#he's brought balance to the force and finds tranquility in the end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redahlia-writes · 2 years

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watching the world from the sidelines. | din djarin x f!reader

Abstract: An almost Jedi and a no longer Mandalorian - two people whose life had been dedicated to fighting, suddenly finding solace in the tranquility they brought to each other’s life. Quite the pair you made.

Words: 5.7K

Warnings: MINORS DNI, reader was a jedi, possible lore inaccuracies, vague mention of wounds, a disgusting amount of softness, helmet? what helmet, inappropriate use of the force/misuse of the force, smut (body worship, oral, unprotected sex, cockwarming), unedited - heavy descriptions

A/N: this was not what i had planned when i thought of this fic. it was supposed to be way quicker and overall just an improper use of the force - then i got into my feels a lil bit and this is what happened. i have a weakness for soft!din. vaguely inspired by sidelines by phoebe bridgers

also on AO3 - masterlist

What you were doing was, according to the Jedi Code, dangerous. Irresponsible.

Good thing, you thought, the Jedis were no longer.

You could almost hear the voice of your former master, telling you the risks you were taking were too many, too big. He would scold you for your behavior, for your daring.

But you were a good teacher.

And the Mandalorian had come to you. He’d asked for your help. He’d offered to pay handsomely for his child to learn how to properly harness his power without forgoing himself.

And, truly, you’d grown fond of the little one. He’d brought a new vitality to your home, to your life, the sound of his laughter and the humming of his power growing familiar as days, weeks, months went by.

The agreement was that Grogu would stay with you while his father went where the next job took him, only to come back with his credits and the burning desire to be with the kid. In the beginning, he spent his spare time with him, either taking him away for a few hours, a few days, vanishing on his Starfighter with a polite nod - you never knew if he stayed on Lah’mu or brought the child somewhere else. Oftentimes he would be back before night came, and you’d have a room ready for each of them.

It was an odd arrangement, a co-parenting of sorts, though you never referred to Grogu as anything more than a pupil out loud - no matter the affection you had for him, the knickknacks you’d add to his room while he was away only to relish in the delight on his face, the time you learned to spend preparing meals for him and his father.

Leaving your former life behind, the Jedi way, meant that you’d found yourself losing what you craved the most: attachments. Communion. People. Your refusal of leading a truly solitary life, free of connections, free of ties, was the reason why you’d never become a Jedi in name, why the Council had turned its back on you.

It would’ve been so easy to fall into the darkness then, when you’d lost everything your life had been for, when you’d even left your home - but somehow, you’d remained balanced, in spite of the times you’d been called a hothead, a troublemaker, a waste of your talents.

For a while, you’d nonetheless been alone, unable to trust, unable to come out of the fortress built around you on fertile land and a mountain giving you shade.

Then the Mandalorian had arrived. You remembered the day so clearly.

—

He’d landed a field away from your house - he couldn’t see it from up above, hidden away for your own protection. With Grogu’s pram following behind, the child tired from the trip, Din made his way ahead, wary of his surroundings.

Still, he didn’t see you coming, didn’t hear you until you had a weapon pointed right at him, forcing him to stillness.

“Don’t take another step,” he lifted his hands in surrender as the blue blade grazed the bottom of his helmet, heat rising up underneath his visor. “Who are you, and how did you find me?”

He didn’t know then that you were scared, both of what remained of the Jedis and of the Empire. He didn’t know all you wanted was to be at peace, and were ready to do anything to maintain it. It was, after all, the reason you’d ended up isolating yourself.

“I didn’t find you - he did,” your gaze followed his hand towards the floating sphere behind him. You eyed it with a little frown, eyes moving from him to the off-white surface of the pram. “My name is Din Djarin,” you returned your gaze to him. “Are you a Jedi?” the words seemed to ricochet like a slap across your cheek, eyes flashing dangerously as you backed away, lightsaber still lifted.

“There are no Jedis here, Mandalorian, you’re wasting your time,” you started stepping away from him furthermore, grip tightening around the hilt of the lightsaber. “Go away.”

“Wait,” he called, taking a step in your direction - only to be met with a solid, invisible wall. He lifted his hands, resting them against the obstacle as he tilted his head just a little. “Please, he brought us here. I can’t help him with what he needs.” “What makes you think I can?” he straightened his head, tapping gently against the barrier. “Okay - what makes you think I will?”

As if on cue, the dome of the pram opened, revealing the big, sleepy eyes of the child - he yawned, ears twitched as he picked in the foreign surroundings and then you, your weapon still up towards the Mandalorian, your curious gaze on him.

Din looked at the two of you, the way Grogu’s head tilted and he cooed softly, a greeting all of his own. Ever so slowly, the barrier gave way under his hands, and the lightsaber retreated.

“Alright,” you said at last, hanging the weapon to your belt. “But the saber you have with you - that won’t come into my house.”

Underneath the helmet, Mando frowned. “I have other weapons,” he pointed out, and you gave him a pointed look. “I know,” you retorted, turning on your heels and marching on. Grogu hopped off his pram and scurried along you, darting in between Din’s legs. “That doesn’t mean you’d be able to use them against me.”

—

That had been six months prior.

You’d fallen into an easy routine with Grogu’s teachings (he could be easily bribed into learning with treats and trinkets), and you’d grown used to Din’s presence more and more. It seemed to you the more time passed, the more prolonged his stays became.

You welcomed him each time - it was easy for him to slip into a sort of familiarity, of ease.

“He’s asleep?” you wondered as he reached your side by the fire - it was such a lovely night outside, it had felt like a pity to have dinner behind closed doors.

The child had ran after fireflies until he was spent, toddling towards his father’s legs, arms lifted to be picked up. Din had obliged with a benign smile - he looked pretty in the firelight, his helmet aside, the shine of his armor still covering the rest of his body reflecting the flames across the planes of his skin. You knew better than to entertain the thought for too long.

“Didn’t even make it to the living room before he was snoring,” he replied, chuckling lightly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re working him too hard.”

You liked it more when he was relaxed enough to tease, make a joke, the soft smile bending his lips appearing warmer each time you looked at him. Perhaps it was just you who grew warm at his side, a welcomed burning in the pit of your stomach whenever you met his dark, gentle eyes.

“I could never,” you gasped in mock offense, resting a hand on your chest. In response, Din laughed, eyes crinkling. You softened a little by his side, chin tipped up towards him to take in the brightness of his expression. “He’s doing really well - he would’ve been top of his class back at the Temple.”

“They convinced you to work with cookies there, too?” it was your turn to laugh, shaking your head. Din adored when you laughed like that, your teeth showing and your head slightly tilted back, eyes closed. He had the suspicion you hadn’t done that in a while, too worried guarding yourself. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Have I made the right decision?” you frowned lightly, turning cross-legged to look up at him with an unasked question in your gaze. Din sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Wanting him with me rather than following Skywalker’s teachings. And then looking for you.”

“I can’t answer that for you, Din,” you told him softly, reaching up to rest your hand on his knee. His gaze fell to where your bodies touched and, self-consciously, you curled back your fingers with a sigh. “But Grogu was willing to renounce his abilities to be with you - he loves you very much.”

His eyes were still on your hand as he tugged onto his gloves a little, the movement going almost undetected by you. He shifted in his seat then, clearing his throat and returning his gaze to your face.

“What about you?” for just a moment, the breath caught in your throat. “Why aren’t you a Jedi?” “It’s…” you hesitated. “It’s a solitary life, no matter how you look at it. A life dedicated to fighting, nothing - no one else,” you shrugged lightly, looking down at your reflection in his armor for a moment, then away. “Something I wasn’t really ready to commit to.”

“But you’ve lived alone for - what, years?” he asked, perplexed.

“Yes - the irony, am I right?” you chuckled almost humorlessly, then chewed on your lip for an instant. “I don’t think I realized how truly alone I was until the two of you came along. It reminded me why I left.” “Why’s that?” he was genuinely curious. For all the time spent thinking about it, you’d never imagined someone else would want to know.

“Family,” you admitted, voice low. “Someone to take care of, and who’d take care of me - the way you do for each other,” you looked back up at him, only to find him already looking at you, that curiosity in his eyes you knew he’d never learned to conceal underneath his helmet.

“Do you see yourself having one of your own?”

Yes. No. I don’t know, I never dared to think about it out here on my own.

“Maybe,” you shrugged again, chewing on the soft flesh of your cheek. “I don’t know. But at least I didn’t renounce the idea,” he shifted in his seat again. “Din -” you started.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, and by the way your eyebrows arched he knew he hadn’t convinced you. It baffled him how easily you’d learned to read him, even long before he took off his helmet in front of you.

He wondered if it had anything to do with the Force.

“Did you injure yourself again?” you sighed, shifting closer. “I’m fine, it’s just -” he hesitated, not wanting to meet your gaze. “I can’t always control the Darksaber.”

“Show me,” he went to protest, but your hand rested on his knee again, stopping the words in his throat. “Show me,” you repeated, a little firmer.

Din sighed - he knew how stubborn you could get, had seen it in the way you held your ground during Grogu’s training. So he undid the fastening of the armor, taking off the piece that covered his left arm and the injury he sported on his forearm, covered by the shirt. You took off his glove before he could, carefully rolling his sleeve up.

“It’s not even that bad, I’ve had worse - I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he admitted. You reached out with your hand, not touching him, but the wound started mending itself together - he’d seen you do it other times, on yourself or on him, even on Grogu once. Still, it never ceased to amaze him.

“This is what you’re doing wrong,” you said softly, offering him a smile. “It can feel your doubts, it knows not to respond because you feel like it doesn’t belong to you,” he scoffed lightly. “If you trust your blade, it’ll trust you. It’s how these things work.”

“Even the Force?” he wondered, leaning unconsciously in your direction. “Especially the Force,” you nodded, gaze wandering across his face once more. He felt the curls on his forehead shift lightly, like a gust of wind ruffling it in spite of the stillness of the air. “The Darksaber - you can see it. You feel its weight, its shape. The Force - you can feel it, but you can’t hold it. It’s not tangible, you just have to trust it.”

“Don’t you ever doubt it?” the air moved across his cheek, and he felt himself leaning towards it. Your smile grew, wide enough it brightened your whole face, and Din took a shuddering breath in - Maker, when had he started wanting to kiss you so badly it physically ached him to restrain himself?

“How could I?” you shook your head lightly, rubbing the palm of your left hand with your right thumb, a self-soothing of sorts. “I can feel it everywhere, in everything and everyone - it’s the one thing I never doubted.”

“Can you -” he hesitated, his eyes moving towards the fire, towards the house, anywhere to avoid the weight of your own. “I mean I’ve seen you use it, and Grogu, but I’ve never -” “Close your eyes,” he turned his head to look at you as you shifted towards him, kneeling on the ground right in front of him, your back to the fire, neck craned back to look at him. He wanted to reach out, feel the warmth of your skin underneath his raring palms. “Trust me, Din.”

He wondered if you knew how deeply he trusted you already.

How he hadn’t felt the slightest sense of dread at the thought of leaving Grogu with you. While he was away, he missed his child - but he knew he was safe. Protected. When night came and he was alone, he wanted nothing more than to feel like that, too.

Going away had started becoming increasingly harder the more he thought about it.

He closed his eyes, shifting a little on his seat.

“Keep them closed,” you warned, a rustling of robes as you sat back on your heels. “I will, I will,” he said with a quiet, nervous laughter - then held his breath.

The feeling of your hand resting on his cheek had him tense slightly, warmth spreading across his face in the wake of your touch. It was a tingling sensation that moved to his other cheek as well, holding him as you brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones, ticklish and delicate.

Slowly, one hand reached behind his head, fingers buried between his curls - he leaned into your touch, lips parting involuntarily with a content sigh. The other hand moved down, across his throat, stopping right on the edge of his armor with a light pressure.

He wondered - if he reached out now, would he be able to hold you? You felt so close, he only ought to move his hand upwards, searching blindly for you.

“Open your eyes,” the whisper was distant, like it had been carried by the wind from the top of the mountain.

Din obliged, unable to remain still as he leaned forward and reached out to you - and grasped nothing but air. You were still kneeling in front of him, head slightly tilted as you looked at him, hands folded on your lap. The same hands he still felt gently brushing his hair, or above his chest.

Clenching his fists once, he brought one hand up to where it felt like his heart would leap out of his chest, trying to reach for something that wasn’t there - for you.

“It feels so real,” he murmured, and a little smile appeared on your face. Just like that, the pressure on his chest vanished, though it still felt like you were cupping the nape of his neck. “It is,” you moved, lifting from your half seated position to get closer to him. “It’s just a little bit different,” you shrugged, reaching then to touch his face.

His stubble scratched your palm gently as he nuzzled against it, turning his head just enough so that the corner of his lips was brushing your hand, eyes never leaving your face.

He had a peculiar look in his eyes, somehow both relaxed and watchful. He cupped his hand over yours, palm warm and hardened by the years of work, gently prying your hand away to expose your wrist.

He bowed his head, looking at you through his eyelashes as he kissed the tender flesh right above your pulse. There was reverence in his touch that had your stomach turning at the gentle pressure of his thumb in the center of your palm. His other hand, still gloved, wrapped around your waist.

Slowly, you rose to your feet, only to cross the small distance between the two of you, your other hand coming to rest on the side of his neck, thumb stroking his jaw and gently pushing his chin up so that you could still look at him. He gave a tentative smile that quickly vanished as you swept your thumb across his bottom lip, mouth parting with a stifled gasp.

The silence was broken only by the sound of your breaths, of the fire behind you, of the night creatures that wandered the distant fields and mountains. Wrapped in your small bubble, the rest of the Galaxy faded into nothingness.

Din said your name then, so hushed you could’ve missed it had you not been focused on him only - had you not been looking at the way his lips moved, felt it right under your touch.

“Can we go inside?” No one ever passed by, especially not so late at night - but the Mandalorian didn’t want anybody as witness. Not even the stars. He wanted it to be just the two of you.

So you took his hands in yours and led him inside the house, the fire smothered behind you without a second glance - any other time, he would’ve remained to watch it, but in that moment he just could turn his gaze from you. He let you guide him in the dark, careful steps to not trip nor risk waking the kid who slept on the other side of the house.

He’d never been in your room, and lingered for a moment at the door - it felt like stepping into a sanctum, your presence so utterly clear in every corner of the four walls. The whole house had a sense of being lived in - he’d noticed it the first time he’d stepped inside, with its books and mismatched pillows and no curtains to let the light in - but your room was familiar, the warmth he experienced by your side made into a space.

He brought one hand to your cheek as you turned to him, slowly tracing a half-moon across your cheek with his gloved knuckle. Your eyes fluttered shut, the touch so delicate it weakened your knees.

“Din,” a single sound, uttered breathlessly as you stepped closer - enough to make his resolve fail.

Your chin held between his index and thumb, he leaned in to press a kiss against your already parted lips. He kept it slow, each shuddering breath making his head spin as he felt himself melting into you, the sweet aftertaste of sunberry wine lingering in your mouth. It made you tremble against him, hands grasping at bits and pieces of his armor.

“Can I take this off?” your voice sounded distant from above the rushing of your heart, pulling your head just slightly back to meet his gaze. Pupils dilated and lips reddened, Din looked back at you. “I want to feel you,” you added, a mere whisper he responded to with a sharp inhale.

He nodded, a quick yes falling from his mouth. He could still see your hands resting on his chest as the fastenings of the armor started loosening around him, beskar sliding down his body. Unable to stop himself, he smiled.

When you kissed him again, armor cast aside, it was a little more urgent, ghost hands tracing the line of his spine up to the nape of his neck where your hands rested, drawing him closer. It caused him to moan softly into your mouth, squeezing your waist gently while backing you towards the bed.

Fingers buried in his hair, you slowly reached down his torso, stomach, past the waistband of his trousers. A surprised groan muffled against your lips when he felt you stroke him, causing his steps to falter.

“Maker,” he tensed a little, stopping himself from bucking his hips into you. “Sorry,” you mused, a wide smile spreading across your lips. “Couldn’t help myself,” you tilted your head a little, hand cupping his cheek as you left quick pecks across his jaw.

“Again,” he reached for the knot of your robe, tugging on it lightly. “Do it again, please.”

You did, still kissing his face and neck, stroking his half-hardened length once, twice, causing his eyes to flutter shut, soft mumbled praises leaving his mouth as he arched towards your touch.

“We can stop whenever you want, Din,” the reassurance had him lean into you almost fully, stepping further backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed. “I don’t want to stop,” his voice had lowered, a rasp in it as he regained his breath. “I want you.”

Agonizingly slow, he started undoing the knot of your robe, pausing only to tug off his glove. Your eyes remained on his face as he casted his gaze down towards your body - his lips slightly parted, long breaths in and out as, inch by inch of uncovered skin, he pushed the fabric down, taking you in.

Past your shoulder and down your arms, Din took his time brushing his fingertips across your skin, over old scars, then up across your collarbones, sternum, following the shape of your breasts from above your bra, your breath itching in response to his warm palms cupping you, only to keep on sliding downwards, over your stomach, abdomen, hips, your own hands holding firmly his shoulders to keep yourself upright.

“Cyarir,” he called, voice hoarse, rolling his hips at the ghost hands quickening strokes. “I really can’t focus with you doing that,” he bowed his head, brushing his lips across yours as you chuckled lightly, chest heaving as he toyed with the hem of your own trousers. You lifted your hands from his shoulders as if in surrender, only to let them fall at each side of his head, brushing his curls back. “Jat’ad.”

With one last kiss against your mouth, he dipped his head, nudging your chin up with his nose to kiss the column of your throat and, from there, make his way down across your chest. You almost succumbed underneath the warm trail of his kisses, but couldn’t find it in yourself to look away as Din sank to his knees in front of you, resting his forehead against your belly while helping you out of your trousers fully, hands wandering across the back of your thighs.

“Din,” his name chanted like a prayer as he opened your legs a little, leaning in to kiss your clothed core. The quiet hum of his response had your hand flying to his hair, holding yourself upright as he looked up at you.

Pulling just slightly back, he hooked his fingers to the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down your legs without moving his gaze from your face, caressing your slightly trembling legs on his way down. He cupped his hand around your ankle, gently lifting one of your legs up - it exposed you to him and the air, a shiver running down your spine.

You weren’t entirely sure how you were still standing, Din’s hand possibly the only thing keeping you from crumbling.

He leaned in again, leaving quick, gentle bites across your thigh draped over his shoulder, before placing a kiss against your folds. Your reaction was immediate, hips bucking to gain some friction as a strangled noise left your sealed lips.

“We can stop whenever you want, cyarir,” he repeated your words teasingly, kneading your thigh as he shifted closer. He wondered how far he could take it, just for a moment. “No,” it came out as a weak whine, fingers curling through his hair as he wet his lips. “I want to feel you,” you repeated - just like that, Din’s will crumbled.

Still holding you, he swept his tongue between your folds, slick gathering on his lips as you grinded against him, mouth falling open with a gasp. Tugging a little on his hair, you weren’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away. He dug his fingers into your thighs, keeping your legs apart as he drew small circles around the bundle of your clit.

Your mind went blank, crying out as you swayed while he picked up a slow, steady rhythm - you could feel his gaze on you, but were unable to open your own eyes.

He felt you reach down for him. With one hand still in his hair following the slight bobbing of his head, and the other resting on your thigh, fingers interlocked with his, it took him a moment to register the pressure against his growing erection, his hips shifting and rutting into the air with a groan.

“Don’t,” he breathed out, and the vibration of his voice made you tremble, legs kept still only by his hands. “Just let me take care of you.”

It was nearly enough to send you over the edge, squeezing his hand while he returned his mouth on you, a quicker pace you seconded by rolling your hips. It felt like he could read your mind, shifting rhythm, alternating between licking and sucking gently, holding you tighter whenever you felt like the floor was giving out underneath you.

Your orgasm built up quickly, thighs shaking around him as your breath grew shallower.

“Din,” you called, involuntarily tugging onto his hair a little harsher. He groaned in response, and you clenched around him, the tip of his nose nudging your clit. “Din, I’m not gonna last, I’m -” a choked sob left you, head thrown back.

“I’ve got you,” you almost didn’t hear him, the ringing in your ears growing as you climaxed, all but folding over him as he coaxed it all out of you. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, and helped you sit back on the bed behind you, your leg still on his shoulder, climbing after you.

He remained with his face buried in you a few more instants. When he moved his head up, his face glistened with your release. An unconscious groan left your throat at the sight, reaching for him - you weren’t sure whether with your actual hands or through the Force, grasping at the front of his shirt to pull him on top of you.

You kissed him, still out of breath - there was something decadent in tasting yourself on his mouth, your whole body responding to it by arching towards his touch. His hand, making its way slowly up from your thigh, your hip, your waist, gliding across the ribcage until he was cupping your still clothed breast.

“You’re overdressed,” you mumbled, tilting your head to hide in the crook of his neck, gasping softly at his touches. His shirt riding up his back, he could feel the delicate scratching of your nails across his skin. “So are you,” he retorted, and you snorted, pulling your head back to look at him.

“No, I’m not,” the hand not busy rolling up his shirt reached up for his face, cupping his cheek and running your thumb across his flushed skin. Lifting your torso a little, you helped him undo your bra, leaning back to bare yourself fully to him. His gaze wandered down across you once more, tongue darting between his swollen lips. “You’re pretty, Din.”

It caught him by surprise, words softly caressing his face as his eyes widened and he returned to look up at your face, an abrupt, bashful smile on his mouth. A smile he’d chosen to show you, over and over again during the previous months. You leaned in, a quick peck at the corner of his mouth before flipping the two of you over, straddling his lap.

Din’s hands flew to your hips, a strangled moan captured between sealed lips as he bucked underneath you. Head slightly tilted, you helped him out of his shirt, then slowly trailing your hands across his chest as you leaned in - mimicking him, you left a trail of burning kisses along his skin, agonizingly making your way down his stomach, your hands following short.

All the while, ghost hands palmed him, his trousers getting achingly tight the shorter his breaths got. He groaned when he felt the fabric sliding down his legs, kicking them off along with his underwear.

“Cyarir, please,” he looked down at you, your lips still latched to the skin of his torso, light lovebites following in your wake. He reached for you, hands wrapped around your wrists and tugging you back up over him. “Just need you,” he bit out, guiding you on him again.

Locked between your thighs, Din arched upwards to grind against you - his hardened length sliding between your folds, coating himself with your slick, causing you to close your eyes with a shudder. One hand left you to align himself, the tip of his cock pushing into you slowly.

He guided you down, stretching you out while his hands gently kneaded your sides, hushed whispers of encouragement lost through the bliss that had you hold your breath, muscles twitching.

When Din’s arm wrapped around you, holding you against him to ease you on your back, the shifting made you cry out his name once more, a supplication as you buried your head in the crook of his neck. He cursed under his breath as your legs locked around him, heels digging in the back of his thighs, spurring him on gently.

His first thrusts were slow, almost hesitant, hands pushed into the mattress to keep himself from weighing on you. Threading one hand through his hair, you tugged back on it slightly, turning your head to meet his eyes - a frown knitted his brow, and you reached up to smooth it down.

“I’m not going to break, Din,” you reassured him, lifting yourself a little to meet him halfway - the snap of your hips connecting had him moan audibly, mouth hanging open. He picked up his pace a little, steady and rhythmic as he moved almost all the way out of you and then back in. “That’s it,” you breathed out, head falling backwards and eyes fluttering shut. “Maker - that’s it, like that.”

The combination of your words and keening at each of his thrusts spurred him further - a little deeper, a little harder, your walls fluttering around him making his eyes roll to the back of his head.

You started trembling again underneath him, and he let his head fall forward, searching for a rough kiss. He faltered, stuttering thrusts as he let out a low whine, feeling you clench around him.

“So close, cyar’ika,” he breathed out, arms shaking a little under his weight. He called your name, reaching down to hold your hip as you arched against him once more. “So close.”

“I’ve got you,” his own words repeated as you brought your arms around his shoulders, one hand still buried in his hair to guide him down towards the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing the skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You wrapped yourself around him, legs locking behind him and arms holding him to your chest as he collapsed with a final sough, hips pushed flush against yours. He twitched inside you, gripping your side a little harder - there’d be marks the following day, but you found yourself not minding it one bit, too lost in the second wave of pleasure that hit you.

