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thoughts-on-bangtan · 3 years

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Let’s talk: Vlive Asks and comment/chat discussions

From @cottoncandykings: Hello! As u probably know jimin just went live recently and again he mentioned mandaggo and discussing about doing it with tae. I just find it so weird though. I mean jimin keeps constantly mentioning it and its not like vminnies were begging or dying for a vmin live everyday even before jimin mentioned it last year. Even now most including myself dont really care that much ofc i m happy if they do one together. But the way jimin keeps mentioning it is so weird. Like surely if he wanted to do it so badly he could have talked to tae privately and arranged it by now. And if tae is the one that doesnt want to do it then idk why jimin is pushing it. But what was really weird to me this time was that he said there were lots of comments about mandaggo yesterday in zoom call and yet they didnt mention it yesterday but suddenly today without prompting he talks about it. I also hope no one spammed the zoom call chat or the vlive chat with requests for vmin live (i didnt see any) bcoz thats just unnecessary and demanding. I hope vminnies wont demand/ ask for another memeber when one of them is live. Its just disrespectful. This turned into a rant sorry. Do you think it was weird too?

Since Admin 2 can’t type their thoughts themselves, I’ll relay their thoughts to you instead, since they had more thoughts/opinions/ideas in regard to this than I do, to be honest.

Admin 2 is sure that there is a good chance that we will get a vmin vlive sometime soon, which I know contradicts their original opinion and post from a few months ago, but there’s a reason for it. During the zoom meeting between BTS and ARMY they noticed something I don’t think anyone else noticed, or at least neither of us has seen any vminnies mention it anywhere, which in conjunction with Jimin’s vlive today and saying how he’d talk to Tae about doing a mandaggo vlive again, as well as another observation a little while ago, leads them to this conclusion.

So, the observation from the zoom meeting. Basically at one point when the question of Jimin doing a vlive arose Tae looks at Jimin and then he nods while smiling which in turn makes Jimin smile as he turns away from Tae and back to face toward the camera before answering the question and saying how he’ll come visit us the next day. Which he did.

Then the other observation from a while ago, this one being from their OT7 vlive celebrating their BBH100 #1 on June 29th where at one point Jimin says something but slips into satoori after which Tae encourages him to say that again but this time in the Seoul accent, so the way they actually should speak, which Jimin says isn’t difficult but he doesn’t actually end up repeating what he said.

And lastly in today’s vlive Jimin mentioned how he’s using satoori quite often but that he isn’t all that good at doing it on command or at teaching it to others, which is something he’d have to do for mandaggo but I’m sure he’d manage just fine if the time came for it.

Based on that Admin 2′s thoughts are basically that Jimin really meant it when he said, last year, that he’ll bring Tae around for a vlive, that it wasn’t a joke or a way to tease us with something he knew he wouldn’t be able to deliver, but rather that up until this point they weren’t quite sure how to do it. Which sounds a bit odd, I know, but what they mean is that if vmin were to just sit down in front of the camera and were supposed to just talk based on what the chat would give them, it would likely just turn out awkward and weird and no one, including them, would really have fun. Even more so when we take into account how idiotic the chat is during regular vlives so now imagine if those two were to do one together that’s just a casual chat. It would likely end up in disaster and honestly I wouldn’t wish it upon them to read all those awful comments that they would likely get, even worse ones than they already get normally, to be honest.

But now that the whole satoori thing was brought up, and Jimin actually mentioned mandaggo and wanting to bring it back after so many years, Admin 2 thinks that they must’ve finally figured out a solution to their problem, if you can call it that. Doing mandaggo would basically mean they would have an activity, something to do similar to how they did those ASMR videos for the Japanese Fan Club which were fun and cute, and so Admin 2 thinks that perhaps chances are we will finally get the vlive we’ve waited for so long (though like many others I’ve long given up the idea).

Another confirmation is that during his vlive today Jimin basically said that he only came by for a little while since they are quite busy and had to soon get ready for work with the other members but that he’ll return in two or three weeks for a more proper, longer, vlive. So, he could’ve treated today’s vlive as the promised one but instead he saw it more as a bridging one between the zoom meeting and the proper vlive he wants to do, so is it the farfetched to think that he had proper plans for a vlive, like doing mandaggo, but it just wouldn’t have worked out time wise today so he moved the actual vlive he wanted to make to a later date?

One last thing (well two actually) that has nothing to do with this question but Admin 2 wanted me to include it anyway is that one, have you noticed how Tae and Jimin were both on weverse around 3 am (until almost 4am (also both of them posting a comment to some post at 03:41 am KST)) one after the other (though with one day of a break in between them) recently and then also two, that Jimin was up until like 6 am (since he posted on weverse around that time) on the 8th and then during the zoom meeting Tae answered a question by saying that he’d been awake until 6 am the previous day (also the 8th) since he wanted to see the sunrise? Which is also something an anon mentioned to us. Curious, isn’t it?

From anon: I request both admins to please post this ask. So jimin wwnt live today and one of the accounts on twt posted a screen cap of them commenting 'touch your hair if vmin is real' in the live chat and jimin's reaction to it. Now idk if it is an edit or real. No matter i just want to say its not ok to bring up ships in front of the members no matter which ship it is. We dont know the reality of their relationship so lets not make them uncomfortable. Its not a joke. Its not funny. Be respectful the members are real people.

(Admin 1 taking over from this point onward) This ask nicely ties into the last one that’ll be further down in this post since they cover a similar issue of sorts. But let’s start with this one asking about, essentially, vlive comments and the things fans ask/comment, which also ties in with the above ask as well.

The thing with the vlive chat, and especially comments/questions that are like anon said, questions or “commands/requests” about touch your hair if XYZ ship is real or cough twice if you love XYZ member or, likewise, comments such as where is XYZ member or what are the other members doing, unfortunately those have been a steady and unchanging part of the vlive chat since basically forever. It’s been an issue on and off with different intensities though I feel like it’s gotten worse again this year. Particularly if we look back at the vlive Tae did with Hobi and Yoongi and how essentially the entire chat was filled with comments related to Xkook and not much else.

If my memory doesn’t fail me we once even had a situation some years ago (2016) where the chat during Hobi’s vlive was so bad, as in so full of questions about that other members instead of him, that you could see he was upset about it and eventually he handed over the vlive to Jimin, whom the chat had requested Hobi to visit, and Hobi just left. And I can’t blame him for it since the chat must’ve made him feel like basically no one cared about him so what was even the point of him being there, right?

Personally I’ve long given up looking at the comments during vlive because they just make me cringe and feel bad for the members, especially when I think back to vlives such as Yoongi’s D2 one last year where he was so excited to talk about the songs and the process of making the mixtape and yet so many of the comments were just unrelated nonsense and annoying request like speak english or can you say my name or say hello in XYZ language. If it makes me question why the people posting those questions are in the chat, why they are fans to begin with, imagine what the members must feel like, how discouraging that must feel like. After all they are musicians and yet so rarely do they get questions about that. Or rather they do get them but they are just drowned out by nonsense. Which is a shame. And also very disrespectful but any attempts that were made to remind people to be respectful, to remember their place as fans, to focus on the member that’s doing the vlive instead of asking about the others, and to keep ships away from the members have failed because some don’t care and will continue to not care.

From anon: what are your opinions on the Qs that were asked during that zoom meeting thing between BTS and ARMY?

Now I’d like to preface my answer to this last question by saying that by no means do my grievances come from a place of jealousy or anything. I’m very happy for all the ARMYs that won their spot, that they got to participate in the event and that BTS got to see ARMYs again even if only on screens and not in person still. No, my issue stems from something completely different, and I don’t want to say that the system chose the wrong people, because that would be mean and also who even knows how the winners were chosen, if it was pure luck or there were some actual criteria that went into the process, but the fact is that only a select 200 ARMYs got that spot out of however many that applied, so basically for some this was a once in a lifetime chance, right, even just getting this close to asking Bangtan a question and have really great chances of having them give you an answer while acknowledging you somewhat instead of just seeing pure words on a screen, you know what I mean?

Now imagine you are one of those 200 ARMYs and you get the chance to fill the chat with questions along with the other 49 participants of your session and you decide that asking questions such as what it’s like for Jimin to work as angel, if Namjoon ever broke a bicycle, or why JK smells the crowns of the other members heads? Or even worse, you decide to ask about JKs shower routine and in which order he washes his body? And sure, the “fault” doesn’t fall completely on the ARMYs alone, after all it’s the members who read out those questions and not some magical off screen entity, and since I wasn’t part of the event I can’t say with a hundred percent certainty that no one asked any “proper” questions, but if those were the questions that ended up being read out loud, is it that hard to guess that likely all the questions looked similarly?

Which brings me to my main grievance of it all: have you forgotten that you are fans of musicians and not reality TV stars or vloggers/influencers? I know there were likely no rules for what questions you could or couldn’t ask (except for probably ones that were 100% about shipping or far too personal), but really, you get to ask your favorite band a question, something you might never, ever get the chance to do again, and your first thought isn’t to ask about their music but instead about some unimportant nonsense like the angel question or if they differentiate between the clothes they wear at home and those they sleep in? Like sure the angel one was kinda funny, maybe, and Jimin handled it in a cute way, I applaud him for it, but was that really necessary?

I know someone asked JK about Decalcomania, as well as Tae about his mixtape, and Yoongi/Jimin about Tony Montana (season 2), but other than that were there any other questions about their music? Perhaps I’m overthinking things, maybe I’m exaggerating and maybe I’m the only one who sees an issue with this, but if I would’ve won a spot, I’d rather have asked something about their process when writing lyrics or creating beats or how they prepare when learning new choreographies, what it’s like to be on tour (though perhaps that would be a mean question seeing as tours aren’t really something that’ll continue being possible for a while still), you get the point.

It makes me wonder if it was just bad luck or if it had something to do with how old the participants were (I saw some being as young as fifteen), which isn’t to say that teens can’t ask smart questions because they definitely can just like adults can ask stupid ones as well, but somewhere something, in my opinion, just went weirdly. And maybe that was the point of it all, for the event to be casual, funny, lighthearted, but my question then is when is the time for music discussions? For fans to ask those types of questions that actually have something to do with the boys careers? When even journalists aren’t asking them proper questions, ARMYs aren’t either, so what is the point of it all then?

Then again, after the event concluded and Seokjin came onto vlive he seemed so happy and excited, so maybe they had fun (I mean they seemed to have fun) and didn’t mind at all that the questions were lighthearted and silly, maybe I’m the one making mountains out of molehills. I don’t know, but anon wanted to know my thoughts/opinions, and this is them. Once again, I don’t mean to be mean toward the ARMYs that got rightfully in, that won, and I don’t want to insult them for the questions they asked, perhaps I just expected/hoped for something a little different? And perhaps I’m the only one. I don’t know.

#answered ask #BTS #vmin #jimin #Vmin vlive

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himbodjarin · 3 years

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LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand.

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?”

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka.

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.”

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group.

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways.

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes.

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings.

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms.

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.”

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid.

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all.

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities.

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks.

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.”

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough.

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?”

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7.

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing.

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?”

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl.

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking.

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold.

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach.

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands.

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate.

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs.

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.”

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 4 years

Note

You could do it with: IDW: Megatron, Ultra Magnus, Max, Rung and Bayverse Optimus?Thanks! You have a good day! :D (2/2)

HI I’M BACK FROM THE DEAD. MY GHOST LITERALLY WROTE THIS. I know it’s extremely late but my writers block has been hitting me during the pandemic while I’m stuck at home so hopefully I did this ok.

@bellisimapormesana

Character wasn’t stated so I’m defaulting to a cybertronian! Reader.

IDW Megatron

He feels you.

Seriously, this poor mech is as pessimistic as you’ll ever get.

Don’t make me bring in the depresso espresso memes.

It took you a while to warm up to those who were pesistant in becoming your friend (I’m looking at you rodimus), so getting anywhere with him is going to take forever.

If your not at Swerve’s cracking jokes and getting into crazy shinanegans while Ultra Magnus just sits there with his helm in his servos, you’re either alone in your berth room or wandering the many halls of the Lost Light.

Normally Megs is too deep in thought to pay attention to notice most walking by, but his optics will set on you when he almost walks into your frame sat on the floor. But you’re too busy observing the stars outside one the windows to acknowledge him.

You would expect him to take a least a few times of running into you to actually realise that your processor was currently far away from being a happy place, but like I said, this guy’s been through shit.

One single look at you. And he knows.

The way your optics are dimmed already give off the tell tale sign that your mind is wandering places. Like, there’s a whole universe right in front of you, galaxies and technicolour planets passing by, you should be dreaming of the adventures you will have, yet you sit here, frame slouched, with a solemn empty look across your face.

Everything seems to stop still for Megatron as he stands there. Memories and nightmares flashing across his processor, bringing back glimpses of emotions that he wished to never feel again.

Everything about you screams loneliness, and he feels his spark shatter at the sight of you.

There is no way on Cybertron that he will let you experience the depression he did.

He won’t force any means of physical comfort upon you, since you could just push him away so easily if you wanted to.

All you hear are a shuffle of pedesteps and a gentle thump as he sits himself beside you, glancing at you once without uttering a word.

Through that single glance, he showed you that he understood, and reassured you that you’re not anywhere near alone in this universe. And he had your back.

Ultra Magnus

When you first boarded the Lost Light, you had blended in amongst the crowd and didn’t really speak up much.

Therefore it took Magnus quite a while to find out who you were.

The poor mech didn’t really have much time to make many friends, since he was too busy either speaking about statistics, or chasing Rodimus throughout the ship to try and prevent any disasters from taking place.

The first time he really noticed you is when you actually started to hang out with Roddy and the rest of the main crew.

He would see you dissappear around corners as you tried to avoid ending up in trouble with your fellow pranksters, or sitting at the bar as Swerve proceeded to die of hysterics at the joke you cracked.

He also saw you exit Rung’s a couple of times as he went in.

The first time he exchanged a conversation with you was at the bar with everyone else.

You were sat between Rung and him as you fiddled with your servos. He noticed that you were quieter than usual as you stared at the half empty energon in front of you.

He hadn’t had the slightest clue of what to say to you as you sat there. He was just downright confused as to why you weren’t being as loud as the others.

Suddenly a thought came to his mind as he recalled something.

While you were well known for being slightly disobedient when you joined Rodimus on his adventures, he was mildly surprised at how well your reports were laid out. You may be a funny prankster but your reports came on the dot, full of the right amount of detail that Magnus would be satisfied with.

So while it may had not been a great way to greet someone, he brought you out of your silent state by praising you on how well your reports were.

You looked up at him, slightly taken aback at the sudden gesture, but you returned it with a small smile and a quiet “thank you”.

He didn’t know straight away of you pessimistic states and episodes, but it didn’t take him a while to realise it either.

He would notice there would be times you would seclude yourself to a quiet space, and he would notice your seat to be empty at meetings every one in a while.

He’s a busy mech, so he can’t always pay attention to you, but in his free time, or when he is walking the halls, he would see if you were on your own or not.

He’d find you at a window or an empty room, and gently ask if you would like to accompany him in going over statistics or organising some files.

“Isn’t Roddy meant to assist you in that?” “Yes but he never does it properly and disappears within five minutes.”

Some things he offers to do with you may be boring, but it’s enough to keep you distracted and on the plus side you get to spend time with your favourite Magnus.

Fortress Maximus

He’s the type of mech to observe people, especially you, from a distance.

While others seem boring or just make him nervous, you’re the one who seems to catch his optic the most.

Because you confuse him.

One minute you’re laughing tears of lubricant out of you optics with Drift as Ratchet storms in, covered helm to pede in pink glitter glue, then the next you’re sat in the dark confines of your berthroom, the only light provided is a dull blue hue from the data pad you’re reading off, eyes absentmindedly scanning across, but never actually taking the words in.

It takes him a small amount of time to properly realise how deep of a state of pessimism you were in when you were experiencing these episodes from time to time, and somewhat understood how you felt, since this poor mech is one sensitive bby once you delve down deep enough.

The next few days are spent with Max confining himself to his own berthroom, making some begin to wonder where he had disappeared off to. Some thought he was just distancing himself (like me because of shitty corONA). But instead his was carefully thinking out some form of plan to try and eventually manage to keep you as your happy self 24/7.

He - somehow - convinced Red Alert to allow him access to a weeks worth of some security clips and gathered a basic routine of when the pessimistic mood would begin to set in by the way your body language started to shift slightly and slowly but surely, you drifted away from the crowd and eventually found yourself in the confines of your berth.

He’s not a stalker I swear.

He sensed your shy nature, and being a somewhat shy bean himself it took him a few minutes of mental preparation, but he managed to stop being a wallflower at Swerve’s when he spotted you come in.

You avoided the eyes of most as you were just there to grab some energon and whisk away back to the earth story you were reading in your berthroom. You eased your way through the small crowd, cringing at some of the loud laughs that reached your audios.

Reaching a clearing in front of the bar, you were about to open your intake to ask for a drink, when you felt a large presence loom behind you.

Turning around cautiously, you were met with a white and blue chest plate.

Your attention was taken away from the loud noises as your audios picked up a quiet “hello” as you looked up to meet a pair of nervous red optics.

Max knew he was big, even for a cybertronian, so he was concerned that his large presence gave off an intimidating demeanour, and it would scare you away.

However, much to his surprise and luck, you gave him a small smile and gave a quiet greeting in return.

You two spent the next few hours in a secluded booth in the corner of the bar exchanging mutual conversation while sipping on different concoctions of Swerve’s drinks.

You were enjoying the new company, basking in the presence of a fellow awkward cybertronian you could relate to. You found it cute as you found him staring at you, only too look away while staring down at the drink in his hands.

On the other hand, Fort Max was internally proud of himself managing to keep you from the depressing depths of your berth and also of you not avoiding any form of social contact for the night.

This carried on for a few months or so. Max kept up the effort to watch over you, becoming alert if you would suddenly leave in the evening or if there was nothing on. He would take another route, and catch your attention before you reached your room, gently asking you to join him on some sort of activity. Whether it was crafting something Rung recommended, or going star gazing.

In some way he would coax you out and put a smile on your face.

IDW Rung

You think you can get away from the observing eyes of god Rung the therapist?

After one appointment with you he could see that you weren’t as happy as you presented yourself to be.

