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actuallysaiyan · 4 months

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I Think You're Holding The Heart Of Mine(Part 2)

warnings: mentions of alcohol, my own spin on cursed techniques, Kento being such a sweetheart, some violence(just from the training), reader gets drunk, usage of the nickname "usagi-chan/bunny"

word count: 2.7k

pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader

summary: Kugisaki is convinced that you and Nanami are a thing so she thinks about her next plans to figure out how to get you to confess. When you go out to dinner, a third party is there to surprise you...and to buy you drink after drink after drink until you're drunk and Nanami has to take care of you.

taglist(Wanna be a part of this? Just message me): @beneathstarryskies

Part one! Part three!

“Ahhh so you and Nanami-sensei?” Kugisaki asks you as you usher her to a quiet place on the training field. She’s already got her hammer in her hand.

You laugh, “you and Itadori-kun have a good sense of imagination. But no, we are merely what they call “work spouses”. That’s all.”

You can tell she’s not really buying it, but she keeps quiet for the next little bit. She heads toward the clearing and gets into a fighting stance. You watch carefully as she begins to think out her first move, but you’re already ahead of her. Your fists are imbued with blue cursed energy, and from them a burst of water comes from them.

Kugisaki is so quick to deflect, and from that a sense of pride swells in your chest. She’s a tough cookie, this girl. She’s smart, clever and quick on her feet. She knows her worth and she knows how good her cursed technique is. You work on drawing forth another one of the powers of the twelve zodiac, a bonus from your own cursed technique.

You watch as Kugisaki has a hard time shooing off two cursed heads that have come from your own hands. The twins of Gemini try to bite her, and she swings at one of them. Then she slams her hammer down on the second one, just narrowly missing a bite from the other. The first one squeals in pain as one of her nails penetrate it.

“Very good, Kugisaki-chan!”

She scowls at your use of the honorific ‘Chan’, but she doesn’t allow it to distract her. She then watches you as you make a seal with your hands. This is the big one, the same Zodiac sign as your own. You’ve got a special pact with this one, and it will act on its own if you aren’t careful. Aries, the ram, charges towards the young sorcerer.

There’s a moment where you are sure she will be able to dodge it, and she almost does. But she is quickly knocked back on her ass, the ram dissipating as you call it back towards you. It disappears in a cloud of red smoke, and you know that you need to give Kugisaki a moment to breathe as she recovers from your attack.

“Well done!” You praise her, helping her to her feet.

She beams, “Thanks! I’ve been practicing!”

“I can tell. You’re getting very strong.”

You two catch your breath, speaking of other battle techniques. She’s becoming a very skilled sorcerer before your very eyes and it’s touching to see something like this. The fruit of your labor is blossoming beautifully. Someone was actually becoming stronger because of you, which was always something you doubted. When Gojo had asked you to take this job, you were sure he was losing it. But he’s got lots of faith in you.

“Hey sensei,” Kugisaki asks, hands behind her back. You know she’s scheming.

You smirk, “What is it?”

“Are you sure you and Nanami-sensei aren’t a couple? I wouldn’t tell anyone if you were!”

You laugh softly. If only she knew just how desperately you wanted her to be right. You’d keep it a secret if you knew it meant you could be with Nanami. You’d never tell a soul if it meant you could have his love all to yourself. Then you smile at her, ruffling her hair.

“Kugisaki-chan, I’m sure. It’s not a real relationship. Just a friendship.”

She seems so unconvinced. Which leads her to think up the next part of her plan. She knew she’d be getting the answer from you whether you liked it or not. She just had to do a bit of sleuthing. So for now, she drops the subject and pretends to be very much invested in the training. This makes you so happy and so proud of her work.

Little do you know, she’s got ulterior motives…

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

You’re running a little late as you get to the pub. Training lasted a lot longer than you intended it to, and the paperwork you had to attend to took a little longer as well. By the time you got home, you were just answering the messages that Kento had sent you almost an hour before you got off work. You apologized profusely, but he really showed no signs of being angry. He just let you know the time and place, like the gentleman he is.