Din’s warm breath hit your damp skin as he exhaled, brushing his lips to your sternum at the culmination of his release, one last, lazy shift as he attempted to move from above and inside you. In response, you tightened your hold on him.

“Stay,” you hummed, stroking his curls back from his forehead. “Just a moment.” “I’ll crush you,” he retorted, idly caressing your side. “Stay,” you repeated, all but melting under him, into the bed, bringing his weight with you.

An almost Jedi and a no longer Mandalorian - two people whose life had been dedicated to fighting, suddenly finding solace in the tranquility they brought to each other’s life. Quite the pair you made.

“I was thinking about what you said,” he mumbled tiredly, the corner of his mouth caressing your skin. You hummed in acknowledgment, struggling to keep your eyes fully open while running your hand through Din’s hair. “You’ve been taking care of us for a while already, cyarir - let us take care of you. Let me do that,” he moved his head so that he could look at you as you forced your eyes open, a flush spreading across your face. He reached to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your bitten bottom lip swiftly, gently. “Let us be your family.”

You drew him closer, hand resting under his chin to tip his head back and kiss him, softly. He sighed into the kiss, lips parting as he shifted a little, the movement causing you both to whine as he slipped out of you.

“Ner kar’ta,” he murmured, moving until he was hovering over you again, arms braced at each side of your head - the mattress shifted with him. “Let me take care of you.”

“You already are,” your hands cupping his face, his stubble scratching your palms already all too familiar. “You don’t know how lonely I was before you arrived here - you have no idea how much your presence has helped me,” the softness in your gaze had him kneel down between your legs for extra support as you caressed along his cheek, the side of his neck, his shoulder, lifting your head to nuzzle the tip of your nose against his. “My wonderful, sweet boys.”

He felt it everywhere. Felt you. Hands and gentle kisses and soft words wrapped around him like a whole new armor, one he’d want to take with him everywhere he went, while never leaving your side.

Neither of you had ever had the possibility to express the feelings lingering in your heart out loud - neither of you had ever learned how. So when he kissed you again, you welcomed him in, over and over and over.

For the first time in years, it was easy to fall asleep and not feel regret about a life left behind - not when it had brought you in the arms of the man who held you like you were holy.

Like he was finally home.

1K notes · View notes

this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms · 3 years

Text

Lost || Lab Rats: Elite Force ||

Chase meets a girl at the city’s art museum who strikes up a conversation with him but he’s reluctant. After what happened with Reese and Rodissius, he’s completely lost his will to trust others, especially random strangers that approach him. Little did he know that the two of you share that same fear

Pairing: Chase Davenport x Reader

Warnings: None

Words: 2K

A/N: I give you… soft Chase? Sort of soft Chase? Anyways, I haven’t properly written in a year and this is what I come back with first… Did I do good? I like it, and it feels different from everything I’ve written before, like more genuine. Anyways, enjoy and I hope you all liked it!

Chase stood in the Centium Art Museum, in front of a Monet painting that he’s already seen dozens of times. He wasn’t quite looking at the painting though, more like lost in his thoughts. Thinking about the things he came here to escape from but they only followed.

He wasn’t typically the type of person to come to an art museum, leaning more towards science. But it was quiet here, a place where he could come and collect his thoughts in peace. Somewhere where he could escape from his teammates and their pestering about things he didn’t want to talk about. Here, he could let go of himself and not worry about a single thing for just a few hours.

Plus, he was discovering a new side of himself, one that did enjoy the spoils of art. He liked the creativity and the sense of tranquility art brought. It taught him how to let go and be someone else besides Chase Davenport, bionic hero. To be himself rather than what others wanted or expected him to be. What he expected himself to be.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” A voice said beside him, startling him out of his thoughts.

He turned his head to see a girl standing next to him, staring at the painting in front of. He tensed up just a bit, caution filling his being as he continued to look at the girl. She looked harmless, from her profile view he could see a delicate smile and gentle eyes. Nothing about her screamed threatening but that didn’t stop him from keeping his guard up.

The last girl he talked to also appeared non threatening and she ended up hurting him the most. So regardless of her appearance, he wasn’t about to let her or anything distract him. At least not like that, no, never again.

You tore your gaze away from the painting and turned your head to look at the boy. You noticed how he was just staring and your smile widened just a bit to show that you were friendly. He looked a little startled so perhaps you shouldn’t have snuck up on him.

“Sorry, I hadn’t meant to scare you. It’s not often I find someone admiring Monet’s work so deeply,” You told him.

“It’s fine, I just hadn’t noticed you there. But yes, his work is beautiful,” He replied, still weary.

“I’m {Name},” You introduced, turning full body to face him, hand outstretched in front of you.

He hesitated for a second before doing the same, softly grasping your hand in his and giving it a gentle shake. “Chase.”

“It’s nice to meet you Chase,” You replied.

You let your hand gently slip away from his before it fell behind your back. Your eyes casted downwards before shooting back up to meet his gaze, finding your heart beating a bit faster than usual. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, more than you had expected him to be.

“Likewise,” He said shortly.

You broke your gaze from his and turned to look back at the painting, one you’ve already looked at hundreds of times. But each time you did, it was like looking at if for the first time. And you always managed to find something new in it every time you came back.

“So may I ask what brings you here?” You asked.

He didn’t reply right away, he was unsure of what to say without being so revealing. He could just say he liked art and the quiet atmosphere, nothing there that could give him away.

“I like the art and it’s quiet enough to think without interruption,” He told you.

“I can agree with you there. I love coming here and just getting lost in the art,” You said.

He hummed out in response, once again unsure of what to say or do. He was still trying to figure out what your plans were with him. After all, he couldn’t fathom the idea of someone actually being interested in him. Many people have proven that to him, that no one could actually like him.

“Would you like to get coffee or something?” You asked, interrupting his train of thought once again.

He thought about if for a second, trying to decipher any hidden meaning behind your words. He couldn’t tell with your bright smile and even brighter eyes if there was any. Although maybe this way, keeping you close, he could figure out your intentions before you could reveal them.

“Sure, coffee sounds good,” He replied, noticing how you seemed surprised.

“Okay, great! I know a coffee shop nearby,” You told him.

Before he knew it, you had led him out of the museum and down the streets of Centium City. He could only follow behind and listen to you promise that this place was great. There was something about your tone of voice that pulled at his heart. The way your voice was so light and airy, and didn’t miss a beat to your words. It was cheerful and bubbly yet soothing and calming, a certain je ne sais quoi if you will.

Before he knew it, the two of you were sat at a table, waiting for your drinks to called out. The two of you sat in silence for a bit, sitting across each other. Chase had his hands folded neatly on the table, slightly twiddling with his thumbs as he wondered if he should speak up. You took it upon yourself as you looked at him and spoke up, same tone in your voice as before but softer now that the two of you were indoors.

“So, besides art, what are some other things you like?” You asked, interested in getting to know him.

He furrowed his eyebrows at your question, this felt like some sort of interrogation tactic. Or maybe it was just you genuinely interested in him. Could he allow himself to believe that? Well, regardless of what you were trying to do, he needed to be a step ahead and make it seem like you had the upper hand in this.

“Well, its all things you probably wouldn’t be interested in,” He replied.

“Oh? And why is that?” You asked, raising an an eyebrow in amusement.

“No offense or anything but most people, especially girls—women—aren’t interested in what i’m interested in,” He explained, leaning back in his seat and shifting in it a bit. His heart raced a bit as he thought of what an idiot he must’ve sounded and looked like right now.

“Mm, enlighten me, pretend I’m someone who is typically interested in that sort of stuff,” You said, giving him this smile that made his heart skip a beat.

He leaned forward again, your words piquing his interest and his guard dropping a bit. “Science mainly, well its a lot more than that,” He started off, quick to go into a tangent of all the things science.

You listened closely and intently, a smile pulling at your lips as you noticed how excited he seemed. You leaned forward, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as he continued to talk. He looked up after a few minutes of rambling, stopping mid-sentence when he noticed you staring at him. He stopped altogether and leaned back in his chair, putting up his defenses once again as he mumbled.

“What? Is there something on my face?”

“Hm? No, no, I was just enjoying you ramble is all,” You told him.

His eyes widened a bit in shock before narrowing down at you. “Okay what’s your deal?”

You opened your mouth to speak before the voice of a barista calling out your drinks interrupted. “Hold that thought, I’ll go get our drinks.” You said before getting up and leaving him alone in his seat.

He sighed softly as he waited for you to come back, bouncing his leg in anticipation for your return. You came back a minute later, two mugs in hand as you set his drink down in front of him before taking your seat. He looked down at his drink before looking up at you, eyebrows still furrowed.

“What do you mean? Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” You asked, referring to his question from before.

“I mean, this, you, pretending to take an interest in me... What are you really up to?” He told you, his lips turning downwards in a frown.

“Pretending? Who said I was pretending?”

“Oh come on, you’re not really interested in what I have to say, are you?”

You frowned slightly and furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why he thought this. “Well, I will say I’m not the biggest science buff... but I do like to learn and I like listening to what others have to say. Maybe I don’t fully understand everything you’re saying but it doesn’t mean you can’t teach me.”

“Alright fine, say all of that is true but why me? What makes me so interesting to listen to?” He asked.

You stayed silent for a bit, biting down on your lip and pulling it between your teeth before speaking up again. “You want the truth?” You asked back, watching as he gave you a short nod in yes. “Okay... Today wasn’t the first time I noticed you in the art museum. I’ve seen you a few other times, always so lost in thought... but its just that, you seem lost. Like you’re looking for an answer that you can’t quite reach...”

Chase was taken aback by your words, eyes widening a bit and leaning back; pushing his mug away a bit and folding his hands again, fiddling with his thumbs.

“Okay but what’s so meaningful about that? Why take an interest in it?” He questioned.

“Because I know what that feels like,” You answered all too quickly, eyes casting downwards and shying away a bit as you continued. “To search for something that should be right in front of you but isn’t. To feel like you’ve been set off balance and not knowing how to regain control. Guess I was drawn to you because of that.”

You kept your gaze down on your mug, hand wrapping around the handle and resting there as your thumb lightly caressed the rim. You bit down on your lip, feeling self-conscious now that you revealed a part of yourself that had meant to stay hidden. Chase looked down for a second before looking back up, his gaze softening from your words. He understood now why you approached him and why you’d been so adamant to get to know him. You two were one in the same, both had gotten hurt by someone or something and were looking for a way to mend yourselves.

“I’m sorry,” He spoke up, voice soft and sincere.

“Don’t be,” You said. “I would’ve been defensive too if I were you.”

You looked back up and offered him a warm smile, one he returned with the same warmth in it.

“Well, if I haven’t completely ruined this, I’d still like to get to know you,” He said, a hopeful tone in his voice.

You laughed lightly and smiled more, nodding your head a bit. “You haven’t ruined this at all and yes, I’d like that.”

He looked at you with bright eyes and gave you this wide, goofy grin. You spent the rest of that day, sitting in that little cafe, talking and getting to know each other. And for the first time in a long while, the two of you felt like you’d found someone you could trust again.

#oneshots #oneshot #one shot #lab rats #lab rats one shots #lab rats one shot #lab rats elite force #lab rats elite force one shots #lab rats elite force one shot #lab rats imagine #lab rats imagines #lab rats elite force imagines #lab rats elite force imagine #chase davenport #chase davenport one shots #chase davenport one shot #chase davenport imagines #chase davenport imagine #chase davenport x reader

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the-children · 3 years

Text

The Westmoore Tragedies | Chapter 3

[ TW: Mentions of Gore ]

The weight of his sword was immensely comforting to Rodarin—not only in case of another bizarre happening, but in fondness of his days of adventure. His trusted short sword hung within its sheath by his side, still humming with old enchantments he had woven himself in the past. “Everyone’s on edge—people are fuckin’ terrified” said Ahldmhas, the Captain who awoke Rodarin with grave news. “They wanna know what th’fuck’s happenin’.” “We all do..” Rodarin murmured in return, his brow knitting in frustration as worry, fatigue, and dread all gnawed at his core once the schoolhouse came into view against the grey overcast. A crowd had already gathered, theories and panic murmured amongst one another as a line of privateers blocked their entry, only shifting to the side to allow the pair through. Their footsteps echoed along the main hall as they made for the staircase dead ahead. The school had been emptied once the Maelstrom arrived—it felt so lonely inside these halls without the staff, without the children. For a brief moment his vision flickered, the sickening crimson taint flashing before Rodarin’s eyes to paint the surreal emptiness with a nightmarish foreboding, causing a spike of panic to chill his veins, and his stride to falter.

Within the next blink of an eye, it was gone—an armored hand placed on Rodarin’s shoulder as Ahldmhas turned to him with concern. “Aye, you alright? Yer shakin’..” Rodarin steeled his nerves, offering a rapid nod to shake his panic and steady his pulse. “Yeah, sorry.. Just remembered something..” I’m not there anymore. I’m here—he told himself. They proceeded up the staircase, the sense of dread clawing deeper into his spine, a slight nausea settling in his stomach—not over the growing smell of blood and viscera, but in anticipation for what he would see. Reaching the top of his stairs, he was confronted with what he had hoped had been a lie—the blood trail, dragged from the first open room to the last at the end of the hall. The tiny shoe prints dotting within, only a handful of larger prints off to the side, likely of the first privateers to arrive at the scene.

As they stepped into the first classroom, his vision flashed once more—the tainted crimson washing over the scene of mangled chairs and corpses. Just like yesterday. Rodarin flinched and shuddered, his right hand darting to clasp over his eyes while his left pressed to the wall to keep himself balanced. A ragged exhale barely escaped clenched teeth. I’m not there anymore. I’m here—he repeated, slowly dragging his hand down to look again. The crimson taint was gone, but the scene was the same. Exactly the same. Ahldmhas gave Rodarin a light pat on the back. “It’s fuckin’ disgustin’, I know.. But that’s not all. C’mon.” The Captain made off for the next room, following alongside the drag marks in the hall. Yes, there was more, and Rodarin was sure he knew what was left. This couldn’t be possible.

Standing within the doorway of the last classroom, a sense of despair grasped at his heart, steadily dragging it to the pits of his stomach. As he suspected—the same bodies were scattered around the room in pools of their blood, tiny shoes and hands printed throughout the room. Their corpses were just as mutilated as the last, and some of the skin-bound crafts still littered the room. A couple of removed eyes were left lying in a pile, and various crafts of bloodied, pulled teeth glued to dark papers were hung among the display board–a twisted comparison to the macaroni pieces nearby. He remembered the victims squirming and twitching in the crimson shadows—it must have been agonizing. Even Ahldmhas’ expression was soured—the usually stoic man averting his gaze from the carnage. “It’s like a buncha’ fuckin’ kids did this, Rodarin. What th’fuck is goin’ on?.. Y’think they made ‘em watch while they did all this? Forced ‘em to play with this shit? What kind’a sick fucks..”

Kids did do this–Rodarin mentally replied, his heart sinking further at the mere prospect. His gaze slowly fell to the mangled corpse near his right—Melrin, that poor bastard.. He always wanted children of his own, but he was pronounced infertile. He had planned to adopt before the Orphanage Massacre. And to have been slaughtered by children so soon after?.. Yes—despair. It was hopeless. They were all going to die. His hand lifted to brush through his hair once more, tugging sharply at his dark locks to sting some sense back into himself. No, focus. Rodarin released a shaky exhale before he began to speak to the other investigators. The older children—the teens, were confirmed to have been told to stay home by an anonymous source. That, apparently, there was no school today. There weren’t enough bodies to account for every staff member—some were missing along with the children. This was by far the largest murder-kidnapping connected to these events to date. Thirteen dead and mutilated. Over sixty children, missing. There had to be a clue—a sane clue.

Rodarin began to pace between the classrooms, studying meticulously. It was his own comfort, in a way—to distract himself with work from this damned madness. Between his own investigation and the staff records, Rodarin was finally able to piece something together, despite the occasional inconsistency. Of the staff, only the young were missing. The inconsistencies were a few young male teachers—such as Merlin, and a single twenty-three year old female teacher—Ms. Belise. Aside from that, every single young, female teacher was missing, along with a small handful of young male teachers. They were all in their twenties. Why was this the connection? Why were some of the young killed anyway? And why all this to take children? Rodarin’s jaw popped from the pressure of his clenched teeth that deep thought had strained upon them—he needed some air.

The cool touch of stone kissed against the exposed skin of Rodarin’s arms, a long and deep inhale slowly filling his lungs to the brim with clear air. It was a night and day difference here behind the schoolyard, although the now-abandoned playground equipment gave it a slightly solemn appearance. Compared to the thick, choking carnage upstairs—this was much needed tranquility. His fingers brushed and massaged at his forehead as it throbbed painfully—he still couldn’t make any sense of it. Something sinister was happening, that much was obvious. But if he had really seen the act as it unfolded, and a day earlier on top of that—if the children were really behind the atrocious killings and mutilations.. What the hells did that mean?

A sudden blur in the corner of his vision averted his attention to the treeline of the nearby forest. It was fairly shaded within, thanks for the overbearing clouds that thickened the sky in a depressing grey—so it was hard to tell. But as Rodarin focused more intensely, he could see it—the shadow-coated child standing at the edge, staring upon him with its wide eyes of pure glowing white, and a similarly wide smile to match. With a slow wave, the child beckoned him to follow before disappearing into the forest. It was one of them. Those dreadful shadowed children that watched from the corner—that clawed at his leg. Rodarin broke from the wall he leaned upon, frantically sprinting for the treeline to follow the path the child had taken. If there were any answers to find, those shades would have them.

Gentle wind rushed against his ear to join the beating of his heart as he raced through the slowly but steadily thickening trees. Huffs of breath escaped his lips, his boots kicking up dirt and grass behind the urgency of his pace. Where did it go? A soft voice caused him to grind to a halt, sending him toppling onto his knees as he searched each direction for the source. There, to the west—one of the missing teachers, holding the hand of two school children as they seemed to lead her forward! They were ushering her forward, though their exact words were too soft to hear from this distance. “Hey! Stop!” He cried, though it seemed to fall upon deaf ears. Grunting in frustration, Rodarin scrambled to his feet and broke into another sprint as their figures disappeared behind trunks and foliage of the forest. Reaching the area they disappeared behind, he found them further up ahead. They turned, facing the right, and simply stared—seemingly beyond a nearby tree. Rodarin turned to look in the same direction, desperate to follow their gaze to something, anything—but all he saw was more forest. He turned back to the trio, watching as they began to walk forward. A tree blocked them as they moved behind it.....and then, nothing. They never reappeared. Were they hiding behind it?

A brisk jog brought Rodarin closer—and the closer he came, the darker the forest seemed to become. No, not again.. His pace slowed, an all-too-familiar sense of dread filling the air between each soft crunch of grass beneath his feet. This is just like the school from before–just like the staircase. His gaze continued to shoot off towards the right, but nothing ever seemed to appear. What had they been staring at? The answer came soon, as Rodarin turned to gaze behind the same tree they vanished behind. It was a pathway, trees tightly lining the sides, like some naturally formed tunnel. The darkness grew thicker as the path progressed, and towards the very end he could see that damned crimson taint slowly bleeding into the darkness. He stepped back, looking around the other side of the tree—there was nothing but dark, open forest. Stepping back again, the path of trees returned. What sort of illusion was this? What kind of twisted game was being played here? His right hand came to rest upon the hilt of his sword, squeezing tightly as the leather bindings stretched in his palm. He wasn’t sure what awaited beyond the darkness—but this time, he was prepared. With a metallic ring, Rodarin drew his sword from its sheath—flames bursting to life and licking across the steel against the old runes he left years ago. Blade steady, he moved forward into the bleeding dark.

͔͙͡ ̹̰̣ ̮̰ ̡ ̤t̥̭͝o҉̳͉̹ ̝̣͞ḅe̗͟ ̬͈͙̞̯̦͝ͅc͈̠͍̣̣̤̕ͅo̧n͍̜̳̪̙ţ͎̳̼i̙͉̻̗̬n̰u̸e͟d̝̱̻̭̜͙ ̭̫͈͈ͅ .

#The Children #Rodarin Calrise #Westmoore #It's time again #Origins #FFXIV RP #Crystal LFRP #Mateus RP #Balmung RP

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

Sleep my darling

A/N: this is just a small drabble I came up with when I couldn’t sleep.

Summary: Richie gets a muscle cramp in the middle of the night, Eddie relieves him of it.

The exhaustion brought forth by an inviting, crisp and clean bed worsens his cramps, but Richie refuses to give into the urge to move over and over again, out of fear he’ll wake Eddie up.

When its solely him in his bed, he tends to wiggle back and forth in search of a position that won’t hurt his leg as much and can relax him enough to fall asleep contently, though he knows that finding it is futile and nearly impossible.

The only real, fast working option is to raid the medication cabinet and swallow a painkiller, waiting impatiently for the medicine to dull the pain. Richie’s come to expect these random burst of nagging aches, followed by an excruciating contraction that tightens all the fibers in his legs ‘till it feels like his leg is about to pop of the bone. That last pain only last for less than a minute, but it can bother Richie up to days after the event, the nasty little fragments and the occasional shivers off withheld cramps shaking his leg.

This happened frequently enough that in high school Richie took a tablet of painkillers up to his room, so he would have it at his disposal just in case he started to feel it coming to a head and could prevent it before it fully developed. He’s in Eddie’s house now though, and as much time as he’s been spending here, he didn’t have the foresight to prepare for this situation to take place in Eddie’s bed.

A whimper fights its way out of Richie’s throat, but he clashes his teeth together to smore the sound. Eddie turns in his sleep, moving from where he had his back turned toward Richie to nuzzle under his chin, resting half on top of Richie. Richie holds his breath and forces his leg to stay absolutely still, a deep breath accumulating in the air. Richie’s chest still, tipping of Eddie that somethings the matter.

‘What?’ He mumbles, burrowing in Richie’s neck like a cat begging to be pet. Richie tries his best, but the urge to move becomes too much, so he does, leg kicking out beneath the blanket. He feels warm, flustered in the same way he always does when experiencing this particular phenomenon. His leg can’t keep still, but neither can his mind and his thoughts, circling round and thinking about things that can’t possibly be real but do feel that way. He really needs to get up and pace around. Eddie won’t let him. He tightens his arms to keep Richie in place, probably acting on an unconscious instinct.

‘I’m not awake’, Richie struggles to quietly whisper, hoping that Eddie would turn around and full back asleep quickly.

‘That’s such a bad movie line.’ Eddie groans deep in his chest, a warning sign that Eddie is fighting to get out of his sleep state. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

Richie pushes him off gently, then rushes up without any concern of where he throws the blankets. His period of motionlessness seems to have him worse of them before, every nerve ending in his leg stinging.

It’s a horrible feeling, and one that Richie hates most out of all his ailments. He begins pacing around the room, stretching his toes towards his body to relax the over strung leg.

The soft push wakes Eddie up completely, but thankfully he doesn’t appear to be annoyed. He regards Richie with a slight sliver of sympathy, then pats Richie’s old spot on the bed and rolls out himself. In the years that they’ve been together, Eddie has only witnessed the phenomenon twice. During all the other occurrences, Richie snuck out before Eddie could wake up, only to find Richie sprawled out on the couch the next morning.

The two times Eddie has seen it though are enough for him to remember the effects it causes, and so he can immediately tell why Richie is acting so strange.

‘Come here’, he requests while slinking up to Richie, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. ‘Lay on the bad and use a pillow to elevate your leg. I’ll be right back.’

He tips Richie in a slow dip, both hands protectively covering the small of Richie’s back and chuckling as Richie flails his arm in order to regain his balance. Of course, Eddie never lets it go that far, and stops once Richie’s back is nearly bend in two but still comfortable, before dragging him back up and letting him fall to the bed with a soft thud.

Richie giggles sweetly, accepting another kiss and shutting his eyes once Eddie retracts and his hand caresses Richie’s nose.

‘What the hell was that for?’

‘I just wanted to make you forget about the pain for a second.’

His plan succeeded, without Richie’s awareness, but now the short term plan is over and the pain is back.

‘Eddie’, Richie asks pitiful. ‘Can you get a paracetamol for me please?’