There’s nothing much to say for this guy except for the fact that you keep going to these sessions with him.

You may not want to tell him everything but he tries his best to try and show that he understands you.

Instead of these meets going the same as most others, Rung will have you stay for longer and make it more interactive with things such as making crafts such as model ships, and also will tell you a story about each one.

Hell, he would sometimes book appointments for you, mostly in the evening when you weren’t busy.

You enjoy the company, but it also means poor Rung actually has a friend that talks to him more and frequently visit him.

You’ve never gotten his name wrong once.

And that puts a little smile on his face each time.

If he finds you in one of these states, he won’t say much at first. Just gently holding your servo as you both sit by a window until he quietly begins to tell you a story to get your mind off any negative thoughts.

Bayverse Optimus (aNgRy MaN)

Bruh

He feels you too

He’s lost too many friends he considers family

Has been known to go into pessimistic states himself

But doesn’t know if anyone else experiences these things like he does

When he watches you around base he sees you having lots of fun with the younger bots, pranking Ratchet or practising you abilities in the field with Ironhide.

In his attempt to make sure that no one really finds out or suffers when he’s in this depressive mood, he tends to worry about it in the dead of night when nobody is around.

Or so he thought.

He has takes up the opportunity to walk around base during the late hours, sometimes to sit and take in his surroundings while trying his best to push any bad thoughts to the back of his mind whilst he stargazes.

Only to find that looking at the stars reminds him how far away he is from home, since when he looks up, none of the flickering dots are familiar, and another wave of sorrow hits him.

This would happen almost every nights, unless he needed to rest up for a mission.

One night he was doing the same, recalling both good and bad memories, when his audios picked up a quiet screech, like metal on metal, from behind somewhere.

While it may have just been the wind, Optimus knew he needed to be alert for any surprise attacks from the Decepticons, so he got up as quietly as he could and spent the next couple of minutes attempting to locate the source of the noise.

Another very similar noise had led him up to the roof, but at their point he still didn’t know if this was a threat or not, so he cautiously lifted his helm over, a servo hovering over his blaster.

What he didn’t expect was to spot your silhouette in the moonlight, sat on the edge, staring into space, a solemn look on your face.

He was taken aback slightly at this sudden sight of you, since you were normally so bubbly, and had managed to bring out a low chuckle in him every once in a while.

Relaxed that it wasn’t Ravage skulking around, he was still concerned about you.

He would sit next to you and spend the next hour or so speaking quietly with you, finding out and understanding why you seemed so down.

While he wouldn’t mind staying out here with you for the remainder of the night, you both knew Ratchet would scold you both for not recharging properly, so he took you down silently to your berth, and stayed by your side until you were in deep slumber, then return to his own berth.

This happened almost every night, just the both of you basking in each other’s presence and company, and pointing out Earth constellations into the early hours of the morning.

Enjoy :)

Oppy out.

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micheswife · 3 years

Text

media belongs to the rightful owners.

It is good to have you back.

Warnings: fluff, angst, chpt 139 spoilers, romantic????

Ship: Levi x civilian OC.

Summary: Mira has managed to stick by Levi's side ever since he got out of the underground. Now, they finally meet.

Times were simpler back then. Back when the Eldians were unaware of what laid beyond the walls, when salt was a luxury and oceans only appeared in fiction. Mira was just nineteen year old civilian with an ordinary life. She woke up, cooked, cleaned, studied and sewed, enjoying everything life had to offer.

This was until her eyes caught the sight of a certain soldier, he looked rather cold, little did she know she would come to read the smallest changes in his expressions in a few months. The scouts had been returning from an expedition the first time she saw him, he looked devasted and she knew why. She had felt sorry for him, for them all. She so desperately had wanted to do something for them, but alas, she lacked the guts to stand up to the crowd jeering at the soldiers. Nor did she have the funds to donate, nor the courage to join them in the battle. She had been sad when she returned home that day, and her brother's portrait made it worse. He had lost his life outside the walls five years ago, on his first expedition. She ran a thumb over the wooden frame of the drawing, before writing a letter that would be the start of the painful journey that had left her with a heavy heart today.

It was a long expression of her support towards the survey corps, her sorrow towards her own lack of strength and everything in between.

"This is pathetic." She had exclaimed after having gone through the letter, ultimately tearing it apart and discarding it in the fire. The soldiers didn't need to hear her sob story.

The next month, she had rushed to the gates upon hearing the bells, a warm meal and a little note packed in her piece of rag. She secured it with her pink ribbon, tying it in an overly elaborate knot to indicate that it was present. She cringed as she recollected asking a kid to deliver the package. Having a crush does make people desperate afterall.

It was a particularly noisy group of kids she had approached, they were enamoured with the soldiers, but she was certain they were no longer alive today.

"Hey kids, I need you to deliver something." She had crouched down.

"Um...what?".

"You see captain Levi there? This is his lunch, could you please give it to him for me."

The kids were more than happy to have an excuse to interact with their hero, so the box was grabbed immediately. The innocent children never once wondered why the perfectly healthy lady couldn’t deliver that lunch herself.

"That girl wants to give you your lunch! Captain!" Mira heard one of the excited children as she scurried away into the dark alley, rushing home as fast as she could. She was terrified of having any sort of attention on her, more so when there was the possibility of rejection involved. She tucked her feelings in the back of her mind, assuming that the captain had indeed rejected her present. Mira was a pessimist like that.

But she had been wrong, because Levi was more than grateful to have received a warm meal. Even though it had resulted in a lot of annoying comments for the rest of his career, some soldiers had even claimed to have seen the mystery woman. It didn't help that the kids had described her as a thin, brown-haired woman. That was all they remembered, too excited to have spoken with Levi.

He had opened the package to find a note inside. His hopes were shattered when it revealed nothing about the sender, except for her shabby handwriting.

"Tch, could have written it neatly."

He muttered as he kept the note aside and opened the container, food still warm inside. He couldn't help but smile when he tasted the soup, there were tiny bits of meat inside. The vegetables and the freshly baked bread had fixed him for the day. He had washed the container when nobody was looking, but not before folding the note and securing it in his wallet. It was rare for people to address such gratefulness towards him, even after everything he had done.

He'd cherish those words forever, "thank you, captain Levi." Fortunately, people became more grateful after wall Maria had been reclaimed. But by that point, Mira's little notes were the only thing that comforted him. He had a friend who stayed. He would write to her after every expedition, pouring his grief, sadness and anger in it, making sure to leave out the any confidential details. In exchange, she gave him an invisible shoulder to lean on, hoping that the narration of her mundane days would somehow provide comfort. And it did, he liked knowing about the next embroidery she planned to make, he always waited for the next meal to fill his stomach, her next letter to fill his heart. She had a slightly different personality than him in that she smiled a little more, she had more innocence, but they both were equally distant, burying their need for companionship into oblivion.

They used to talk about their days, about their hobbies, but never about their relationship. They never acknowledged their type of relationship they had, but a few feelings would slip out.

Levi had stopped telling her about Hange after he felt a tinge of bitterness in her next letter, he wanted to let her know that him and Hange shared a deep but platonic love. He avoided it, however, not wanting to make things worse. It was at that moment, Levi had made a decision. If him and this mystery girl ever survived their cruel destiny, then he would pursue her. He would ask her name, and invite her over to the same place she kept his lunch box every week. Under a lone tree not far from the headquarters.

"Don't forget the dessert this time, and keep it under that tree with yellow flowers, it is behind the headquarters." He had placed his note in the clean box, and shoved it back into the hands of the same starry-eyed kid.

"Give it to her next time you see her." He wondered what happened to the little boy after their little arrangement was made. He had taken a leap of faith that day and it had worked, the girl had come back next month, she had been looking for another group of enthusiastic kids but the little boy from last month had approached her.

"The captain told me to give you this."

She had to convince him to not go up to Levi and cause and commotion. Little did she know, Levi had already seen her bribing the kid with some homemade candy which was meant for him instead. Over the next few months, Levi would try his hardest to remember her face, contemplating the decision to ask Moblit for a sketch. But he knew that Mira wound not agree, she, just like him was scared of getting too comfortable. Perhaps that fear had been the reason why they both had established such a weird dynamic. They had soon fallen into a routine of exchanging letters, and preserving them. Levi soon found comfort in the increasing familiarity, Mira's behaviour becoming more and more predictable. They both had their own set of circumstances that had prevented them from meeting in person, including the fear that it would ruin the sacred relation they had built. They could not afford to lose each other, Mira had deliberately approached him, and he had actively seeked her out in return, going as far as dealing with a noisy little brat to see the girl for once. They were not meant to cross paths, they were not soulmates, they were hardworkers. Levi barely had the time to sleep, and it took a lot of courage to talk about his feelings, get, he made himself vulnerable in those letters, grateful that someone was willing to listen.

Mira, on the other hand, had to sneak around to deliver the meals. She was poor, a mere house-helper for some rich families, but she worked extra hours to buy those fancy ingredients. Hiding letters from her parents required a lot of tact, so did rejecting each and every man her father introduced her to. All with the awareness that Levi did not and would not love her, ever. She had forced herself to find comfort in her loneliness, unlike Levi, she never poured out her emotions. She only wrote about the things she did, the funny little dreams she saw, but her feelings were a taboo topic. To top the emotional labour, the fall of wall Maria had driven her faraway from the new headquarters, so Levi would sometimes slip in some money to help her out. It felt good to provide for her, to take care of her, especially after she had lost her parents.

The relationship had went on for years, until Levi had finally expressed feeling fearful about his impending death.

"I may never come back, also, do not reply to this letter... I will have gone to Marley by the time this reaches you. Please live a long life." A tear dropped onto the letter, smudging the ink. Levi had been to Marley several times, but this was final. He needed to save the world, not just Paradis. She had cried until her lungs gave out, until she felt lightheaded, but not because Levi would possibly not return. She was scared about the pain he might experience in his final moments. Would it be a titan? A bullet? An explosion?

"God, please let there be someone to save him." she had prayed, and her prayers had been answered. The woman Mira would get jealous of had found Levi in a horrible condition. She had lost her cheer, no longer wanting the responsibility of her position. She had even suggested running away together to the Captain, and honestly Mira would have preferred for him to do that too, afterall, Hange knew him better and longer than her. But the Captain had a promise to fulfill, and he would never just give up.

Mira never knew any of it, she refused to look at the newspapers, too scared of facing the new world of extremists. The walls were gone, some scouts had returned, but she did not see the Captain. Her pessimistic mind assumed the worst, and soon enough, a little plant was dancing on her window in honour of a soldier she had presumed dead.

It had been a long time since the last letter was sent, and Levi was now in a wheel chair. He wondered about the girl, he had never bothered to ask her name, instead he had start calling her Lily, since she always wore one of those in her wavy hair.

He remembered his decision, if they survived the titans, then he would pursue her. This was his last mission life, little did he know, Mira had started pushing him out of her mind. She had been struggling with a phase, she would write long letters addressed to him and keep them tucked away to cope with her thoughts. The cold, lonely nights had been harsh on her, and she was losing her appetite. It was going to be okay though, Levi was already on a ship to Paradis, ready with a ring in his coat. For now, he would go over his speech for the first peace summit in Paradis, and then straight to Mira. He was sure he could find her.

#Levi #levi aot #levi ackerman #snk #attack on titan #aot x oc #snk x oc #snk 139 #levi heichou #levi x oc #rivai ackerman #rivalle #rivaille #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin manga #shingeki no kyoujin levi

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txthots · 4 years

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Hello, I saw that you reblogged a post about sexualising minor idols and I wanted to ask you a question. First of all, I hope I don’t sound rude or anything, I’m just actually curious about this! Anyway, as you said it’s wrong to sexualise and write smut about minors because it’s uncomfortable and it’d scare the minor, but isn’t the same with adults? I mean, adult idols may feel the same way, just because they aren’t minor it doesn’t mean they don’t feel scared by this. [👆🏻]

Hi, everyone, so I just thought I’d answer this ask before I answer any other questions in my inbox. It’s a very important and very good question, and I hope I can answer it without causing any kind of controversy! This anon came to me very politely, and asked really kindly so I appreciate that.

So let’s start off by saying, I’m thankful that you don’t see too many people who write for minors, too! It makes me feel really icky and I’m pretty sure that I’m not the only one who shares that point of view.

However, there’s a big moral difference in expressing sexual attraction in a minor and expressing sexual attraction in adults. As an adult, expressing attraction like that toward a minor is obviously widely frowned upon for many justifiable reasons- one of those being that you’re expressing an adult “innate” behavior(innate being in quotations because for some this behavior isn’t really considered necessary and that’s okay. we’ve all got preferences here and im not bout to exclude the ace community) toward someone who has not properly matured mentally and physically in that aspect. I think as an adult you start to realize that who you are as a person in a sensual aspect is COMPLETELY different than who you were as a minor. And though some people are sexually active before a legal age, it isn’t a really logical approach to push that kind of agenda or mindset on someone who hasn’t hit that age as you and shared similar experiences as you (it really isn’t right to push that agenda on anyone who isn’t ready, tbh, but that’s a discussion we’ll save for another time). I realize that it seems like i’m rambling and I dont mean to, so I’ll just provide you with an example.

I am 21 now. I was born in the same year as Yeonjun, if you want anything to base that off of. Now, let’s compare me to someone like, let’s say, a cousin who was born in the same age as me. That cousin, who is also 21, most likely shares similar life experiences as I do, so she’s probably been exposed to things like sex education and who knows, possibly even her own sex life. With her, I’m assuming that I can talk about my own experiences, my preferences, and expect her to reciprocate. She might even tell me about people who she fancies around our age, and the conversation may run a little similar to how i talk on this blog or how any other txt blog talks about legal members. The key here, is that she and I are both equipped with the same generational and mental mindset- we’ve experienced things at a similar rate, and we both have the same mindset given our age.

Now, let’s compare that to a younger cousin that I could have that’s about 17. That’s someonee who might not be mentally ready to hear that kind of talk, or have any experience on the topic whatsoever. The topic could make them uncomfortable (or anyone uncomfortable who doesn’t want to hear it, for that matter) because they might not share in those kinds of experiences or wouldn’t want to be focused on something like that around their age. This person has a longer way to go with life than I would, and they have so many things that they have to experience on their own before they get to talking about these things.

As long as these things are not forced on any individual, I think it’s okay to think about them. It’s completely natural for us to have feelings toward another individual around our age. Let’s say that cousin who is 21 wants to talk to me about someone she has a crush on, and she goes into.... explicit detail about it. It’s seen as a normal conversation for some people, seeing as it’s completely normal to feel sexual attraction on a crush. All the while, it’s completely okay for people to feel sexual attraction toward /us/... just as long as they are not shoving it in our faces, and we don’t shove it in theirs. But we both have a right to feel things for people that we show a genuine attraction toward. Even if it’s a celebrity, we arent imposing on them by thinking about them like this, because as it turns out, they probably think about other people in a similar fashion. That’s because they’re around our age.

We can see this in example in other fandoms-- take, for example, I don’t know... Supernatural or something. If you’ve been on Tumblr as long as I have you might have been here for the popular ship... Destiel (literally i cringed typing that out.). The story behind the ship does not matter- what matters is that the actors who played Dean and Castiel (Destiel) were two grown men and that the ship itself was MASSIVE. There was a moment in time where the actor for Dean answered a question from a fan, and it had to do with the ship itself. That is when you cross the line as a fan-- shoving any kind of material about the famous person in their face, that’s what I consider disrespectful.

I realize that this was very long, but I hope I answered some important questions!! Thank you for asking.

#anonymous #discourse

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years

Text

EoA ships fluff headcanons part 4

Who secretly melts inside when the other says their name? Eleteo: I feel like it’s equal melting on both their parts. For Elena, this sort of love is nothing like she’s felt before. Everything is just so *special* when Mateo says it. He makes her feel like the most important person in the world which is definitely saying something. He’s just so sincere and warm, and the way he says her name with love and adoration and respect makes her fall for him even more. Mateo makes for a lot of the same reasons. He’s not a “nobody” wizard hiding in his basement. She makes him feel like he can do anything, that he’s worth so much more to her and it makes him want to be more for her, and so it continues in an endless cycle. Gababel: Isabel does. Like I said before, it’s not hard to get her to blush whereas Gabe is concerned, and when Gabe says her name especially in the beginning of the relationship...just lots of red face. Part of it is from the disbelief she still has, as well as how it just feels like she is being singled out. She’s gotten kinda used to being Elena’s little sister, burgeoning scientist, it’s hard to believe she can step out of the shadow and be noticed especially by Gabe. But she is, and the way he says her name makes her feel safe, and respected and with such warmth...yes, she loves it, and him. Estenaomi: Esteban does. He is a secret softie and so he secretly melts when Naomi says his name. It is so often that her softer side is hidden under her sassy exterior so the times when she says his name with fondness that she gives no one else, it’s special to him. Especially whenever he feels like his abuelos are nagging him with how he can’t be more like Elena or be more mature, and then he knows, he has Naomi, who (almost) never says his name in a tone of deep disappointment and he hopes to never disappoint her ever. Estoma: Doña does. Since almost no one knows her real name, and Esteban rarely says it in public, so when he does it is in some deep or romantic talk which just makes it even more special. He says it like it is the most beautiful name in the world, it just like ❇️ It goes a long way to making her hate it a bit less. Who nose boops the other more often?

Eleteo: Elena does, she is affectionate like that and it makes Mateo a blushy mess. Gababel: Same as above. Isabel does it more often and it gets Gabe so flustered especially since she usually draws it. She goes on her tip goes and Gabe is expecting a kiss but gets a nose boop and smart remark or compliment. Estenaomi: I feel like it is even. Like Esteban can sometimes do it condescendingly like when he was teaching Naomi to dance but Naomi dishes it right back at him when she’s teasing him. Estoma: Doña usually in the middle of Esteban speaking. She says it’s like an automatic “shut up” button which he doesn’t appreciate.