What you aren’t expecting to see is Satoru Gojo sitting next to him at the booth that was meant for just two. He’s quick to bounce out of his seat and wave at you excitedly. You see how annoyed Kento looks, but his face softens when he sees you approaching.

“I didn’t think we’d be three. But the more the merrier, yeah?” You ask Kento, who’s trying to hide his displeasure.

“Right you are.”

Gojo is practically hanging off of you. He was looking over Kento’s shoulder when he had sent you the text, which prompted the older man to declare he was joining you both. Gojo was also privy to some knowledge that the pair of you were definitely so deeply in love with one another, but you wouldn’t budge. He decided he’d be the one to get you both together.

“Ahhh usagi-chan! I’m so glad you’re here! Maybe you can help uptight Nanamin loosen up!”

You laugh at Gojo’s nickname for you, “What’s wrong with Ken? I think he’s just hungry.”

Kento’s face turns a little pink when you take up for him. He’s always happy whenever you defend him against Gojo’s rudeness and teasing. Nanami didn’t really mind the teasing too much, but he had wanted this dinner to just be the two of you. With a sigh, he downs his drink and flags down the waitress.

“Make it two, please.” You ask her, flashing your best smile.

You sit down in front of Kento, and you gasp as Gojo climbs over you to be able to sit snug between you two in the booth. He sighs overenthusiastically as he plops his head down on his palms. You notice he’s got a drink in front of him, and it looks very sweet and sugary.

“This is the…what did she call it now?” He asks himself, cupping his chin.

Kento sighs, “Sweet Sunrise.”

Gojo laughs, “Ah! Yeah the Sweet Sunrise!”

You roll your eyes playfully. Kento looks at you, his heart skipping a beat whenever you flash that angelic smile in his direction. Gojo isn’t dumb, he knows when you two are flirting with each other secretly. Despite you telling him that it was just a friendship and a work relationship, he knows it’s so much more deeper than that.

The waitress returns with a tray that holds yours and Kento’s drinks, and she sets them down in front of you. Gojo then takes the time to order another one of his sugary drinks. It’s a bit silent for a bit when she leaves.

“Soooo, tell us how training went today! How is the little Kugisaki-chan doing?” Gojo asks, tilting his head at you.

You take a sip of your drink, “She’s showing lots of promise. She is a skilled fighter.”

Kento chuckles, “She’s got a good teacher.”

You blush at his praise and thank him. Gojo then gets closer and he praises you as well, a smirk forming on his face when he sees how this affects Kento. Kento scowls softly, drinking more of his drink. Then he flags down the waitress once more, ordering some appetizers for all three of you.

“Awhhh Nanamin is treating us tonight, usagi-chan!” Satoru is beaming at this.

“It was supposed to just be us two…” Kento mumbles under his breath, drinking some more.

Gojo perks up, “What was that? Care to share with the rest of the class?”

You see how Kento’s jaw tenses and he looks like he’s ready to get into a physical altercation with the white-haired man. So you soothe Kento’s nerves by changing the subject and you ask Gojo about Megumi’s progress.

Gojo smirks, “Megumi is doing well. I think he’ll probably end up even stronger than me!”

You gasp. “Really?”

He nods, turning his body towards you. You’ve got him caught in a discussion, which will keep the attention off of Kento for a little bit. You really get so caught up in Gojo’s conversation that Kento begins to feel like he’s being ignored. Eventually, the waitress returns and everyone begins eating.

It’s not long before Gojo climbs over the top of the booth and declares he needs to pee. Once he’s out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You slide closer to Kento in the booth and you take his hand in yours and give it a very gentle squeeze.

“Ahh finally, I get to spend a little time with my husband.” You say with a little giggle.

Kento smiles genuinely, “I was beginning to think I’d have to pull Gojo off my honey. It was terrible to see him hanging off of you like that.”

You begin playing with his long fingers, your own fingers tracing the veins in his hand. The alcohol is definitely making you even more bold than usual. Kento’s heart races a little as you become so tender with him. He wishes it was just the two of you. He lives for these moments alone with you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll always be my favorite.” You coo softly, leaning even closer.