Eddie hushes him, hovering his lips above Richie’s eyebrow, pecking the spot over there. It’s a neat little patch of skin that is ridiculous sensitive for Richie, and as soon as it’s touched he goes pliant and limp. Eddie has exploited it more than once.

‘I know. Let me take care of you okay? Put a pillow down.’ Leavening to go and retrieve Richie’s medication. The urge to call out for Eddie and ask him to stay is persistent, like a child begging for the loving embrace of their mother, but Richie realized he’ll feel so much better when he lets Eddie do what he needs to do.

For once, without complaint, he follows Eddie’s instructions, lying flat on the bed with an elevated leg. Richie’s scared Eddie might find him dramatic, so he has always tried to minimalize his pain and hide it away, but sometimes it is just impossible. He finds he doesn’t have to, when Eddie returns with a steaming mug, massage oil and a paracetamol.

‘Here sweetheart,’ he greets, placing the mug on Richie’s bedside table and handing him the pill. Richie accepts it gratefully, swallowing it down with his eyes closed and praying it’ll dissolve and help fast.

In the meanwhile, Eddie moves towards his leg, opening the oil bottle and warming it between his hands. If he weren’t in such pain, Richie wouldn’t want Eddie to do this. A wave of gulf washes over him, because Eddie is awake because of him, actively doing something while he should be resting for another jam packed work day. As if Eddie can sense his thoughts, Richie sometimes wonders if he truly can, he reassures Richie before he can voice his opinion.

‘It’s not a problem Rich. We’re in this together now. For the good times and the bad times.’

The sentiment almost makes Richie cry. ‘Save it for your vows, mister I can do everything so much better you can.’

‘I already did’, Eddie laughs. ‘And I definitely wasn’t the one who stole the show with my vows.’

‘Yeah your mom was shocked when I brought up our old sex lives. I’m glad I had Ben to protect me.’

In retaliation, Eddie digs his fingers in the tender flesh of Richie, with just enough force that the muscle screws up and relaxes. Richie hisses but breaths in relief after the initial dig fades away.

‘My mother was long dead asshole. Now drink your tea and shut up before I choke you.’

The tea Eddie made was a Rosemary seeped brew, ironic considering the tranquilizing effect Rosemary supposedly has. Richie doesn’t buy much into it, but Eddie does and by default Richie follows along with all the new ways Eddie tries to keep them healthy.

The tranquillizer must not have been a lie, because after a while of Eddie massaging his leg and Richie sipping the tea, his eyes slide shut and his mind quiets down, looping out his head like a movie that has just been ended. He apparently actually doses for a while, because one moment he blinks, struggling to open his eyes again, and the other the mug is out of reach, the pain is gone and he’s tucked in his side of the bed. Eddie is scooting in bed on the other side, smiling once he sees Richie staring at him.

‘Hey sleepyhead’, he teases. ‘How was your old man’s nap.’

Richie’s brain still works fuzzily, because all he does is blink Eddie’s way, laughing softly and taking Eddie’s arm so he can curl it around him.

‘Okay, I guess I’ll just start teasing you tomorrow’, Eddie relents, pulling Richie as close to him as possible.

‘Yeah, once I’m able to come up with good comebacks.’

Eddie laughs, tips his head into Richie’s curls and breathes in. As much at peace as Richie himself is.

‘Thanks Eds’, Richie says with urgency, getting rewarded by a forehead kiss.

‘Any time Rich. Any time.’

Richie sleeps through the rest of the night soundly.

#reddie #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #richie tozier imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #richie and eddie #adult losers #adult Richie

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justanother-unluckysoul · 3 years

Text

Working My Way Back To You 7/10

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

Happy new year! And good riddance to the absolute mess that was 2020. Here we are back into the angst and the hurt, for the prompts “flashbacks,” and “hot cocoa.”

Warnings for this chapter: referenced rape. (it's super vague though)

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested.

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Flashbacks + Hot Cocoa

Christmas wasn’t as bad as Killian had worried. He was careful to ensure his back was never left unguarded, because he was still too easily startled by anyone touching him from behind, and David and Snow White hadn’t brought up any difficult topics, and Killian had only caught Snow staring at his splinted hand once. He’d had a good day, everything considered. They laughed, and talked, and ate good food and exchanged gifts. Though between imbibing a bit too much alcohol and the strain of being so hyper-vigilant for that length of time, by the time their guests had left Killian was barely still on his feet. But it was okay because Emma was there to brace him when he wobbled precariously on his way upstairs. And he thought that was a good metaphor for their relationship, really. Heh. It seemed he was a little drunker than he first believed if he’s getting this maudlin.

----

Early in the new year, the doctor declares Killian’s fingers healed enough to have the splints off, and shortly after, Killian concludes that physical therapy is not far removed from torture. His fingers have become too used to remaining straight and flexing them hurts. And his therapist, Stacy, is completely indifferent to his suffering. Her hands on his own are sure and relentless as she coaxes his fingers into different positions and he just barely stops himself from yanking his hand from her grip.

“Bloody hell,” he hisses instead, and at least she has the decency to apologize.

But she doesn’t let his hand go.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I did warn you this wouldn’t be pleasant to start with.”

She had warned him, he’ll give her that. But he wasn’t prepared for how much it would pain him. Or how soon his dark memories would begin to creep out of the cage he’d locked them in. Blood and bone and see how well you can escape now, pirate. He grits his teeth and tries to focus on what Stacy’s telling him.

“See if you can make a fist.”

His fingers don’t want to. He flexes them barely enough to hold a cup instead and Killian’s chewing on his lower lip hard enough to hurt.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just relax a bit, huh? Captain?”

He’s not trembling. There’s definitely not a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. His heart is not beating loudly in his ears. Take some deep breaths, Jones, before you bloody lose it.

“Are you okay? We can take a break if you need to.”

“I’m fine,” he lies.

Stacy sees right through him. Of course. It’s not like he’s making a very convincing effort here. She hands him a squishy ball and tells him to try squeezing it. Thankfully Killian has a little more success with that, although it still hurts and his grasp is weak. But Stacy lets him end the session on that “high note,” and Killian silently fumes all the way back home, his boots hitting the pavement with a little more force than required. The doctor had promised his hand would heal, and when he’d been told it would be “almost as good” as before, Killian had assumed he’d actually be able to make a damn fist.

----

Emma had offered to take the day off work to attend Killian’s first physical therapy session with him, but he’d declined. He didn’t need her to play nursemaid anymore, and he definitely didn’t want her to see what a mess he was emotionally afterwards. And he’s immensely grateful they’d had the foresight to get Henry out of the house for a while, just in case of this exact outcome. Killian had scoffed at Emma’s suggestion, at her insinuation he wouldn’t be able to handle a bit of therapy, but now he’s reluctantly admitting that she was right. Because even once he’s back home, his heartrate still hasn’t calmed down and he can almost feel his captor’s touch on him again, the sensation making him want to claw off his own skin. He takes a long, hot shower and debates whether he should take the pills for his aching hand or drink some rum – rum wins in the end because he hopes it’ll also calm his thoughts. Archie won’t be happy if he finds out Killian hasn’t been using the “proper coping techniques,” but bugger that, Killian thinks he’s earned this. So that’s where Emma finds him when she gets home from work, sprawled out on the couch in dark jeans and a shirt buttoned even less than usual, with a bit too much rum in his blood, bleary eyes watching his fish swim back and forth.

“How’d it go?” Emma asks, before she really takes in the sight of him, “Oh. That bad, huh?”

“S’fine. Just got a little tense afterwards, needed to calm down.”

His voice slurs just a little. He must look a mess, because Emma plucks the bottle from his loose fingers and sets it out of reach before sitting next to him. He doesn’t protest. The pain has settled deep into his knuckles where the rum couldn’t reach it anyway. Perhaps he should have taken Stacy’s advice and put some ice on it. Too late now.

“Does it hurt?” Emma asks, and Killian probably should have done a better job at concealing that fact from her.

But the way his fingers are twitching, and he’s tucked his hand gently into the crook of his left elbow, bracing his right arm against his chest now she’s taken the bottle away leaves no room to deny that it hurts.

“Aye, but not too much.”

Not too much. It’s the truth because he’s felt far worse pain. He can handle a few spasms, a few shooting pains through his fingers. At least he still has any fingers to feel pain in. When his captors had maimed it, and then continued to target it throughout the following days, he’d honestly thought that would be the end of his hand. He can feel his heartbeat quicken again and he tries to distance himself from that memory quickly, and thankfully Emma provides the distraction. She conjures something from somewhere without leaving his side, a bottle of liquid that smells heavenly as she tips some onto her hand and rubs them together. Killian watches her with weary curiosity.

“Let me help?” Emma reaches for his hand and he gives it to her without hesitation.

She’s always so gentle, her hands so soft and careful with his wounds. And now, as she works her warm hand across his in soothing patterns Killian wonders what he did to deserve this beautiful woman. Emma watches his face for any signs that she’s hurting him, and he gives her an encouraging smile. Her ministrations, even without her magic, are pulling the tension from his muscles in a way neither the rum nor the medicine could ever do. He lets out a quiet sigh and rests his head on the couch, closing his eyes, surrendering completely to the pleasant sensations and the feeling of total safety he has with Emma. The scent of the oil washes over his senses, calming and balancing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asks, her quiet voice a balm over his tired soul.

“Not really.”

He knows she won’t push him. He doesn’t want to think about therapy or trauma or any of that right now and she lets him get away with it, pressing her lips lightly against his temple. He hums a faint sound of satisfaction.

“I wish I could take away your pain,” Emma murmurs, “I hate seeing you suffer and not being able to do a damn thing about it.”

“Believe me, Emma, you’re doing plenty. This is wonderful.”

His voice is barely audible. He feels blissful and content. He’s not sure how much of the feeling is the rum finally taking effect and how much is Emma’s gentle touch and how much is the scent of the oil. Her fingers are still moving steadily over his own, tracing lightly over the still-healing scars.

“Do you want to move this upstairs? And I can do the rest of you.”

As loathe as Killian is to move on from this delightfully tranquil moment, the thought of Emma doing the rest of him is too tempting and he hauls himself off the couch. Though logically, he knew that Emma wouldn’t get to do much more massaging once they relocated to the bedroom. But he didn’t mind that at all. Their kisses are heated and passionate and he knows he’s setting her every nerve ablaze, even though they’ve barely started. He knows all her sensitive spots; where to stroke and to squeeze, where to press his lips, his tongue, where to bite and where to suck, how to roll his hips against her in a way that makes Emma grow wild with desire. She’s losing herself in the sensations, he can see in the darkening of her green eyes, her hands shaking as she frantically unfastens his belt and tugs at his trousers and- Panic claws its way up his throat. Killian’s movement stutters, then stops completely. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to calm himself down, trying to breathe. It’s okay, you’re safe, it’s just Emma the rational part of his mind says, but he could be still in the cellar right now, bent over and they’re about to-

“Killian?”

No. Those are Emma’s hands touching him. Holding his hips to steady him because he’s trembling. But suddenly he can’t, he can’t, his stomach is twisting into a nauseating knot and he pulls away from her touch.

“S-sorry, love, I don’t think I can…”

Killian gestures vaguely, and he can’t even look at her as he scrambles off the bed, his hand shaking as he awkwardly holds up his jeans. His arousal is fading, all his intentions of a moment ago swept away by his fears. By his memories. Just look at yourself, Hook. Can’t even please a woman. You’re broken. You’re a coward. The thoughts don’t feel quite like his own, more like a memory of words spat at him by others, though he whole-heartedly agrees with them. Emma stops him with a gentle hand on his arm before he can move out of reach. It’s altogether too much and he wants to tell her to stop, but the words he wants to say are choking him, because Killian Jones doesn’t beg.

“Killian, look at me,” Emma says, and waits for him to reluctantly lift his gaze to her own, “It’s okay. We don’t have to do this.”

He swallows hard and he’s still shaking, but he doesn’t run. No matter how bad he wants to.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I just…” Killian struggles to explain.

She stands and reaches up slowly to stroke his cheek, but he can’t help flinching away from her touch. Emma drops her hands to her sides again immediately and Killian’s heart cracks in half at the look of guilt on her face.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” Emma repeats softly, “Just stay with me.”

Killian had never spoken of it to her, but it was no secret what he’d been through during his capture. Emma had probably seen the blood, and the bruises on his hips from where they’d held him still. She knew. Killian swallows hard as he watches the emotions play out across her face. He loves her so much it hurts. But gods, he can’t do this right now, as desperately as he wants to. Because they’ve ruined him, sullied his mind and his body and broke him so thoroughly that now he’s utterly dependant on Emma, and tonight he can’t even give her the one thing she wants in return.

“What do you need me to do, Killian?” she asks softly.

Words fail him. And he’s not sure what he would even say if he was capable of speech. What does he need? He needs to forget, just for a while. To drink until he blacks out. To lose himself in Emma’s scent and her touch. But he can’t. He can’t do anything. He’s helpless. Emma lets her hands drift to his belt again, buckling it again in slow, deliberate movements because his hand is shaking too badly now to do it himself. Killian chews on his lower lip hard enough to hurt, wants it to hurt, anything to feel something that isn’t the blinding terror of someone else’s hands on his body. It’s just Emma, being so careful and gentle like she always is now so why can’t he move past this? Why is he shaking so badly?

“It’s okay,” she assures him, “Don’t worry about this. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“Yeah,” he says, and takes a sharp breath like he’s been holding it too long, and maybe he has, “But add some rum to mine, will you?”

He laughs on his exhale, a weak and breathless thing. She smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes – eyes that are full of something akin to sorrow, and far too much sympathy. He hates knowing those emotions are directed at him, he’s not worthy of her compassion and he can’t bear to look at her anymore, his eyes darting away to some point across the room. Emma doesn’t bother putting back on the clothes he pulled off her, just pulls a robe around herself to ward off the evening chill, and Killian trails behind her down to the kitchen, tries to breathe as she fills the jug and sets it to boil. He can’t stand still. Everything feels wrong. His whole body is a tightly coiled spring, aching with a need that his traitorous mind won’t allow him to fulfil. It’s going to drive him mad. And worse than his own need is the thought that he’s leaving Emma unsatisfied as well. Then Emma turns to him, reaches for him slowly, and when he turns his face away and his pursed lips out of reach but doesn’t step back, she changes her strategy, presses a tender kiss to the smooth line of his throat. He’s still trembling, but her touch draws a desperate almost-whine from him. Bloody hell, he needs her like he needs to breathe.

“Stay with me, Killian,” she murmurs, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. But I need you with me, right here.”

Her hand settles over his heart, and even through his shirt he’s certain she can feel how quickly it’s beating. But she waits for him, looks into his eyes and waits for him to move. When Killian does move, it’s with a rush as he takes her mouth with his, eyes closed, his hand cradling the back of her head. Emma’s hands are light, her touch soothing, letting him take what he needs. And she’s as intoxicating as ever, just the taste of her mouth sending a delicious heat through his body and he never wants this to end. But this is as far as he can go tonight. Killian can still feel the memories in the back of his mind, like a dark chasm he could easily tumble into if he takes the wrong step. He’s been trying to keep them contained in a box, an imaginary cage he can throw all the trauma into, but it seems the strain of physical therapy had loosened his mental lock on it.

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice is rough when he releases her lips and turns his face away again in humiliation. “I want to, but… I’m- I’m sorry.”

He tries to step away, his shame overwhelming, but Emma isn’t going to let him go so easily. Her hand presses lightly against the small of his back, coaxing him back to her, feeling the tremors still skittering down his spine. She lifts her other hand on his face, fingers caressing his tightly clenched jaw as she draws his attention back to her.

“It’s okay,” she tells him again, and he knows she’ll tell him as many times as she has to before he believes her, “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Just breathe, Killian. Just… Just stay.”

“I’m here, Swan,” he says, cursing the way his voice shakes.

His thumb brushes her cheek, before he lowers his forehead gently against hers and breathes deeply, breathing her in, the curve of his hook resting against her hip. Emma gives a soft sigh as he does so. He can feel himself calming, settling into her embrace, soothed by her caresses. The moment is broken by the bubbling sound and subsequent click of the jug as it finishes boiling the water, but although Killian’s hand still trembles a little when he takes the cup of cocoa, he gifts her with a smile of gratitude. She’s too good for him, far more kind than he could ever deserve. And yet here she still is, smiling back at him over her cup, her lips almost hidden behind the pile of whipped cream she’s scooped into her drink.

----

(Later, he uses his mouth to satisfy her needs, and at least he can still do that, but for himself? He’s reduced to finishing off in the shower alone, like the coward he is.)

To be continued

#comfortember 2020 #cs ff #cs fic #killian whump #angst #flashbacks #ptsd #hurt/comfort #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #my fanfics

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jadedjo · 4 years

Text

Star Wars Regency AU

Please accept this word vomit from my never to be finished Star Wars Regency AU.

moodboard from @celinamarniss

~~~~

The candles flickered with light reminiscent of a thousand sparkles on the open ocean during sunset. It made Captain Luke Skywalker wish he were anywhere else then in the overheated ball room with said candles. In full Navel regalia, he longed for the open waters of the sea to cool his overheated body. But he had been ordered to attend the gathering held by his twin sister, and unofficial head of the house. He may hold the rank of Lord but it was the Lady Leia Solo who ruled the Skywalker estates.

Thus, his ship in port, and he himself on leave, Luke had very little choice but to make an appearance. As he gazed out upon the throng of pastel clad ladies and the dandies at their beck and call, Luke tried to hide a yawn behind his white gloved hand.

After finishing a boring conversation with one of Leia’s political friends, he was about to head for the side door to the ballroom and his freedom when a flash motion caught his eye.

Just entering the room, a woman in a scarlet silk gown that shimmered of the highest quality and complimented the cream color of her skin, stood at the entrance and let her gaze slide coolly over the guests. The red highlights of her hair blazed in the candle light amongst the gold curls, all swept up into a stylish chignon that left her elegant neck bare leading down to the expanse of her shoulders, uncovered by lace shall or chemisette. Luke could not see the color of her eyes from this vantage point and the low light, but when they passed his way and stopped for a split second before moving on, he felt a jolt of awareness spread through him. She was too exotic to be called beautiful by the current modes of fashion. But this captivating woman was worth sticking around for a while longer.

So transfixed by her presence, Luke almost did not see the man who stood at her side until he took her hand to lead her to a group of businessmen standing with his brother-in-law. Hoping to join the group before the woman and her escort got there, Luke slid through the crowd like a schooner through the rocks surrounding the outer bay of Alerra, arriving at his brother-in-law’s side just and introductions where being made.

“Captain Solo,” the escort said. “May I present Miss Mara Jade. My dear, Han Solo, Captain of the Millennium Falcon and our host.”

Han bowed and the woman curtsied before Luke nudged his friend and brother for an introduction. Up close she was even more captivating. Dark eyes, green perchance? Shone with enticing mystery.

Han shot him a wink only Luke could see before fulfilling his duties. “Captain Karrde, Miss Jade, a pleasure. And allow me to introduce my wife’s brother, Lord Luke Skywalker, Captain of the HMS Tantive. Luke, I’m assuming you heard the other half of the introduction so I’m not going to repeat it.”

Everyone gave the proper formalities before Luke asked, “Miss Jade, I’ve not heard that name before. Perhaps you are new to Alderaan?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said in a throaty voice that sent shivers across his skin.

“Mara’s parents where from Alderaan before traveling east. She was but a child of 5 when they left. It was in waters off Jedha where their journey ended when the ship they traveled upon was attacked by pirates and her parents killed. I was a crewman of the ill-fated ship and managed to secret Miss Jade and myself away before the pirates found us. She has lived in Jedha ever since. It is only recently that I have brought her back to her homeland.”

It was as the man spoke that Luke finally took notice of him.

Captain Karrde was of some indeterminate years older than Han, though not so old as to be labeled Miss Jade’s father. He carried himself like a man of the sea, stance slightly spread for balance and steadiness. His black hair was kept short and neat, as opposed to the current fashion of longer, curled hair. The gray at the sides gave him a distinguished air that would hold up to stuff with any courtier. The skin of his face bore the trademarks of a life of sun and salt but was of a darker hue then just an ordinary tan. The equally dark eyes seemed to see much and express little. His dress was simple yet of the highest quality and spoke to refined tastes and deep pockets. Luke had trouble placing his accent but it only added to his air of foreign allure.

“It is as Captain Karrde says,” Miss Jade added. “I have begged him for many years to bring me back to my birthplace. Finally, he has relented.”

“Bad timing if you ask me,” Han said. “War with the Coruscant is on the horizon and may happen at any moment. The Queen cannot keep the peace forever.”

One Han’s friends, a Mr. Calrissian said, “You worry too much my old friend.”

“And you don’t worry enough ‘Old friend,’” Han replied, but in a jovial fashion. The others in the group chuckled. Even Captain Karrde gave a slight smile as if also knowing of the good-natured ribbing exchanged by the two.

It was then that Luke heard the strains of a Naboo Cotillion beginning and saw his chance to get Miss Jade away from her chaperone.

“Miss Jade, would you do me the honor of a dance?” He asked. “I fear my land legs may yet trip me up, as I’ve only just landed but a day ago. But if you can bare it, I would be delighted.”

There was an indefinable pause as she considered his request before curtsying and replying, “Of course, My Lord. I have yet to fill up my dance card and have been looking forward to dancing tonight.”

“Please, I am but a simple Captain in her Majesty's Navy and would prefer to be addressed as such.”

“If you wish, my Lor… Captain.” She nodded to the assembled group before taking his hand.

Now standing beside her, Luke noted that she was taller than most of the ladies of his acquittance and once hand in hand opposite each other as the dance began, he found it refreshing not to have to look down at her. Even so close, the light was still to dime to make out her eye color but he found he was utterly captivated by them.

“How are you finding your homecoming, Miss Jade?” He asked as they danced.

“To be honest, Captain, I find it lacking,” she said dryly. “The whole world touts Alderaan’s tranquil vistas and peaceful society, but I have yet to find it to my tastes.”

“Is there something wrong with a peaceful way of life?” he asked, curious by her response.

“As a man of war how can you say such a thing?”

“Because I am not a man of war but of peace and protection. I offer my service to Her Majesty and to the Navy to protect those I care about.”

“And what of the rest of the world?” she prodded. “Do they not also need your protection?”

“It has always been Alderaan’s covenant to provide aid to those who ask for it. Even now I have it on good authority that the Queen is considering a proposal that would extend our ability to provide said protection.”

“I would believe you if I had not seen the lack of Alderaan’s ‘protection’ with my own eyes,” she said with a touch of bitterness.

“I fail to take your meaning.”

“Were you not aware of Coruscant’s invasion of Jedha?”

“I was. I am very sorry that your home has fallen to Admiral Thrawn’s ambitions. But I fail to see what Alderaan could have done to prevent it.”

“Jedha asked for help. Help that was never given.”

“I see,” he replied. This dance was not going as well as he hopped. Her lack of understanding in upper political workings of his country, made her bitter and resentful. “All I can say is that I cannot presume to know the mind of the Queen only to say that that must have been a very good reason for any withholding of aid.”

The woman said nothing and Luke found her silence irksome. Jedha was on the eastern side of Coruscant, far from Alderaani shores. If he were one of the Queen’s advisors, he would have cautioned against sending a large force and provoking Thrawn into open war with Alderaan.

He brought them to a halt before the dance was done and asked, “You doubt me Miss Jade? My sister and I were once wards of the Queen and her Consort.”

“I do not doubt you Captain Skywalker, and I have heard of your connection the Royal Family. Even as far as Jedha we have heard of the rumors that Queen Breha wishes to make your sister her heir.”

When he did not confirm or deny the rumor she went on, “But I have yet to see any proof of Alderaan’s commitment to anything but its own self interests.”

“Then I am sorry for you Miss Jade. Perhaps now that you are no longer sequestered in the east the truth will be revealed to you.”

~~~~~

This ball takes place during a house party and Luke finds Mara snooping in Leia’s quarters, tries to arrest her but she gets awa.

She escapes on a horse and he follows.