Little habit that entertains the other? eleteo: Elena is always entertained by whenever Mateo imitates someone else since it is usually so exaggerated or when he gets annoyed. She is not entertained by his annoyance per say but his arms get so frenzied and he is all animated and not the usually calm and collected, it’s a bit funny like when Esteban “ate” his mom. Mateo is entertained when Elena gets all sassy and competitive like in the Scepter Training shorts. It’s always fun to hang out with Elena when she starts doing her hair flips, and sometimes he starts goading her competitiveness just a bit. Gababel: Gabe gets entertained when Isabel sees a scientific mistake in some sort of scientific journal where there isn’t suppose to be any artistic license or suspension of disbelief because it is supposed to cold hard facts and she goes in a long rant and Gabe just smiles. Isabel is always entertained by whenever Gabe incorporates his guard training into little things he does like throwing fruit or olaball or snowball fight because she finds it cute when he shows off and how proud he looks. Estoma: Doña is entertained whenever someone gives a speech Esteban wrote because you can always see Esteban in the background, mouthing all with the words with cringing and enthusiasm whenever the person gets it wrong or right. Sometimes Esteban accompanies Doña shopping and he is always a bit entertained with the way she has her assistant behind her carrying bags and taking the stuff while she points to it and says “Mine.” Not “I think I’ll buy that” or “Maybe this one?” Just, “Mine. Mine. Mine.” He sometimes asks her if she even looks at what she’s buying or if it depends how shiny it is. Estenaomi: Like Elena, Esteban sometimes gets his entertainment from when Naomi is annoyed or freaking out because it’s usual the other way around when Naomi is telling him to calm down and not be dramatic or it’s not a big deal so yeah. The shoe is on the other foot. Naomi is entertained by Esteban’s constant feud with anyone who has not heard of or doesn’t agree hat Avaloran chocolate is the best. Because Esteban just gets so personally offended but she also can’t blame him because chocolate is worth fighting for.

Who overpacks?

Eleteo: Hmm I feel like Mateo would. Not with clothes but just with additional spellbooks for “light” reading whenever Elena is at her political meetings even though he ends up not reading half of them because he is spending time with Elena. Gababel: Isabel does. As in line with her overthinking nature, she packs everything they could possibly need in case of an emergency by sea or land though Gabe tells her not to worry because he’s there, he’ll take care of any emergency😉 Estenaomi: Esteban does because he cannot *possibly* go to Paraíso without his black linen suit or his matching red bolero jacket or his Flores family heirloom dagger or his hairdryer or well, there’s more but you get the idea. 😋 Estoma: Again, it would be Esteban. But I feel like Doña would overpack in the return trip from all her shopping. Who moves in with the other, and who decorates?

Eleteo: Well technically we saw that already with Mateo moving into the palace and the wizard quarters were already decorated but when they officially move move in as a married couple it is still Elena who decorates the room with some of his books even though he says they can keep them in the workshop and bringing in some of the baby pictures Rafa gave Elena which again, is so her idea because she finds baby Mateo adorable. Gababel: Well obviously Gabe has to move into the palace since it is so spacious that there is room for everybody and it is technically Blanca who swoops in to decorate along with Isabel because though Gabe can be very neat in his guard quarters, he has no idea about aesthetic and neatness in his room. Plus Isabel likes to keep his things in line with her own system of organization so it’s just best to let her take over. Estenaomi: Well since the two are sailing around the world together, it is Esteban who moves in with Naomi and he decorates his part of the room with his own sense of flair with fancy drawings and clothes and of course, his moisturizing/hair stuff. Honestly his stuff takes up more of the bathroom then hers does. Estoma: Probably Doña moves in with Esteban after they get married since the palace is very big and I can’t see Esteban wanting to be separated from his family. And she decorates it. Though there are the usual disagreements of his stuff blocking hers, there is no need for that many vases in one room etc.

Who watches the other sleep? Eleteo: Undoubtedly Elena because Mateo has little catnaps around the palace or sometimes he studies so hard he falls asleep where he is sitting and that’s where Elena finds him still hours later, and she just smiles at him because he looks so peaceful when he’s asleep. Gababel: Gabe is the one who watches Isabel go to sleep, benefitting his stay up and guard work so Isabel doesn’t quite have the same stamina for staying up late unless she’s reading something really good. Gabe can’t help his heart swelling with love and disbelief that she is lying beside him and he just cuddles her closer. Estenaomi: Hmm I feel like it would be either of them. More likely Esteban would find her asleep standing up at the bow so he has to take over but Naomi has watched him fall asleep, and like Gabe can’t believe she’s spending her life with him. Estoma: Esteban since I picture him as the night owl so he’d stay awake longer and watch her with a small smile on his face.

Worst date ever? Eleteo: It was all going well when the whole staff came upon them along with the Grand Council with a list of things that needed to be done now and by done now I mean done that morning when Elena was kissing Mateo. It turns out in all her busyness, Elena forgot to cancel all her appointments and forgot to inform them of her date. They tried to salvage by continuing somewhat romantic activities in the few 1-2 minute intervals but it was hopeless. Estenaomi: It was a real disaster date. First, Naomi gets splashed with mud all over her new dress, then Esteban burns his tongue on the spice and accidentally spills his water on Naomi, they miss their carriage ride to the olaball game and ended up with a night back on the ship where they just rested. Well rested for like half an hour. Then they realized the food they had was a little suspect when the food poisoning hit them. Estoma: I imagine in the beginning, they kept their dating on the down low just to make sure it would work out and you know, not be a mistake they’d regret the rest of their lives. Well one night they go to the opera and surprise, it was also Francisco and Luisa’s date night. And since they assumed there was nothing going on between them, they invited themselves along to sit next to them and join them for dinner. Gababel: Another abuelos crashed date. But not exactly. Gabe and Isabel were pretty well established as a couple so obviously they were together for Christmas time. Just for their families to meet up and chat while they sneak out with some mistletoe. Well, Blanca, Roberto, Luisa and Francisco got to talking and all the baby stories came out. All of them. All the ones they hadn’t want the other to hear. Isabel was mortified when Luisa started to bring picture albums. And there was nothing they could do as the adults kept pulling them in to the conversation.

Favorite feature? Eleteo: Both love each other’s eyes. They are truly the window to the soul but Elena’s love for Mateo’s soft sweet smile and his curls come at a close second. Estenaomi: Esteban adores Naomi’s freckles, you knowing counting them. He finds them so uniquely her. Naomi likes Esteban’s swoopy hair which she should considering how much gel and time he spends on it. Gababel: Though it might be considered shallow Isabel likes Gabe’s arms. Not only because they are mascular but they just make her feel safe. Gabe likes Isabel’s mouth, anything that comes out of it so informative and special and sincere even when she is babbling, and then of course there is the kissing. Estoma: Doña likes Esteban’s face. I mean it is so expressive, at times incredibly sweet, hilarious and sinful all at once. Esteban likes her hands, she uses them a lot and are perfectly well manicured. What they did after they got married?

Eleteo: Once they walked out the hall, just before the ceremony there was lots of swinging around and kissing and surprisingly, silence as they took each other and the moment in. They did it. After all the drama and dangers, they got a perfect happily ever moment and then they kissed. Which was promptly ruined by Luisa, Naomi and Isabel reminded Elena she had to get changed. But once they got on their honeymoon they got to kiss again. And again. And yet again. Gababel: Once they left the crowd and crossed the threshold of their honeymoon suite, they actually did a kinda adorkable happy dance. They were married to their best friend and soul mate, and after that little dance, Gabe picked Isabel up again and they started to spend the rest of their lives together. Estenaomi: Well let’s say the day after they made their impulsive, not that sober marriage, they. Got over their hangovers and realized what happened. At first it was a bit awkward, saying they could always have it annulled but then it led to their talk that yes, they did see themselves heading for marriage, they actually weren’t so horrified by that they were currently married. I mean they did what to spend their lives together anyway. So they started a second celebration to their decision that they were going to stay married. Estoma: After the ceremony and before the rest of the party, they took a moment to repeat their vows in private because they were trying too hard not to cry in public and kinda missed it as it was being said. As you can imagine, it was much better the second time with their undivided attention and maybe some choked up moments. Most romantic kiss?

Eleteo: For Elena it has to be her first kiss with Mateo. Now, Elena is usually very confident but love...that’s a whole different ballgame. She wasn’t sure how he felt and moreover, the whole feeling was just so vulnerable and uncertain and yet she felt so right next to him. So when they first kissed, it was like a sign that everything between them was going to be perfect. They were perfect for each other. The kiss made Elena stop thinking and just be complete with Mateo.For Mateo, the moment after the priest said “You may now kiss the bride” during the ceremony. It was like fireworks went off. Everything was perfect. The world was safe. He had a whole new family and Elena, beautiful Elena and he were cementing their bond for eternity. Nothing could top the thrill he felt. It felt like he was complete and he was at home.

Estenaomi: The most romantic kiss for Naomi was the surprise first year anniversary date. Esteban had been so annoying with the way he kept the whole thing a secret. But the surprise was totally worth it when it was a gondola ride down the canal. Also frustrating was that he refused to kiss her till the ‘right’ moment which was also worth it because it was in the moonlight as they went under the bridge. Esteban’s most romantic kiss was his second one with Naomi. They had kissed once before but they thought it didn’t mean much, it was just drunken fun. But weeks later, Esteban being the impulsive boy he is decided to do some risky move during one of their adventures and nearly fall off a cliff and Naomi snapped kissing him alternating with yelling about how hurt he could have gotten. But Esteban knew at that moment how much she cared for him since Naomi rarely lets her emotions get the better of her.

Estoma: Like Elena, the most romantic kiss for Esteban was the first kiss they had. Sure, it wasn’t supposed to happen. They were fighting and the heat built up and exploded. But it was also amazing because it was the first time he had been kissed or any sort of affection in years. Plus that unique nervous thrill that yes, she actually might like him back. It was just wow. Doña’s was what started out as horrible trip to her village that Esteban mistakingly thought would be closure. But it was salvaged in the end when they took a walk through a grove of apple trees and blossoms, and as the sunset over the horizon, they kiss. And Esteban asks that this was what she wanted her first kiss to have been like? She’s shocked he remembers that she said and of course, it just made it more sweet and romantic. Gababel: Isabel’s most romantic kiss came with one of the sweetest gestures Gabe ever did which was to surprise her in Satu for some big intellectual science award prize she was receiving. He hadn’t told her, no one was meant to come since they were busy with royal/baby duties but Gabe managed to get her entire family with homemade signs and after she got her prize she launched herself in his arms with a big kiss. Gabe’s most romantic kiss was the first time he came home from battle after starting his relationship ship with Isabel. He had been worried. Very worried because this was the first time he was going into battle knowing Isabel waiting for him on the other side and of course, that just made him more determined to live. It had been a horrific battle, he almost lost his leg but he made it and he came home and there was Isabel and it was the best, sweetest kiss of his life. He was home, he was safe, and he was with her.

Showtune songs Esteban: I dreamed a dream (Les Miserables), Evermore (Beauty and the Beast), Waiting in the Wings (Tangled), Nobody needs to know (Last 5 Years), Learn to live without (If/Then), Wait for it (Hamilton), Once upon a December (Anastasia), Empty chairs at Empty Tables (Les Miserables)

Doña: She used to be mine (Waitress), Learn to live without (If/Then), Money money (Caberet or Mamma Mia), Diamonds are a girl’s best friend (Moulin Rogue)

Estoma: Fine (No ordinary day), Anything you can do I can do better (Annie Get your gun), Elephant Love Medley (Moulin Rogue), Here goes (Rent), Take a break (Hamilton), Something that will last (First Date), Out of the darkness (Ever after)

Naomi: Legally Blonde (Legally Blonde), So much better (Legally Blonde), I can do better (Last Five Years), One day I’ll fly away (Moulin Rogue) Estenaomi: I’ll never tell (Buffy), First Impressions (First Date), No day but today (Rent), In his eyes (Jekyll and Hyde), I’ll cover you (Rent), Something to believe in (Newsies), It takes two (Into the Woods), Seventeen (Heathers), Bad idea (Waitress)

Gabe: History has his eyes on you (Hamilton), Empty chairs at Empty Tables (Les Miserables), One Song Glory (Rent), Sandy (Grease)

Isabel: Once upon a December (Anastasia), Hopelessly Devoted to you (Grease), Moments in the Woods (Into the Woods), History of the wrong guys (Kinky Boots), When he sees me (Waitress)

Gababel: In a crowd of thousands (Anastasia), It takes two (Into the Woods) That would be Enough (Hamilton), Somewhere (West Side Story), There Once was a man (Pajama Game), As long as you’re mine (Wicked), All I ask for (Phantom), Most amazing thing (Little Woman), You matter to me (Waitress) Eleteo: Under your spell (Buffy), If I never knew you (Pocahontas), Come What May (Moulin Rogue)

Eleteo: Under your spell (Buffy), If I never knew you (Pocahontas), Come What May (Moulin Rogue), Your Song (Moulin Rogue), Far longer than Forever (Swan Princess), Sunrise (In the heights), As long as you’re mine (Wicked), Next Ten Minutes (Last Five Years), Out of the Darkness (Ever after), Something to believe in (Newsies) Mateo: Go the distance (Hercules), I’d give my life for you (Miss Saigon), How could I have known (Secret Garden), Something good (Sound Of Music)

Elena: Empty chairs at Empty Tables (Les Miserables), Defying Gravity (Wicked), Just breath (In the heights), My shot (Hamilton)

Who gets drunk first?

Eleteo: Elena rarely gets drunk. You can’t let the crown princess/queen get drunk in public. But because of that lack of exposure, getting her drunk is really easy. Like three cups of wine easy. And that’s when her not so discreet Flores side comes out with a vengeance and with lack of balance. Mateo is pretty easy too but they decided never at the same time because one of them needs to be sober to drag the other out of the room. It’s like this https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=WSF9CKO8wIQ Gababel: Isabel. Even as she grows, she is much smaller than Gabe making her a lightweight and as you said, the things she says when she is drunk. Lots of curses and no filter especially when it comes to talking about Gabe’s mountain range of abs. This most often happens at physicist parties. Crazy things go down with physicists trying to use experiments on alcohol levels. Estenaomi: Esteban gets drunk first. Once more, it is more of his trait that he can never refuse a dare, nor can he refuse a drinking contest. But even if he wasn’t in a drinking contest, he is used to sweet wine not strong hard beer and so he gets plastered one jug in and Naomi has to drag him before he gets into a fight or worse, starts describing their intimate life in way too great detail in front of people they know. Estoma: Doña. But it’s less than staggering drunk but more it makes her sleepy and amorous. She’s a lot more likely to start moving into Esteban’s lap and lying her head in the crook of his neck and saying she wants a foot rub or to go to bed.

#gababel #estoma #estenaomi #eleteo #elena of avalor #my headcanons #my hcs #headcanons #elena castillo flores #naomi turner #isabel castillo flores #esteban flores #mateo de alva #doña paloma #gabe nuñez

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snowbellewells · 5 years

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A Year in the Court of Misthaven: Part V “Becoming One”

At long last, the next addition to my “Year in the Court of Misthaven” Lieutenant Duckling series. I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but this one really took some doing. However, I hope you will enjoy this. It’s a step out of my comfort zone, in that I attempted to write a legitimate love scene. That said, this is probably the first piece I feel like should be rated M, so if that is a concern I wanted to let readers know up front. (I hope it isn’t too cringe-y, but I did try my best.) As always, this is for @kmomof4 who wanted to see more of this universe beyond the original one shot. If nothing else, I’m hoping you’ll like it, Krystal! :)

from the beginning of this series...

Part V: Becoming One

By: @snowbellewells

Now that their pledged troth was once again assured, Emma could happily show Killian the preparations which had been made in his absence for their wedding celebration, and begin to gain his approval, opinions, and preferences on those things and upon the details she had refrained from deciding without him. Whenever possible, Emma had sought to choose colors, food, and decor which she had believed Killian would prefer - or knew that he liked - still, now that he was at her side once more, she wanted her fiancé to have his part in the festivities and to know that how their nuptials were carried out was as much up to him as it was to her. Their wedding day was his as well after all, and she wanted her lieutenant to feel it so.

Life returned as much to normal as possible around them - at least as much as it would ever be for the Princess and sole heir of Misthaven and her intended consort. Their court physician had finally declared, not only Killian, but his brother as well, in the rehabilitative stages of their recoveries; no longer in danger of infection, further blood loss, or relapse, but instead working to regain their strength and adapt to life with the lasting ramifications of their injuries. To that end, Killian had worked with the physician, along with numerous assistants and craftsmen, to come up with some sort of prosthetic he could wear in place of his amputated hand. Though wooden models designed to look like a hand had been offered him, they had not the ability to move and grip which would be needed if he were to return to any sort of naval activities. In the end, he had settled on a sort of metal hook for everyday use which looked not much different from ones that could be found on the rigging of ships. Most of his everyday tasks could be handled better with such a utilitarian instrument, and though there was a fake hand chosen to wear at more formal occasions, learning to use the replacement which suited him best was all with which Killian, or any of those who cared about him, were concerned.

Though Killian had hand and arm exercises to perform, which could frustrate and pain him, he was as diligent in completing them as in any task he had ever undertaken. His ability to return to naval service was as yet uncertain, but if the outcome could be achieved through sheer determination and effort, he would be well on his way. Emma couldn’t help traitorously thinking to herself that his having to stay safe within their own kingdom was not such a horrible thing, but she also hated to think what it might do to her sailor’s pride, and - almost - his sense of self. She would never truly wish him to be kept away from the wind and waves he loved, only that he would always return to her hale and whole - or, better yet, that she could venture forth with him.

Liam had a longer road of recovery to tread, but the eventual outcome was also much clearer. Killian’s elder brother and Captain should, once his strength and function were restored, as they were assured would occur given proper time, be able to retake command of his vessel in her Majesty’s royal fleet. It had been a frighteningly close call; he had lost almost more blood than any single man could spare. To Killian, who was still forced to relive the immediate aftermath in gory, vivid detail in his worst nightmares, it had seemed his brother’s very insides were littering the ship’s deck in horrifying red resplendence. In the end, however, he had not lost any major organs, nor did there seem to be evidence of permanent ill effects once he could fully recoup the weakness and blood loss.

Two of the brothers Jones’ most regular visitors continually warmed Emma’s heart with their arrival. One, of course, was Belle. The petite brunette had always been helpful and kind to Emma, able to find exactly what the Princess sought in moments when she came to the castle library on a mission, and able to keep up a candid and spritely conversation with the young royal whenever Killian, Liam, Ruby or Graham had not been available to do so. Clearly she felt a more than casual concern for Captain Jones’ recovery however, which Emma had not seen coming. Sill, the other woman was often already seated by Liam’s side when Emma and Killian reached his room in the mornings, either already reading something to him, sharing breakfast, or simply sitting with him listening to the early morning bird songs outside.

