to be after midnight. The lights in the stadium were only on from 5.30 am to 10 pm in order to save power. You untangled yourself from your sheets and got on your feet, swaying a little. There it was again, that strange scratching noise accompanied by a quiet mumbling sound. It wasn’t directly at your door but seemed to come from further down the corridor. There were a few other people living down here in storerooms and sectioned hallways.

Yawning, you walked to the door and opened it ever so slightly, pressing the flashlight to your thigh in order to keep the light down at first. You couldn’t see anything, so you waved the flashlight around the corridor. Your stomach dropped.

At the far end of the hallway, a small figure stood in front of one of the doors, trying to open it to no avail. Small hands scratched at the wood, quiet brabbling reached your ears. This was wrong. Very wrong. The figure hadn’t noticed the light yet. It went on to the next door, trying the door handle and whining in frustration when it didn’t open.

Why didn’t the people inside wake up from the noise? You stood frozen as the figure tried the next door. It was a child, dressed in dotted pyjamas. Its blonde hair was shoulder length and tangled in knots. You slowly pushed your door open wider in order to step out into the corridor. Suddenly, the hinges squeaked and the sound echoed through the hallway.

The child slowly turned toward you. Blood was dripping from its mouth, its eyes were cold. It took a step toward you. You looked down and realized you were holding a gun. Oh. Right. Infected. You were supposed to shoot them.

As the kid made another strange brabbling sound, more blood ran down the front of the cotton pyjama shirt. You raised the flashlight with shaky fingers and aimed it right at the child's face.

Your blood froze in your veins. No. This couldn’t be. You had taken care of her, you had made sure she wouldn’t… wouldn’t turn into one of these… No, you had given her a peaceful ending.

“Sierra.” Your voice was raspy, quiet with terror. “Sierra, what are you doing here, baby?”

She growled. A horribly wrong sound, coming from someone so small and so lovely. Only she wasn’t lovely anymore. She was sick. Infected.

“Sierra!” You spoke louder now, your voice pleading. “Baby, please don’t do that. It’s me, see?” You raised the flashlight to light your own face for a moment. When you put it back on her, she had stopped walking. Her face was a mask of ice-cold fury. When she spoke, her voice rattled like nails in a metal box, rough like chalk on board.

“Y/N… Why?

You sank to your knees.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry Siri, I was so helpless. I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“You… killed… me.”

She was getting dangerously close now and all of a sudden you could smell her, too. Foul, dead, vile. The smell of sickness and decay. You raised the gun, a war raging between your head and your heart.

“Sierra, stop. Stop.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop, Siri. Don’t come any closer. Stop, stop! Please stop!”

Your little baby sister was so close that you could have reached out a hand and brushed through her hair. You stood up and took a step back.

“I’m gonna have to shoot you if you don’t step back. You’re infected, Siri. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you can’t, please Sierra. Don’t, please don’t…”

She hissed at you and lurched forward. A shot rang through the air and the girl fell to the floor right before you, her tiny body at your feet, blood slowly pooling around her head. You dropped the gun and it clattered on the concrete floor. You clapped your hands to your mouth and screamed into your palms, crying out again and again, trying to gasp for air. It felt like your heart was being torn in two.

Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around, but there was only darkness. You let yourself fall to the floor and kept weeping into your hands. Someone gripped your wrists and shook them slightly. You opened your eyes.

Abby was sitting on the side of your bed, her face right above yours and full of worry. You shook your head, frantically looking around your room for any kind of danger. The room was almost dark, light just seeping through the crack under the door. It was still early in the night.

“Y/N? Hey, hey. You’re okay.” Abby slowly let go of your wrists. “You had a nightmare. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

You were still too terrified to speak, so you just scooted further to the side and grabbed Abby’s hand, giving her a pleading look. She understood immediately, kicking off her shoes and climbing into bed next to you, holding out her arm for you to crawl into. You pressed yourself to her side and rested your head on her chest, feeling yourself tremble in her arms. She just held you for a while, letting you listen to her heartbeat until your own body began to calm down.