She heads to Talon’s ship in the bay where Luke tries to prevent her from boarding only to get captured himself as a trophy for Thrawn.

~~~

A little back story...

Anakin and Padme are Lord and Lady Skywalker. Padme was a Princess of Naboo when she met Anakin, a minor lord of Alderaan and fell in love. Anakin was matched with many young ladies but it is said Skywalkers only marry for Love. This was the case with Padme as she was supposed to marry another but left Naboo for Anakin. It was a scandal when she wed so far below her station.

Unfortunately their love was short lived and Padme dies in child birth to twins. Anakin soon follows her from a riding accident a few years later. Though many that knew the couple we say he died of a broken heart.

Luke and Leia Skywalker. They are fostered by the Queen and Queen’s consort of Alderraan. Luke becomes a Navel Captain while Leia manages the estate. She follows in her parents foot steps and marries a merchant and humble background, Captain Han Solo ( who also is involved in “free trade”). This is an even greater scandal then her mother as at least Anakin had been a Lord. Luke looks the other way concerning his bro-in-laws activities since tensions with Alderaan and Coruscant are rising and Han’s enterprises are for Alderaan and against the Imperial Empire.

Mara Jade is a courtesan/spy for Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Empire of Coruscant. He holds on her the safety of a group of warrior monks, the Guardians of the Whills, that trained/raised her and she must spy on her countrymen to free them.

Talon Karrde is her accompli. Doesn’t approve of what she’s doing and just wants her to go to the Alderaan Government and come clean.

#star wars #luke skywalker #mara jade #regency au #star wars legends #jade writes #sw fan fiction #wip wednesday #not really a wip #as I'm never going to finish it #just wanted to write a regency ball scene

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chocolate-parfait · 4 years

Note

Congratulations on the 300! I see you do matchups?! (I really hope this is the right inbox, I'm still new to this) Could you do one for me (Mixed matchup IkeVamp, IkeSen)? INFP-A, like drawing, cooking, reading, writing, languages (translator to be), sarcasm, traveling, dogs. Don't like unnecessary drama, people disturbing my peace. I'm straigt forward and don't like but can be very confrontational but that rarely happens (no one wants to witness this). Unpaid therapist of all my friends. Thx!

Thank you, sweetie! Hope you enjoy~

I match you up with... Dazai!

Dazai is one of the few people in the mansion who enjoys his peace and tranquility, so aside some teasing and clowning here and there he won't be causing too much of a ruckus (unless Ai-chan is involved~)

Your relationship with Dazai evolves pretty slowly. From two acquaintances who exchanged basic greetings and made small talk every now and then, you slowly became friends who chill together while quietly enjoying the other's company, only to turn into a deeper relationship after various syntomps typical syntomps of the phenomenology of love took root in your hearts. Despite a comfortably unhurried evolution and what some may deem as just fleeting and superficial attraction, your feelings are actually genuine and strong. You and Dazai were able to find the perfect balance that not many couples are able to achieve; neither of you forces the other into something they don't want to do, and you can safely call the each other out without fear of hurting or offending, confident in the mutual respect and understanding you both have of the other

You can spend hours sitting together side by side in complete silence, only the ticking of a clock or a little bird outside comfortably filling the background. You read a book and he writes his newest novel or vice versa. Sometimes it's just one snuggling against the other in search of warmth and affection. It's extremely domestic and Dazai literally LIVES for it

Your romance falls into a steady routine that gives Dazai the impression of leading a completely normal life, just like any other man, finally free from all the doubts and sorrows that used to torment him back in his human days. As if the constancy of such lifestyle wasn't enough, he's also got you to fix up whatever trouble may pass through his golden orbs. You're always there to hear and help him out, and you're also the main reason why he was able to break free from his self destructive mentality, and knowing that you can live a happy, safe life just by being with him brings him ungodly amounts of joy.

One particular night you two had a semi-fight. During that period Dazai was already pretty much always on edge, despite concealing it pretty well behind his usual smile, but when the moon is high in the sky people are more vulnerable, and his remorse and self hatred all came flowing out at once. He absolutely didn't expect your reaction. For the first time ever since you arrived at the mansion, he saw fire burning in your moonlit pupils. Your usual serene tone slightly lowered to a much more aggressive and harsh pitch as countless words came out of your pretty lips. With each sentence you destroyed every one of his qualms just like a knight would cut down his enemies to save his princess. By the end of your discussion he was shocked and amazed to find how you had literally flipped everything upside down and gave him much to think about. A new perspective, things he ignored too much and others he cared too much about. After that night Dazai's usual behavior changed considerably towards you. You could now clearly feel the genuineness behind his smiles and gazes, the softness in his voice and movements when addressed to you. It was the spark that ignited the flames of your love.

Your favorite dates vary from strolls around the city to him teaching you Japanese. He has never taught a language to anyone before, but by having such a receptive student as you makes his heart swell with pride and he wants to try harder for your sake! He's actually on cloud nine ever since you asked him to teach you his native language. The fact that you want to get to know his country and a big part of him better means a lot to him, and it does nothing but strengthen his love for you

Dazai loves animals!! So even without pleading too much he'll agree on adopting a dog if you want one. He's going to take great care of it and you will often see him petting him while quietly babbling on various topics as if the poor creature could understand him

Second choice: Mitsunari

As the resident angel of Azuchi becoming friends with him was no difficult task, as he already trusted you with his life the moment you became a part of the Oda Forces. Additionally, he truly admires your kindness and care for others, so much that he can't help but happily praise you with the biggest smile on his face. Barely even a week passes and you already find yourself watching after him as you remind him to eat, sleep and maybe even breathe. Hideyoshi is extremely grateful as he finally can take it easier and not worry too much about the young man (he still does nonetheless, trust me)

On your part, hating Mitsunari is basically impossible, and even though your sarcastic retorts completely fly over his head (in return you gain Ieyasu's sympathy), spending time with him becomes the most natural thing in the world. Before you know it, you find yourself looking forward to being with him and your heartbeat confirms your suspicions. You may or may not have fallen in love with someone from the Sengoku period and the realization is a scary one. What will happen to your family and friends back home? And what about your dream job? But then that handsome smile, those vivid amethyst eyes full of tenderness, that soft voice that caressed your ears leaving pink warmth on your skin; it all came crashing down on you, leaving no other room for doubts.

If and when you confess him about your past and what had brought you to Honnoji that fateful night, you'll see the fires of an incredible passion taking ahold of his usually placid irises. He cannot fully explain with words the endless facets of what he's feeling, but he'll lock your hands in a tight grip and earnestly try to let out as much as he can. He vows eternal gratitude to you, the one who gave up everything for him, he who does not deserve such loyalty but decides to live up to the sacrifice you made. This new side of Mitsunari renews the love you felt for him, and at the end of his speech, in order to seal such an important promise, he kisses you on the lips, fiery and passionate

Everything escalates from there, and anyone in the castle can see how much close you two got in the blink of an eye. The moment you announce your relationship you get submerged from congratulatory blessings and gifts, even from a very grumpy Ieyasu who doesn't let this opportunity to slip in an ironic comment here and there

You may have given up on everything you had, but Ishida has no intention of making you regret choosing him over the rest of the world. If you're vocal and direct enough about your needs and wishes, he'll try to spoil you rotten at the best of his abilities. Your feet hurts? He's going to carry you bridal style to your bedroom to give you a two hours long massage. Headache? He's already in town with Hideyoshi to buy the best infuses for your head. He's very dedicated and it's very surprising to see him so active and attentive. If he starts getting too overwhelming the only choice you'll have is to explicitly tell him to tone it down a notch or two (please give him cuddles later, baby boy just wants to help)

Knowing about your love for travel, he makes sure to take you with him each time an inspection in a domain comes up, though he'll firmly refuse in case he deemed it to be dangerous. If something were to happen to you right in front of his eyes, he'd blame himself for 500 years and even more for not being able to save you. This is actually one of his biggest worries and from time to time he'll have related nightmares that cause him to wake up with a start, soaked in cold sweat. Take him in your arms, snuggle against his chest or cradle his head against your beating heart and most of the job will be done. If you happen to be concious enough and hear him out, console him with firm words of reassurance, press a kiss to his lips and he's going to be out like a candle in no time at all

Mitsunari is fascinated by the foreign languages you speak! You must have put a lot of time to learn all those exotic-sounding words, and he asks you to teach him a word or two. He's a fast learner and his brain has plenty of space to store whatever you say to him, and although he might cutely stumble every now and then, you're pretty surprised at the enthusiasm he's showing for your passion. He's going to take you to the tenshu to discuss with Nobunaga about a possible occupation involved with languages, and in no time at all you're already on your way to Nagasaki to discuss some deals with European and Asian merchants

#my writing #answered #matchups #300 followers special

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

The Path to Happiness

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Characters: Ventus, Terra, Aqua

Terra awoke with a strangled gasp, fisting the damp sheets as he bolted upright in bed. Ragged, strangled gasps tumbled from his lungs, and cold sweat poured down his pallid, clammy skin. Slowly, the visions of darkness and icy rush of fear melted from his system, making him bonelessly flop against the headboard. He drew his palm across his face, catching the sweat in the ridges of his hand; he then dropped his arm against the mattress and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling with an exhausted sigh. He traced the patterns of the rafters through lidded eyes, trying to occupy his addled mind with meaningless drivel as the fear and doubt and guilt tried to creep back in from the shadows.

The sharp claws of nausea pawed at his belly, making bile bubble up into his throat. Reconciling with the fact that sleep would not find him for quite some time, he tossed the covers off himself and slipped out of bed. The tiled floor was cold against the soles of his feet as he shambled barefoot out of the room, allowing muscle memory to guide him through the gilded halls of the castle situated at the center of the Land of Departure. He couldn’t find his way consciously, as his mind was too spent from struggling with phantasms of past mistakes.

Moonlight streamed in from the stained-glass windows to dapple across his broad shoulders and throw dark shadows up in odd places. In a moment of lapsing mind, the darkness seemed to bulge up behind him in a hostile mass, latching onto his shoulders like a parasite ready to suck all the light left within him. With a strangled cry, Terra whirled around, unconsciously drawing his Keyblade. The hairs on the back of his neck rose to catch the sweat rolling down from his dampened brown tresses as he searched the darkness warily, terrified to find the glint of golden eyes lurking within. Only the pale starlight and the empty air of the long hall greeted him.

Terra groaned, rubbing at the clammy flesh at the back of his neck as he sheathed his weapon with a faint sparkle of light. He rubbed his face again, struggling to retain a shred of sanity. Ever since finally ridding himself of Xehanort’s parasitic presence, Terra had grappled with paranoia and night terrors. It was just so hard to believe that the nefarious pariah was truly no longer plaguing the worlds; Terra would see visions of him, stalking in the dark corners of his vision and melting out of the shadows. He’d have to convince himself that it was only a trick of the mind, a mere ghost that couldn’t hurt him.

The guilt was harder to reconcile with. If Terra hadn’t been so reckless, so weak to the beguile of the darkness within him, maybe things would’ve gone differently.

“Ugh. Stop that, Terra,” he chastised himself as he mushed the skin of his face with his palms. He teased into the fronds of his chocolate-colored hair and grimaced at the uncomfortable sensation of the sweat clinging to the strands. Suddenly finding the wide hall stifling, he renewed his pace to quickly exit the castle, stepping out into the starry night sky’s wide, welcoming arms. The glittering pinpricks of the stars and the endless expanse of indigo blue brought a weary smile to his face. Anytime things got tough, he’d recall that promise the three of them made to each other beneath those same stars, an oath that took much too long to fulfill.

Terra strode out into the nighttime tranquility, the long grasses kissing the fabric of his pants. The starlight enveloped him like an old friend, bathing him in pale whiteness. Terra inhaled deeply, and as the cool air flooded his nostrils, he almost imagined that he was inhaling the celestial light itself, the stardust nourishing his bones and blood to lull him into a sense of peace. A gentle smile worked onto his face as he finally felt the tension melt from his shoulders.

Just as Terra made it to the iron-wrought fencing, leaning against it to gaze into the Land of Departure stretching on before him, he heard a sleepy, “Terra…?” He glanced behind him to see Ventus shambling tiredly down the sloped grassy hill, rubbing at his eye as a yawn split his face. “What’re you doing up so early?” Aqua strolled behind him; her blue eyes narrowed in an acute sense of worry. Terra found himself chuckling. He’d escaped the castle to find some sense of solitude, but it seemed the universe had other plans.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Ah, Aqua, perceptive as always. Terra smiled defeatedly at the tall, lithe woman as she strode up, head cocked to the side in curiosity. There was no point in lying to her, so he just nodded. Aqua smiled sympathetically and leaned her side against the iron railing. The somber look in her sea-blue eyes told him that Aqua herself was no stranger to the night’s unnerving terrors. Terra exhaled deeply and pressed down against the railing, pushing his weight down onto his outstretched legs as he balanced his crossed arms and torso onto the metal structure. His eyes reflected the glittering landscape of the stars, hollowly, like opaque glass.

“Ten years. Ten years I wasted as that man’s slave,” he breathed. His voice fogged in the air as if metamorphosizing into the ghost that his soul was that long, dark decade. “All because I wasn’t strong enough.” His head dropped as he uttered the sentence, chin thumping against his sternum.

“Terra!” Ventus interjected, jumping forward to grab onto the hem of his form-fitted shirt. Terra had to smile; spending ten years asleep as a fractured heart didn’t make him any less childish. Ventus’ blue eyes regarded him worriedly as he pawed at the shirt. “It’s not your fault. It’s Xehanort’s.”

“Yeah. I know, Ven,” Terra chuckled and reached out to affectionately ruffle the younger boy’s hair. Ventus’ giddy smile was infectious, curling Terra’s lips upwards subconsciously. However, the hollow shadow of doubt pulsed in Terra’s chest. So how many times he tried to convince himself that the decades-long sequence of events resulted from forces out of his control. Then, he’d think back to the Mark of Mastery examination, to the flicker of darkness that intrigued Xehanort and made the old man zero in on his newest pawn.

Even if Terra had been pure and rejected the darkness completely, the guilt would have stayed. He failed to stop Xehanort, dooming a new generation of children to take up the mantle and shattering dozens of hearts in the process. If it had just ended there, the Organization would have never been created, nor all those souls twisted to darkness. If it had just ended there, Sora’s world never would have fallen into ruin to plunge him into a harrowing and dangerous journey spanning the worlds. If it had just ended there, so much heartbreak could have been avoided.

I should have been stronger. No one else should’ve had to clean up after us!

“Terra.” Aqua’s voice called to him like the shining light of a lighthouse to a vessel traversing a perilous sea. His head swiveled in search of her soft voice, her pale face, finding her sparkling blue eyes regarding him warmly. Her hand slipped up the meat of his muscular arms to rest just at the base of his deltoid, the gentle touch soothing him in ways words never could. “No one blames you. Please stop blaming yourself.” His eyes narrowed sadly as Aqua gazed intently at him. “If these long years have proved anything, it is that we cannot shoulder these burdens alone. It was always meant for us to come together to stop his great evil. The path to happiness is often paved with mistakes and heartbreak.”

Damn. Aqua was always so poetic.

“Yeah!” Ventus grinned, shoving his head underneath Terra’s arm to flash him a toothy smile. “So many cool things woulda never happened if things went differently. We never would’ve traveled the world and experienced all those things. Sure, Xehanort made the organization and split himself into two. If his Heartless was never created, Sora wouldn’t have gone on his journey and met all his wonderful friends. If the Nobodies were never made, Lea never woulda met his friends! Roxas and Naminé and Xion wouldn’t even exist. All of these connections and friendships that we can enjoy now would never have been made in the first place,” he pointed out. As always, Terra found himself cheered by the boy’s boundless optimism. Ventus giggled as Terra slung his beefy arm around the back of his neck and hugged him into his chest.

“Man, you’re so right. You’d be stuck with us boring grown-ups instead of all the kids your age, huh, Ven?” The blond laughed mirthfully as he wriggled in Terra’s grip.

“But I like you guys! You’re my best friends!”

“It’s okay, Ven. You don’t have to make us feel better,” Terra joked. Ventus pushed on Terra’s ribs to pry himself free, head popping up to display his pout and the more-poofy-than-usual tufts of honey-blond hair sticking up at odd angles thanks to Terra’s manhandling.

“I mean it! Anyway, why are you derailing from the conversation?” Terra snorted and resumed leaning against the railing, shaking his head. When he looked back up at the starry sky, the light had returned to his eyes, making his blue irises shine like the waves of the sea.

“I’m not. I’m just feeling better, I guess.”

“Well, that’s good,” Aqua offered appreciatively. Terra only hummed in response, appreciating the brilliance of the celestial bodies flickering above. All those words contained within the stars, traversed by generations of Keyblade wielders in a chronicle far from over. He wondered what the next stage of their journey held, what chapter would unfold in the coming days. He supposed it didn’t matter; as Aqua said, they were all tied by destiny, and their fates would unfurl soon enough.

Terra could now face the future bravely, bolstered by his two dearest friends in all the many, many worlds.

Tag List: @deliazeedork

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#wayfinder trio #terra #ventus #aqua #kingdom hearts #kh aqua #kh ventus #kh terra #kh fanfic #kh fanfiction #kingdom hearts fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction

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psychadelicrose · 4 years

Text

Day 1: Carefree

Written for @mastar-week 2020.

A self indulgent modern zombie!au for day one.

“The world is ending, but he just wants to keep her safe.”

Death is a presence. His friend had always admired Their tranquility. She believed that you could leave this world silently, but not lonely— that Death breathed with you. It spoke of comfort, that the balance of order is absolute.

But death walked, and Maka had said to him, “It’s wrong.”

He called them deadheads. Others said zombies, or walkers, or wraiths (Maka had always shivered at that last one), but he preferred his own personal choice. The streets are littered with them, and humans have been pushed out of the cities and into the wild. Sick of breathing rotten air, he thought.

He knew of camps in the forest (they burn). He’s been told of the plains, where walls guard a stronghold (they fall). They hear about the government, with safe houses in Washington (they don’t exist).

For now, they’re holed up in some garage. It used to be a repair shop, but it's long been stripped bare. Black Star held his shotgun loosely in his lap, though always listened closely to whatever walked at night. With his legs stretched out, he sat with his back against the most secure wall. It wasn’t a restful position, but it wasn’t time for him to sleep, anyway.

Beside him, Maka slept lightly. She laid out on her side, victim to the hard floor, but grateful for any shelter. Her back was pressed to his right leg. Always touching, always together. He insisted they sleep in shifts to keep each other safe. He knew that Maka disliked the setup, but lately he’s been hard to sway.

Black Star stared at his best friend, thinking of how he hasn’t seen her carefree in months. The harsh lines disappear when she’s sleeping, however, and for this he’s grateful. All he can do is remember her lopsided smile, the one that comes out when she’s truly happy. Only one dimple would appear, and she often chided that it was uneven, but he wouldn’t change it for anything.

Something thumped outside the shop and Black Star stiffened. His shotgun must have made a sound, because Maka was stirring a second later.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was immediately quick, but he wished it was groggy and soft, unbothered.

He listened for more, dreading the possibility of a break in. The thought of a horde passing through had his stomach going up in roils, but when nothing followed, he relaxed against the wall.

“Nothin’. Go back to sleep.” Maka kept her head twisted to look at him, a new expression he can’t quite pin, but one that makes him uncomfortable nonetheless.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered to him.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, closing his eyes as though to fake nonchalance.

“Lie to me just so you can feel like you’re protecting me.”

He sucked in a breath, his thought process halted by her words. Instinctively, his jaw locked and he felt himself closing off. It clawed at something raw in his chest, a forbidden secret that didn’t want to come out. The silence of their shelter was perfect for her insistence because nothing could drown it out.

“You’re imagining things,” he told her. Maka’s stare didn’t waver from her place beside him. He refused to look back, but he knew his comment would only spurn her further.

She didn’t say anything more after that, but she did press her back closer to him, so he was fine with that. She adjusted her backpack to better pillow her head and laid back down. It was a minute or so until she talked again.

“You can lay with me, you know.” She spoke in a low tone, as if she was pouting.

“Yeah. Don’t want to.” He both felt and heard her huff from beside him, a sharp exhale that told him just how displeased she was. She sat up, heated and ready for an outburst, but just as it seemed she would turn to face him, she stopped. Her back was to him and her legs were still splayed on the floor, but now she was sitting up with her palms supporting her on the concrete. He could tell she was hesitating. It was fine, because he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“I told you to--” Her head swiveled with ease. There was no force, no excessive show. She turned, and he shut up. Twin green bore into him, looking justified in their ire, and he was at a loss with how to handle the sadness in her eyes. Near monotone, she told him,

“Don’t tell me what to do.” With that, she pushed her bag away and turned towards him. Maka didn’t care for his protests when she lifted the gun from his lap and expertly handled it to the floor. With purpose, she swung her right leg over both of his so she could sit in his lap. It was a quiet affair, in which she seated herself silently and didn’t allow for objections. She wanted him to look at her.

When she was comfortable, Black Star could only try his best to deflect. She was staring at him again, no respite in those forest depths, and her shoulders weren’t strong, they were drooped. They caved forward to show how tired she was.

“You’re wearing yourself out,” she told him. It dropped like a stone in the empty shop, and he averted his eyes.

“Still dunno what you mean.”

Like a whip, Maka’s eyes flashed to something fiery and she fisted the front of his shirt. “You do know what I mean, stop acting stupid.” His own bullheaded visage came to the front at her quick words, feeling the sting and challenge they brought. His face twisted up into something stubborn, but he kept quiet.

“You keep…” she started. Her eyebrows bunched up, like she was unsure of how to piece together her thoughts. She struggled to find the words. “You keep putting yourself in the way, like you don’t trust me, or like I’m going to break. I’ve had enough.”

She is not untrustworthy and she is not fragile, this he knew. He knew, and yet he couldn’t go more than a few minutes with her out of his sight. It bothered him to think of sleeping and leaving her— but that’s just it, isn’t it? She could protect herself, but he was at odds with the desperation he felt. Black Star remained silent, and Maka did not budge.

“It’s just like you to take on the brunt and leave me behind.”

Shocked, Black Star looked up only to see the defeat on her face. Her chin was canted up, and she looked so disappointed.

He insisted, “I’m not leaving you behind. I don’t even know how to do that!”

“Yes, you are!” Her voice rose past a comfortable point and he shushed her. Somewhere along the line, his hands found her waist. “Don’t screw with me, you don’t want me doing anything that puts me in the way!”

“I’m just trying to keep us safe, Maks,” he said with composure. But the more he brushed her off, the more determined she became. It didn’t matter, though, because horrors rushed like rain before him. He remembered the river incident, and when he lost her in the apartments, and the time they were boxed in a convenient store. They all flash in front of him like a screaming reminder.

“‘There’s not an ‘us’ when you put it all on your shoulders,” she told him. “See? You’re still thinking of me in danger, but it’s never about you. What, do you not need it?” Her accusatory tone rubbed him wrong, but he couldn’t deny what she was saying.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?” he snapped, pointedly ignoring her question. Immediately, she was affronted, but listened to him speak. “I don’t know why it’s such an issue if we’re both still here.”

Maka took in another breath and fixed him with her steely eyes. In the next moment, she said quieter, “I get that you want to protect us—“ His nostrils flared and before he could interrupt she continued. “—but I’ve survived just as long as you have.”

They were two halves of a whole, equally as fierce as they were stubborn. He couldn’t name a person with whom he was more equally matched. They were deadlocked, both feeling the effects of their feelings, but Maka always had more to say.

“You can rely on me, too,” she told him. Black Star hung his head.

“I can do more than the both of us,” he maintained.

“That’s your ego talking, but what happens when you’re so tired you make the wrong call?” She tugged his shirt for emphasis. “What will you do when you’re so preoccupied with me, that you hurt yourself?”

“That won’t happen,” he tried.

“You don’t know that!” Maka looked at him with a desperate expression that felt shared. Unexpectedly, she started shifting like she was going to rise. “I should have known you weren’t going to listen—“ She pushed at his chest and he felt it too keenly to ignore.

Black Star moved on instinct. Just as Maka was moving back and away, he leaned forward so that he could bring her back to him.