Killian had already been released to return to the apartments he and Liam had made use of since they were children, rather than having to remain in the hospital wing. Though he liked to spend as much time as possible with his brother, doubtless knowing Liam must feel anxious and useless with his forced convalescence, and Emma felt no hardship in joining him in his visits as long as she was welcome. She had found herself growing even closer to Belle in the interim.

One morning, the had even found the pensive librarian fast asleep in the overstuffed chair at Liam’s bedside, head resting on folded arms while he was awake, hand raised as if almost ready to brush it over her rich, mahogany tresses when they had made their entrance just before his breakfast tray. Liam’s hand had pulled back so quickly Emma had needed to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing both at the motion and his flushed, sheepish expression as well. Belle, however, had not roused, and the elder Jones brother’s gentle, rapt glances over at her whenever he thought they wouldn’t notice were pathetically obvious and endearing.

Emma hadn’t stayed long that morning, meandering down to where her mother and Ruby sat in the sunroom making plans for ceremony and reception color schemes, flower arrangements, and seating. She knew that it would already feel crowded in the room if Killian tried to genuinely speak with his elder sibling as he needed to, and she also knew Belle well enough to not wish the other woman rapidly becoming more friend than pleasant acquaintance to be distressed by waking to find herself ‘asleep at her post’ or caught ‘neglecting her duty’ or whatever ridiculous notion the conscientious brunette would concoct. Giving Liam a truly happy smile and bending to kiss her fiancé’s cheek where he had settled at his brother’s opposite elbow, she had slipped from the room with a promise to return within the hour.

The second heartwarming recurrent guest, the one who made Emma’s chest swell almost beyond what she could stand without bursting, was her own father, King David. From the moment of their return, the man had been anxious to be apprised of both Jones brothers’ conditions and progress, anxiously questioning doctors, nurses, and even household staff when he could not visit the castle’s sick wing in person. Emma knew part of it was concern for her - her father not wanting his beloved daughter to suffer the loss of her partner and chosen mate, it went beyond that as well, to a depth that reminds her once again just what a good heart this man - once a shepherd whom True Love made a King - possesses and makes her adore her papa even more than she always has. He and her mother took these two orphan brothers in, raised them as their own, and their reaching adulthood has not made the crown regents any less attached to or concerned for their charges.

Though he does not tend to linger, probably sensing that both young men wish to be back at their duties onboard ship and do not wish for their monarch to see them as weak, the King is also more than obviously making his support and concern known. The two boys he raised alongside his precious daughter, whom he has watched grow into brave, honorable young men proudly serving his wife’s kingdom, hold a special place in David’s heart - as an adoptive father… and as a soon-to-be father-in-law. He will be certain that they both receive the very best care which can be provided, and clearly wishes to see Killian and Liam improving daily. She has always been her father’s darling, and daddy’s girl down to her bones, but if possible, his care for her fiancé and his brother made Emma adore her papa even more.

Slowly but surely first Killian, and then eventually Liam as well, began to venture from the recovery wing and back into as much of their daily lives as possible. Emma thrilled with any little jaunt Killian made alongside her, whether it be to the kitchens to test the batter for various cakes Granny Lucas was testing for their wedding reception, venturing to their secret garden arbor overlooking the sea, or even down at the docks where he laughingly started teaching her to fish. Though it might take him longer than before to accomplish some tasks with one hand, he was coping, and it did Emma’s heart good to see.

Unfortunately, she could also see quite well that the missing hand and the arm left behind still pained him, much as he might try to hide it or to appear as if everything was fine. At times sharp twinges seemed to strike him unawares, and he would wince or jerk in reaction before schooling his features to hide it. Emma in turn, could not help but to reach for him, wanting to soothe the ache, to offer comfort, to do anything to help. Despite the discomfort or distress he might be in however, Killian would not suffer her to touch the truncated limb, nor to see it without the brace that covered the amputation site. Though he had thankfully stopped trying to convince her to move on from him or that they should no longer marry, it would take a fool not to see that he still feared the full extent of his mutilation would disgust her or finally cause her to turn her back.

Nothing could be further from the truth; yet, Emma didn’t wish to push her lieutenant too hard or too far. He had been through a horrific trauma, one that - as much as she might wish to aid or lessen - he must deal with in his own way. When his pained reactions occurred she bit her lip firmly, forcibly holding back either comforting platitudes or questions about what troubled him. She genuinely attempted to allow him the moments which fooled no one to school his infinitely expressive features and pull the mask back into place as though nothing were wrong. The tautness of his voice betraying pain and tension despite his projected nonchalance nearly made her heart crack and brought tears to her eyes, but she always found the strength to hold them back, if only to stay near him and to perhaps distract her sailor from the torment he suffered in silence.

Early evening on the day before their wedding at last, they had been fishing at the docks and were walking back to the palace over the weathered wooden planks of the dock, a small bucket of their day’s catch over his whole arm, and her small, delicate hand tucked into his other elbow as he led her gallantly home for the night, when she noticed him shifting uncomfortably, his lips pressed together tightly against any sound. To some it might seem peculiar to go fishing on the eve of their nuptials, but both were anxious in their own ways, and being together, doing something simple and familiar was the best pastime for them it seemed. All was ready, prepared, not a single loose end left to be tied, and so they had slipped off to the waterfront.

“What is it?” Emma asked gently, worry creasing her brow in concern as she looked up into her beloved’s face; his dark brows pulled low over eyes scrunched near closed in intense pain, his shoulders hunching slightly in spite of his best efforts, and the truncated limb pulling in toward his torso unconsciously, even with her fingers still resting upon it.

Killian shook his head at her question, almost as though he had not the breath to speak as much as he wished to avoid giving straight answer. He moved them forward several more steps, before a low grunt of misery escaped under his breath, and he tripped slightly in his next step.

Her concern had not abated since her question went unanswered, and Emma was immediately anxious for him once more as he faltered. Not brooking any sort of opposition, she pulled him to the side of the path by his good hand, taking the basket from him first. Once off the walk and out of the way and attention of passerby, Emma pressed Killian onto a bench placed along the way, and knelt before him, peering up into his face with an intent scrutiny he couldn’t avoid. “It’s your arm, isn’t it?” she murmured sadly, already well aware she was right. “What can I do?”

She waited, hoping that he would not dismiss her concern, put up a front and pretend all was well when that clearly was not the truth. Her breath nearly caught in her throat, choking her on a gasp when he surprised her by meeting her gaze head on and answering with honest vulnerability.

His voice was a pant as he doubled over slightly in the seat, the blue of his eyes slightly diluted by tears she saw gathered but which he refused to let fall. “Aye, phantom pain…” he hissed, the words choppy as he forced them out. “The doc warned me about it...feels as though my hand...though it’s not even there...is burning.”

The explanation was simple and blunt, but Emma could easily sense the agony unspoken behind her sailor’s mere words. “It’s going to be alright, Killian,” she promised, forcing herself to project a calm she didn’t feel in hopes of helping him. “I can’t imagine what it feels like. I won’t pretend I can. But you are going to be alright.”

He nodded bleakly at her words, clearly using all his might to hold back a tormented sob.

Pressing on, Emma raised herself up just enough to rest her forehead against his, hoping to gently offer the contact and lead his breathing to slowly match her own at such close proximity. One hand slipped beneath the collar of his button-down shirt to rest over his heart, ignoring the way her own pulse stuttered and then tripled in speed at the feel of warm skin and coarsely curling hair across his chest, and instead further urging him to draw deep, steadying breaths. “Please, Killian, tell me what I can do to make it better.”

He knew exactly what would help, had done it in his solitary chambers on many an occasion though he had never been willing to allow any other to perform the task or even see his stump uncovered as such action necessitated. He did not intend to have his beautiful princess, his own pure paragon of perfection, be the first, though he had to grit his teeth to keep from telling her what would bring him ease. However, one glance at her determined and beseeching expression and how close she was, as if trying to read his face through sheer proximity, also alerted him to the fact that his princess would not be easily denied.

Brokenly, he finally answered in hoarse tones, “Sometimes...if I uncover it...and massage the stump...working those muscles can relieve some of the pain...but you don’t…” Already shaking his head, he began to pull away from her in hopes of dissuading her suddenly tenacious hands as she ran them up his arms to his shoulders, dexterous fingers slipping beneath the collar to seek out the straps and buckles holding the molded leather sheath over his blunted forearm.

Killian tried once more to protest, desperation rising within him as he felt exposed, out in the open, and more and more certain with each rapid heartbeat that once she truly saw the extent of the carnage, what - to him - seemed the mangled stump of flesh where once his other hand and wrist had been, that she would at last understand his fear and be disgusted enough to indeed pull away, leaving him wrecked and ruined. “Please, Emma…” he pled futilely, knowing it was no use, that there was no changing her mind once that particular furrow of determination settled upon her brow. “There’s no need, Lass. You shouldn’t have to see… Once I’m back in my room, I can…”

But his Princess was having none of it, shaking her head in denial of his excuses and pressing on, until he felt her unhook the buckle which held the entire contraption upon his shoulder. The release of pressure in itself was enough to ease some of the throbbing that radiated up and down his arm, even as it caused him to suck in a tight breath, feeling his doom about to unfold as hook and brace fell away into her careful hands before she gently set them aside next to him on the bench.

Her next move though, startled him enough to snap him from his dread and terror and transfix him, unmoving and completely attuned to her will. Even as her hands moved back to the end of his shortened forearm, wrapping with a soothing, gentle warmth over the scarred pink flesh, her eyes never fell to take it in; her gaze remained firmly and completely locked on his, promising that she was right there and that she would never leave. With a firm, but still tender, grip, Emma began to knead his stump expertly. Her face never changing to register disgust or regret, only that loving concern which had always been there any time he was hurting or troubled since he was seven years old and her father had brought he and Liam home. Her touch seemed so helpful and so assured in fact that he wondered if she had not researched different massage techniques or questioned the doctors and nurses at her family’s beck and call, in order to be ready if she might be able to help him. And he was then hit by the obvious realization that of course that was exactly what she had done. Why would he have expected anything else?

Ever so slowly, though he knew in truth it had been mere minutes, the pain ebbed at her calm, sure ministrations. Looking up at his lovely princess in wonder, Killian drew a ragged breath, hardly able to believe her goodness and devotion as the panic and fear receded. “You truly are a marvel, my Love,” he murmured, stunned voice soft and affectionate.

Emma shook her head slightly, a teary, lopsided smile lighting her face as she responded, “Did you really think I’d let you suffer if it were in my power to help you?” Her dainty hands still smoothed over his tormented flesh, easing him as she continued.

Several more minutes passed with them simply gazing into each other’s eyes, then gently the princess’ fingers trailed down to clasp her lieutenant’s other hand and to brace on her knees and stand. Pulling lightly, she urged him up after her. Wordlessly she turned back toward the palace once more, and Killian followed with their fingers intertwined, without hesitation.

Though wondering what his headstrong beloved had in mind, Killian didn’t question, merely walked behind her as they entered the courtyard and slipped through the entry hall. For a moment he thought Emma might be taking him to Doc, but as they began to climb the grand staircase, the idea was discarded. No one stopped them, even as they made their way along the second floor toward her apartments. Neither of them spoke, but then, Killian was not sure he would be able to anyway. He had just decided that she must be seeing him safely to his own room, wanting to be certain he was well and able to rest, when she pulled him to the right, drawing even closer to the royal family’s private wing, before leading clearly to her own apartments. The realization struck him, and his mouth went dry while his heart began to pound.

At last they stood outside her bedroom door, still silent in the gathering dusk, and Emma turned to look up at him, her beguilingly dark lashes fluttering over the transfixing green of her eyes and drawing him closer rather than taking his leave as he knew he should.

“Come in with me, Lieutenant?” she asked, biting her lower lip in playful query as she gazed into his startled face, unable to agree to something which might attach scandal to his intended bride just a day before the wedding, but equally unable to deny her. As if sensing his indecision, Emma ran her nimble fingers under the loose sleeve of his shirt, ghosting over still raised and somewhat tender scars and knowingly traced her pretty pink tongue over her upper lip in anticipation, pressing her advantage. “If you would, I could take good care of you…”

Though he knew that claim was large made of need and bravado, having only their own curious forays together to guide them, in that moment, Emma was a temptress Killian could hardly resist. He practically trembled as she continued to run her fingertips over the skin of his maimed forearm, jaw clenched so tightly to hold himself still that a muscle visibly worked in his cheek.

Emma raised her other hand to cup his cheek soothingly at the sight. Her heart stuttered to think that she might have caused him more pain and distress, or… was she wrong? Did he no longer want her?

He didn’t allow that thought to linger, instead startling her when he shook his head in frustration and backed away from her, dislodging her delicate touch and desperately searching her eyes with his own. “W-what are you doing t-to me, Emma? We can’t…” His chest heaved, and Killian downed a lungful of air before he could continue. “Stars above, do I want to… but you should take tonight… now that… now that you’ve really s-seen the damage… and be certain you don’t… want to back out while you still can?” His face fell to study the rich carpet at their feet with those words and the next were nearly inaudible when he added, “I would understand if you did.”

However, it is that declaration which galvanized Emma to action. Not allowing her face to fall with the return of his fear that her love could be so fickle, and without another moment’s hesitation, seeing clearly that it was not an issue of wish or desire, but that her brave, beautiful lieutenant was still trying to look out for her, at the expense of his own heart, she drew near to face him once again. He still feared her feeling trapped in their union, that she could not still want to bind herself to him, but in truth there was nothing she could want more. If she couldn’t convince him with sweet reassurance and heartfelt vows, then she would show him in a way that was impossible to doubt.

Killian was thrown slightly off balance by the way Emma suddenly latched onto his good arm and pulled him into her chambers, quickly closing the door behind them before they were seen, and then pressing him against it with her own body as she delved her hands into his dark, messy hair and kissed him for all she was worth. Still more than a bit disoriented, and not at all certain how to respond to her onslaught turning his body traitor to his mind, Killian was struggling to right himself, and mentally fighting not to surge forward and take over the kiss, spinning them to press her against the door and ravish her as she seemed to be demanding.

Neither of them had any wealth of experience beyond what they had explored with each other, and yet, as the emotion that had always been present between them swelled and began to guide them, hesitance and insecurity melted away. Now fully kissing his princess back, Killian just managed not to carry her across the room and press her to her mattress - but only just. Instead, his arms rose, meaning to cradle her precious face as he continued worshipfully drinking from her lips. His right hand did just that, calloused thumb stroking over her soft, porcelain cheek. Unfortunately, he caught sight of his blunted left arm and the mass of scars covering it as it rose to her face as well, and he jerked it back instinctively, hating the vision of it against such pale perfection.

Emma felt him flinch away, even as he tried to steady himself and continue kissing her. The catch in his throat and the tremble she felt where she clutched his shoulders gave him away, no matter how little he might want pity.

“Killian,” she murmured, her lips still brushing his, soft as rose petals and full of the solace only she can give. “What is it?”

He shook his head, having already tried to explain it to her, and knowing she would only argue with his fear now, even if it proved true once she genuinely looked at the ravages to his body bared before her eyes. Squeezing his own shut to avoid her searching green gaze, Killian instead rested his forehead against her own, drawing in her sweet scent and trying valiantly to memorize every detail in what he is sure might be the last time he was ever able to hold her so close.

As if needing nothing further to read his mind, understanding dawned on Emma as she took in her sailor before her. Taking a definite step back, she reached for his hook and its brace where it had fallen to the floor at their feet. Upon her picking it up and pushing it into his grasp, the air left his lungs in a rush; he was sure she had now awoken from her blindness and was about to send him away as he had feared. But then Emma, his stunning princess, caught him by surprise once more.

With only the barest of whispers to break the charged silence between them, she guided his arm across the space between them to place the sharpened metal point of the hook at the edge of her gown’s bodice, before biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes with determined and sultry fervence. “Go ahead, rip it,” she commanded hoarsely, only the barest quaver to the words. “I want you to… and I need you to believe me.”

In truth, one hard downward swipe would slice through the material that covered her swiftly rising and falling chest, baring Emma completely to his eyes for the first time, but Killian had to stop himself, had to bring this back under control. It was folly, and could ruin her if anyone found out, even if they were to be married on the morrow. And not only that, he shook his head and blinked rapidly in an effort to clear the haze of lust her actions had brought before his eyes, beyond that, he had meant to release her, not make her more inclined to coddle him than ever.

When she saw that even with this further incentive Killian intended to balk, to cling to his blasted honor while it tore him apart, a spark of fiery ardor kindled in Emma’s green gaze, not giving up in her mission for even a second; instead, he had merely pushed her to retain the lead. “Killian,” she spoke again, her voice passionate and sincere as she took his chin between her fingers and forced his eyes to meet her own crackling with resolve. “I mean it. I want every part of you… Just you. No one else. That hasn’t changed… and it’s never going to.”

Wrapping both her small hands around his one holding the hook, she pushed downward in guidance until, with a sharp tear, the fabric gave and soon the rip sliced down the center until her dress fell open and Emma stepped from the folds of fabric to stand before her slack-jawed lieutenant. His eyes were round with wonder as he reached forward and then pulled back, as if aching to touch her with all the reverence and love she could read on his face, and yet, at the same time not quite sure he should truly be allowed to do so.

For the first time, the certainty on Emma’s face wavered, and a slight tremor ran through her limbs as her intended continued to stare in appreciation but made no movement forward. It was all she could do not to cross her arms protectively over herself, but her resolution held her fast as she urged once more. “Touch me, Killian. Please…”

This time the gentle plea in her sweet, beloved voice seemed to press Killian forward, finally breaking him free of the hesitance which had held him back and allowing him to close the distance between he and his princess until they were practically nose to nose. With the most tender gesture it seemed she had ever felt, Emma’s breath caught as he brought the gleaming curve of his metal appendage up to lightly brush a blond strand of her hair over her shoulder adeptly, and then ran the steely edge down her neck, out along her shoulder, and then over the outer curve of her breast and along her side to pause at her waist. It was now his chest rising and falling rapidly with the speed of his breath as his eyes followed the same paths along her body, seemingly heating her skin with his gaze as he did so.