“Hi,” you whispered into the dim room. Abby stroked your hair while she held you tightly.

“Hey there,” she mumbled back. “Feeling better?”

“Not really.” You looked up at her. She smelled faintly of alcohol and something sweet. “How was your party?”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“It was absolute chaos. I had to escape from there before it could consume me. And I also had someone to check on.” She squeezed your shoulder. You cringed at the thought of her finding you like this, writhing and talking in your sleep, crying out or even fighting her without knowing who was in front of you. You had always had horrible nightmares and Sierra had taken the brunt of them, waking you countless nights and trying to stay brave when you yelled at her or shoved her away in the first moments of consciousness, not yet fully back in the real world. Now that she was gone, they were a hundred times worse. You pressed your forehead to Abby’s shoulder.

“Did I scream?”

“Not really. I just knocked a few times and then I heard you talking, and you sounded so panicked that I thought I should make sure… I’m sorry I just came in like that.”

You shook your head.

“No, don’t. Thank you for waking me. It was… God, I hate this.”

Abby’s fingers combed through your hair, massaging your scalp. It was heavenly.

“Does this happen a lot?”

You snorted involuntarily.

“Every night. Several times. I never sleep through and I never sleep enough.” You wiped a hand over your face. “Sorry, I know I’m not the only one and it could be worse. It’s just… hard.”

“Excuse me?” Abby’s tone made you look up at her. “You’re telling me you have several panic attacks in your sleep every night but it’s fine because others have nightmares, too?”

You frowned. Panic attacks? You’d never thought of it that way.

“Y/N, you’re allowed to complain. To me especially. Remember, we wanted to talk about our problems? Be open about all this?”

She was right. You pressed yourself closer to her.

“I guess, yeah. Thank you for… for being here.”

“Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

You held onto Abby’s shirt, clenching the fabric in your fist as if she might be ripped from you at any moment.

“I don’t know… I mean, why not. Well…” How were you even supposed to explain all this? How would you ever talk about your sister without freaking out again?

Abby pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you felt the tension in your stomach dissolve. You took a deep breath.

“I can never tell I’m dreaming. This time I thought I heard something in the corridor and I went to see what it was. A little girl was scratching on doors, trying to get in. She looked like the… like one of the infected we ran into today. But I made a noise and when she turned around she was... She was -” You gasped for air, trying to keep your calm. Abby hummed softly, stroking your back and giving you time to think.

“She had the face of my sister. Sierra.” You hadn’t said her name out loud in so long, only in the nightmares. Maybe it was time to rid her name of that terror, that fear, and grant it the love and warmth it deserved. “Sierra was my little sister. We ran with a group the last few years, stayed with them after our mom died. But she was bitten and I had to… I had to let her go.” You swallowed hard. Abby’s thumb drew circles on your back.

“So in the dream… the girl turned around and she was her . And I didn’t know what to do. I begged her to stop, to not come any closer because she was infected, she was bleeding, and -” You drew in another breath and buried your face in Abby’s chest. “She asked me why I’d done it, why I had… and she kept coming and then she attacked me and I - I had to, I had to shoot her.”

Hot tears were burning in your eyes and your throat was impossibly tight again. Abby gently placed a hand on your cheek and turned your face up toward her.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was just a dream because I know it's more complicated than that. I get them, too, sometimes. But what I can tell you is that I’m here, that you’re safe now, that your sister is in a better place and that one day you will be able to speak about her without feeling like you’re falling apart.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. And now you're with me. We can heal together. I’m here, I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You raised your head from her chest and turned a little in order to get face to face with her.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this? Why now? I didn’t even think you liked me. You don’t have to take care of me.”

Abby’s features softened and she huffed out a silent laugh.

“I don’t know. I really… You were right when you said we keep everything to ourselves. But some of us do it more than others. And I guess I’m the worst when it comes to showing what I want.”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Abby took a deep breath.