“Stop it,” he chided. She responded with rejecting shoves, though none were particularly convincing. “Stop it,” he finally insisted. He brought her back to his chest and held her securely around the waist.

“Why?” she muffled into his chest. She was breathing a little more heavily now, and so he rubbed an idle hand up and down her back. His own nerves were still sizzling and teeming with words unsaid, worries left unchecked, but he could give her this. He knows she’d hate him if he didn’t listen.

He didn’t answer, and she didn’t press again, only continued to let him hold her. A moment of peace passed between them, ire dying down to something more manageable.

“I forgot how good you were at arguing,” he said after a while. It was an olive branch. She wiggled something impatient against him, but he wasn’t content with letting her go just yet.

“That’s something you forget?” she grumbled into his shoulder. His comforts appeased her, and if one of his hands reached up to soothe the back of her neck, neither of them said anything about it.

“What do you want me to do?” he finally asked. He sighed heavily, feeling a mountain’s worth of exhaustion weigh on him in the aftermath.

Maka sniffed once, and insisted, “Stop leaving me to sleep alone. I don’t like it, and you always lie when you say you’re going to wake me up.” Her own hands fiddled with his clothes, worrying the fabric between her fingers and picking at stray threads.

Black Star’s hand drifted father up her neck until it reached the hair on the back of her neck. Twin tails still adorned her head, and the hair ties she had left were treasures she guarded closely. He made a mental note to find her more the next time they hit up a store.

“I guess I can do that,” he conceded. Gently, Maka picked her head back up and lended him her vulnerable expression.

“Really?” she asked. His only answer was to lean his head back against the wall and nod, eyes closed in defeat. Maka’s own head rolled forward in relief, slowly coming to lay on his chest again.

“I’m so tired,” she told him. He knew that she meant in more ways than one. His quiet, “Yeah,” was all the agreement she wanted.

“You need to lean on me so you can be more carefree, dummy,” Maka whispered. Caught off guard by the phrase, he could only huff the smallest laugh. He smiled something small and knowing against the crown of her head.

“I’ll take you up on that, then.”

It was easy to maneuver both of them back down to the floor. They laid on their sides, with him behind her and pillowing her head with his arm. His spare was left to drape warmly over her middle, and she was more than happy to curl into the crook of his body.

Maka released a grounding sigh. It was full bodied and teeming with respite, an untapped well of rest. “You’re sleeping, right?” she asked. His fingers, ever coaxing, slid under her bangs. Practiced, he lets his hand cover her eyes like a blanket. Her own fingers reached up to grab his wrist. It reminded him of soft toys, things held for security.

“Yeah,” he promised.

He closed his eyes.

#makaxblackstarweek2020 #mastar week 2020 #mastar #soul eater #my fic #thank you so so much to my bae nene who kept encouraging me and supporting me so i could get this out ;-;#much love to ma girls because i just love yall and how we're doing this together even tho we're so small #hope its good??#pls lemme know #yes they love each other and are pining u-u #soon they will smooch

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esthete-god · 4 years

Text

Alain Delon's farewell letter to Romy Schneider

Farewell My Puppelé

“I watch you sleep. I’m with you, by your bedside. You’re wearing a long black tunic and red embroidery on the bodice. These are flowers, I think, but I do not look at them. I will say goodbye, the longest farewell, my Puppelé. That’s how I called you. It meant “little doll” in German. I do not watch the flowers, but your face and I think you’re beautiful, and never, perhaps you have been so beautiful. I also think this is the first time in my life – and yours – I see you calm and soothed. You’re so quiet, you are so fine , how beautiful you are. Looks like a hand, gently wiped your face all the tensions, all anxieties of misfortune.

I watch you sleep. They tell me that you’re dead. I think of you, of me, of us. What am I guilty of? We ask ourselves this question before a being that is loved and still love that one. This feeling fills you, and then flows back and then we say that one is not guilty, no, but responsible … I am. Because of me, what is your heart in Paris the other night, stopped beating. Because of me because it was there twenty-five years and I had been chosen to be your partner in “Christine”. You came to Vienna and I waited, in Paris, with a bouquet of flowers in his arms I did not know how to hold. But the film’s producers told me: “When it come down from the bridge, you will advance to her and offer these flowers.” I waited with my flowers, like a fool, mixed with a horde of photographers. You’re down. I stepped forward. You said to your mother, “Who is this boy?”. She answered you: “It must be Alain Delon, your partner … “. And then nothing, no thunderbolt, no. And then I went to Vienna where we were shooting the film. And then I fell madly in love with you. And you fell in love with me. Often, we asked ourselves one to another issue of love, “Who fell in love the first, you or me?”. We counted ‘One, two, three! “And we answered:” Neither you nor I! Together “. My God, we were young, and as we were happy. At the end of the film, I said, “Come live with me in France” and already you told me: “I want to live near you, in France.” Do you remember when? Your family, your parents, furious. And throughout Austria, Germany, who all treated me … usurper, the kidnapper, who accused me of removing the “Empress”! Me, a French, who did not speak a word of German. And you, Puppelé, who did not speak a word of French.

We loved without words, in the beginning. We looked and we had some laughs. Puppelé … And I was “Grandpa”. After a few months, I did not speak German yet but you spoke French so well and we played at the theater in France. Visconti was the staging. He told us that we resembled and we had, between the eyebrows, the same V that wrinkled, anger, fear of life and anxiety. He called it the “V of Rembrandt” because, he said, that this painter had “V” on his self portraits. I watch you sleep. “The V of Rembrandt” is deleted … You have no fear. You are no longer frightened. You’re more alert. You are no longer hunted. The hunt is over and you rest.

I look at you again and again. I know you so well and so strong. I know who you are and why you died. Your character, as they say. I reply, ‘other’, the character of Romy was her character. That’s it. Leave me alone. You were violent because you were right. A child who soon became a star, too soon. So, on one side, whims, tantrums and moods of a child, always justified, of course, but with unpredictable reactions, on the other hand, the professional authority. Yes, but there are children who do not really know how it plays with. With that. And why. In this contradiction, through this breach, rush anxiety and unhappiness. When one is Romy Schneider, and we have the sensitivity and temperament in flower of life, on edge, which was yours. How to explain who you were and who we are, “actors”. How to tell them to keep playing, “Interpreter” to be what we are not really crazy and we become lost. To stand, roughly, how they say it is so difficult, that there should such a strong character, such a balance … But this balance, how to find it in this world of ours, our jugglers, clowns, trapeze artists of the circus whose projectors we bask in glory? You said: “I can not do anything in life, but all the movies …”. No, the “others” can not understand that. That the more we become a great actor and it is awkward to live. Garbo, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth … And you. And I cried, while you rest and I weep beside you, no, no, no, this business is not a terrible business woman. I know because the man I’m the one who is best known thee, who brought you the better understood. Because he is an actor, too. We were of the same race, my Puppelé, we spoke the same language. But I am a man. They can not understand us, “other”. The actors, yes. The “other” are not. It’s inexplicable. And when you’re a woman, like you, they may not realize that they can die of “it.” They say you were a myth. Of course … But yes … But the “myth”, he knows he is just that. A facade. A reflection. Appearance. he is king, prince, hero, Sissi, Mrs. Haneau, the seagull … But he goes home, the myth, at night. So it is that Romy, just a woman with a life misunderstood, poorly received, poorly written in newspapers, assailed and hunted. So he wears, the myth, in his solitude. This anxiety. And the more he understands, and he falls, to more or less repeated doses, in the beatitudes of alcohol and tranquilizers. It becomes habit, then sets, then necessity. Then it is irreplaceable and the heart, worn out, stops because he is too tired to fight. It was too battered and shaken, his heart was only that of a woman in the evening, sitting over a glass …

They say that desperation that you caused the death of David you killed her. No, they are mistaken. Did he not kill her. There you have completed. True that you said to Lawrence, and your last wonderful companion: “I feel like I get to the end of the tunnel.” True that you wanted to live, you would have liked to live. Nevertheless true that you came out of the woods on Saturday at dawn. You were only to know when your heart is broken, that this was the true end of the tunnel.

I write at random. Without notice. My Puppelé, if aggressive, if scratched. You never could accept and understand the game of women’s work that you had chosen public and you loved. You did not understand that you were a public figure and it was so important. You refused the game, any game that exposes profession. You felt attacked, breakthrough, broken into your privacy. You were always on your guard, like a hunted animal, “forced” as they say a deer. And you knew that fate, with one hand, t’ôtait what gave you the other.

We lived more than five years, one near each other. You with me. Me with you. Together. Then life … Our life, which nobody’s business, has separated us. But we were called. Often. Yes, that’s exactly right: we embarked on “appeals”. Then, in 1968, it was “The Pool”. We found ourselves, to work. I went looking for you in Germany. I met David, your son.

After our movie, you’re my sister, I am your brother. Everything is clean and clear of us. More passion. Better than that: our friendship blood, likeness and words. And then your life and your ways, unhappiness and anxiety, the anxiety … They will say, “other”, “What an actress! What actress! “. They do not know that you are the actress, cinema, because you are in your life that you and pays dearly. They do not understand the drama of your life reflect upon the screen later in your roles. They can not guess that you are “good” and “brilliant”, the movies, because you live the tragedy at hand, and you are upsetting because you light up the reflection of your personal dramas. And you do not radiated because they burn you. Oh! Puppelé this work my pain! Do I have lived with you or next to you?

Until the death of David, yet there is “the trade” that you held your head above water. Then David left … And the business was no longer sufficient. So I was not surprised when I learned that you also worry was gone. What was I surprised? Your non-suicide. But your heart is cracked, no. I said: “That was the end of the tunnel.”

I watch you sleep. Wolfie, your brother, and Lawrence enter the room. I speak with Wolfie. We remember this house I had in the countryside. Of Dobermans that made you so afraid. We remember again … That was twenty-five years ago, in Bavaria, in a small village. Wolfie was fourteen, my twenty-three and twenty thou. We laughed when we announced the visit of the President of Fan Club Romy Schneider in France. We have seen it happen a great girl, with glasses, shy, and named Bernadette. When we returned to Paris, we have called him. She became our secretary for six years. It is always mine, for twenty-two years now. I watch you sleep. Yesterday you were still alive. It was night. You said to Lawrence, as you return home: “Go to bed. I’ll join him earlier. I rest a bit with David, listening to music. ” You said that every night … You wanted to be alone with the memory of your dead child before bed. You sat. You took the paper and a pencil and you started to make drawings. For Sarah. You were drawing for your little girl, when your heart has hurt so much, suddenly … So beautiful. Beautiful, rich, famous, that you ought to be more? Peace, a little happiness.

I watch you sleep. I’m alone again. I say you loved me. I loved you. I have made you a French, a French star. Of that, yes, I feel responsible. And this country that you loved, for my sake, became yours. France. So, Wolfie decided – Lawrence and told him that you wanted it – you’d stay here and that you should rest forever in the land of France. A Boissy. Where, in a few days, your son, David, will join you. In a small village where you had just received the keys of a house. There, you wanted to live near Lawrence, near Sarah, thy daughter. There, you will sleep forever. In France. Closer to home, close to me.

I took care of you left Boissy, to relieve Laurent and your family. But I do not go to church or the cemetery. Wolfie and Laurent understand me. You, I ask you to forgive me. You know I would not be able to protect yourself from this crowd, this storm, so eager to “show” and made you so afraid, that you tremble. Forgive me. I’ll see you tomorrow, and we are alone.

My Puppelé, I look at you again and again. I want to devour all of my eyes, and tell you again and again that you’ve never been so beautiful and calm. Rest. I’m here. I learned a little German, with you. Ich liebe dich. I love you. I love you my Puppelé. ”

Alain Delon

#alain delon #romy schneider #love #love story #falling in love #i love her #love letters #farewell #sad thoughts #sad #sadlife #sadness #sad aesthetic

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laughing-with-god · 5 years

Text

Pen Pal Final (Part two of two)

Words; 6k

“Everyone can start again, not through love but through revenge. Through the fire, we’re born again. Peace by vengeance, brings the end.”

Surprisingly, you felt no sense of sadness.

Remorse simply evaded you with great ease.

Were you a fucked up person? Had you suddenly hit the imaginary brick wall of stockholm syndrome? Why did you feel so...indifferent? Aloof, even...

You watched the very woman who made your existence possible, who held you for 9 months and raised you well into adulthood, get butchered in cold blood right before you. Her nagging and shrill voice was ringing in your ears only seconds prior, until it simply wasn’t anymore. Cut off by a stabbing of her esophagus and never allowed to speak again. Abused into an eternal silence.

Yet, the breakage of some type of emotional dam never came. What replaced it was an odd tingling of numbness that left you barren of remorse. Like shell shock; your body thought denial of the nervous system was the best route of coping.

Like a scene of a cheesy 70’s horror movie, you witnessed Jungkook grin evilly over the fresh corpse of your mother. His youthful and dapper face held the disgusting splatters of gory red ink, although he seemed to pay it no attention as he turned his focus onto you.

“Don’t worry, sugar.” His voice was smooth and thick, unaffected yet sweet. It doused the walls of the murder scene with sticky honey as if the most horrendous crime against humanity wasn’t just committed. You watched your ‘pal’ take a good look at his knife and run his finger along the blade, collecting droplets of blood. He didn’t look up from the action as he said, “You’ll never have to worry about her again.”

Your legs lost their strength and you felt your sense of balance waver. Although you felt your body crumble, you refused to look away from Jungkook. You much rather study his face that held an odd mixture of chaos with adolescence and was tainted with the plasma of your mother than look down upon the carcass itself.

Behind his onyx irises gleamed a sick sense of satisfaction; if it wasn’t evident in his eyes it was sure clear from his smirk. Justice had prevailed in his odd sense of logic and he had made himself the judge, jury and executioner of such case. Proud he stood, like a hunter over his captured and massacred prey, almost beaming at the prospect of hanging her ‘antlers’ on his wall as a cheap trophy.

The smell of metallic iron and copper haunted the room, along with the remnants of your mom’s floral perfume that always managed to give you headaches. This would be the final time you would experience that scent; it radiating out of the glands of her stiff and lifeless body and breeding with the aroma of her claret blood.

You heard a bulky ‘thump’ sound.

It took you a bit to realize that it was the sound of your own body hitting the floor.

Your legs had given out.

Your pathetic legs were folded feebly underneath you, your upper half was still upright and staring ahead at the man in front of you. In response, he raised a brow and casually stepped over the body before lowering himself to your level, feet still planted in the ground but arms over his knees and gazing expectantly at you.

“What’s wrong?”

Like watching a shapeshifter in action, you witnessed his unforgiving eyes morph into that of a docile puppy. Glassy and syrupy, his orbs bore into yours in fondness and concern.

You quickly ripped your eye line away from him, not knowing if you could bear his face at a new found close-range.

Instead you stared straight ahead, the steady stream of blood from the neck of your mother was flowing onto the carpet, staining the fabric below with a ruby puddle-like stain.

Jungkook seemed to follow your gaze and breathed out a cheery ‘oh!’ when he caught sight of what you were so fixated on.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know you hate messes but I promise I’ll clean it all up.” he focused more on the mess than the actual reason behind it.

A pause followed as you heard Jungkook stand up.

“Now...where do you keep your garbage bags?”

The water that hit your frame was scolding hot, enough to boil really, yet it affected you not.

You let the pattering stream beat your body into a gooey submission, your very skin screaming for the abuse to end as it broke out in angry red rashes. The handle bar for the temperature of water was turned all the way to the hot side, releasing a rain of hell upon your naked and fragile form.

You were far from a masochist, yet the pleasure you took in such torment suggested a link to you and the behavior.

Although the setting of the shower would bring the assumption of cleaning oneself, you did not bother with soap.

The blazing water was more than enough to disinfect whatever filth was attached to you.

Yet the filth you seeked to rid of was not a physical layer of grime, rather it was a deeper sense of rot that tainted your very soul and essence of being.

Guilt and shame was what you wished to wash away.

The fiery water was meant to remind you of where you would be going after death.

And the agony it brought was meant to force you to experience a fraction of what your mother did when she was annihilated before you.

Why didn’t you do anything?

Why did you just sit and watch?

Why do you CONTINUE to do nothing?

Why did you let your fears rule your life?

First the world, your plan of action was to hide from it.

And now, Jungkook….

He invaded your home and made himself comfortable...and you still just let him do what he pleases. Your fate was easily compared to that of a cattle, sheltered until time for slaughter. And today you saw first hand how easy killing came to him. A blink of an eye and you can be over and done with. Although your life was uneventful, you still treasured what other people were unable to; the comfiness of your home, the reading a book, a mug of your favorite warm drink…...and to think that all could be gone due to a swift mood swing of Jungkook.

After Jungkook had announced that he needed a garbage bag, your body leapt into auto-pilot and hastily made way to the bathroom.

You locked yourself in the tiny room and pressed your body against it, the belated tears had made their arrival and cascaded down your face as sobs shook your body.

You heard Jungkook knock on the door a few times, asking if you were okay.

When he heard no response other than your cries, he blatantly told you in what he must’ve thought was a reassuring tone that he was going to “take care of the issue”.

Moments later, you heard the front door of your apartment open and close.

It was going without say, he was going to dispose of the body.

You took it upon yourself to punish the sinful and weak actions you had partook in. Since clearly any higher power up there was severely lacking in forcing their hand to you. How was it that the evil seemed to live on while the good died? Your sister and mother were taken too soon and too harshly, while someone like you (spineless and delirious) and Jungkook (sinister and heartless) lived on. It wasn’t fair. And for this very reason, you had a hard time believing in ‘god’....for what god allows such wicked actions to unfold amidst his creations?

Your body ached and the scalding temperature had become too much to bear, despite how much you wished to suffer.

You found yourself turning the water off and facing the steamed bathroom, it had become so foggy that it was hard to even make out what was right in front of you.

You reluctantly stepped out of the shower and snatched a towel, wrapping it around your shivering figure.

You approached the sink and wiped the steam from the mirror above with your bare hand, the coldness of the glass causing you to hiss as your hand was basically grilled from the torment.

You studied your reflection.

Your face was paler than usual; pores having lost color due to shock. Your torso downwards was reddish and heavily marked with what you had made your body endure in that bathtub. Your hair was soaked and darkened, while your dull eyes stared back at you; redshot and traumatized.

You gazed at the broken girl in the mirror with self-hatred swirling in your gut with each passing second.

Time passed. Whether it was an hour or a few minutes, you did not know. You and your reflection were having a stare down, it was easier to degrade and despise when you had the face of the person staring right back at you.

Your dry throat let out an even drier chortle, the sound chilling even to you.

You were beyond hope.

When you heard the sound of the apartment door opening once more with Jungkook’s arrival, the fear and doom you were expecting to experience did not hit you.

Instead, you just waited.

You were laying on your bed, staring up at the white ceiling with a tranquility that you had no right to feel given current circumstances. You suspected that it was from a peculiar sense of acceptance. Like when someone with a terminal disease is coming to terms with their end, you also felt no need to fight destiny. Thus, you just waited for the ruler of your fate to find you.

Your ears had heard nothing but silence for hours now, therefore the noise of Jungkook’s approaching footsteps were easily picked up upon. Jungkook wasted no time heading to the bedroom, searching your presence as if he was a moth to flame.

The door creaked open and he slowly emerged into the room.

You still did not turn to face him, depending on hearing alone to deduce his movements and actions. A quick shuffling followed and then you felt a weight press down beside you, his body now accompanying yours via laying right beside you and facing the ceiling.

The sound of your guys’ breathing is all that was heard. Jungkook’s breaths more shallow and quick while yours was deep and slow. It was like this for a minute, almost a peaceful scene...until your mouth felt the need to move on its’ own accord.

“You’re a monster.”

There it was...out in the open for Jungkook to dissect and ravish. Your blunt and unfiltered feelings were finally dished out, this time with no fear of punishment that had held you back before. It was something that needed to escape your chest, the weight of it was practically crushing you and breaking a few ribs in the process, it was a matter of time before it would smother your lungs. Even if he were to beat or kill you for speaking so boldly, the relief of finally saying those words to him would easily overshadow the pain he could inflict on you. If those were your last words to your killer, you would at least die with some peace of mind.

A sharp intake of breath. Then, a chuckle.

“I know.” Your felt more than heard Jungkook change position beside you, arm propped up on the pillow for him to rest his head on while he gazed down at you from a higher viewpoint. “Can you blame me though? The world made me like this. You understand….right?”

You scoffed at this lukewarm response. This was apparently a cue for him to continue even further.

“Y/n, you can look down upon me from whatever pedestal you wish, but the fact of the matter is that we’re not too different you and I. We both are one of a kind, the only two people who seem to notice how fucked and deranged our surroundings are. I’ve never met anyone else who saw things just as I had. The only difference is that our strategies of surviving are different. Whilst I decide to fight back and get rid of people I need to, you simply chose to isolate yourself from everything. But the core of our values and fears are the same. Identical, even.” Jungkook paused, most likely to allow you a second to process what he had just said. To let the seed fully plant in your brain and soak into your understanding. “Baby, the only reason you’re shaken by me is because you see something in me. Deep inside, you know I would never hurt you. So why are you so afraid? Well, the reason is this; you see yourself in me.”

You blinked away oncoming tears, the words he had spoken were soul crushing- true or not. They screamed in your itching ears and pounded viciously at your already bruised heart. Guilt ate away at you because the chain of events was spelled out for you; if you weren’t an anti-social and paranoid freak, then you would have never appealed to Jungkook or even reached out to him in the first place. You were the honey that attracted the bee, knowingly or not. And it ended up being the worst mistake of your life. One that others would have to pay for with their lives.

“W-why?” Your voice was watery and hoarse, defeated and battered.

You didn’t even know what you were asking an explanation for. There was too much that lacked any logical sense to you, you knew that you would never reach satisfying conclusions for half of them. But you still would lap at whatever mental response Jungkook would give you, you wanted to die at least knowing as much as you could. Even if it was through the crazed lense of a killer.

“Don’t be stupid, Y/n. You’re smarter than that. You know damn well that you belong to me as I belong to you. We’re soulmates, every bit of ourselves is meant to compliment the other, even when we are opposites it only serves for greater balance.” He huffed. “Don’t be like the other girls, they were too foolish to see how dedicated I am to those I love. I know you’re different and I know that seeing your mother die must’ve freaked you out but you have to trust that I know what’s best for you...for us.”

You licked your lips and shut your eyelids, hoping the added pressure would help dissolve the tears welling up in your eyes.

“I would kill for you. In fact, I already had. Can’t you see how loyal and faithful I am of you? Do you think I would do that for just anyone? No….of course I wouldn’t. My violence is reserved for you because your soul was carefully constructed to be mine. Out of all the inmates you could have gotten paired with, you got me. Out of all the ideologies you could’ve had, you shared my fucked up one. This isn’t coincidence, this is fate. No matter how looney people may call me, I know god’s work when I see it.”

Those were the last words you heard before Jungkook glided the covers over your bodies, silently deeming it time for sleep before he engulfed your smaller frame with his limbs, like an octopus attempting to trap someone. He kissed your temple and snuggled closer, quickly finding the sought after rest that you wouldn’t have the luxury of receiving till much later.

Your body was heavy with fatigue.

Your mind was even more groggy, it’s usual gears were strained with the emotional stimulation you had experienced that day.

You were somewhere between consciousness and sleep, not fully awake but also not well within the depths of rem cycle either. Something just told you that you weren’t going to get sleep that night as well, but that didn’t stop you from feigning rest in Jungkook’s arms.

Said killer was genuinely knocked out, grip still tight on you and heavy breathing of a relaxed man was sounding right in your ear.

It was like clockwork in the otherwise mute room, the sounds of his intake and disposure of breath, each one radiating warmth upon your neck.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exha- “Psst!”

Your bleary eyes shot open at the sudden and unexpected whispering.

Your lips trembled in shock.

You knew very well that it wasn’t you nor Jungkook who made that noise.

And nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you turned your head towards the sound, the sight almost scream inducing and heart dropping.