“You’re so beautiful…” he rasped, his voice a raw husk of its usual timbre. For a moment, they merely gazed at one another, finally seeming in perfect accord, each loving the other so much no flaws or scars merited notice. Then, as if afraid to break the spell, but having to move, Emma raised one hand to brush her fingertips along that same long-healed scratch high on his cheek; a move of affection to ground herself in the familiar before venturing on.

“So are you,” she whispered sweetly, meaning every word and marvelling at how with those long, dark lashes mirroring the light blue, his strong jaw and the tilt upward of his soft, full lips, how he could ever doubt it. Letting her hand trail down the side of his face to his chest, the other one joined it, soon pushing his jacket from his shoulders to the floor and then going to work on the buttons of the loose-bloused shirt beneath.

Killian seemed to have finally given himself over to her will and the heat of the moment, merely shuddering at the sensation of her hands darting within the shirt once opened, skimming over his ribs and the quivering muscles of his stomach before shoving it from his arms and letting it fall to the floor atop the crumpled jacket.

Before he could protest or pull back within himself once more, Emma quickly grasped her sailor’s shortened arm, still reddened from the brace, but healed over and, to her, no deterrent in the slightest. Bending her head, she pressed her lips to the scarred flesh, lingering in what she could only hope might be a soothing kiss, holding his arm close, caressing the skin and cradling it to her chest.

A sort of half-whine escaped his throat, and then, as if the last of his restraint had at last been shattered, he surged forward, mouth claiming Emma’s and taking her over, just as she had hoped. Mindlessly, he was moving her backwards toward her fine canopy bed and leaning over her as her knees hit the mattress and they both sank down upon its soft surface.

Soon his firm, well-muscled legs were pressing against her own bare thighs, the pleasant weight of him hovering over her enticing, but also using just enough care not to crush her or squash the air from her lungs. His hand and left elbow were bracketing her shoulders, only awkward for a moment at the slightly unbalanced length of his arms before her clever lieutenant adapted and dove back in for another breath-taking kiss Emma could hardly match. Her heart beat wildly, near frantic in its exaltation as he continued to drink from her lips like a man who had been dying of thirst finally led to water.

Raising up only slightly, then sitting back on his haunches to study her, there was a darkening hunger in Killian’s eyes that she had never seen before. “So beautiful, my Love,” he whispered, bringing his hand to the side of her face, where she caught it in her own to hold close. Then he was bringing his bare forearm down her other side, taking a slow, leisurely path all the way from her neck to her hips, tingling flame and electricity skittering through her pores as he continued. It felt as though her brain was misfiring, unable to truly process all the sensations he was creating within her. He paused only slightly before his hand began to inch from her waist, where his scarred forearm remained steadingly reassuring her, over to her inner thigh and up toward her center, where she was practically trembling, vibrating for him, and for what came next.

Still, he waited, gaining her full and coherent attention before ascertaining once more, “Are you certain, Emma? Is this truly what you want?”

In spite of how badly she needed his long, graceful fingers to continue their quest, she was also practically clenching her thighs as much as possible against the desire running through her, merely to keep herself from flying into a million pieces. She nodded vehemently, trying to convey how much she wanted even though no words would come. “Yes… please…” she finally managed to grit out. “I c-can’t stand it if you s-stop now…”

Killian’s eyes seemed to light with an almost devious twinkle behind the way they had darkened to midnight hue. When his tongue darted out to swipe along his lower lip, his eyes leaving her face to watch where his fingers ghosted over tender skin, previously unseen by any other, her stomach lurched in a way that was intense, rattling, but not unpleasant. She felt moisture seep from between her legs, where his pointer and middle fingers were now deftly playing, tracing along her opening and dipping within in a touch that made her legs tremble, and her hips rise to him in supplication, whining fruitlessly for more as he looked both intent in his foray, focused on eliciting yet more sounds and feelings from her, and curious, as if she were a riddle laid out before him that he hoped to study from every angle and master completely.

Soon both those probing fingers were inside her, stroking so that Emma was now writhing beneath him, pressing her lips together to hold back more pitiful begging sounds than she had already let escape as she thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow.

Stilling his ministrations, Killian leaned down once more to press a kiss to her chin, her mouth, her forehead. “Please,” he whispered in her ear, before rising once again to watch his digits resume their rhythm along her inner walls as if entranced. “Don’t hold back any sound you want to make. I wish to know what pleases you.”

Emma’s hands had fisted in her sheets in desperation as he ceased his deft swipes and brushes, but when he upped the speed of his strokes, pulling his fingers nearly from her completely then back in, his stump all along stroking over her hipbone as if to soothe and keep her in place all at the same time, Emma’s hips began to move in response, trying to meet a thrust that wasn’t truly present yet, but that her body instinctively knew, as old as life itself. When Killian’s thumb at last joined in, pressing effectively against the small spot that made light and color burst behind her eyelids, Emma couldn’t stop the cry that tore from her throat as her entire body from fingertips to the ends of her hair to her very toenails seemed to seize in euphoria, crest and then burst. She went limp on the bed, shivering in the aftermath. It was like he’d had one of his beloved maps, she marveled, half consciously, only to guide him over her body instead of across waves. She didn’t know how Killian had done it so easily, but she was little more than a melted puddle in his hands.

“Alright there, Princess?” he asked, voice somewhat strained, but a tinge of pleased humor present as well.

This time, words did escape her. Emma merely cracked one eye open enough to regard him dreamily and hum as she attempted to brush one hand along his arm before it fell back to the bed.

“Hmm…” his deep voice hummed low enough to almost be to himself. “Good to know.”

Emma watched for a moment, appreciating the sparkling affection in his once more light, sea-blue eyes, the shock of dark hair that had fallen over his brow, the way his tempting, hair-covered chest heaved almost as much as her own, and the tight set of his sharply cut jaw. She loved him so much, and he had just made her feel so good - better than she had known she could feel - and she wanted to tell him so, wanted to make him feel the same, if only she could bring all her limbs back under her command and string a full sentence together.

Her eyes fell to his quivering stomach muscles, and then to where a thick bulge stood out within the breeches which still covered his lower half. Sense returned enough to her to realize that of course he had not yet reached the heights he had just made her ascend. They had yet to find completion together, and she reached forward with as much curiosity as he had earlier, and begin to work clumsily with the unfamiliar fastenings of his waistband.

Of course, her faithful, honorable betrothed had seen to her pleasure first, but she did not intend to leave Killian wanting - not after the satisfaction he had gifted her. And she wished to finally be joined with him fully and completely, in every way possible.

Killian’s larger, surer hands quickly covered hers and rapidly undid the buttons she had fumbled with, shimmying the pants over his hips and divesting himself of them entirely with a flick of his foot. Emma almost giggled aloud, regardless of what they had already done, at the image of his last article of clothing flying through the air to land haphazardly on her floor. However, the sight of her fiancé, her love, bared before her, nothing hiding any part of him, stilled the breath in her throat and the laughter on her tongue.

Just as he was in every other way, Killian uncovered was magnificent. True, she was also a bit intimidated, not sure now how the member she saw would fit where his fingers had so deliciously only a short time ago. Yet, though she swallowed hard, feeling her pulse pound a bit more erratically, she also trusted this man she knew as well as she knew herself. He would never hurt her, would sooner die himself than see her harmed. And she could see the straining state he was in and knew had to be painful. She no sooner wanted to him hurt than he did her. He had given her such gratification, could she not do the same for him? Despite her trepidation and uncertainty, she also wanted to know, craved that connection with him, that final bond they had yet to experience.

Her eyes drifted up from his rigid manhood, following the trail of thick dark hair up his lean torso to the darkly curling thatch covering his well-formed chest. She caressed his toned shoulders and arms with her gaze, having a hard time not rising to meet him, wrapping her arms and legs around him and never letting him go.

She found that her voice had deserted her altogether, but she beckoned him to her once more. This time as Killian swept in to kiss her ardently, tongue stealing forth to duel with her own, she noticed the quivering in his arms, the exertion showing on his face along with his love and devotion. He was holding himself back, but it was nearly all he could do. Making up her mind, Emma craned her neck slightly to catch his stare once more. When she was certain he read her resolve, her decision, and her heart’s desire clearly, she spoke at last. “Go on, Killian. I’m ready…. I - I want to be yours. You told me not to hold back, but you needn’t do so either. I belong to you…. now and forever.”

The sound that escaped him then was almost a growl, plunging back in with teeth and tongue to kiss her more fervently than ever. It seemed his hand and his stump were everywhere, no longer holding back in the slightest. Something about the stiff propriety to which he held himself loosening at last, took away the bit of breath she had regained.

In the next moment, Killian had rolled them so they faced each other on their sides. His eyes darkened to a deep cobalt again with desire as they searched for just a second before trailing nips and licks along her neck and across her collarbones, even as his shortened arm drew her leg up to rest it over his hip, opening her to him intimately. Pausing only briefly, Emma’s heart pounded at the way he whispered against her ear. “I’ll try to make this as good as I can for you, my Love. There may be pain for a bit, I’m told. Just hang onto me, aye?”

Emma nodded wordlessly, already clinging to him tightly as he shuffled just a moment to get them in place. She felt him at her entrance only briefly and then he thrust home, making everything else center at that point inside her until nothing seemed to exist beyond where they met. She felt stretched, filled, and there was a sharp pain against which she bit her lip and tried to hold back a few rogue tears.

Killian of course, ever watching her and seeing to her comfort, was already brushing his lips across her face, murmuring assurances, apologies, and kissing away those tears, even as he began to move in a steady, rolling pace that he couldn’t hold back any longer. Even as she winced slightly, anxious to adjust, Emma also felt something building beyond the initial discomfort. Warmth and sensation swelled and grew, pleasure vibrating within as Killian stroked places inside she hadn’t even known to exist.

Soon she was gripping him so tightly she knew her nails must be leaving indents on his flesh, moans and pleas for more mixed with his name falling from her mouth in shameless desperation. By the time the center of pleasure pulsed and burst rattling her to her core until she fell boneless from the heights, her eyes were squeezed closed and she was gasping for breath as Killian stilled his rocking motion, trembling in her loose-armed embrace as he found his own release.

As spent as he was, Killan still had the thought to gather her close as they both regained their breath, bundling her against his chest and nuzzling his nose against her earlobe. “Are you… alright, Emma?” he questioned earnestly.

She nodded, interlocking her fingers with his where his good arm rested beneath her. “I am. Very much so,” she assured him breathily. Snuggling closer still, their legs entwined, the sheet just barely pulled up to their waists, Emma stroked her fingers along his forearm, revelling in the intense connection she felt after what they’d just shared.

Probably she should urge him to catch his breath, then be up and back to his own rooms until the morning. Yet, she did no such thing. When Killian’s breathing evened out and his eyes slid closed, she studied his gentle, handsome face in sleep, his worries about their end finally defeated. Tracing a hand over his brow, she closed her own eyes too. When slumber came to her as well, Emma’s last thought was that she didn’t want to spend even one more night without him. Tomorrow they would be man and wife, but they had already become one.

Tagging a few others who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @laschatzi @effulgentcolors @let-it-raines @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @blackwidownat2814 @gingerchangeling @branlovestowrite

#cs ff #cs EF au #lieutenant duckling fic #year in the court of misthaven #part five

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bittykimmy13 · 5 years

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Queen of the Sea (GT): Chapter 10

((All posted chapters))

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He awoke to the sound of the door sliding open with a bang. Devian clenched his jaw and didn’t move, staring fixedly out the wide windows of the forecastle. The sun had risen above the choppy waves nearly an hour ago, and despite the hollow feeling gnawing at his stomach, he hoped to go a bit longer without being tormented. His arms felt incredibly tender; he hated to think how much worse off they would be if Clive hadn’t healed him. His eyes slid over to the bird cage. Kaia looked smaller than ever, curled up on her side and not moving a muscle. Perhaps she was as determined as him to block out the start of what had to be another harrowing day. “We’ve set off toward the next destination,” Andrea announced in a voice that was not suitable for anyone who had just woken up. “The one that you charted out. How close do we have to get before you can map out the next spot?” Devian reluctantly turned around. She was standing closer than expected. Her arms were crossed as she regarded him with an unreadable expression, and disappointingly, she didn’t have any food with her.