“I like you, I really do. I just thought you needed more time. I know what it’s like to suffer and to feel like you can’t breathe. I wanted to give you space. But then I saw you in the car and I immediately knew what was happening. And I finally realized that I wouldn’t make things better by staying away.”

She held your gaze and you felt something shift between you. Her hand on your back came to a halt. You smiled softly.

“I always thought you didn’t find me interesting enough to talk to me. I was so jealous of the others for being this close to you and for making you laugh. I wanted that, too.”

“You’re the most interesting person that’s ever walked into this stadium,” Abby said softly. “God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel left out.”

You rested your head back on her shoulder.

“You made it up to me already. Really, you saved me today. Twice.”

Abby chuckled.

“Just wait until I have my next breakdown and then you can return the favor. Shouldn’t be long, they get to me every few days.”

You wrapped your arms around her torso.

“Well, then you’ll just have to stay close by.”

She hesitated, holding her breath for a second. You waited.

“Do you want me to stay? Tonight?”

You smiled to yourself.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

You kept talking for a while. Abby told you about the party and about the cook Nora was currently hooking up with, and you told her about the boy in the kitchen. She recalled training with Danny when she first joined the WLF, laughing about how he had boasted that he wouldn’t lose to a girl and how she had him on the ground in a headlock in about two seconds.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were in the truck again, sitting in the passenger seat as the car flew through Seattle at top speed. You looked over and in the driver's seat there was the red-haired boy from the kitchen. His face was determined, a hard mask of concentration. He was panting hard, driving as fast as he could. Arrows were flying around you, soaring through the broken windows of the car and missing you by mere inches. A horse was whinnying. Scars. You immediately pulled out your gun and started shooting at everything that moved outside, hitting at least three people and a horse.

“Sorry,” you whispered as you reloaded. Animals weren’t fair.

You looked up and suddenly there was someone standing in the middle of the street. A small girl, brown-haired and in a red dress. Her back was to you. You screamed at the driver, but it was too late. The truck hit the child and it was thrown against the windshield, making a horrible noise as it cracked the glass and rolled over the roof to the back of the car where it fell to the ground. The truck came to a shrieking halt and you jumped out, gun drawn. The scars had vanished. You and the redhead ran back to where the girl was laying in a heap on the street, so small and fragile. Blood was running through the cracks in the pavement.

You turned the girl on her back and froze when you saw her face.

“Sierra! No, no, no, oh god no, what have we done - Sierra, Sierra, baby, look at me!”

“Y/N!” You heard your name but Sierra’s lips weren’t moving. “Y/N!” You whipped your head around and woke up.

It was dark and Abby had an arm wrapped around you, the other was holding your cheek. You swallowed and struggled for air.

“I’ve got you, hey, just breathe for me, I’ve got you.” Abby’s voice was sleepy and rough, something you'd have never thought you’d have the privilege of hearing. It calmed you down instantly. You dug your fingers into her arm, strong muscle flexing beneath your touch.

“Shhh, that’s right, just hold on. You’re okay.” You melted into her arms, hands and legs still shaking. She made a quiet humming noise in the back of her throat and pressed another kiss to your scalp. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” you whispered and she hummed again in response. You rested your head against her chest and listened to her breaths as they slowly became more regular, chest steadily moving against you. Her heartbeat thumped softly in your ear. Cocooned in the wolf’s arms and serenaded by the quiet symphony of her sleeping body, you finally drifted off to sleep again.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby anderson fic #fanfiction #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst/comfort #angst/fluff #manny tlou #wlf #washington liberation front #abby anderson / reader #abby/reader

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starshine583 · 3 years

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New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself.

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that.

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys.

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present.

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!”

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed.

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel.

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing.

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?”

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.”

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance.

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch.

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were.

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?”

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars).

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside.

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.”

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking.

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person.

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien,

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!”

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her?

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

#felinette #Felix Culpa #Marinette #New Girl on the Block #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids

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