She was bent over the side of your bed, face close in proximity to yours. She wore a white dress and her hair was down and flowing in its’ natural state, strands illuminated in the moonlight. She gazed at you with care in her (E/c) orbs as her lips twisted up in a gentle smile, the fondness of seeing an old friend or loved one after a long time.

Her face held features almost identical to yours, although hers’ were a bit more refined due to the aged nature. The similarities gave away the obvious to any outsider who might have stumbled upon the sight, you two were siblings.

Such visitation would be more than welcomed and no cause for concern, if it weren’t for the fact your sister was dead.

She released a giggle at your horrified expression, seemingly unable to understand why you’d be stunned at her arrival from beyond the grave.

“Hurry up, we don’t have much time.” She hushed before reaching over to nudge your arm, encouraging you to move. Her touch wasn’t ice cold like movies or books depicted ghosts to be, instead it was just as warm and fleshy as how she felt when she was alive.

You looked back at Jungkook, then back at her hoping she can see your conundrum of being stuck and not able to get up like she wished. In response she just rolled her eyes, reminding you all too well of how carefree and bold your sister had been in life. She minded the killer not (as you probably would have too if you were dead and couldn’t be killed again) and grabbed your arm to pull you off the bed. “Don’t worry, he’s not going to get up.”

Before you could ask her how she would even know that Jungkook would stay unaware, she was already dragging you out the room and to the main part of your apartment. Surprisingly, you didn’t hear Jungkook awake from his slumber or seek out your now missing presence from his hold.

Her footsteps were speedy but soundless, and the remark of ‘running out of time’ rang in your head. What time crunch could she possibly be under?

The living area of your home was doused in darkness, the only light source originated from the the street lights and moon that filtered through the windows. Your sister guided you to a particular window, releasing your arm momentarily to unlock and open it.

You watched in confusion as she leaned out of the open window, as if to check something underneath the floor you lived in.

“W-what are you doing?” You asked, not comprehending anything of what your ghost of a sister was setting out to accomplish.

She turned to face you with a mischievous grin, a look you were familiar with when she usually was in the beginning process of cooking up an elaborate plan.

“Y/n, did you know that there’s a fire escape right by this window?” Her voice was innocent yet clever, like a teacher trying to gently lead a student to an answer without directly spelling it out to them.

She turned to face you, and waved you over to get closer to the frame of the window and look down at whatever she was studying. She wanted you to see something.

You did so without question, if your sister made a trip from the afterlife to visit; the least you could do is entertain whatever she wanted to show you.

The briskness of the night air pinched at your cheeks as you leaned your face outside the window. You looked down and saw the other windows of the people who lived floors below you, some dark and some still illuminated by light.

Your brows furrowed at this mediocre sight. But then your sister said something once again.

“The neighbor who lives right below you, Mrs. Winkel I think, watches soap operas well into the break of dawn.”

Your brows rose higher at that, confused at such an odd statement and even more befuddled at how she would know such information about people neither you or her had met. It was so symblominal...like a riddle for you to solve.

“What does th-” you were cut off by a pair of slim arms hugging you from behind, your sister having spooned you from the back as she rested her chin on your shoulder.

“You’re going to live. It’s not your time to go yet. Trust me on this…Just heed my hints.”

You turned around in order to ask her face to face to be more clear about what she was trying to say...but you were faced with nothing but a dark living room that was empty besides yourself.

You awoke with a startle, your body having sat up as you gasped for air and placed a hand on your drumming heart.

You wildly snapped your head back and forth, searching your bedroom for an unseen figure lurking in the shadows.

But alas, everything was just as you had remembered it to be.

Jungkook was still sleeping deeply beside you, arms this time holding a pillow instead of you.

You took deep breaths and tried to calm down as you realized what had just happened; you had drifted off and had a dream.

It was just a dream.

Your sister wasn’t really here.

You weren’t sure whether or not to be relieved by the revelation that your sister did not in fact rise from the dead to give you a little visit. On the other hand, the discovery of it just being a dream was semi-alarming. You had never had dreams of her before, and the realism of it was concerning.

It felt so real…

Cold sweat dripped from your forehead and you ripped the covers off of your body in search for escape of the suffocating heat.

Your throat and mouth were parched in a dryness that was the equivalent of having swallowed a handful of sand. Your tastebuds were pleading for cool water to soothe the agony. Thus you got up on shaky legs and quietly made your way to the kitchen, careful not to awaken Jungkook.

You took your time in pouring the water into the cup and gulping it down. You were in no means in a rush to return to bed with Jungkook, you still were shocked that you even managed to catch a wink of rest next to him after what he did that day.

While you drank the liquid, you found your mind replaying the dream over and over again in your head. The details in it were so precise and careful, something you doubted your brain could conjure up on a whim.

You wondered….

You found your eyes drifting to the very same window that your sister referenced in the dream. Curiousity fueled you to walk over to it and peek through the glass, wondering if the sight would be the same to what you had seen in your dream.

You gasped when you indeed saw what your sister had said; a fire escape was there.

You froze in shock as you tried to piece together the unseen puzzle that was awaiting your resolution.

“Did you know that there’s a fire escape right by this window?”

“Your neighbor right below you watches soap operas well into the break of dawn.”

“You’re going to live.”

“Trust me on this….just heed my hints.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief as your sisters’ knowing voice rang in your mind…

Could it be that your dream was spelling out an escape plan?

You took a deep breath and weighed out your options, silently gazing out the window and trying to calculate the logistics of such strategy.

If you didn’t act out and attempt the window proposal, you would have to return back to Jungkook and possibly spend years with him...if he didn’t snap and kill you, that is. Your options of escape were very limited to none, given you couldn’t just burst out the apartment due to your horrendous anxiety. Also, all means of reaching out were utterly destroyed by Jungkook. The fire escape could be your only source of reaching out, yet it was a messy plan that held one too many untrustworthy factors. What if you used the escape to knock on your neighbor’s window and get her attention, only for her to shoo you away? What if you fell off the escape and five stories down to your death? What if you got stuck and Jungkook was left to find you the next day? That would be a sure deathwish. Either way, you were not guaranteed happy ending.

“Trust me.”

You closed your eyes and heaved in air with shuddering breaths, along with whatever courage you could gather.

You didn’t know if it was pathetic or liberating that you would rather die trying to leave him with this shitty plan rather than waiting the whole situation out with him.

You slowly opened the window, sliding it upwards and cursing the little screeching noise it made after being utilized after so many years.

The night air was cold, but due to the adrenaline in your veins you managed to not feel it’s painful sting. You slowly placed your foot onto the metal of the step on the fire escape, taking much longer than needed to slowly shift the rest of your weight onto it. As if you were in slow motion, you tactfully descended downwards.

The window right below yours glowed like some sort of safe haven just awaiting you. You noted with a tearful shock that you could see into the living room of this lady’s home and what you saw caused your heart to flutter; she was watching soap operas.

“...watches soap operas well into the break of dawn.”

She was an older woman, this was given from her wrinkles, grey hair, slouched posture and seemingly homemade sweater. Her beady eyes were magnified by the intensity of her prescription glasses, that reminded you of the bottom of coke glasses, as she soaked in the screen in front of her with awe.

Your fate depended on this old little lady.

You reached out a quivering hand and knocked thrice onto her glass window.

She looked up and saw you, eyes widening almost comically before thrusting into action and moving her little senior legs to open the window.

You cried and cried, looking at her in a pleading beg as she attempted to calm you and get you inside the safety of her home.

“Please call 911. Please call. I’m begging.” You sobbed over and over again.

The calming scent of peppermint tea was all you could smell as Mrs. Winkel threw a blanket over your shaking form.

She had rushed you into her home and shut the window before closing the blinds. Then she reached for her ancient home phone and dialed up the sacred three numbers that you had called out for like a prayer.

She made you tea and tried to soothe you enough to get a clear picture of what was happening. All you could manage to tell her was that there was a very bad man holding you hostage in your apartment.

Mrs. Winkel pinched your cheek and said something about ‘young and dumb love’ which made you cringe. She probably thought this was a boyfriend having gone crazy situation. If only she knew there was a seasoned serial killer right above her.

She had called the police about six minutes ago and you two were frantically waiting for their arrival. She mentioned that the police station was somewhat far away from where you two lived, noting that it may take a while for them to come. But they were on their way, and that was all that mattered.

This did nothing to help your nerves.

Neither did the resounding bellowing noise of glass crashing violently that followed shortly after.

Like a bat out of hell, you watched in horror as he tumbled into the area with shards of glass raining down chaotically around him.

The blade of a knife was held between his clenched teeth.

The tea cup in your hand dropped as you realized how doomed you truly were.

He had found you.

He had caught on to your little plan.

And he was furious.

Jungkook stood up to his full height, eyes sharp as steel and set on you and this poor old lady. He tilted his head and retrieved his weapon from his mouth, tossing it casually in the air as if it were a pencil and not the way your mother had met her end.

“....Well, this definitely is going to be my oldest one yet.” He stalked forward and you felt Mrs. Winkel cower beside you. “I must say, I feel a little less guilty knowing you lived a full life.” He rumbled, obviously addressing the elder.

Your blood ran cold and a terrible realization that you were going to witness yet another murder hit you like a freight train.

You couldn’t let him do that.

You just couldn’t.

Not when you were so close.

In a swift and haste movement, you hurled your body into his in hopes of containing him in any way.

You two rolled onto the floor, him groaning while you just tried your hardest to get that knife as far away from him as you can. His grasp was stubborn however and your prying was rendered useless. You didn’t give up the fight though, if only it was for the sake of time until the cops came.

This continued for a few seconds and you heard Mrs. Winkel scream and shuffle towards the exit of her home, hopefully calling for help.

Jungkook released a grunt and steadily overpowered you, pinning you down with your hands above your head. Your body weakly wriggled in response, for the first time ever you responded with fight instead of flight. It wasn’t like you had any choice though….

You stopped your movements when you noticed that his arms were simply unmoveable and pleadingly looked up at Jungkook’s bottomless orbs, hoping that a moment of vulnerability could get you through to him.

“Don’t.” You cried, desperate that there was a twinge of empathy in his cold heart...a crumb of logic somewhere left in his deranged mind. Something. He had to have been a normal guy at some point, right? If only you could scrape through the layers of his insane persona to get to a softer side...a side that would give you a fighting chance of escaping.

His doe eyes watered up with unshed tears, lower lip trembling as he clearly read the fear on your face….fear caused by him. “I-I have to do this. It’s the only way to keep you with me.”

His voice was hoarse and for the first time ever, you heard a powerless tone seep from his words.

You stilled as an epiphany stole your focus.

Sympathy swelled in your heart, and an odd sense of love for this maniacal boy bestowed you. Never would you excuse what he had done, yet the reasoning behind his actions was a tragedy like no other. His love for you was beyond reason or morals, it was as self-destructive as it was outwardly destructive to any poor soul that crossed his path. All because his worship of you that blinded him along with a basic sense of right and wrong. He showed his affection the only way he knew how; killing. A string of victims before you were evidence of his overzealous allegiance to the object of his affection. It was a catastrophe that he had found you...that he had formed such a connection with the one person he thought would understand him. That his mind was sick and yours was sicker. How hypocritical would it be for you to place judgment on someone who also had an illness of the mind?

In a final goodbye and unsaid apology, you leaned up and planted your lips against his. He was going to rot away but you couldn’t bring yourself to be so harsh as to not give him a taste of what he so hungirly craved. Maybe if he wasn’t so crazed and you weren’t so neurotic….you two would have made a decent pair. But destiny made you two too fundementaly flawed for you two to ever experience the luxury of love. Jungkook only knew obsession, while you only knew fear.

His lips shivered against yours and you felt tears (that didn’t belong to you) splatter against your face.

“Freeze! Police! Get off the woman and put your hands in the air!”

~Epilogue~

With the tale over, you raised your eyes to meet the gentle but shocked gaze of the judge.

Your turn on the witness stand was lengthy, but it was what the case against Jungkook was built around. You nervously spilled your guts to the courtroom, knowing all too well how naive you sounded and how fucked the series of events were.

With the mention of Jungkook, you caught yourself looking across the courtroom (something you promised yourself you wouldn’t do) to find the man. He was sitting on the defense side, orange jumpsuit looking all too familiar against his sturdy figure and snowy skin.

His black eyes pierced ruthlessly at you, devouring your soul whole while his masked expression revealed little emotion to the anecdote you had just exposed to the jury and judge. Beside him, Jungkook’s lawyer sat with a puffed face and exhausted frown. The case was hard to defend and he without a doubt knew what an uphill battle it would be to get his client out of this. Yet, Jungkook seemed relaxed and at peace with everything happening around him. His lawyer doing all the stressing out for him.

You attention was stolen by a police officer leading you off the witness stand and back to your seat.

Moments later, the jury would announce their verdict.

You however did not wish to stick around for that. You gathered your bag and moved to leave the room, not wishing to be under these spectors’ microscope anymore by showing them your breakdown to Jungkook’s final punishment.

You had come to terms long ago with Jungkook’s sanity, you set aside your judgements because Jungkook was right when he said that you saw yourself in him….

To watch him get sentenced to a possible death or even a more stricter life sentence was jarring to you. You knew that it was what he deserved but it didn’t make the sting hurt any less. He needed help...if only someone was willing to help him. But your plea to the jury for a mental institution was overruled by the death of your mother and his previous record of five victims.

You understood him in an odd way…he was like the more brutal half to your soul.

But you also couldn’t forgive.

That’s why you decided to let Jungkook face the music alone. It wasn’t revenge, it was justice. Your heart and brain were too in conflict with each other for you to view this without bias.

When you headed for the exit of the courtroom, you heard the tortured hollering of Jungkook.

“Y/N!! DON’T LEAVE ME HERE! I NEED YOU! WE NEED EACH OTHER! I’M SORRY! YOU-” a struggling sound cut him off as some officers attempted to settle him back down.

You didn’t look back.

Jungkook was a part of you that needed to die, no matter how painful it would be.

When you exited the courtroom and eventually the entire building, you smiled at the bustling sidewalks and streets before breathing in the crisp fall air.

The world was indeed scary.

But after Jungkook, nothing could frighten you anymore.

(so....after 27,300 words pen Pal is finally over. i’m kinda sorry if this ending was unsatisfactory bc I’ve always been bad with wrapping my stories up but like tbh I kinda don’t care what anyone says anymore. So many ppl hit up my inbox about how they wanted the story to end up and someone even had a problem with the mom character which is funny bc I always planned for her death but like all I gotta say is; WRITE UR OWN FUCKING STORY. I did. So anyway srry for the mistakes bc I was in such a rush to post and my laptop thought it’d be cute to get virus. Please tell me what you thought and send love to my other stories. Signing off, Chinkbihh.)

(Ps, I kinda wanna do a FAQ for Pen pal for questions about the characters and process of writing this story, let me know if ya’ll would want this and what questions you have.)

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sleepychai-fics · 5 years

Text

Keith x Reader - A Lion’s Comfort

Not requested just something i thought up of and procrastinated on.

trigger warning: putting a small one on panic attacks nothing too severe it just talks about the procedure of a panic attack and what occurs.

i just dont want anyone to be triggered by anything i write so im trying to be careful with these.

no pronouns = gender neutral

Tag List:

@fanderrawr @thecinnabitch @dontcallmecedge

Words: 1990

trigger warning starts straight away

Too much. It’s all too much. The voices, inside and outside, talking ceaselessly. The air begins to grow heavy, as if my lungs refuse to fill up completely. I feel my body begin to shake, most evidently my hands. I barely comprehend my movement as my feet start to shuffle back. It isn’t until I hit a door do I turn around, finally managing to sprint away from the room, the automatic door barely managing to open up in time to let me pass.

Black spots encase my vision, my breaths getting shorter and shorter with every second that passes. I want to stop, to collapse, to pass out, but a gentle force pulls me down the corridor.

It’s unexplainable, but it’s as if the force is providing me the energy to keep running, to stop myself from falling down, numbing my senses in a way.

Many rooms pass me, I barely recognise what they are and even where I am at this point, but something keeps pulling me. Countless turns later I find myself slowing down towards an isolated door. It opens automatically, letting me collapse through.

Through my clenched shut eyes, I hear the door close. My breathing comes in painful, short gasps, my lungs barely allowing enough air in. Tears freely flow from my eyes, no chance in stopping them anytime soon.

I struggle to push myself up against the wall, but I manage to do so, with barely any strength left.

I stay there, body pushed against the wall, my chest heaving painfully as my lungs continue to refuse the breath they desperately need. I cough and wheeze in pain, I almost don’t recognise myself sliding down the wall, laying down against the wall.

My head pounds in tremendous pain, my ears ringing in constant pain. I scratch down the wall, my fingers straining for something to grip onto.

Just as I feel myself droop towards unconsciousness, I feel that same force that lead me here. It’s as if now it’s giving me the breath I need as I manage to inhale a big gulp of air. Then another one.

A few minutes pass of just lying there, slowly recovering as oxygen once again circulates around my body. My head stops pounding and the ringing in my ears dial down to a minimum. I feel my arms slowly regain their lost strength.

I lay there, gasping and groaning, my heart beat slowing down from its previous raced pace. I open my eyes, the black spots disappearing after a few passing seconds.

I blink up at the high ceiling, tears escaping and dribbling down my face. I weakly turn my head, wanting to get a proper look of the room I currently occupy, only to come to a different realisation.

Red’s glowing yellow eyes seem to stare at me, her body being poised in a cautious stance. Not threatening but more like fear of getting to close. I hear her purring rumble throughout my ears, as if it’s right next to me.

I look around, confirming to myself that I’m in her hangar. Her soothing purrs resonate throughout my mind, letting me relish in tranquillity and peace. I use the wall to my advantage and grip it, using it to help me stand up.

I grunt and tighten my grip on the wall, my legs shaking underneath me, still getting used to their regained strength.

I refocus my gaze on Red, realising her change in stance.

She’s a little bit closer to me now, this time laying down on her stomach. I stare at her, her yellow eye glinting at me. I feel her communicate with me, ideas and realisation flooding into my brain.

“You….You brought me here?” My voice is strained and raspy, small droplets of tears still spilling from my eyes.

Her reply comes shortly after. I gasp as images of Keith flashes through my vision, a feeling of peace and contentment washing over me.

“Keith?” I whisper.

Red purrs once again, feeding me with more emotions, surges of faith, certainty, and assurance rushing through me.

I stare at her in disbelief. “Keith trusts me?” I ask her.

Her purring reply clearly indicating a yes.

I look away briefly, piecing together her meaning. I slowly look back at her, noticing her head being propped between to two front paws.

“Keith trusts me, a lot. So, now…you trust me?” I question her.

I don’t expect the affirmative answer that rushes to me. I let out a surprising squeak as her mouth hisses open, the ramp slowly descending towards me. I stare at it in slight fear and confusion, before Red purrs in reassurance.

I stare at her cautiously, flicking from her eyes to the extended ramp. I make up my decision, balancing myself on my feet before staggering towards the ramp. I slowly waddle up the ramp, placing my hand on her mouth, using it as support. I look ahead, red lights glowing and surging with energy, urging me to continue forward. I do so in a slow, balancing pace. As I make it to the top of her mouth, I turn back, staring as the ramp slowly retreats back into Red. I return my gaze in front of me, a t-intersection a few steps ahead, one leading up some stairs and another leading down another straight hallway.

I stare in shock and amazement as the stairs light up in a bright red. I smile lightly and walk up the stairs, hands gripping the rails in support. The stairs lead me to another single hallway, the end of it extending to a circular room. As I enter the room, a door slides open.

I stare at the door as it opens and reveals Red’s cockpit.

Lights illuminate in a bright and dull red. A wave of tranquillity washes over me as the once dark screens flicker awake and reveals the hangar.

I slowly step towards the control panel, looking at the screen and getting a bird’s eye-view of the hangar. The floor seems to grow farther away as Red returns to her usual sitting position. I let out a content sigh and smile. I look at the seat behind me, seeing the cushions of the seat glow a faint red, almost luring me towards it.

I hesitantly place my hand on the arm rest. After seeing nothing change, I reluctantly sit down in it. It’s almost as if the chair was welcoming me as warmth sprouts through me. A sense of relief and security floods through me.

I smile again, bringing my knees to my chest and leaning back, my thumb gently caressing the armrest.

“Thank you, Red.” I whisper.

Red purrs once again. Before I even sense it, I let my eyes close, welcoming the peaceful sleeps that awaits me.

I startle awake, arms instinctively clinging to the closest object.

“Hey! It’s just me. Calm down, I’ve got you.” Keith’s voice calms me down as I quickly regain my composure, Keith’s arms securing me in a bridal hold.

I stare at him in a sleepy haze before looking around. The lights in the cockpit changed from their bright luminescent glow to a dim glow. The screen is turned off and the control panel gleams slightly, being the only light that barely lights up the room.

I look back at Keith who eyes me with worry and caution. Tears sting my eyes and I fight profusely against them. I bury my head into his chest, hugging him tighter with my arms.

“I’m sorry Keith.” Sobs threaten to escape.

“Shhh Shhh, don’t cry. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” Keith assures me, his thumb brushing my shoulder as he begins to slowly trek out of the cockpit. I feel Red’s calming purrs rupture through the bond, quickly exterminating the threatening tears.

I breath heavily into his chest using Red’s purring and Keith’s warmth as comfort and support.

I wince as bright lights shine through my eyes lids, white consuming my vision. I blearily blink away the temporary blindness and peek out of Keith’s chest. One look at Allura and Shiro and I squint away the tears, once again burying my face into Keith’s chest.

Keith stops his movement and hugs me closer to him, mumbling something to Allura and Shiro. I tune out to the conversation and nuzzle further into Keith. I feel his thumb give assuring strokes across my shoulder.

A few seconds later Keith begins to walk again. I feel him shift slightly as we walk further down the hallways. Minutes later I hear a door hiss open and the bright lights are substituted for dim lights.

The warmth of Keith disappears and I feel him lower me onto the softness of the mattress. I whine and tighten my hold on his neck as his arms slither away from me.

“(Y/n), calm down.” He whispers, hands gently clasping my arms. I open my eyes and blearily stare at him. “Let me take off my armour and I’ll come right back to you. I promise.”

I slowly loosen my grip and let him guide my hands down to the mattress. He smiles gently down at me before dipping down and pecking my forehead. He stands up almost immediately after.

I watch him carefully as he makes quick action in removing his armour, revealing his black shirt and pants. He dumps his armour against the wall and strides back over to me.

I shift back, giving him more room to slip in. He situates himself on his side, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up. I feel his arm snake underneath me and begin to drag me closer to him. I comply and nestle into his warm embrace. He tucks the blanket around me, coating me in warmth and contentment.

Once ensuring I’m almost completely consumed in the blanket, he places a protective hand on my head.

“What lead you to Red?” His voice barely breaks through the silence of the room.

I reply with the same hushed quietness. “She did.”

“What do you mean?” His confusion completely laces with his voice.

“I don’t really know how to explain it. I just felt the need to run, I didn’t even know where I was going ‘til I got there. It was like she was giving me the energy to run and lead me to her.”

Keith remains silent for a few seconds, the silence speaking his mind. He then nuzzles my nose and pecks his lips on my hair, placing his hand atop my head, pulling me flush against him.

I relax against him, hearing his heart beat rhythmically in his chest.

“I’m sorry for dragging you there tonight. I should’ve known you wouldn’t have been comfortable.” He apologises whilst combing his fingers through my hair.

I scoff. “It was my decision to go. I thought I would be able to handle it.” I nuzzle my nose into his neck, breathing in his husky scent.

“I know but I should’ve at least looked out for you.” Keith moves his legs, laying them atop mine in a protective manner.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you’re here.” I assure him as my fingers play on the ends of his mullet.

It’s then do I feel another purr emit from Red, thoughts of care and respect seeping into my mind.

Keith pulls away and looks down at me with open shock. I stare at him with wonder and disbelief. I feel my spine shudder as Red continues her purring, extending the thoughts to admiration.

A smile breaks out onto Keith’s face and before I have time to react, he kisses my noses.

“She likes you.” His voice is giddy and careless. “Fuck I love you so much.”