“The map will show it to me once we’re within a few miles of it,” he said. “And not a moment sooner.” “Figures.” The Huntress strolled closer, ignoring the way he cringed into the wall. With his experience among the mercenaries so far, he was certain she would threaten him until she was sure he wasn’t lying or holding out on her. But to his utter puzzlement, she reached out and undid his shackles instead. “What?” She smirked at him. “Worried that I’m going to claw you up with my talons now that you know what I am?” Devian frowned. “W-what?” Andrea’s eyes flickered over to the cage. “You don’t know? I was sure Kaia would have told you in the night. She had the pleasure of finding out yesterday that I’m a werecreature. A falcon, to be exact.” The news hit him like a blow to the gut. A falcon? Surely she was the same one that he had spotted on the ship several times--the one that the queen spoke to. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen Andrea and the falcon at the same time. That was how she was able to scout ahead of the ship. He glanced over at Kaia, who still hadn’t moved. If he hadn’t been so cold to her last night, perhaps she would have shared that information. What did it matter? He knew now, either way. The other shackle came undone, and Andrea motioned for him to stand. Her expression became strange for a moment as her eyes flickered again to the cage. She cleared her throat in a very uncertain, very un-Huntress-like way. “Since you haven’t caused us any trouble,” she announced, “you will no longer be confined to the forecastle.” The words shook through his mind like an echo, but before he could say a word, she added, “Some areas will be off-limits. The queen’s quarters and my quarters, for starters. Use your head when deciding where you’re not wanted, and you’ll keep all your limbs.” She glanced again at the cage, and Devian followed her gaze. Kaia had finally peeked up from her dejected position, watching them both. “As for where you’ll be sleeping,” Andrea continued to Devian. “You’ll be staying in the spare bed in Shirin’s quarters.” “The cambion?” he sputtered. “Yes. Perhaps by the grace of whatever god you worship, you won’t be torn to shreds tonight.” She rolled her eyes at the terrified look on his face. “She’s a seamstress. The only thing you have to fear is stray needles sticking your ass if you decide to sit anywhere in the room.” He wasn’t sure how much merit he could put into Andrea’s promise, but having a real bed--even within reach of a cambion--was certainly nothing something he had expected to be gifted with upon waking up this morning. “Are… are these orders from the queen?” he asked, staring in disbelief. “A trick?” “I am in charge of you two prisoners,” Andrea announced. “I’m second in command, and I don’t need to ask the queen’s permission for every little thing. That’s why she entrusted me with this rank in the first place. If I say you can walk about freely, then you can walk about freely.” Devian chewed the inside of his cheek. “As long as you’re not trying to get me into hot water.” “Now, why would I ever do that, navigator?” Andrea tossed her braid over her shoulder and strolled to the cage. “Think of today as a trial run,” she said over her shoulder to Devian. “Stay with me today, and if you behave yourself, you’ll have freedom privileges tomorrow.” The Huntress opened the bird cage, and Kaia moved neither toward the door nor away from it. Andrea held her hand out and murmured something that Devian couldn’t hear. Whatever she said, it worked. Kaia stood and somberly climbed onto Andrea’s hand. The moment that her little eyes flitted to Devian, he clenched his jaw and looked away. He couldn’t deny that part of him felt monstrous for acting so coldly to her, but she had abandoned him to insurmountable pain. A ghost of the flames seemed to lick at his arms, flaring at the memory of his interrogation. She had left him to suffer. He would be glad if he didn’t have to look at her all day. “Navigator,” Andrea said, striding over to him. She held her hands out, gesturing for him to do the same. “Since you’ll be something of an assistant today, you’ll keep a hold on Kaia.” Devian bit back a groan. He supposed he couldn’t have all the luck that day. Sighing, he held out his hands. Spending one day with Kaia and Andrea would be worth it if he wasn’t treated like scum anymore, he told himself. Kaia didn’t seem particularly thrilled about him being her carriage, either. She looked at him with wide eyes, as if he might swipe her down to the floor. Annoyed as he was with her, he wouldn’t dream of doing that. His hands were rigid and stiff as she boarded tentatively. “Where are we going, then?” Devian asked, tearing his eyes away from Kaia’s meek form. “Breakfast, of course,” Andrea said, gesturing for him to walk in front of her. “Unless you’re not hungry, that is?” “Starving,” he groaned. Thankfully, the mess hall wasn’t very active when Andrea led them inside. She grabbed two plates and nodded for Devian to sit at one of the long tables. He set Kaia down, and she scrambled hurriedly onto the surface. Devian didn’t speak a word, scarfing down a meal that might have been hot an hour ago. He made no complaint about it. Around here, he could never be sure when he was going to eat again. However, if Andrea kept her word, perhaps he wouldn’t need to worry about it very much. He eyed her, wondering what she was playing at. She wasn’t looking at him. She was spooning aside some food for Kaia, who seemed reluctant to walk over and accept the meal. Whatever happened yesterday, it couldn’t have been pleasant. The Huntress was acting almost apologetic, but Kaia would barely look up from the table. Devian lowered his gaze, refusing to get tangled up in their business. If Kaia wasn’t going to be there when he need her, why should he be there for her? Because she’s small and frightened, and you can’t possibly know what she’s gone through. He shut up the voice of reason in his mind and went back to eating. But naturally, interruption arrived in the form of three people approaching the table. “A fine morning to all of you.” Clive’s cheery voice made Devian’s hair stand on end. The druid sauntered over with two nereid girls. He elected to take a seat right beside Devian. “Don’t choke on your food, now. I know my presence can be breathtaking.” “We’ll try to contain ourselves,” Andrea said, rolling her eyes. Clive shrugged, unbothered. “Devian, Kaia, you know Ondine and Earlra, don’t you? The finest scouts on this ship. When it comes to water, of course,” he added, flashing Andrea a smile. The two nereids sat side-by-side on the same bench as Andrea. Devian recognized Ondine--she had been one of the outspoken mercenaries during his initial interrogation, questioning him about validity of the treasure. “Don’t try to sweeten us up, Clive,” Earlra said, folding her arms on the table and laying her head down. “You owe us a three day break for making us get up this early.” Waving her off, Clive leaned over to see Devian’s face. “That was quite the interesting meeting we had yesterday, no? How are your arms feeling?” Clenching his jaw, Devian tried to keep his gaze fixed on the food. He could feel eyes on him--from Clive and the nereids, sizing him up. “Fine,” Devian muttered. “You did a wonderful job of healing me after I was tortured.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kaia’s little shoulders slump in shame. His heart lurched a bit, but he tried not to show it. “Now, now,” Clive said in a placating voice. “If it had been up to me, there would have been no torture involved. Unfortunately, I am but a lowly mind-reader and not the Queen of the Sea. For what it’s worth, it was rather disturbing to see our Ailith so adamant about using such cruel means.” “For what it’s worth, I’d rather pitch myself into the sea than speak to you for another moment.” The two nereids burst out laughing. Earlra lifted her head and winked at him. “I’d save you from the waters if you did.” Clive was silent for a moment, staring at Devian with an unreadable expression. Devian pursed his lips, certain this was it: he was going to be murdered by an offended druid. But instead, Clive grinned widely and joined the laughter. “Dare I say it, we should torture you more often. You’re far more interesting when you’re pissed.” Devian threw him a dirty look, and Clive held up his hands in innocence. “Joking! Are you mad because you’re still in pain?” Before Devian could react, Clive grabbed his wrists. In an instant, relief washed over his arms. He gave an involuntary sigh that made Clive grin. “You’re not just a lowly mind-reader,” Devian said despite himself. “You’re a lowly mind-reader and healer.” “Mind-reading is far more useful as a mercenary,” Clive said, looking smug as he released Devian’s wrists and turned his attention to Andrea. “You better start your rounds, Huntress, before the queen starts hers.” Much to Devian’s chagrin, Andrea chose to start with inspecting what Clive and the nereids were up to. After breakfast, Devian followed them out of the mess hall and toward the side of the ship. Naturally, Andrea commanded Devian to carry Kaia once again. “I see that you’ve picked your regular duty of sitting on your ass--I mean, supervising,” Andrea scoffed as Clive lounged on a crate directly next to the edge of the ship. “What? Someone needs to be around when Ondine and Earlra return from scouting.” Taking notice of Devian’s confused expression, Earlra beckoned him closer. She was sitting dangerously on the railing of the ship. Reluctantly, Devian came closer. Despite his uncertainty toward Kaia, he cupped his hands a little more securely around her as he moved up to the barrier. “Look up ahead,” Earlra told him. “Those are dangerous waters we’re heading into--more so than usual.” “Thanks you to you and your map,” Ondine groused, glaring at him. “Me?” Devian questioned. “Well, we wouldn’t be heading that way if not for your navigation,” Clive said. “I knew there had to be at least some spirit of adventure in that bookish mind of yours.” Devian took a step back. “I don’t choose where the map decides to lead us. Remember, this is supposed to be some grand soul-searching adventure for an ancient demigod. I doubt the sea gods who put this in place would want to make it easy.” “I suppose,” Clive said with a lazy shrug. Putting his hands behind his head and nodded at the nereids. “Ladies. I’ll be here awaiting your full report when you get back.” Without further ado, the two nereids dove into the churning water below. Devian leaned out a bit to see as they cut through the choppy waves with ease. Even Kaia was gripping his fingers, leaning out to see for herself. “Come,” Andrea said. “We have other things to attend to. And I wouldn’t want us to disturb Clive’s hard work any more than we already have.” Clive grinned, tucking his hands behind his head and looking as far from overworked as one could be. “I knew you cared.” As Andrea led Devian and Kaia away, he tried not to look so intrigued. The ship was unlike any he’d ever been on. Now that he had gotten past the strange idea of having a variety of non-humans on one ship, he could certainly see the benefit of it. He would have expected constant fighting, but instead, they were working together, pooling their unique abilities to create the most functioning crew he had ever seen. He saw more evidence of this when they came upon the sylphs. Devian couldn’t help but stare, slack-jawed as they did their work. They were up on raised platforms, whirling around with fluid arm and legs motions, as if in a dance. They threw their hands out at the sails, sending gusts of wind. He didn’t need to ask what their purpose was. It was no wonder the ship moved to swiftly. He stood back, merely content to watch as Andrea circled around the platforms and ensured that each sylph was doing their task efficiently. However, he didn’t get a chance to observe for long before a figure circled around one of the masts, sharp eyes locking onto him. “What is our dear Devian doing outside of the forecastle?” Queen Ailith asked. She wore a magnificent blood-red coat, and her hat was perched perfectly on her head. With her being half-sylph, Devian couldn’t help but wonder if she altered the winds just enough to make her hair and coat flaps wave gracefully. Andrea was at his side in an instant, standing at attention. “He hasn’t been any trouble. And according to your interrogation yesterday, he’s being truthful as well. I say good behavior deserves some measure of reward. It keeps the cooperation flowing.” She crossed her arms boredly. “He’s going to stay with Shirin at night, under my orders.” The queen narrowed her eyes dangerously, but she seemed to mull over her words before purring, “Be careful, Huntress. I do hope you’re not trying to make up for yesterday.” “I had nothing to do with the interrogation,” Andrea snorted. “Oh no, my love, not that.” The queen sauntered over to Devian and grinned at Kaia in his hands. He felt a rush of protectiveness, particularly when Kaia gave a shiver of fright. She hadn’t spoken a word since waking and had avoided attention that morning thus far. “You were quite a hit last night, little one. That voice of yours--something to behold.” She lifted her eyes to Devian. “Has she sung for you?” Devian frowned. “What are you talking about?” “Why, I’m surprised you haven’t heard yet. Kaia gave quite a performance in town last night. Not a treasure’s worth of money, but certainly nothing to scoff at.” She reached out to troke Kaia’s hair, and it took everything in Devian’s power to not pull his hands away. With Kaia’s reaction, he could bet that she hadn’t sung of her own free will. Thankfully, Ailith grew bored of tormenting them. She sighed and gave Andrea nother knowing look. “Yourresponsibility,” the queen said, pointing at Devian. “Both of them. Understand?” “Of course, my queen,” Andrea said, bowing her head. Devian swore she saw a tick in Andrea’s jaw once AIlith turned away. Before he could dwell on it any longer than was safe, Andrea led them off once again. “Break time,” she said matter-of-factly. “I think you should meet your new cabin mate.” A chill ran down Devian’s spine. It must have shown on his face because even Kaia made a move to pat his hand comfortingly. “Shirin is kind,” she promised, addressing him for the first time since her attempts last night. “She made me a new gown and hasn’t tried to eat me. Not even once.” Devian gave a choked laugh. “That’s reassuring.” Shirin, as it turned out, was about as far from intimidating as one could get, so long as she didn’t smile with her teeth. The moment she opened the door, her eyes landed on Kaia. Her hands swooped in and cupped around the tiny girl gently, sweeping her away from Devian. He flinched forward, hand outstretched, but the cambion’s action didn’t seem to be from aggression. “Are you alright?” Shirin asked, her dainty features drawn into horror. “Andrea told me all about last night--how awful!” Devian swallowed hard. Kaia had tried to tell him all about last night. But he had refused to listen, too upset about the interrogation to care what she had gone through. He bit his lip, wondering if now was the time to apologize for that. With Shirin coddling Kaia, however, he doubted it would be a good idea to mention he had hurt her in any way. “I’m fine!” Kaia said, an exasperated smile on her face as Shirin held her lovingly to her cheek. “I… I only had to sing. It wasn’t as if anyone hurt me.” “Only threatened to,” Andrea muttered. Kaia’s eyes flickered up to the Huntress. The tiny girl pursed her lips, but whatever she wanted to say didn’t make it out. Andrea pressed on, “Shirin, this is Devian. You may remember him from being dragged onto the ship.” Shirin dropped her hands from her cheek, holding Kaia delicately. “Hard to forget,” she said brightly. “How do you do?” “I’ve been better,” Devian said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’ll have plenty of time to tell you all about it,” Andrea said. “You two are cabin mates now.” Shirin’s eyes widened. For a moment, Devian was sure she was going to protest. Instead, she grinned, baring her razor-sharp teeth. “Oh, how wonderful! With all my fabrics laying around, it’s not often I get a cabin mate.” Right, I’m sure that’s the only reason, Devian thought weakly. But mouthful of fangs or not, she seemed kind enough. Before Devian could even begin navigating the confines of the fabric-strewn cabin, commotion came from outside. They all whirled toward the door in time to see Clive burst past the threshold, sweating and shaking. The terrified expression was so unlike him, Devian had to stop and wonder if he was really looking at Clive. “Ondine,” Clive gasped, holding his chest “She returned. Monster-infested waters. She says--there’s--there’s a sea serpent. It took--Earlra. She’s dead.” Shiring gave small wail, and Andrea was immediately running for the door. “The sea serpent--is it coming this way?” “Yes,” Clive said, already moving. “Ondine tried not to lead it back to the ship, but it makes no difference--even if we turn the whole damn thing around, it’s coming for us.” Andrea cursed and looked back only briefly. “Stay here! All of you.” With that, she was gone. “No!” Kaia shrieked, squirming in Shirin’s grip. “I-I didn’t know we were so close! Take me above deck! I can get rid of the sea serpent!” Shirin shared a wide-eyed looked with Devian, just as confused as he was. “Please!” Kaia begged. “You’re all going to die if I don’t!” She was special. Devian knew that. He didn’t know what she was or what she was hiding, but if she was willing to go above deck with a sea serpent out there, it had to be for a damn good reason. Figuring that nothing else in his life had been making sense since he started looking for the treasure, Devian lunged forward and snatched Kaia from Shirin’s hands, racing for the door.

#mywriting #gt #gt writing #amwriting #queen of the sea #kaia #andrea #ailith #devian #shirin #ondine #clive #earlra

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 5 years

Note

3, 5, and 7

Three was already answered here!

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

Um... you know what I had to really think about this one because yes and no.

See, the only fandom I’ve ever been active in is Timeless. Every other fandom, even though I’ve written fanfic for many... every other fandom I’ve lurked. So I always saw the drama as an outside observer. And I think that allowed me to retain some measure of love for ships even when the fandom was awful.

Having said that, there sure are ships I wouldn’t ever publicly acknowledge I ship, because I don’t want to invite that fandom over to my little corner. Like any MCU ship? Hell no. I wrote a redux for Age of Ultron and that alone got me so much damn drama, can you imagine if I got into shipping? I’d never know peace.

So while fandom has never stopped me from shipping anything, there are some ships that I purposefully never publicly shipped because I didn’t want to deal with the fandom. Johnlock, for example (I enjoyed BBC’s Sherlock for the first two seasons and then the writing went completely off the rails and I nope’d out of there).

7. Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?

Come closer, my child. Clooooooser. Cloooooose--NOTTHATCLOSE. *ahem* Once upon a very dark time, when I was young and foolish, I used to be a *whispers* Supernatural fan.

I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW PLEASE DON’T JUDGE ME.

I’ve had my tumblr since October of 2015, but trust me, my children, I have been lurking on tumblr and the rest of the fandom interwebs for far longer than that. Some tumblr people with whom I am now friends might be appalled to find out how long I was lurking on their blogs before I got a tumblr and followed them. Thankfully, I fell out of love with Supernatural at the end of season nine, which was before I got tumblr, and had actually been dissatisfied with it all through seasons eight and nine so fortunately the only documentation that remains of my sad, sad choices are my Destiel fanfiction since dammit I worked hard on those and couldn’t bear to take them down and lose the lovely comments I got.

YEAH YOU HEARD ME. DESTIEL.

In all honesty, if Supernatural had ended in season five the way it was originally planned, I would not be ashamed to say that I was a fan. It wasn’t perfect and had issues, but it got a lot of people into fandom, it created a lot of fervor and fun, and I think it would be like Buffy: a show that is remembered fondly even as people acknowledge the flaws and issues.

But noooooooooooooooo. They just had to beat that dead horse until it was a pile of blood, didn’t they?

I cannot stand that show, or what the fandom has become, or anything. I do not want to see a single mention of it on my dash. Even reaction gifs using the actors make me cringe. I won’t reblog anything about it. I hate to even acknowledge its existence. Which is rather sad, you know. But there you have it.

I’m feeling salty so send me an ask.

#mads answers things #oh man we're airing my secret dirty laundry today #I like to pretend I never even saw That Show #but alas I was young #WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES OKAY #aparticularbandit

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autumn-maple13 · 5 years

Text

Lost to Time - Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Heading for Caem

Amara and Ignis awoke long before the guys did, dressing quickly to steal away to the café they had visited so many days before. The owner had welcomed them warmly, making sure they were okay as she made them coffee and breakfast, and even joining them while they ate – though she did leave them to their own devices when Amara produced the map of the locations of the Royal Arms.

And yet, despite the time they spent there, they still returned to the hotel before everyone had awoken, arriving just in time to say goodbye to Talcott before Monica and Dustin took him and their luggage to the Cape to begin their side of the preparations. Iris met them in the lobby, smiling at them before she took a moment to let Ignis know she would be riding with them, as the Guards had only enough room for Talcott once everything was loaded. Amara cringed as she thought about the amount of room the Regalia's backseat actually had with Gladiolus and Noctis hogging it.

"You could ride with me instead, so you don't have to be so cramped," the redhead offered, making the Amicitia look at her in concern.

"Do you really think Gladdy would let me ride on your motorcycle?"

"I think he knows I'm a very safe driver, so why not?"

"Safe, but a tad unpredictable at times. Perhaps it would be better for her to take one of our spots in the Regalia, while one of us rides with you instead."

"Have fun Specs!" the trio turned to watch the other part of the group come down the stairs with all their bags, including Amara's from her room. Noctis smirked at his advisor, not even trying to hide how amused he was. "I don't think any of us need to get near her after yesterday."

"Noct, as your friend and a Glaive fully capable of kicking your ass into next week, shut up." Amara smiled sweetly, "Unless of course, you want me to run off to Altissia ahead of you and spill everything to Lunafreya. I'm sure I could find some way across the sea, just for the sake of embarrassing you."

"Speaking of, don't think I've forgotten that I need to find out what you've already told her."

"My lips are sealed."

"Ignis, I command you to find out for me."

"Sorry Noct, but this one is above my paygrade as either a Crownsguard officer or your advisor."

"Don't you outrank her though?"

"No, she's actually currently one of the only four officially ranked officers left. Our activities with the Guard are more for practicalities sake since we're technically both your first and last line of defense. Gladio is the only one among the three of us with a rank, though he doesn't have an officer's title."

"You have to actually fulfill Crownsguard assignments to gain rank, and he didn't have too many opportunities since he's your Shield." Amara nodded, smirking in triumph for a few seconds before something hit her. "Hey, wait, what do you mean after yesterday?"

"Wait, were you just threatening me without even paying attention to why?"

"It's kinda just force of habit to threaten embarrassment upon you at this point. I heard 'I don't think' and just kinda zoned out on the rest."

Gladiolus grinned, walking over so he stood beside the duo and leaning into them. "He means the way Ignis acted when he found out you might be on the base."

Amara flushed brightly when a glance to the side showed Ignis fidgeting slightly, suddenly very interested in the lens of his glasses, before she began glaring at the taller man and then at her snickering former classmates. "You two can it."

"Ah, it's good to hear her fussing again," Prompto laughed, walking over and slinging an arm around Amara's neck. "Come on Ams, I'm sure you already know we were all freaking out trying to get you back."

"Of course, she knows, Ignis isn't the only one around here that cares about her," Noctis added, pulling the blond's arm off the woman. "Let's get going already. Specs, you ride with Amara. I'll drive the Regalia."

"Alright, but just so you are aware we should make a stop at Malmalam Thicket on the way there to procure another of the Arms."

"Alright."

It only took a few minutes for all of them to make their way to the vehicles and re-stow everything away. Iris was the first to get settled in the Regalia, taking Noct's usual seat in the back. Unusually, all the guys were quick to buckle up once they took their own spots, leaving Amara and Ignis to exchange amused looks before climbing onto the redhead's motorcycle. The man wrapped a steady arm around his partner's waist as she turned the engine, letting her wave to the others before heading up the ramp and out of the parking area. Noctis was quick to follow her out of the city, though Ignis was chuckling in her ear about the distance he was keeping between them.

Heading in the direction of the waterfall tomb, the little journey looked like it would be smooth sailing for them all the way to the Thicket – until a buzz filled Amara's ear. Looking up, she growled at the sight of one of the Empire's flying fortresses coming in above them. The sound of the Regalia's engine roaring closer was the only interruption, with Noctis pulling alongside them with a grim look. Ignis shifted slightly behind her.

"We should find a spot to pull over," his hand tightened on his partner's hip, no doubt reminded of the news he had received the previous night.

Amara nodded, glancing at her friend's. "Old Lestallum is just ahead! We can stop there!"

Falling back behind the Glaive, the group looked ahead of them to the small town that was quickly approaching. They were quick to pull into the parking lot of the hotel on the main street, parking there and asking Iris to stay put while they went to take care of things. Deciding to take the Regalia, despite her previous 'capture', the group hopped in with Amara behind the wheel, letting her take them out of the city towards the old Lucian base the Fortress had landed in.

"Surprised to see them this far out," Noctis grumbled, adjusting the bracer on his arm and making Prompto sigh.

"Leave no plot of land unconquered."

"Those aren't conquering numbers," Gladio pointed out, a growl to his voice.

Ignis nodded, looking over at Amara as she gripped the wheel a bit tighter. "Likely building a supply line it would behoove us to cut."

The redhead agreed, turning down a street that led away from the Base's entrance and following the tall walls as the guys made a few comments about how the base looked. Pulling over not far beyond the wall's uphill curve, Amara sliced the wires acting as a guardrail before climbing back into the car and maneuvering it carefully off the road. After a quick (and careful) disguise job, the group was following the Glaive up the hill, through the brush. Heading quickly up the slope Amara soon found an unwatchable part of fencing that acted as a makeshift wall between the base and some of its supply pipes, cutting them a hole in the shadow of the inner walls and motioning towards a concrete slope that stretched upward some feet in front of them. Looking up they could see a guard tower situated on the upper level and looked to Amara questioning.