Kento stiffens, he can smell your perfume as you get closer. The way your fingers keep tracing the veins on his hand. Then you trace up and down his expensive timepiece. He knows you’ve always been curious about that watch of his. You’ve asked a few times about how much it costs, but he’s almost embarrassed about talking about how such a little thing costs. It feels frivolous at times, but buying it reminded him of his past as a salaryman.

“My, my,” Gojo says as he comes closer. You sigh softly. “What is this? Nanamin, you sly dog.”

Kento groans, “Don’t pay him any mind.”

You laugh at the interactions between these two. They sometimes act like some kind of old married couple. Gojo annoys Nanami, and Nanami tries his best not to let his senpai get to him. You wondered if there was anything else going on between those two, but it seemed like this was all it was. Just a senpai hellbent on annoying his kohai for the rest of time.

“Oh! Usagi-chan, you should have another drink!” Gojo knows he needs to amp this up if he wants to see anything happening between you and Nanami.

As if you were going to say no to that…

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

You stumble as you make your way out of the restaurant. You have to lean on the blond sorcerer as he guides you towards his car. Gojo left a while back, but not after getting you nice and drunk. He knew that Nanami would love the opportunity to take care of his drunk little wifey.

“You alright, dear?” His tone isn’t even the slightest bit sarcastic for once.

You nod your head, “Jus’ a little tipsy…”

He helps you into his car, buckling you up in the passenger side. Then he makes his way to the driver’s side. He’s had considerably less to drink than you did. He opted out on the drinks that Gojo had been buying you all night long.

“I’ll bring you to yours,” Nanami says as he begins driving.

“No, please…I don’t wanna be alone.”

This surprises Nanami to know that you’d want to have company while you’re in this state. You lean back on the seat and groan. You wish you hadn’t had that many drinks. But Gojo was paying and he kept egging you on. After the fourth or fifth shot, that’s when you knew you had messed up.

Kento drives you both towards his place. He knows you need someone to take care of you right now. You watch as he makes himself towards the affluent part of the city and the car turns into an underground parking garage. He opens his window and presses his thumb to a fingerprint lock. The minute it acknowledges it’s him, the bar raises and allows the car to drive smoothly into the garage. Then Kento finds his spot and parks the car. Once the engine dies, he turns to you and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

You shake your head again, “Please, just let me stay. I’m not feeling good.”

He could tell you weren’t well. Your face was pale and your eyes were shut. He gets out of the car and then walks over to your side. Kento is helpful as he gets you to lean against him. Then he brings you towards the lift, pressing the button to call it down to you both.

“Don’t worry about it. What kind of husband would I be to leave his wife on her own in her time of need?”

This makes you blush and your heart wrenches. In your drunken mind, you desperately wish it was the truth. You wish this was where you lived. You want to be his wife and have this kind of life with him. Once the lift gets down to the floor you’re on, Nanami helps you on and then presses the button for the penthouse floor.

It’s a little ways up as you lean against the blond sorcerer. He smells amazing, something musky and leathery. It must be some pretty expensive cologne. You know that Nanami has a lot of money to be able to drive the car that he does and live in such a fancy building. You think to yourself that you wouldn’t even care if he had money or not, you’d still be completely head over heels in love with him.

Once inside his penthouse suite, Kento helps you into the bathroom. Gently, he wipes your face and removes your makeup with a warm washcloth. Then he takes your hair out of the ponytail you usually have it in and brushes it out softly. You have never had anyone take care of you quite like this. Not even any of your previous boyfriends had ever done anything like this for you.

“Thank you, Ken.”

Your words warm his heart. You’re starting to look a little better. He helps you up and guides you over to the sofa. The two of you lounge about and he pulls his phone out. Then your whole body stiffens when he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close.

“Let’s order some more food, yeah? You’ll feel better if you eat something substantial.”

You nod your head and snuggle closer to him. He lets you scroll through his phone and choose what you’re going to order. Once it’s been ordered, he gets up from the couch to procure a few more things for you.