I giggle at his excitement and snuggle into him. Our quiet giggles are silenced, our soft breathing being the only quiet sound remaining.

In a matter of minutes, we fall asleep in content, tangled up in each other’s embrace.

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prevdustinhendrsn · 5 years

Text

under that starry summer sky

lucas sinclair/max mayfield 2.9k - read on ao3 requested by anonymous from this list: 86. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

a/n: hello and welcome to my summer of ‘85 lumax one-shot, composed entirely of fluff, milkshake mustache kisses, lucas ‘holy shit max mayfield is my girlfriend’ sinclair, and my all-time favorite trope that I’ll use in every single fic until the day I die: the big ‘I love you’ revelation.

The party’s lazy day in Mike’s air-conditioned basement ends when Will, sprawled on the carpet, lets out the first yawn.

“I need to get home,” he sighs, dropping the colored pencil in his hand. Lucas eyes his sketchpad. The topmost drawing is only half-finished, but it looks suspiciously like the midsummer carnival’s Ferris wheel, bright rainbow lights and all. The carnival isn’t for another month – how does he even remember that much detail?

“Yeah, me too. Gotta feed my frogs ‘cause my mom isn’t gonna remember,” Dustin says, stretched out on the couch with an arm slung over his eyes. Across from him lies El, face screwed up in concentration as she works on the puzzle floating several feet above her face, several tissues stuck up one nostril. All the pieces are scattered in the air around the portion of puzzle that she’s completed already; she sorts through, finds, and attaches the pieces she needs all without lifting a finger. It’s unbelievable, yet here she is, forcing them all to believe.

“Do we have plans tomorrow, Mike?” Lucas asks. He’s sat at the rickety old table in the middle of the basement along with Max, who’s tipping dangerously on the back legs of her chair just to see how far she can go by balance alone, and Mike, who’s hunched over a spread of papers for D&D, pencil rapidly spinning between his fingers.

“Up to you guys,” he says absently, chewing his lip.

“Let’s go to the pool,” El suggests. Dustin groans, swinging off the couch and onto his feet.

“We’ve been to the pool like four times this week.”

“It’s a million degrees outside,” Will interjects. “We can’t not go to the pool at least four times a week. We’ll melt.”

“Grow up,” Max drawls, eyes closed. “This is normal California weather in, like, April.” Her tongue sticks out between her teeth as she concentrates on not falling over; Lucas thinks it’s adorable.

“Hey, Max?” Dustin says, his voice suddenly too sickly-sweet to mean anything good.

“Yeah?”

He crosses the room and sticks his foot under one of the suspended chair legs, promptly shoving it up and sending Max crashing to the ground. He doubles over in cackling laughter and Mike snorts as she gapes at him from the ground, sputtering out swears.

“You fucking asshole! I swear one day I’m going to throw you off the goddamn quarry –“

“It was funny!” he yells in protest, grinning wide. Max flips him off, but Lucas can see the telltale curve of a reluctant smile on her lips.

“Sorry, Max, but it was kind of funny,” Will says light-heartedly, collecting his art supplies. Lucas gets to his feet and holds out a hand to his defeated girlfriend.

“I didn’t think it was funny,” he says loyally, hauling her up. She rolls her eyes.

“Sure you didn’t. Are we leaving too?”

“Let me know if you guys want to do something tomorrow,” Mike says, his gaze still focused on his game planning.

“El, are we taking you home?” Will asks. El shakes her head.

“Hopper is picking me up later. See you tomorrow!”

After a chorus of goodbyes, the four of them are out the door. The evening is humid and clingy, just as it’s been all summer; streaks of indigo paint the orange sky, the sunset a hazy golden mirage on the horizon.

“Goddamn summer, man,” Dustin huffs as they head up to yard to the street. “Eight-thirty and it’s barely even dark.”

“I like it,” Max says, hoisting her skateboard under her arm. A fond smile crosses her face. “California summers always last forever. They’re great.”

Lucas looks over at her. Her hair blazes in the glow of the sunset, the sharp planes of her face illuminated in fire. Radiant, beautiful, always.

“See you guys tomorrow?” Will asks, pulling his bike up from the lawn.

“I’ll radio after breakfast,” Dustin says as he adjusts his walkie-talkie mic. “El wants to go swimming so that’s probably what we’ll do, knowing Mike.”

“Ten-four. Night, guys.” Lucas salutes and Dustin copies with a laugh, and then he and Will take off down the street.

Max idly spins one of the wheels on her skateboard, looking up at Lucas. “What now?”

“Whatever you want. Meg’s is still open, or I’ll walk you home?”

He always walks her home after days like these, despite the fact that she lives half a mile away and he’s just two houses down. At first she had adamantly refused, saying it wasn’t logical for him to go all that way and honestly, I can take care of myself just fine, thanks. Lucas couldn’t help but laugh. Believe me, Max, all of Hawkins knows you can take care of yourself, he had said. I just like spending time with you. Much to his delight, she relented, and each walk home – or sometimes bike-slash-skateboard ride – is a valued memory of his.

Now, though, she hesitates, eyes dropping to her shoes, and Lucas recognizes what’s going on immediately.

“Or you can stay at my house tonight, if you want,” he adds. She sighs.

“I’m sorry, Lucas, I just – it’s been bad, the last few days, and I wouldn’t ask if –“

“Max.” Lucas plants his hands on her shoulders and she wearily looks up at him, her expression somewhere between hope and reluctance. “It’s okay. I get it, dude. It’s not a problem. You know you’re always welcome at my house. My family loves you.”

She takes a deep breath, and with her nod comes a smile. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Lucas.”

He smiles back at her, because how can he not? “Anytime. Milkshakes?”

“Milkshakes,” she agrees.

She discards her skateboard in the Wheelers’ lawn, to be picked up on their way back, and takes Lucas’ hand. He tries not to smile too wide.

Hawkins is tranquil and undisturbed on this sticky summer night. As the sky darkens, the streetlamps flicker to life, dotting the street with patches of dim yellow halogen. The occasional rustling of trees is accompanied by the scuffle of Max’s and Lucas’ shoes on the asphalt, and with their hands swinging between them, Lucas feels a warm sense of peace drift through him.

They discuss whatever comes to mind as they walk (mostly the new video games that the arcade is getting next week) and it doesn’t take long before they get to Meg’s, the closest thing to a diner Hawkins has after Benny’s Burgers shut down. A rush of cool air greets them as they step inside, the entire restaurant lit up in neon purples and pinks. After ordering a chocolate milkshake for Max, a strawberry one for Lucas, and a large side of fries because they’re both sad suckers for the comfort food combination of both, they take a booth near the window.

“Do you think El will be able to come to school this year?” Max asks offhandedly as they wait for their food, drumming her nails on the checkered tabletop. The neon lights cast a soft purple glow over her sun-kissed face and dye her hair a bright magenta.

Lucas shrugs. “Maybe. Mike said she and Hopper have been fighting nonstop about it. Technically her safety year isn’t up until December, so…Hopper’s just looking out for her.”

Max nods, leaning back in the booth. “Why does she have to hide so much anyways? I thought the lab was closed for good.”

“There could be more labs, I guess. More experiments that would want to find her.”

“I can’t believe she’s our friend.” Max shakes her head. “She’s so cool.”

Lucas grins. Despite Max’s constant no-shits-given attitude, she really looks up to El and he can see how highly she thinks of their telekinetic friend. “Yeah, she is. I didn’t always think that, back when we first met her.”

“Really?”

He shakes his head. “I thought she was against us, sabotaging us and keeping us from finding Will. But I was way, way wrong. She’s a good person. She’s been through a lot.”

Max pulls her lip between her teeth, eyeing him. “Mike loves her.” It isn’t a question – how could it be, to anyone who has eyes?

“Well, yeah. She’s everything to him.”

Max grins, presumably at the blush Lucas can feel rising in his cheeks. “You’re such a sap, dude.” He rolls his eyes.

“You brought it up!”

She starts to say something but then their food arrives and she changes tack at warp speed. “Oh my God, that looks amazing. It smells amazing. Am I drooling? I have to be. Save me, Lucas.”

He snorts, picking up some fries at the same time that she grabs for them with some kind of freaky animalistic instinct. He watches amusedly as she crams them into her mouth, giving a moan that’s way too obscene for a diner.

“Don’t choke, man,” he says, wincing. “Don’t you want some ketchup or something? Max, seriously, when was the last time you ate –“

“’M ffn,” she mumbles in a highly protestant tone, completely incomprehensible because of the absurd amount of food in her mouth. Lucas laughs, unsure whether to stop her for her own good or just let her go.

“Here.” He tears the paper off a straw and dunks it in her milkshake, sliding it across the table to her. “Drink this before you suffocate.”

She rolls her eyes but the overall effect is diminished by her bulging chipmunk-cheeks. She finally gets a breath and takes a huge gulp of the milkshake.

“Better?”

“Those fries are the best fries I’ve ever had,” she says with a heavy sigh, gazing at the basket longingly. “I love these fries. I’d marry these fries.”

Lucas smiles, unwrapping another straw. “Date them instead, then. Who needs poor pitiful me when you’ve got potatoes?”

“Damn right,” she says with a grin, watching him take a drink of his milkshake. When he sets the glass down her expression shifts to amusement, laughter bubbling up in her voice. “You, um, you got something there.”

He already knows – he can feel the cold foam across his upper lip – but he forces himself to keep a straight face as he looks at her innocently. “Hm?”

Max’s mouth twitches, a glint in her eyes, and then before he can move she leans across the table and kisses the entire strawberry milkshake moustache right off him. All of his brain processes freeze up and he gapes at her, eyes wide as she sits back, looking extremely smug despite the slight reddening of her ears.

He’s straight up malfunctioning as a human being. “Did you – did you just –“

She nods, clearly pleased with herself. “I did. Not bad, right?”

He blinks, his fingers absently ghosting across his lips before he breaks into an incredulous grin. This girl. “That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen. And pretty awesome. You’re crazy.”

She beams. “You were asking for it.” She pops another fry in her mouth, scrutinizing him, and when she finishes she says, “Kiss me again?”

Despite the sun having fully set and the clock nearing ten by the time they leave the diner, the air outside is just as sultry and hot as it was before. The streets stretch out before them, empty and quiet, trees rustling in the dark distance beyond the edges of the concrete. Max swings a plastic sack from her hand as they walk; it’s filled with more fries that she had ordered before they left. Her other hand is loosely interlaced with Lucas’.

“Do you want to go see a movie or something this weekend?” Lucas asks. “Just us?”

“D’aw, are you asking me on a date?”

“I mean, only if you want to –“

She swerves into his side, playfully nudging him with her elbow. “Yes, Stalker. I want to go to a movie. Just us. Not that I don’t enjoy doubling up with Mike and El, but…”

Lucas blows out a breath. “Yeah. Their level of PDA and a dark theater isn’t a good mix for anyone who wants to keep their popcorn down.”

“Exactly. Hey, hold this.”

She hands him the sack of fries and steps behind him. Before he can figure out what she’s doing she leaps up onto his back, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Her whole body rumbles against him as she laughs while he staggers under the sudden weight, tipping back and forth on the street. After a second he regains his balance, squeezing her thighs against his sides.

“Shit, Max,” he laughs, starting forward again at a much slower rate. She keeps on laughing, her hair swinging back and forth and tickling his face. Something deep in his bones tugs at him then, swelling his heart with a surge of happy emotions. It’s just the two of them in the wind, carefree, and Lucas realizes the emotion that’s pressing outwards against his skin, threatening to burst through in a spectrum of light, is probably love.

Love? I love Max?

It’s the first time he’s thought it, but it doesn’t feel out of place. It feels like a truth that was there all along finally being brought back into the light where it belongs.

“Earth to Sinclair. What are you thinking about?” Max says, pushing her knee into his side to get his attention. He refocuses on the street ahead of him, brushing away his thoughts.

“Just you.”

“Typical. Everyone’s always thinking about me, Mad Max Mayfield, coolest person in town. Just out of curiosity though, not because I care, what about me?”

Making sure his pace is steady and he’s not about to trip over a rock, he risks craning his head back to look at her. Her features are relaxed, her smile soft, fondness in her eyes despite her tone.

Yeah. Probably love.

He’s screwed.

“Trying to decide just how pissed you’ll be if I dump you off my back right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He smiles, that warm something filling up his lungs. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Why do we have to be so sneaky?” Max hisses as they tiptoe through Lucas’ kitchen.

“Because my parents are asleep, and if Erica sees us, she’ll never shut up,” he whispers, depositing the bag of fries on the island counter for their breakfast. He gestures back down the hall and they start making their way up the carpeted stairs.

“She doesn’t shut up. I mean I love her, but.”

“See?”

They manage to make it into Lucas’ room without running into any loud-mouthed sisters and as soon as he shuts the door, Max kicks off her shoes, drops her skateboard, and collapses on his bed with a luxurious sigh.

“I don’t wanna sound weird, but I love your bed. It’s awesome.”

He nods approvingly, pushing open the closet door. “It definitely is. Do you want your stuff?”

She started spending nights at his house earlier this spring, him on the floor and her on the bed, and they both came to an unspoken agreement that it was just easier for her to keep her essential stuff here in one of Lucas’ old backpacks in the corner of his closet. Pajamas, a toothbrush, an extra change of clothes, stuff like that.

“Not yet. Just…lay with me for a minute?” she asks quietly.

“Oh. Yeah, okay.”

He tugs off his shoes and climbs up next to her, leaving what he hopes is a respectable amount of distance between them. She rolls onto her side, back pressed against the wall below the window. Her hand reaches out to tug on his shirt.

“You can get closer than that. I’m not gonna stick my fangs in your neck.”

“Yet,” Lucas mumbles, shifting closer all the same until she tangles their legs together.

And then it’s just her and her soft breathing, her eyes that glitter in the dark and her warm presence. Everything that makes her Max, all right here with him. Sometimes it’s hard for him to believe. Max.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she whispers.

“Anytime. I like it when you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like you.”

“That’s a relief,” she says with the smallest hint of a laugh. He smiles even though it’s too dark to see. Time slips and slides, their eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each moment.

“Max?”

“Present.”

“I’m glad I met you. I know the circumstances kind of sucked, but…”

For a moment he’s afraid he said the wrong thing – he didn’t exactly think it through – but then her fingertips press into his chest, his shoulder, searching, until they trace down his arm and fold into his hand.

“I’m glad I met you too.” She leans forward, gently pressing her lips to his. It’s warm and sweet and fills him with a kind of joy only Max seems to be able to create. A few moments pass before she pulls away, her voice slightly more tired and slurred this time. “I’m falling asleep.”

“Me too.”

She pulls their hands up to rest on the bed between their chests. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back, and the sweet summer night slides by until they fall asleep side by side.

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@calpurnias @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @michael-hearteyes-wheeler @summer-in-hawkins @sadiesinkt @you-wont-lose-me @caseyk112 @fatechica @elizabthturner @mikewheeler

#summaries?? i don't know her #also #this is my very first time writing lumax??? i didn't think so but then i looked through my fics and realized yes indeed it is #unless you count that smidge of them in my sfs fic which i DON'T #anyways #i'm really happy with how it turned out #stranger things #lumax #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #anna puts words together

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goddess-of-writing-wars · 6 years

Text

Well, @kennyothebuddhist, Admin Yukari and I did our best to fulfill your request, and we sincerely hope you enjoy our work. I felt it was best to write out drabbles instead of making bullet points, and as a bonus added Ranmaru, Yoshimoto, and Motonari to your request. It is a very lengthy response from our creative minds. Without a further ado, you can find our work under the cut!

- Admin Toreishi

ODA FORCES

Nobunaga: You found yourself staring up at the sky watching the large predatory bird circle around in the air. Nobunaga had brought you out to an open field near the lake. While you were content to enjoy the tranquil beauty of the lake, a piercing cry had shattered the silence. You watched Nobunaga raise his arm, and soon the large bird was diving down. You couldn’t help but yelp as it aimed for Nobunaga. However, at the last second, the bird slowed its descent and perched right on Nobunaga’s forearm.

“What do you say, [Name]? Would you like to try?”

“I’ll have to decline,” you replied.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of Haguro’s beady, sharp gaze. Nobunaga chuckled and began walking towards you as he held the hawk within your reach. You took a nervous step back, but made no move to flee.

“Hold out your hand,” Nobunaga instructed.

“But..”

“It’ll be fine. Relax and let Haguro come to you.”

You did as he said, your arm shaking as you extended your hand out to him. Just as Nobunaga said, Haguro shuffled over to you perching on your wrist. Your arm nearly folded in as you tried balancing the weight of the hawk on your arm. Haguro flapped his wings to keep his balance, and you just about dropped your arm at his flustering.

“Easy now.”

You were surprised to hear Nobunaga’s voice right behind you. You felt a firm hand pressing against your back, and another holding your arm steady. He leaned over your shoulder keeping his crimson gaze on Haguro. You felt your breath hitch at his sudden proximity, and all you focus on was that one hand on your lower back.

“Take a deep breath.” You did as he said. “Now then, raise your arm above your head and give Haguro a gentle push when you want him to fly again.”

“Like this?” You asked as you tried raising your arm.

“Yes,” Nobunaga said. “Draw your arm in a little.”

“Right,” you murmured, curling your arm towards you a bit.

“Now, let go.”

You flung your arm out just as Haguro spread his wings again. The large bird took off into the air again climbing up at a soaring height. You felt a swell of excitement in your chest upons seeing it flying gracefully in the air once more.

“Nobunaga!” you cried out. “I can’t believe I did it.”

“You did,” he commented, planting a small kiss on your temple. “Want to try again?”

You nodded excitedly. “Yes!”

Masamune: You walked into the kitchens finding a flavorful aroma wafting inside. You saw Masamune stirring something in a pot, and you curiously approached him peeking over his shoulder.

“What are you making?”

“I’m not sure. I thought I’d take some leftovers and create something with them.”

You laughed. “Experimenting, are we?”

“Would you like to be my taste tester? I’d like your input before I give this to my men.”

You gave him a sly look as you took a pair of chopsticks nearby in your hands. “How can I say no?”

Masamune spooned a bit of the broth, and brought the wooden spoon to your lips. “Careful not to scald your mouth.”

You blew on the broth a bit to cool it before taking a small sip. The rich flavors automatically swirled all over your mouth and you found yourself moaning with delight.

“Oh my gosh, Masamune, this is so good!”

He chuckled. “Really? Let me see…”

You froze watching him sip the rest of the broth into his mouth. Masamune swirled the broth in his mouth discerning all the ingredients he had used. He nodded with the result, and turned to the rest of his spices.

“It could use a little bit of salt,” he said.

“Masamune…”

“Yeah?” He looked over at you seeing your face flushed. He looked at you with worry, and cupped your face with a hand. “Are you okay, lass?”

“It’s just, your spoon, and my mouth, and then you…”

Masamune looked at the spoon he had just used, and right away connected the dots in his mind. He smirked at you as he set the spoon aside, and closed the distance between the two of you. You felt him wrap an arm around your waist as he drew you closer to him.

“Would you like another taste?”

Before you could reply, Masamune sealed your lips with his. His tongue darted into your mouth, and not only could you taste him, but also the flavors of the broth in your mouth which somehow tasted richer now that you were kissing Masamune. He pulled away leaving you a bit breathless as he ran his tongue over your lips.

“I’d say you taste better than this stew, lass.”

Ieyasu: You poked your head into Ieyasu’s room finding him hard at work concocting what looked to be a new salve. He was focused reading the book and grinding ingredients to notice you had arrived. You tiptoed right up to him and crouched down to speak right into his ear.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped letting out a shout as the pestle and mortar went flying. The jars filled with ingredients rolled and medicinal herbs scattered all over the floor. You hadn’t expected Ieyasu to kick his legs out much less the mess that was created because of it.

“You—!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think you would get that scared,” you said.

“I wasn’t scared!” He rebuffed. “Why are you even here?!”

You sheepishly stared down at the floor fiddling with your fingers. “I missed you.”

Ieyasu paused. “You missed me?”

“It’s been so long since we spent any time together and when I found out you’d be free today, I made sure to clear my schedule so I could come see you. I realized I bothered you, and I’m sorry for the mess. I can help clean it up unless you don’t want me here anymore.”

Ieyasu sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not a bother. You never are.” He got to his feet making his way over to you. He placed a hand on your head gazing into your eyes as he continued to speak. “Just give me a heads up next time you decide to visit unannounced.”

You smiled. “Deal.”

“You said you were going to help me clean, so get to it. I’ll need your help making a new salve,” Ieyasu said.

You giggled. “Of course!”

Hideyoshi: You looked over the priceless artifacts sitting on top of Hideyoshi’s desk. You tried to recall the correct placement and procedure you had to follow. Making tea was simple enough on its own, but to make proper tea under the guidelines of a tea ceremony was a feat all on its own. The art was a skill that required precise teachings, and you marveled at how skilled Nobunaga was at it. It astounded you how his large, calloused hands—which usually shed blood—poured, whisked, and prepared the frothy green matcha tea with elegance and ease. You had asked him to give you small demonstration last night. Needless to say, you could barely recall anything.

The approaching footsteps snapped you out of your stupor. You scrambled to get into place just as the door to Hideyoshi’s room slid open. You smiled sheepishly as Hideyoshi stood at his doorway confounded to see you sitting in his room.

“[Name], what brings you here?”

“I’m here to pamper you,” you answered.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know that’s my duty.”

“As it is mine. Look, I brought tea.”

He looked over at the tools and bowls you had brought immediately recognizing the rightful owner of the items. Hideyoshi stormed into his room feeling his heart leap into his throat.

“Those are Lord Nobunaga’s—“

“It’s okay! He let me borrow them!” You interjected as you got to your feet.

“Are you sure?” Hideyoshi questioned.

“He said you deserved to relax,” You added. “I’m not Nobunaga, but I thought you’d appreciate this more.”

Hideyoshi smiled. “Are you kidding me? I’d be honored if Lord Nobunaga made tea for me, but having tea made by you is the greatest honor I could receive.”

“Really?”

“Let me get some sweets to go with your tea. I’m looking forward to it now.”

You beamed. “I’ll do my best!”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Hideyoshi said, sending a small wink your way.

Mitsuhide: You groaned as the hanafuda cards from your hand fell to a heap on the floor. Mitsuhide smiled smugly taking great joy in your defeat. He had sought you out in your room earlier in the afternoon with the stack of cards in his hand. It had become a special routine between the two of you. You indulged him in a few games every time, and each time ended in your loss.

“Why can’t I ever win?” You cried.

“I can always teach you how to play again,” Mitsuhide offered as he gathered the cards in his hands.

“What’s the point? I’m just going to lose again.”

“How about this? The loser can ask one thing of the winner next round.”

You quirked an eyebrow in confusion as you looked up at him. “What kind of stipulation is that?”

“The kind that will let you do whatever you want with me. That is, if there’s anything I can do for you,” Mitsuhide explained.

You watched him deal a new set of cards on the floor. He looked up at you expectantly waiting for you to make your move. You reached over taking a card in your hand. The two of you continued back and forth until the game once again ended in your defeat. You watched Mitsuhide with wariness as he moved to your side. Hooking a finger beneath your chin, he held your gaze as he wrapped an arm around you.

“Now, my dear princess, what shall you have your humble servant do for you?” He inquired smoothly.

“I dare say, I’m at a loss,” You answered playfully.

He smiled. “Then allow me to make a suggestion.”

You closed your eyes as his lips met yours. The taste of sweet sake mingled with your taste buds. If losing earned you a kiss each time, you wouldn’t mind your losing streak as much.

Mitsunari: You sat on the library floor going over a book on strategy and war. You hated anything to do with war itself, but being summoned to the audience hall every time had you interested in keeping up with the terminology the warlords used. In any case, it helped you a great deal brushing up on reading old scriptures. You were growing accustomed recognizing familiar characters the more you read books. Overall, you felt like you were learning two things at once.

The candles around you flickered as the door to the library slid open. You looked up from your book seeing Mitsunari enter. He was so absorbed with his own book, he had yet to realize you were in the room, as well. You watched him walk over to a corner of the library and take a seat absentmindedly.

You wanted to giggle, but held back from doing so. You padded over to Mitsunari leaning over his field of vision to see what he was so absorbed into reading. He finally reacted dropping the book onto the floor.

“Oh, [Name], I didn’t see you there.”

“What are you reading?” You asked.

Mitsunari picked his book up again as he looked at the title on the cover. “This just arrived into town. It’s a book on different types of defensive strategies. I thought I’d go over it, and see if I can glean anything from it.”

“I’m reading something similar, too,” You mentioned as you showed him your book.

“I know. Do you want to read my book with me? I’m sure we can both learn something together.”

“Even if I hate the subject, if I can be of any help to you, then I’d love to join you,” you said.

“Here,” Mitsunari said as he opened his arms to you. You naturally slipped into his embrace as you rested against his chest. “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Mitsunari began to read the book out loud to you as he picked up from where he left off. Yet, you were to absorbed feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took, and the calming warmth enveloping your body. You prefered reading like this any day wrapped in your beloved’s arms.

Ranmaru: You hummed a small tune as you scrubbed the floors out in the hall. With your needlework complete for the day, you offered the maids to help clean around the castle. You went through a number of songs you recalled listening to before coming to the Sengoku era. Without thinking, you let your voice out singing the lyrics to your favorite song. You were lost in your reverie, you never heard the soft footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Huh, I never heard that song before.”

You jumped and whirled around to find Ranmaru standing right behind you. You could feel the intense heat flushing your cheeks as you whimpered nervously.