"Noct and I will take out the guards, the rest of you stay out of view for now." She was speaking quieter than they had heard in some time, motioning for everyone to follow her, then at Noctis when they reached the crest. The King threw the first warp, taking out a sniper on the stairs of the tower as Amara threw one of her Kukris, warping over to take care of a Trooper in the tower's shadow. Hearing the sound of metal hit the ground made the other few troops in the area show themselves, only to be taken out with expert precision before they could ever fire off a shot. The others joined the duo soon after, and followed Amara up the stairs to the lookout, sharing a few curses and groans at the sight below them. The base was already much farther set up than anticipated, with the fortress's tail acting as a conduit to spread the MT generator's power across the area.

Noctis sighed, looking over it again before turning to his friends. "So, what's our plan?"

Ignis took a moment to think, then looked at Amara. "Find the base commander and take him into custody. Targeting metal men will yield little in the way of reconnaissance, but bones bend easily. We'll split into two groups."

Amara shook her head. "No, three. I'm going to head for the generator."

The men looked at her for a moment but nodded when they saw her glaring down at the machine. Ignis sighed softly, shaking his head.

"Prompto and Gladio can generate a diversion."

"Aw, yeah! Making a scene's what I do best." The man laughed, cracking his knuckles.

The taller blonde smiled for a moment, then looked to his King. "Noct, are you prepared?"

He got a nod in response, making Prompto smack his friend's shoulder lightly. "Operation: To Catch a Commander is go!"

Amara looked at the guys but only took a moment to wish them luck before losing a kukri down to a sheltered area behind some shipping crates. It had taken them a bit longer to get to the base than she had realized, she noticed, as she slinked through the shadows that were growing darker by the minute. She didn't want to risk checking the sky to confirm her suspicions, so hoped the guys were being careful to avoid any demonic distractions the Niffs had held on several bases she had infiltrated in the past.

Slipping beneath a tarp when she heard metal clad feet getting close to her, she willed herself out of sight using Noct's magic as she had been trained to do with King Regis's, and tried to ignore the slightly more red tint bleeding into the purple edging the crystalline fragments surrounding her from the magic.

Not moving until she was sure she was in the clear, the woman snuck back out, dispersing her magic so she wouldn't drain herself further as she slipped through the shelter of more supplies until she found herself nearing her target. Watching for any patrol before making her next move, she slipped along the edge of the inner wall, ducking behind what she could to avoid being lit up by the harsh lighting of the center of the area. Heading quickly up behind the Generator when she was close enough, she set to rigging a Firaga flask to its base, then warping herself up onto a platform before she threw a lower level flask at it, igniting it with a loud explosion that sent a shock through the base – setting off alarms and awakening a large MT armor that she hadn't realized was manned, but the Generator stayed running, though it was fluctuating wildly.

Realizing they must have re-enforced them somehow after the last base was taken out of commission, she was happy to hear the guys joining her before she dove headlong into attacking the MT power supply, letting them handle the armor. Hacking at it with strong blows of a broadsword was enough to dispatch it after the explosion had weakened it, so she found herself quickly warping in to help the guys. With Gladio and Noctis attacking the armor's legs and Prompto sniping its joints, she set to disarming it – though she and Noctis were warping after it when the surprisingly agile armor leaped into the air and landed several feet away, perfectly situated to rain missiles on them.

The duo were quick to remove the launcher from action as their grounded companions moved in, and were successful in setting one of them off directly in the face of the armor – making it succumb even faster despite themselves barely missing being caught in to close range explosion. Between the four of them, it didn't take much longer, leaving them darting out of range before it exploded itself.

Hearing the laser gate locking them in with the armor die out, the group turned to watch a peeved Ignis approach, frowning as he looked at them.

"Glad to see you lot were successful."

"Does that mean you weren't?" Noctis almost sounded shocked, with agreeing expressions on their faces as they looked in surprise at the advisor. He made some sort of motion at them as he shook his head.

"I placed our captive into the Hunters' custody, but I've just been informed he's fled… He lives to die another day."

"And I'll gladly help him with that," Noct growled, rubbing his shoulder. "For now, let's head back to town."

The group muttered their agreements, following the Advisor back out of the area and heading for their exit.

They had hardly made it into the open when the sound of a grunt from above them left the guys looking at Amara in shock when she summoned a crystal barrier over their heads and a sword to her hand. Jumping in front of Noctis she blocked the incoming spear of a woman clad in Niff emblemed clothing, letting her barrier dissipate when the woman kicked herself free, only to launch another blow that locked them close together.

"Hey pretty girl," the woman seemed to purr before launching herself backward and away from them, landing gracefully a few feet away as she laughed. Gladiolus darted in front of the King as the redhead dissipated her sword to draw her kukris, looking at the Niff female with a smirk.

"Hey Aranea, long-time no ass-kicking."

"Oh, so you remembered me? How sweet! Unfortunately, I'm not here for you today Glaive."

"You're not getting Noctis." She was aware of the others jumping in front of their charge, though she didn't risk a glance to see who was where.

"Well, let's see what you can do!" Aranea had hardly finished speaking before she shifted her weight and darted around the group at an incredible pace – directly into her target, who was lucky to warp through her strike and avoid it. Knowing his fighting style wasn't suited to dealing with the Niff's heavy dragoon lance, Amara used one of her old tricks and left Gladio trying to not fall on his ass when she leaped up onto his shoulder, then off of it into the air where she summoned her own lance.

Quickly balancing herself, the redhead brought the full force of her body weight down with the lance between the other woman and the King, cracking the ground from the force of it. Warping through the enemy's attacks, the Glaive dispersed her spear and switched back to her kukris, using the small blades to knock away the lunges of the lance trying to hit her. Aranea was getting angrier by the second, and finally shoved her away before leaping high into the air – hovering there long enough to begin spinning quickly as she rest her foot on the hilt of her spear, building up speed and torque that would be sure to do a lot of damage.

Realizing what was at stake, Noctis and Amara both warped after her and left the others to deal with the MTs that were starting to arrive on dropships no doubt alerted by any number of alarms on the base. They were cleared out easily enough as the duo chased the bigger threat through the air and from platform to platform, at one point managing to slam her face first into a metal beam, until she finally managed to knock both back to the ground below, only to perch rather unimpressed on another platform above them – looking like she was checking her watch of all things as she peeled her helmet off.

"Aw, is it that time already?"

"What time?" came the question from the more than confused king as he rubbed his wrenched wrist, looking less upset by the whole situation than he had earlier.

"Quittin' time," Aranea shrugged. "Sorry, but this girl doesn't work after hours. I could, but there wouldn't be a single gil in it for me. Hey, we should play again sometime, pretty girl."

Amara tried to come up with a retort, but the Niff had already leaped high into the air, and into a waiting dropship that was an oddly bright shade of red. As it took off from the base, Noctis couldn't help but look over at the Glaive with an even more confused look.

"Who the hell was she?"

"I'll have to explain later, for now…"

Prompto sent a nod her way, turning to his friends. "I'm still worried about Iris."

"I imagine she's fine," Ignis didn't seem particularly concerned, instead using a potion on his liege then tossing one to the redhead, but Gladiolus seemed a bit more worried.

"But we shouldn't keep her waiting."

It was a quick agreement before the group was hurrying from the base, pausing at the edge of the lights to look down at the dark expanse separating them from the Regalia.

"Amara, I don't suppose…?"

"Prompto, you and your flares are coming with me this time."

"What? Why me?!"

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mia-cooper · 7 years

Text

Ficlet: Casualties of War (K)

From my prompt me post:

@eyetagonthebridge said: It’s spider season in UK atm, I was watching tv last night and a huge one ran across the floor right at me. I shrieked like a little girl! What if KJ or C hates spiders and needs the other one to spider-wrangle for them? x

I may not have followed the prompt exactly, but here’s a bit of nonsense.

He’s really outdone himself this time.

“Mr Neelix.” I can hear the ice in her voice, and it sends the object of her ire into paroxysms of trembling. “Would you care to explain why you elected not to follow the correct biocontainment protocols when you beamed this … substance aboard my ship?”

Neelix’s whiskers are quivering almost as ferociously as his voice. “Ah, ah, well, Captain, you see… I, er…”

“Never mind,” she cuts him off, cracking like a whip. “Just fix it. And you, Commander,” she turns her glare on me, “I want you to supervise every move he makes. Personally.”

“Uh…” I’m starting to tremble internally as much as Neelix is on the outside. “Captain, I don’t think –”

“Well, that makes two of you.”

Ouch. She’s really steamed. Still, I try again. “Captain, it might be better if I have Tuvok take over. I’m really busy with the –”

“I don’t care what you’re busy with. Just fix it!” she snaps and stalks off.

Shit.

“Well, Commander,” Neelix has already regained his joviality with the captain’s exit, “where shall we start? Er, why are you backing away, sir?”

I force myself to stand still. “No reason at all. So, where did they all go?”

“Oh, all over the place, most likely,” he says cheerily. “Agile little things, they are. And they can jump like they’ve got springs in their legs. All eight of them,” he snorts.

I cringe.

“And those webs they shoot out are terribly sticky, but you learn to avoid them pretty quickly. Just make sure when you grab hold of one, you get both hands around its belly. It’ll flail around a bit, but as long as you hold on you won’t hurt it.”

I can’t help it: I whimper.

“Is something wrong?” Neelix’s orange eyes focus on me.

“No,” I mumble. “It’s just that … well, I’m not … I don’t really like…”

“You’re afraid of spiders?” Neelix asks at the top of his voice.

“Shh,” I hiss at him, glancing around. Sure enough, half the crewmen in the mess hall are staring at me and snickering.

“They’re perfectly harmless, you know. Just big. And ugly.” Neelix pats me on the shoulder, then chortles. “Who’d have imagined it? A strapping fellow like yourself, afraid of a few little creepy-crawlies? Ha ha ha!”

My teeth are gritted. “Not so little, in this case.”

“Oh, they’re only about the size of a Starfleet padd, Commander. And as I said, they won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe not,” I grumble, “but they’re sticky… and all those legs… and you said they jump.” The last word comes out more like a groan.

I can see Neelix is trying to be sympathetic, but there’s a smirk flirting with the corners of his mouth.

“If you like, I can go first into the Jeffries tubes,” he offers oh-so-helpfully.

“Let’s just get it over with,” I growl.

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

“What was that?” My voice is an octave higher than its usual register.

Neelix glances back over his shoulder at me. “Commander?”

I scoot backward in the cramped Jeffries tube, hugging my knees to my chest. “I saw something move. Over there.”

Neelix squints. “You’re right! There you are, my little beauty!”

He scrambles forward and makes a grab for the eight-legged horror. It scuttles sideways. He lunges. The arachnid abruptly changes direction and launches itself directly at my face.

Oh Spirits. The hairy legs! The plump body! The beady eyes! The terror as it spins its slimy, glutinous web from an orifice in its belly!

I’m screaming like a schoolgirl in a haunted house, batting wildly at the Thing that’s malevolently gripping onto my hair with its horrid little feet. I can all but hear its awful thin spidery voice cackling at me. The web is sticking to my face and uniform. I can’t breathe…

“Commander!” Neelix is shouting, grasping without success at my hands. “Hold still! The poor little thing, it’s terrified of you!”

If I wasn’t so preoccupied with being absolutely petrified, I’d laugh. Or slug Neelix in his spotty, spider-loving, non-alien-food-barrel-scanning face.

Finally, with a particularly wild flail of my arm, I manage to dislodge the fuzzy crawler and fling it halfway down the Jeffries tube. It ricochets off the wall and drops to the deck with a splat, then scuttles away into the distance.

Neelix is lying on his back howling.

“What is it? Did it bite you?” I’m still shaking, but I’m his superior officer and it’s my job to keep him safe.

Neelix can barely speak, but he manages to pant out, “Oh Great Tree… your face… oh my, Commander … I haven’t laughed so hard in ages!”

I feel like curling up in a ball and crying.

“Janeway to Chakotay.”

My heart is still racing as I tap my combadge. “Yes, Captain.”

“Have you and Mr Neelix cleared my ship of vermin yet?”

“Uh…”

Neelix leans over and speaks into my combadge. “Hello, Captain, it’s Neelix. Commander Chakotay and I are making good progress. We’ve almost managed to trap one of the little critters, so I’m sure the ship will be de-spidered in no time.”

There’s an ominous pause, then: “Are you telling me you haven’t managed to trap a single spider yet?”

“Err…”

The venom in her voice could out-poison a Terellian tree spider. “Mr Neelix, when you requested permission to beam up three cartons of leola root, I agreed against my better judgment. When you took it upon yourself to circumvent the proper transporter protocols for biomatter, I considered having the whole shipment flushed out of an airlock. But if you don’t contain this infestation, I’ll beam the whole lot into space with you inside. Now get it done!”

Our ears ring in the sudden silence as the comm snaps off.

“Don’t worry, Commander,” Neelix offers, perking up. “I have an idea.”

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

It takes two hours to reconfigure the sensors to detect each furry hell-beast and set up forcefields to trap every last one of them, adjust the fields to allow a stun-set phaser beam to penetrate each one, and scoop up each unconscious arachnid into an empty flour sack. The task is made ever more onerous by Neelix’s never-ending chatter about the anatomy of the chubby little creepers, loaded with advice about ‘facing my fears’ as he swindles me into doing the scooping.

But by the time we’ve collected every last one, I have to admit his theory has some merit: I am finding the plate-sized creatures less horrifying. I’m even beginning to take an interest in the brown and bronze striations on their fuzzy little carcasses and the short little front legs that look a bit like kittens’ paws (or so Neelix claims). And when Neelix rhapsodises about their bugged-out little eyes, which he claims are ‘adorable’, I find that I no longer feel as though my spine is attempting to forcibly climb out of my body.

Contrary to Neelix’s optimistic exclamations, though, I doubt I’ll be actively seeking contact with any kind of arachnid any time soon.

Finally, all the spiders are sleeping peacefully in a containment field in Sickbay, and I trudge wearily back to my quarters, desperate for a long sonic shower. My quarters are dark as I step inside, navigating on autopilot. I’ve already stripped off my jacket and started pulling off my turtleneck when something large and furry strikes me in the chest.

Screaming like a startled targ, I hop from foot to foot, brushing frantically at my violated body. How could we have missed one of the horrible creatures? And where the hell did it go? I’ve kicked off my boots and am halfway through yanking off my pants, terrified that the crawly horror has found its way inside my clothing, when I hear it.

That low, throaty, distinctly evil, very familiar chuckle.

Shaking but forcing myself to remain still, I croak, “Kathryn?”

“Lights,” she says, and I blink at the sight of her and almost scream again.

She slinks toward me, all skin-tight fishnet and enormous winged collar, her stocking garters flashing at me through the split in her skirt with every step. As she moves right up into my personal space, her long eyelashes sweep downward and her talon-like fingernails trail across my shoulders.

“Not Kathryn,” she husks. “Arachnia, Queen of the Spider People.”

She hooks a finger into my belt, and I’m starting to tremble for a different reason altogether now.

“I hear you’ve had a very interesting time today with my minions,” she murmurs. “Did the big bad Maquis manage to face his fear after all?”

My hands are busy mapping the exposed parts of her skin under that body-stocking, and my lips find their way to her throat.

“And here I thought you didn’t like spiders,” she purrs, slinking her arms around my neck.

“I’m starting to come around to …”

But the last of my words are muffled as she takes my mouth with hers. And I decide that I like contact with this particular arachnid very much indeed.

#miawrites #ask prompt #eyetagonthebridge #ficlet #ridiclet

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thegirlfairytalesforgot · 7 years

Photo

Heartbreak

It is exceedingly difficult, but not impossible, to reason with a drunk person.

A drunk and heartbroken person, however, is a different story entirely.

“Leo,” Henry murmured, ducking his head low and nudging the hat towards the prince with a new level of desperation. “Wear it. Please. Before someone recognises you.”

Prince Leonardo, heir to the Southern Kingdom, wealthiest young royal on the continent, and currently in the running as drunkest person in the tavern, took a moment to lift his bleary eyes away from his glass. When his gaze locked with Henry’s, the young valet made the terrible mistake of hoping that he’d made a breakthrough, and he quirked his lips in encouragement.

“No.”

Henry sighed, resigning himself to spending time in the rougher side of town for the foreseeable future, but apprehensive nonetheless. Leo was still in his regular clothes. In other words, his wealth was obvious to anyone and everyone. Nobody this side of town wore blue, for it was the colour of nobility, of royalty.

They were bound to attract attention sooner or later.

Henry sat down, back against the wall, whilst facing outward- all the better to look for any suspicious activity. If they were going to attract any unwelcome guests to their table, he would make sure he knew about them before they arrived.

Raising his empty glass, Leo grinned sloppily, his chin wobbling. “Here,” he slurred, pushing the empty glass towards Henry. “Share a drink with your heartbroken friend, I’ve never had it before! It’s really quite good you know! Aguardiente! It’s sort-of… sweet. Ha. Much better than brandy.”

Simultaneously laughing and hiccuping, Leo slammed his hand down on the rough wooden table, making passers by jump or look towards them in alarm. Henry inwardly cringed, yet outwardly ensured his face was entirely neutral and that he was sitting up at full height which. “We have to go back to the palace,” he said, a bit more urgently. But only a bit.

“You know something else that’s sweet Henry? Do you know who?” Leo replied, completely ignoring him. Having taken back the empty glass, he proceeded to poke his tongue around it, no doubt searching for a shred more alcohol in exchange for his dignity. Truthfully he’d probably given that up up around four drinks ago. A droplet fell out, trailing past his cheek and into his blonde hair.

“Who, Leo? Who is sweet?” Henry decided to humour him, secretly wishing he could drink too. But someone needed to keep their wits about them, and they’d both get in serious trouble if he didn’t get Leo back to the palace before the king and queen noticed he’d run off. Thank goodness that servants, such as himself, had eyes beyond the gazes of the elite, running like roads all over the kingdom. It’s how he’d managed to track Leo down… though not before the prince had managed to get himself into such a state.

“You know who it is! You know! How could anyone not know?” Leo whined, his green eyes bright with unshed tears, and every muscle in Henry’s body clenched. Please don’t cry. Don’t cry please. You’re such a loud crier. I beg of you. Don’t cry.

“Do you think fish can cry?” Henry blurted out of the blue, desperate to distract Leo from his woes enough so that he could get him home.

For a second, Leo looked like Henry had slapped him. Pulling backwards, his eyebrows shot up.