This gives you a chance to have a proper look around. His place is so beautiful and luxurious. Much more fancy than your own place. You wonder how life could be if you lived in a place like this.

When Kento returns, he’s got some pajamas for you and a bottle of water. He hands them to you, allowing you the chance to head back into the bathroom to change. You get dressed in the silky pajamas, relishing in the scent of his laundry detergent.

“There’s my pretty little honey,”

You swear you’ve died and gone to heaven when Kento speaks those words to you. He gathers you up in his arms, his own clothes changed from his usual suit and tie combo to a sweater and some sweatpants. You’ve never seen him look so comfortable.

“And you look cozy as well, my dear.”

Kento looks deeply into your eyes, his hands pulling you closer to him. It’s like time has stood still as he leans in closer. Your lips are a mere inches away when you hear a loud buzzing coming from the kitchen.

“Oh! It’s the food,” Kento declares, his cheeks red.

He reaches into his pocket to confirm that the driver is actually here. Then you watch as he goes to the buzzer and answers it.

If only…If only… you think to yourself. If only you hadn’t been interrupted.

#bacon.writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #Nanami Kento x you #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x y/n #Nanami Kento fluff #nanami fluff #nanami imagine #nanami imagines #jjk nanami x you #jjk Nanami x reader #jjk x reader #work husband!nanami x you

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ninjastar107 · 27 days

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'Caught Inbetween' - A protoman-centered MMC fic

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

Beyond towering skyscrapers and bustling streets was a lush countryside dotted with small pockets of civilization. Rolling hills and dense forests stretched as far as the eye could see, teeming with the sounds of wildlife. Nestled within the landscape sat the house of Dr. Light, a small round building with patches of flowers and a few trees decorating the property.

It was here that Blues was created and activated, a place stained in his memory. He stood a ways away in the same spot Light had taught him how to fly a kite. Then as he stepped closer, he recalled the time they both stood motionless as birds ate the seeds they laid around them. There was the time Light taught him how to wash and hang clothes to dry after accidentally spilling fruit juice all over, and the time he showed Light how far he could throw a bowling-ball sized rock. It was just the two of them then. A short red dress ruffled in the afternoon breeze as it hung onto the clothesline. Blues watched it as he debated on how to go about this, especially hearing the multiple voices coming from within the building. He decided on a more stealthy approach. 'And that's why I always take the branches off first!' 'Sounds like a lot of work for nothing…' 'It's not like trees only exist in perfectly manicured city areas, unlike someones job.' Blues peered in from the upper level window to the lab, the tremor of guilt wavering through once more. Everything looked the same as he remembered from the general placement of computers to the ever disorganized tool trolley. How many times Blues tried to sort it, only for more tools to accumulate…. On the table was a red and white robot who was talking to a larger construction bot. Light prodded away at its arm, delicately taking bits of leaves and wood chips from in between switching mechanisms. To the left of him a young boy- no, robot- dawned in blue and white holding a bowl to put all of the bits in. Behind him stood a girl -robotic as well- wearing a similar red dress to the one he saw hanging to dry. Her eyes wandered more, scanning the floor and surroundings intently as her hands readied a broom. Did light miss him so much that he built extra assistants? Blues retreated from the window and sat down on the shingles. He couldn't just barge in, not that he wanted to anyway, and he couldn't face Light either. Maybe Light forgot about him, knowing well that eventually his core would give out, and moved on? Did those assistant bots have the same fate in store? Were they also 'half baked'?

He took in a deep breath and let it out in a long, droning sigh. If he wanted answers, he'd have to confront Dr. Light. Perhaps in a few hours when the sun set and everything quieted, he'd make his move.