“Ra-Ranmaru-kun… How long have you been standing there?”

“I just got here,” he replied with a wink. “Anyways, what is that song you were singing?”

“Oh, that… It’s nothing. Just a silly love song,” you answer as you turned your gaze away from him.

“I thought it was cute,” he said, as he took a seat next to you.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Your voice really carried through, and the melody suits you quite well.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “If you say so.”

“Why don’t we sing it together. I’m sure it’ll sound lovelier if we sing together, don’t you think?”

You stumbled to your feet shaking your head as you tried to stop him. “Oh no, I couldn’t compare to you, Ranmaru-kun. Your voice is that of an angel,” you said.

He laughed. “Don’t be silly, [Name]. At least let me give it a shot.”

“I think it’ll sound just as lovely in your voice. Even better than mine, actually,” you continued.

Ranmaru got to his feet, and reach for your hands taking them in his. “I still want to sing with you, [Name]. Will you sing with me?”

You could feel your cheeks flushing once again, but for an entirely different reason. You couldn’t find yourself to deny him again as you gazed into his deep dark eyes. “Alright, Ranmaru. I will teach you the song.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replied, bringing your hands to his lips for a quick kiss.

UESUGI - TAKEDA FORCES

Kenshin: The loud boisterous laughs of vassals rang through the great hall. Someone had brought a small drum and a beat continued to echo throughout the room. Kenshin had returned with his entourage from a small campaign, and as always there was to be a celebration for his victory. Despite it being a small skirmish, it didn’t stop you from worrying for his safety so you were relieved to see him return home safely.

You ensured the decanters continued to flow so as to not interrupt Kenshin’s consumption of sake. An inventory had been made before the start of the party, so you were confident the sake wouldn’t run out until the late hours of the night. Kenshin usually retired by then once he learned the sake was almost gone. He was always generous to leave the last barrel for his men to enjoy.

As you poured cup after cup for him, you were surprised when he held his full cup out to you. You gazed at his dual-colored eyes quizzically. “Lord Kenshin?”

“Drink, [Name]. You’ve been busy pouring for me all this time.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Now,” he whispered as he passed you his cup. “Drink.”

You had no choice but to accept and downed the strong drink in one fell swoop. You coughed a bit trying not to spit all over Kenshin. He paid no mind to your blunder, and poured you another cup. Part of you wanted to refute, but you stopped yourself when you saw him procure another cup for himself. You watched as he poured himself a cup of sake as well before turning to you again. As you gazed into his eyes again, you could see the clear tell-tale sign that Kenshin was drunk. You were mesmerized by it, and at the same time amused at such a sight.

“Lord Kenshin…”

“Drink with me, [Name],” he repeated as he twined his arm around yours.

He pulled you forward towards him bridging the gap between you closer. You followed his lead and downed your cup as he did the same. As you both pulled away, a loud chorus of cheers erupted once more from the men. You giggled as Kenshin reached for the decanter once more. You could see he was having fun just as much as the other men in the hall. It had been a while since you last saw Kenshin truly smile. You took the decanter from him drawing his attention back to you.

“Allow me,” you said, pouring him another drink.

“It’s going to be a long night, [Name]. I hope you can keep up with me,” he replied as he poured you a drink next.

“I don’t plan to go down so easily.”

“Good.”

It was a lie you knew would be exposed within minutes. You could feel a bubbly feeling take hold of your head, but you would do your best to keep your wits. You wanted to sear this image of Kenshin in your mind before passing out to sake. You laughed as the two of you tipped your cups back to the cheers of his vassals once more.

Shingen: You had begged Shingen to give you a lesson in wood carving, and today was finally the day that he decided to indulge you in your wish.

“We’ll be making something simple today. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt from splinters or by the knife.” Shingen declared as he handed you the tools.

“What will we be making?” you asked as you followed him out into the courtyard.

“I was thinking of having you build a birdhouse. I’ll help you, of course.” Shingen replied as he sat under a cherry tree and pulled slabs of wood out from a pile he had collected throughout his time here in Kasugayama Castle.

As Shingen showed you the different techniques and went over the basics for wood carving, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy over how serious he looked when he taught you how to carve into the wood. He wasn’t throwing his usual flirty antics at you nor was he trying to get physical. It was a segment of just Shingen relaxing and being himself with you.

“This is nice, you know. And I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.” you said as you showed him your rooftop for the birdhouse with enthusiasm.

Shingen chuckled warmly as he took the rooftop from you and helped you clean the edges and make the woodcut smoother. Just seeing you enjoy spending time with him was enough to make him happy and he figured that perhaps this wouldn’t be the last lesson he would teach you for wood carving.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, my princess. But instead of making something out of wood for our next date, perhaps we can consider making children instead?”

Shingen only laughed as he felt you punch his arm and blush profusely at his suggestion. Teasing and praising you was something that only he could do. He couldn’t possibly allow you to partake in these hobbies of his too.

Yukimura: You were surprised to see Yukimura back in Azuchi at his usual post. The familiar blanket he carried with him had been laid out on the ground lined with the wares he had to sell. You stopped by gazing down at him with a small smile.

“Hello.”

“I thought I’d never see you again after the war,” he commented.

“I could say the same for you. What brings you back here? Didn’t Shingen and Nobunaga make a deal not to attack each other?”

“I’m not here to spy on your warlords. I still have a living to make, and I get the best customers here in Azuchi,” Yukimura explained.

“You can thank Nobunaga for his free commerce policies,” you said.

“Me? Thank that demon?” Yukimura spat, as he crossed his arms.

“You are in Azuchi,” you pointed out.

Yukimura growled. “How about you try your hand at selling something?”

“Easy,” you replied, as you looked over his wares once more. You reached for a floral pin he had sitting among his collection. “If I can find the right person to buy this, you owe me some dumplings.”

“Good luck. It’s not easy pitching a sale with so many people here,” Yukimura said.

“Ha! We’ll see if it’s easy or not,” you remarked.

As you turned to face the crowd, you suddenly found your voice to be strained. You tried uttering the words that would get anyone’s attention, but you struggled to even say one coherent thing. Your voice cracked and you were unsure on how to proceed. You heard Yukimura sigh as he stepped beside you. He took the pin from your hands and affixed it to your hair. With professional ease, he turned to the crowd and began to pitch his sale. You glanced up at him amazed at how clear and loud his voice was. People were indeed turning to look at you, and you couldn't help but blush as the attention was drawn over to you. Feeling Yukimura right beside you calmed your sudden case of nerves, and you stood there aiding him silently as customers gathered around his stall.

Sasuke: As you set down the tea tray on his desk and took a seat next to him, you were amazed by how detail-oriented Sasuke was when it came to cartography. Even in the Sengoku era now, the layout of Japan as a country was different, so it was a useful skill to have.

“It looks really cool, Sasuke! Your maps are so detail oriented and accurate. I don’t know how you do it.” you praised as you handed him a cup of green tea.

“Thank you, [Name]. After spending around four years here, I thought this would be helpful for when we need to navigate. Even using my maps for battles have helped Lord Kenshin greatly.” Sasuke commented before taking a sip of his tea.

“Can you tell me your thought process? I want to learn too.” you asked.

Sasuke nodded and handed you a brush and a brand new piece of parchment. He was never one to deny someone from learning useful skills.

“You have to be careful because you’re using ink. One mistake on the map will force you to start all over again.” he warned as he placed his hand over yours and guided you in your sketch.

Even as Sasuke went on with how he created his maps and what his thought process was like, you found yourself zoning out and just staring at his close proximity. Were his eyelashes always that long? It was hard to tell behind those glasses that he always wore.

“[Name]? Are you okay?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you gasped and nodded quickly to reassure him you were fine.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine! I was just-”

“You made your first mistake on the map in less than 15 seconds. I figured you were distracted in your thoughts.” he remarked with a smile as he moved away from you.

“What? No! I wasn’t distracted! Let’s try this again, I want to get this right!”

“If you insist, I’ll help you as many times as you desire.” Sasuke confirmed as he reached out for another sheet of parchment to use.

But truthfully, you didn’t care how many mistakes you were about to make or how long it would take for you to master this skill. Just being with Sasuke and observing him this closely was already like drawing out a map of all the things you loved about him.

Yoshimoto: As a lover of the arts and beautiful things, it wasn’t surprising to see Yoshimoto visit festivals or matsuris to watch performances from dancers and actors. Of course, he would drag you along to show you how magnificent the performances would be too.

“We’ll be late if we don’t hurry, [Name]. Come along,” he urged as he took your hand and pulled you at his pace.

“You must be really excited if you’re this eager to see the dance,” you commented with a giggle.

Yoshimoto only looked back at you with a sheepish smile and nodded. He didn’t want to give away the true reason for bringing you here tonight with him.

Once the two of you made it to the stage area, you both took a seat on a bench and waited for the show to begin. As soon as the actors came out to perform, you could tell that this story was about Tanabata and the two lovers featured in it. And from the corner of your eye, you could see Yoshimoto practically sparkling and holding his breath in. It was quite cute to see him behave like this.

Reaching out to hold his hand, you surprised Yoshimoto from his trance, and he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to hold your hand. You’re really adorable like this, Lord Yoshimoto.” you answered with a grin.

“If you keep saying cute things like this, I’ll have to spoil you later. Is that what you want?” he asked with a coy smile.

“You already know my answer to that,” you replied as he opened up his fan and drew in close to you to hide the sweet kiss he wanted to give to you in that endearing moment.

THE LONE FORCES

Kennyo: Seeing Kennyo affectionately scratch Mike’s chin was endearing for you to imprint on your mind. You always knew the monk had a soft spot for animals, but it wasn’t something you would have ever imagined based on first impressions.

“It’s almost time for dinner. Did Mike eat yet?” you asked as you bent down to greet the cat.

“No, but I will give him some of the fish I caught from the river. He’ll enjoy that, won’t he?”

“I’m sure he will,” you replied with a smile as Kennyo returned it before getting up to prepare Mike’s meal.

After seeing Kennyo walk outside, you couldn’t help but why it was taking more than fifteen minutes to prepare Mike’s meal. Saying a quick apology to Mike, you went outside to check on Kennyo, only to find him feeding wild birds and other animals from the forest.

Containing yourself from laughing at the sight before you, you joined him in helping to feed the birds perched on his shoulder.

“You forgot all about Mike’s meal, you know!” you scolded with a lighthearted chuckle.

“I know, but they were hungry too. Could you please give Mike his meal? I prepared it, but became distracted with the others.” he murmured shyly.

Shaking your head, you found the bowl containing Mike’s fishy meal and went inside to give it to him. It would be apparent that giving food to other creatures was something you and Kennyo would enjoy doing together.

Motonari: The summer heat was boiling your skin up, and you were sure that a sunburn would greet you soon. Grumbling about the humid atmosphere, you stalked over to Motonari with a bucket full of saltwater when he called you over to the tide pools.

“What is it now?” you asked for the nth time, frowning when you met his crimson eyes.

“Stop making that face and take a look at what I’ve found,” Motonari said as he stood up and showed you a cracked black oyster in his hands.

“An oyster? Did you want that for dinner tonight?”

“Yes and no. I think you’d like what I’ve found in this oyster,” he remarked as he opened it up and revealed a pretty pearl secured inside.

Your eyes widened at the sight of this and you couldn’t help but marvel at nature’s beauty. Who knew something as simple as this would brighten up your day? Once Motonari offered the oyster up for you to take, you looked back down at him and smiled.

“Thank you for sharing your treasure with me. But when I’m with you, I treasure our memories more.” you surmised with a grin.

But even with these simple words of gratitude, you didn’t miss Motonari’s crimson blush. There was a reason why he took you out on these adventures with him. He too wanted to create treasured memories with you.

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karicharbonneau · 6 years

Text

The Ritual

Kari laid in the small den she had made for herself that overlooked a clearing in the woods. How long had she been out in these woods? Time had a wonderful feeling in the tall trees, or maybe everything before that moment had been wrong. What if this beastly form was how we were all meant to live? Kari certainly never thought as much. She was a woman of comforts even if they were simple comforts of the working class.

Dusk was upon her, and though part of her wished not to leave the woods of the Marley Estate, she had responsibilities. Though it was more than that, it had been a week since she had seen Sal and she had not, since she first met him, gone that long without seeing him. She missed him, and the pangs in her stomach were not of hunger but of desire to be in his presence again.

She had come to do what she wanted to do. She had changed herself, armed herself with a curse. A curse she would keep quiet. She came to Mac with the need for a weapon. In need of protection, defense, as well as the ability to fight. She had exhausted other routes, and in the end, she needed to be able to fight now, and not after three years of training.

She recalled the attack in the park. The single moment that brought her to this point. Hands around her throat, the world fading out of vision. She realized at that moment that Sal would find her dead body. She had lived, but it was only by accident. A fact that had haunted Kari since then. She had not done this to be closer to Sal. To share the curses burden. No. She took the burden to protect him from ever having to find her corpse. She was an easy target, and though she had ways of defending herself, they had all failed that night in the park.

It was time to go home, though. Days before Mac had told her to come back to the Manor once Kari had learned her new body. After she had run through the wilds as only an animal can. After she had killed and feasted on the heart of the forest. After she howled to the Moons and slept in the grasses.

It was time, so she rose from her bed and walked on all fours. Her sleek black fur had not dulled the last few days, some habits transcend physical forms. Kari was meticulous about cleanliness. Her coat was well looked after. Her sharp red eyes could see perfectly in the low light as she approached the Manor. She went to the door, expecting to find Mac, she found a letter instead.

Kari,

Light the carved candle near the door. It will activate a spell to guide you to me in the woods and light your path along the way.

When you find me, Whatever you do, do not step into my circle. I will hear you but I will not be able to answer you. Regardless of what you see, I promise I am safe.

Step into the empty ring that lights to your arrival, drink the contents of the flask at its center and lay down. I cannot tell you exactly what you’ll face, Sister. I can tell you that purification is about balance.

For those who have gone through similar rituals, they speak of a dreamstate where you are faced with the hardest thing to accept in your life; Yourself.

Too often what plagues our minds is our own denials and refusals to accept who and what we truly are. You will be faced with hard truths, love, and to pass through to the other side of this ritual, you will have to accept the person you were, the person you are, and the person you will become. Past, Present, and Future.

Keep in mind, this isn’t about slaying your demons, love. It is about accepting them. Through your dream you will this magic show you that woman or wolf, a beast has always lurked beneath the surface. We are all monsters, some of us just hide it better.

Remember, Fury and Tranquility balance one another. To have too much of one or the other and you tip the scales towards madness…

I will see you on the other side, Sister.

` Mac

The candle rested on the front doorstep. Kari decided to test her magic, so like she had done so many times before she flicked her wrist. That little free-floating flame she usually used to light her cigarettes burned over the candle wick. The fire caught, and the candle flared to life.

As Mac said, the path lit with a glow of candles that were not there. Kari followed the direction of the illuminated path. She came into the clearing where Mac was sitting inside a circle of candles. She knew not to distract or step into her ring. She had her own ring with the flask inside. The etched acid flask that Kari had gifted to Mac was waiting for her.

Kari was never one for ceremony or drawing things out longer than they needed to be. She knew Mac was aware she was there, so Kari stepped inside her circle and sat down. She grabbed the flask and drank the contents. The liquid hit her quickly, and she laid back in the ring. On her back, she looked up at the night sky. The dreamlike state Mac wrote Kari about, was quick to set in. The sky turned bright, turning and twisting. She felt like she was both floating and falling at the same time. The twisting of the sky forced her eyes closed. That is when the struggle began.

Kari thought about what Mac had said. That we deny who we actually are and she knew she would meet things she didn’t want to face. She knew what the first would be, or at least she thought she knew. She envisioned seeing her forced abortion again. It haunted her to this day, but there was something more profound than that, something that poisoned her life and her relationships.

Her parents.

Kari watched the scene unfold before her like she was a ghost. Unable to stop or interact with events that were happening. Kari instantly knew the moment, she was young. Long before her parent’s open disdain for her. Now, she was a child. She sat on the living room rug and played with building blocks. She could hear the fighting in the kitchen. As a child, she didn’t understand the words but as this adult ghost, she understood. The fight was a typical one that Kari knew from her teen years. She knew the fighting had started long before Kari got pregnant. As a child, she heard her parents talk about their mistake. Kari was raised knowing she wasn’t wanted. She was the mistake. She was the reason they were miserable.

She watched her child self start to cry. She was quiet, crying in private like Kari did to this day. Not wanting to be a further burden to the angry adults in the other room. Ghost form Kari watched and exhaled slowly. She moved and sat down next to her child version.

She said “You aren’t a burden to anyone, Kari. Your parents aren’t happy, and that isn’t your fault. You are their excuse. Their reason for not having the life they want. You didn’t stop them, they stopped themselves. There was no reason they had to live this life. They had other children, they didn’t have to. That was their choice. You are smart, caring, and independent. You will grow up into what they always wished they could be. They will hate you for having the power to get out of the cycle that they couldn’t.” She brushed her hand along the back of her child version’s head. Feeling her hair under her fingers.

“Be proud of who you are, you have a new family now. One’s who chose you and love you.” She felt like crying by this realization. She had a family now. A sister, and Sal. They were building a life together. She didn’t need to hold onto the past. As she realized this, the vision around her faded and she was cast into darkness.

When Kari came to she was in a very familiar office. An office that she last saw on fire. The details were sharper than the hazy recollection of her childhood. This was crisp, real, like she was walking into a picture. It was dark in the office, a faint light came from the upstairs apartment. The sound of knocking came on the office door.

“No,” Kari said. “No… don’t… Damn it leave…”

A few moments later Strather came down the stairs. Kari cowered back, but he didn’t see her. Likely he wouldn’t see her. He crossed to the door and opened it. The vision version of herself was on the other side of the door. Her eyes were wide and unsure of her reasons for being there in the middle of the night. She was stammering. Stumbling over her words.

Kari could see it now, that smirk on his lips and predator look in his eyes as Kari fled to his desk. She put distance between them. That was the night she learned to never run from a predator. It was only moments, and he was pressed to her back. Hovering over her and trapping her between him and the desk.

At the moment, this scene felt much different than watching it from the outside. It was thrilling, exciting, and terrifying as he indulged his vices on her. Yet, now she can see. It was a game. He was testing her.

The scene shifted, and suddenly they were in his kitchen. He was cooking breakfast for them. He was warm, inviting, charming. It was a side of the cold man she hadn’t seen before. She moved up behind the vision of herself and whispered like she didn’t want the phantom Strather to hear her words.

“It’s an act, Kari. It’s all bullshit. You can not fix him. This is one thing, you can’t do. He warned you. He told you to run. You should have listened. He saw right inside you from the very beginning.”

The scene shifted again. They were in her apartment. There was a dead intruder on her floor. Kari had a black eye, and she was hugged to Strather’s chest. He had broken the door down, he had saved her.

The scenes shifted past more rapidly now. More and more memories of their time together were highlighted. Kari liked to think he was only a little blurb in her past. That he didn’t mean anything to her. Yet, she was still watching the moments pass by, one after another.

“You are beautiful and dangerous. You will be the end of me.”

The words rang in her mind as she was cast into darkness again. There were no phantoms to pep talk. No child to reason with and comfort. She was alone with herself. She had to come to terms with her time with Strather. She had to find a balance. She couldn’t go on without settling her thoughts and feelings for the Monster she once thought she loved.

“You didn’t love him Kari, but you wanted to. It’s…missing him is okay. You saw the moments, you lived them and you know it wasn’t all bad. Actually, most of it was good. Of course, he was playing you because that’s who he was. You won’t ever know if you meant anything to him or not. He may have cared for you in whatever way he was capable of, but it may also have been an act. You saw through him and saw that something had broken him. No man is born that way. You saw it and wanted to fix it, but there are some things you can’t fix, Kari. There are times when you see someone drowning, but you have to let them drown, or they will try to take you down with them.”

“You were trying to learn how not to feel. How to hide your feelings for Sal. In the process, you fell for a monster. It’s okay to admit it. It’s okay to look back at moments fondly. It’s okay to be angry, and it’s okay to feel hurt that he lied and used you. You are not a machine. You are not broken, and he hurt you. Being vulnerable is okay. Whatever you do Kari, never ever ever compare Sal and Strather. They are not the same person, and he will never make you feel that way. Just never forget him. There is value in the time you spent together.”

“He may have loved you, but you will never know.”

Kari let her own inner thoughts sink in. The weight of him on her shoulders would be there forever. She knew this and accepted it. She had tried to burn him right out of her life and memory. She realized now that he was a part of her. He would always be a part of her. In time his influence would lift off her but embracing the damage he left would bring her peace of mind. Acceptance is its own reward.

Her vision burst into color, and she was no longer looking at the scenes as a phantom observer. This wasn’t a memory. She was on a farm. She recognized it, but it wasn’t a real place. It was an idea she had in her mind. There was a large farmhouse. There were lots of other buildings around the property. Greenhouses, barns, and sheds. There was a huge garden out back. She knew already there was a river nearby, even though she couldn’t see it. This was the dream house her and Sal had spoken of.

The sound of children laughing drew her attention to the front of the house. She walked from the backyard to the front, and as she rounded the corner, there was Sal. He was with two young boys. Both under five. Kari had seen the children before. A dream of what her life could be. She stood at the corner and watched as Sal was teaching the two boys how to build a fire bundle. He was sending them off to find sticks and bring them back to him. He looked happy. They all did.

Kari stayed there and smiled as she watched. She wanted to stay there but afraid to move closer. Scared her presence would make them vanish. That the scene would shift and she would lose them. She crouched down and finally sat. Her smile stretched across her face. This was what she wanted. Though it was more than just the family.

She knew that down at the river was a dock that Sal used for his transport company. She knew one of those buildings in the back was a lab. That the greenhouses had plants she was growing as materials. She knew the other buildings were full of different projects and business ventures. The dream was proof that her parents could have done anything, even with Kari, if they had been ambitious enough. Sal and Kari were both ambitious and wanted a family.

Sal’s eyes looked to Kari finally and startled the woman. She had yet to be noticed in any of her visions. The eye contact was intense and full of need. It was a familiar look the two shared often. It was a look burned perfectly into her memory. Sal rose to his feet and walked over to Kari and offered a hand to her.

He said “It can all be ours, Kari. Just take my hand. Don’t tell yourself you can’t have this. Trust me. Believe in yourself. We can have it all. Just accept it, Kari. Take my hand.”

A sudden sharp fear struck her like a slap across the face. She was terrified of that hand. Her parent's voices ran through her mind. She was a disappointment. No man would love a broken woman. She was a failure. Everything that kept her from things she wanted. Even Sal’s own voice telling her that he wanted a family and Kari couldn’t give that to him. A memory of when he had ended their brief affair months and months before.

Kari knew this moment was about balance, acceptance of who she is. Those kids playing in the yard were not hers, and that was okay. He loved those kids. She loved those kids. He was offering more than his hand but a promise of acceptance in this future. He wasn’t going to vanish like Strather. He was her new family.

She reached up and took his hand, and he pulled her to stand. The moment she was on her feet everything was gone. She let out a sudden gasp and shot her eyes open. The night sky was over her. The dreams were over. She lifted her hand and did not see fur. She was herself and once again in the flesh. She was naked, but she was always comfortable being naked.

She looked over to Mac and the circle she had been in. It appeared Mac hadn’t moved. Blood still dripped down her face. Kari didn’t disrupt her. Instead, she walked barefoot and bare-skinned back to the Manor. She slipped inside and got dressed. Mac would return to the Manor when she was ready. Kari left her the space to do her own soul-searching.

@salvador-nightbane @inked-wolf

#wow RP #moonguard #kari things #Well that was an ordeal #sisterly bonding #Kari and Mac things

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