Then he frowned, deeply, resting his chin on the table. “If fish can cry,” he responded, voice deep and suddenly incredibly serious, “I hope that they are also able to share their feelings with their fish friends.”

It took every single ounce of training Henry had ever received to not laugh himself into oblivion. A slight thinning of his lips was all the tell he gave over his friend and employer’s utter ridiculousness. That and the whistling of his nose as he exhaled slowly.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Leo murmured, snuggling into the table. “I’m heartbroken. My Guinevere is marrying a man she doesn’t love and I, her former Arthur, am to die alone.”

“You’re sixteen,” Henry attempted to reason, still keeping his eyes glued to the other patrons of the tavern. It seemed, however, that luck was finally on his side. The hour was late and most of the customers were mellow. Still, he wondered if he should get out his dagger, just in case. “You aren’t going to die any time soon I assure you. You’re uncanny ability to get yourself out of trouble, as well as into trouble, knows no bounds. Though, admittedly I’m usually the one to come to your aid- as I am in this instance.”

Once again, Henry’s words on deaf ears as Leo pulled himself upright. His eyes blazed with the kind of stubborn fire possessed by those drunk past the point of any sense of reason, and his cheeks (which had not yet lost the roundness of youth) puffed out in determination. “I’m going to see her. Now.”

Henry paused, trying to work out what Leo could possibly mean. “I’m sorry?”

“I am going to walk to the Holy Roman Kingdom! Isn’t that a splendid idea?” Leo laughed, clapping his hands together and standing up. The scraping on his chair made everyone in the nearby vicinity cringe. “I’m going to run, the way the man from Marathon did when he beat the Trojans. Such a romantic gesture will prove my love to Skye! She’ll see I really do love her and maybe- maybe she won’t marry that man.” His face darkened, his words blurring together as his memories took hold of his tongue. “She doesn’t love him, she said that she’s scared she won’t be happy. She told me. She told me… I’d give anything to see her happy. Happy. Even without me.��

“You’re getting your classics confused,” Henry corrected, standing up and gripping Leo’s shoulder to prevent him swaying any more. Whilst Leo’s attention was fully focused on staying upright, Henry quickly grabbed the hat and placed it on his head, hiding the famous blond waves, the feature which would give him away more than anything. Henry didn’t want to think about the queen’s face if she found out that her son was not only drunk, but publically drunk. “Although, that’s neither here nor there. Leo you can’t walk to the Holy Roman Kingdom. It’s a three week journey by carriage alone.”

“So then let’s set sail!” Leo argued, hurrying from the bar. Blindsided by the action, it took a moment for Henry to realise that Leo wasn’t joking and was already halfway out the tavern. Cursing inwardly, he placed one hand on his concealed weapon and rushed after the prince. Upon catching up to him, he was unsurprised to hear Leo rambling plans about stealing aboard a the next ship bound for Champagne.

“Perhaps it might be best to sleep on the idea, your highness,” Henry said, easily keeping rhythm with him as they strolled through the narrow cobblestone streets. Most of the lamps were still burning at least, so there was just about enough light. Still, narrow streets such as these were best avoided even in broad daylight. Henry clutched his dagger closer, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t have to use it.

Leo stopped dead in his tracks, causing Henry to bump into his shoulder. Swivelling around with his mouth wide open, he fixed Henry with a surprised stare. “You’re angry with me.”

Henry’s shoulders tensed and he lowered his gaze, unable to meet Leo’s eyes. “I am no such thing.”

“Yes you are!” Leo protested, “You are angry! You only ever call me your highness when you’re upset! What did I do?” he stepped forward, gripping Henry’s sleeve and looking too much like a child about to be admonished by his parents. If they didn’t get home soon, he was sure to be exactly that. “Did I do something wrong again?”

Finally caving to his emotions, Henry buried his head in his hands. “You ran away, without me to get you out of trouble. You’re drunk. In public. And I’m supposed to ensure nothing happens to you, that you don’t get hurt.”

Leo was silent then, stepping out of Henry’s personal space (which was a relief to the young valet, as Leo’s breath smelt terrible). Playing with the fingers of his gloves, Leo paused, looking up again he whispered so quietly that Henry almost didn’t hear it, “And yet, I did get hurt.”

The air seemed thick, weighted by the woe which poured from every fibre of Leo’s being. Shadows seemed longer, the summer night stifling. The cool breeze from the nearby ocean might as well have been kingdom’s away. Henry took his hands away from his face, completely at a loss.

“I can’t- I can’t say anything that’ll help you,” he confessed, finally, hopelessly. “Usually I can but I- I can’t with this. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you can do-what I can do- to resolve this.”

Hiccupping again, Leo smiled sadly, reaching up to pat Henry’s head. However, as he was a head smaller than Henry, he ended up stumbling forwards and accidentally swiping his ear instead, fingers snagging painfully on Henry’s dark curls. “Well, I suppose you could help me travel to the Holy Roman Kingdom.”

Henry smiled. “I could, although what would you do there?”

Leo stumbled backwards, shoulder colliding with the wall, a little bit of fire back in his eyes and he raised his fingers in triumph. “Fight for my love of course! It is what the great heroes do!”

“Leo you’re drunk,” Henry repeated, now more amused than anything. “We need to get back to the palace. You can be a great hero and fight for your love in the morning.”

“HENRY!” Leo yelled suddenly throwing his arms around Henry’s shoulders. His alcohol ridden voice echoed around the street and whatever ease Henry had settled into quickly disappeared. Leo, of course, was completely oblivious to the obvious worry on his face. “You are the greatest friend in the world. They say man’s best friend is a dog but I feel as though everybody should have a Henry.”

“I suppose you’re lucky that I am the only one of me in the world, yet your family employ me,” Henry replied, lifting Leo off of him and pushing him between the shoulder blades. “Although I must admit, they won’t be employing me much longer if they discover you’ve run away. Let’s go back.”

“How odd it is that I’m lucky enough to have a friend like you and unlucky enough to lose the love of my life to an arranged marriage,” Leo’s shoulders slumped, but he finally began walking in the direction of the palace. “She was my childhood sweetheart, Henry, the princess of my heart. I wanted to marry her.”

“I know,” Henry soothed, for it was all he could say. “I’m sorry.”

“I suppose not even a prince can get all his heart desires, but I can’t lose hope. I have to at least talk to her, when I’m not about to vomit.”

“When you’re not about to wha-” was all Henry managed to get out before Leo heaved, doubling over and vomiting all over his own shoes.

Henry’s head was in his hands again. “How are you?”

“Not well,” Leo replied, standing up, and wobbling like a newborn deer. Henry reached out to steady him, and was alarmed to see his usually tanned face appear so pale, a sheen of sweat clung to his forehead and his eyes were glassy. “I think the fourth drink was a misstep. Oh! Henry! You are here! Did you know I love Skye? She is amazing. I do believe I am about to be ill again- please excuse me a moment.”

After the second time he was sick, Henry hesitated briefly, before rubbing Leo’s back. Drunk people were never his forte and Leo had never gotten to this state of intoxication before. They were both, it seemed, completely out of their depth. “Do you think you can walk?”

“Why?” Leo groaned innocently, becoming more nonsensical by the second. “Should I walk? I could walk. Perhaps I could. I could also fight a bear, most likely. If the bear was a friendly one. But then I would feel bad for fighting it. Do I have to fight the bear, Henry?”

“I am not going to begin to attempt to fathom why you want to fight a bear,” Henry replied, massaging his temples. “Do you want me to carry you home?”

“No,” Leo protested, still leaning against the poor unsuspecting wall upon which he’d twice emptied his stomach’s contents. After a pause, however, he feebly mumbled a quiet, “yes.”

The next morning, news spread like wildfire that the prince of the Southern Kingdom had been spotted, drunk and crying, being carried back to the palace by his own valet.

Needless to say, the king and queen weren’t amused. But Leo was too busy, torn between throwing up into a bucket and helping Henry with their plans to visit his Skye’s kingdom, to know until much later.

Heartbreak is set 2 years before the events on The Girl Fairy Tales Forgot! Read more short stories from The Girl Fairy Tales Forgot universe here!

#Fairy tales #short story #drunk stories #books #literature #funny story #henry #leo #original writing

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awildtrashcan · 7 years

Text

So here’s what I have so far for chapter 1 of the AU. I actually wrote this back in February so there’s probably some stuff in here that I might need to change later on(and possibly some errors regarding the locations of some buildings in Meridian City), but here’s what you get for now.

Space. The endless void that holds everything in the universe. So vast that if you and your best friend were separated you would probably never find each other. Staring at the emptiness interrupted by the occasional star or planet usually made the more emotionally sensitive reflect on their feelings in the isolation.

Such as now.

The (Half-built)Nefarious Space Station lay dormant within a sector out of the range of any radar from neighboring planets. The only activity within the station was the bustle of a lone robot, following a schedule of cleaning and construction. He looked through the windows surrounding the walls of the room as he finished folding another pair of socks, picking up the basket of laundry. After walking down one of the many empty hallways for a few minutes, he began humming to himself, attempting to fill the unnerving silence with white noise.

In all honesty, Lawrence had found this to be a welcome change over having his audio receptors constantly assaulted by his employer’s voice, but after a week, he actually started to miss the orders barked loudly enough to be heard from the other end of the station.

Two weeks later, and he felt like something was wrong.

Three weeks later, and he knew that something was wrong.

Four weeks, and he found himself staring straight into the crack separating the two doors leading to Nefarious’s office and living quarters. Lawrence chuckled to himself, amused by the fact that he was actually considering asking what was troubling the doctor. Previous attempts had rarely gone any farther than Nefarious denying everything that was going on, that “No, Lawrence, I don’t need counseling.” Looking back, the doctor was actually right in that regard, as the anger management sessions, yoga, and spirit walks only resulted in the Great Clock debacle, and that certainly turned out splendid.

He was kicked out of that train of thought after hearing a dull klunk followed by a noise that could only be described as utter despair. Yes, something was definitely wrong. Lawrence scolded himself for letting this go on for so long. Nefarious tested the boundaries of his patience half the time he spoke, but he wasn’t going to let the doctor waste away on his watch.

Letting out a sigh of resignation, he steeled himself for whatever lay beyond the door as he rapped the metal surface three times.

In space, no one could hear you scream. Especially if you were screaming into a pillow.

He wasn’t even sure why he was screaming. It definitely wasn’t because he was thinking about the space rat, his toaster-for-a-best-friend, and that annoying, infuriating, green-clad buffoon. Because he hated them.

Yes, hated them enough that he would think about how he stole their ship and abandoned them right after somehow traveling hundreds of miles with them without shoving anyone off a nearby cliff and even��the thought made him cringe at the irony—saving the universe.

Of course he would never admit to simply lying there being sentimental. He was a megalomaniac overlord! Feelings were nonexistent for him! Squishies trembled at the mention of his name! He was Dr. Nefarious, the most wanted criminal in the galaxy!

Emphasis on was.

Nefarious let out a frustrated sigh for the hundredth time in what had to be a span of ten minutes, burying his face into the pillow. The past week had become a routine: get up, try to get some evil schemes planned out, fail at doing just that, regret his entire life for a few hours, and fall back asleep. The process was mentally exhausting, and he knew that it definitely wasn’t helping in getting rid of the one (actually several) thought that lodged itself into his mind after ditching his nemeses on that infested planet, but he was at a total loss at what else to do.

Well, diabolical plans won’t think themselves, Nefarious thought as he dragged a hand down his face, getting up from the bed to once again continue the cycle of self-loathing.

Only to promptly bang his jaw against the floor after his legs got tangled in the sheets and gravity decided to add on to the heaping pile of misery that was his life. The rest of his body slid off the bed as he let out a pained groan, wondering where exactly his life went wrong. An honest question, as there were too many incidents to narrow it down to just one.

Nefarious contemplated remaining there as he couldn’t muster enough energy to bother moving. It wasn’t like he needed to sit in his chair to conjure up a plan, although it definitely helped get the creative juices flowing. And hey, maybe he wouldn’t end up finding It- oh, come on, now you haven’t even seen It and you’re thinking of It again, you freaking mor—

He jumped when he heard several knocks at the door, grateful that he was already on the ground instead of falling again. Peeling himself off the floor, he stumbled as he walked towards the noise, wondering what Lawrence wanted to bother him with this time.

Opening the door, he held up a hand to shield his optics from the way-too-bright lights that filtered behind the other robot. Squinting, he leveled his gaze onto Lawrence before settling into a glare. Nefarious noticed Lawrence stiffen slightly as his optics widened past his usual half-lidded look.

“Sir, are you feeling alright?” Lawrence asked as he regained his usual stance, “you haven’t called for me in… quite a while.”

Nefarious’s eyes widened, surprised at the sudden concern his butler was showing, and noted the slight pause in his words. He glared again, responding, “What do you mean, Lawrence? It’s barely been a week since I asked you for coffee that one time, you know I don’t like being interrupted while I’m working on bigger projects.” Because that was exactly what he had been doing. Nothing involving emotional turmoil. Nope. “Besides, didn’t you ask for a lighter workload before? There, now you have it. Now beat it, I’ve got a blaster to work on.”

Nefarious reached for the panel to shut the doors before Lawrence quickly stepped into the room, the motion sensors preventing the doors from closing. The butler’s more hurried pace and shocked expression caused alarms to ring in the back of his head. Had something happened in the short amount of time he was inside?

Lawrence raised a hand in cautious concern, opening his mouth before closing it again, looking like he was searching for the right words to explain what was going on.

Instead, he decided to reply with, “Sir, it’s been a month.”

Nefarious would have laughed if he didn’t know that Lawrence never told jokes. “A… month—Lawrence, it’s only been a week, a week and a half at most!” He may have lost track of time for that brief stretch of time, but he wasn’t that far gone that he would subconsciously lock himself in his room for days on end. He decided to bring up his internal clock to prove a point as he continued, “What are you even talking abo—“

17:32

November 18, 5362

Well, crap.

“…Oh…” Nefarious didn’t bother to finish his retort as he looked to the other side of the room in acknowledgement, his posture deflating along with his irritation as it was replaced with disturbed realization.

A month. An entire month spent thinking about the events on Magnus. He still couldn’t figure out why leaving those three idiots behind had been so difficult. He should have been overjoyed as soon as Lawrence showed up with a one way ticket to get away from them, but the more he thought about it, the more the more he—well, he had no idea what he was feeling! And that photo—

“Sir?” Nefarious was interrupted from his internal rant when he noticed Lawrence shuffling through the cluttered desk. His hands sifted through the scattered papers until resting upon a particular object. “Would this have to do with what’s troubling you?” He held It up to face Nefarious, whose optics widened when he processed what he was holding.

“LAWRENCE! Give that back!” Nefarious ran towards his butler in an attempt to grab It, but every time he circled the table, Lawrence was somehow able to sidestep just out of reach.

Lawrence wasn’t even breaking a sweat in avoiding the numerous swipes directed at him as he asked, “Sir, I noticed that you seemed to be particularly attached to this photo. When you were staring at it on the ship you had the same look on your face as when you watched the season 7 finale of Lance and Janice.” He dodged another swing. “I’m not certified in this area, but perhaps I could assist you in sorting out what’s on your mind?”

Nefarious glared hard enough in an attempt to bring It to him through sheer thought alone, “I told you Lawrence, I don’t need your help! I’m fine! Or at least I was, until you came in here!” He reached out to grab It but his claw only caught empty air. “Oh, come on! My arms are longer! How are you—“ The doctor cut himself off after crashing to the floor yet again when trying to vault over the table, his hands catching nothing once more.

Nefarious dejectedly rolled to face the ceiling, turning his head to glare at Lawrence. His butler walked towards him with a sigh. A moment of silence passed before he spoke once more, “Is it about Magnus?”

The doctor only replied with a groan, closing his eyes and letting his head drop to the floor. Maybe if he stopped talking Lawrence would leave him alone.

Unfortunately, Lawrence continued, “Or, to be more specific, is it about leaving the others behind?” Nefarious froze.

“No! Of course not! Why would I be thinking about them in any way other than how to enact their very demise?!” The doctor spat denial after denial as he got to his feet, baffled that Lawrence would think otherwise. “I feel nothing but loathing every time I see their stupid faces!” Because loathing meant thinking about them in a non-murderous way for a month, apparently.

Lawrence stared back for a short moment before replying, “Hm, if that is what you believe, sir, are there any other issues you would like to discuss?” He brought out a holopad and began scrolling through pages that Nefarious couldn’t distinguish from his position. “If it would make you feel better, why don’t you take a break from your… ‘work’ and take your mind off of what’s bothering you?”

Well, anything that prevented him from feeling whatever it was he was feeling had to be better than this. He grunted in reply, getting up to prepare for whatever Lawrence had in mind.

Lawrence hummed as he scrolled through various news listings before answering, “A trip to Meridian City, perhaps? There’s a showing of the latest Secret Agent Clank film tonight if you would like to see it, or we could see the Lance and Janice stage play instead. And there appears to be a ceremony today…” He paused and stopped scrolling on a particular page, reading out the article before resuming as he continued his suggestions. “Oh my, there seems to be a sale in the central market. Thirty percent off all kitchen appliances. We can finally replace the microwave after that experiment with the radioactive leftovers.”

“Lawrence, I don’t need you reminding me of my past failures right now, you’re not helping,” Nefarious chided, taking the time to search through his desk. “Now, where did I put the…”

“Keys, sir?” The doctor turned to see Lawrence standing near the doorway and dangling the aforementioned item in front of him.

“Got it!” Nefarious shouted as he snatched them from the butler’s grip, “Come on, Lawrence, get a move on. We don’t have all night!”

Lawrence shook his head as he followed behind him. “Sir, might I suggest wearing some sort of disguise before going out? I imagine it would be difficult remaining inconspicuous when most remember you by the size of your head.”

“I guess you’re right. Those nitwits in the city would be able to recognize my genius if I just happened to pass by,” Nefarious considered as he put a hand to his chin in thought. “Well, Lawrence, any ideas on what to wear?”

Lawrence smiled, turning down another corridor. “I believe I do, sir. It will only take me a moment…”

#ratchet and clank #dr nefarious #there's probably some spelling and grammar errors but i'm tired and i've still got some other work to do #idk how i feel about this it's been so long #my posts

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