Hours dragged on as did his thoughts. The repairs were finished and the two robot masters had left, leaving Light with the others. He dared not peak in again, instead listening to the muffled chatter that occasionally sprung up. Weather, ideas, mail, Light spoke to the two -Rock and Roll- as if they were his children. A blur of red and yellow halted itself just behind a tree. Blues snapped his head towards it immediately, to which it smiled and dashed up right next to him. "Wow you're fast!" Quickman chirped, "Ready to set it all in motion?" Blues stared at him before lowering his gaze to the pipe-shaped object in his hands. Quickman was always so eager to get things done, even sometimes ahead of himself. "That's for Megaman?" "Just a little invitation. Wily's been looking for you Breakman, he's a little upset you're not with the battle party." Quickman dropped the cylinder into the ventilation shoot, the metal clanking loudly all the way down and out onto the lab floor. Whatever dinner Light was having with the assistant bots was be over now. "I should have figured Light knew who Megaman was," Blues folded his arms. Quickman grinned, "You don't know?" he pulled Blues around to the window and pointed down below. The two watched as the group inspected the holo-message that projected itself from the canister. Rock glared, Roll covered her mouth, and Light balled a fist. Rock looked to Light, almost pleading. The doctor ran a hand through his beard as he thought, but reluctantly agreed. The two made their way over to a recharge chamber. Where Rock had climbed in, a new robot dawned in blue stepped out. Blues watched on as his blue glove turned itself into a megabuster, a deep dread weighing down on his feet. "We better get moving," Quickman patted his shoulder, "The fun's about to begin. I'll have enough time to give you a ride home too if you want." Blues smirked, "Slow and steady wins the race, Quickman." The robot master twitched an eye, "Suit yourself," before warping out. Blues smile dropped with another sigh.

#megaman #protoman

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zstargalaxy · 2 years

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TORIKO X POKEMON AU

TORIKO x Pokemon Trainer Reader.

I thought of doing my first AU here in Tumblr so here we go!

You knew at the beginning that you wanted an adventure.

You would always remember how you always were an outdoors girl, especielly when it comes to Pokemon.

Big and small, cute or not, you always adore them.

So you had collected alot and i mean ALOT of pokemon during your travels, starting from your home region in Kalos to all the other regions like Kanto, Unova, Sinnoh, Hoenn, Galar and most recently, Alola.

Many people were shock at how many pokemon you had but you didnt pay much mind to them at all.

This was pretty normal to you and you love them all as they love you too.

All of you joined contests and showcases, gym battles and leagues togather with you all winning either 1st, 2nd or 3rd places in each competition.

You didnt have a specific endpoint but you knew that the pathway through the journey is the best bit than the ending.

Though, what you didnt expect was that you will have a brand new, out of this world journey.

Literally

You were just exploring one of the caves in the Alola Region and the next thing you know, you were in a world of "Gourmet Age"

Oh Arcerus...

Years past and now your are 22 years old, 6 years have past since that faithful day and well...things are looking up.

At first, you were suprised at the world you are seeing that consisted of animals that are LITERALLY made of Food.

And they were literally hunted.

I mean, you know some pokemon were hunted down but in a daily bases? And only for eating? Its already traumatizing for the young lady.

They even call them ingredients...

In the town that you are residing on, both before and now, you were still shaken at the discovery you just found.

For the town's people, they found you quite strange that you find their Gourmet hunting strange considering that it is normal during this age.

And dont get me started with her Pokemon.

Everyone was immensely shock at the strange new creatures that hold great power, they were even shock that someone as you as you in your teens can actually tame this many and powerful ingre-BEASTS!

You have to correct them or else the pokemon themselves will.

Overtime, you gotten used to your new home.

Though you missed your family and friends back at home, you always learn to adapt and resource to know what to do.

Your pokemon were at first also have the same reaction as you, especielly your poor Appletun and Alcreamie but they too adapt to their new area and have gotten the town loving them back.

(Though you have to stop a few of them in trying to take a bite out of them, resulting in Haxorus using Dragon breath to warn them)

Each of your pokemon does various jobs, hobbies and habits around the small quiet town to either have fun or earn money for you to continue living.

For you, you had decided to work at a small cafe in the town as a waitress but you also became a co-chef too after you had introduce some of your own world's cusine from each region like the over 100 types of curry from Galar, Malasadas from Alola and Poffins from Sinnoh.

For your pokemon, like i had said, they do various activities around the town

Like Drampa being like a school bus for the children whenever they go to and from school, with the children loving the ride and fun they had with the dragon pokemon.

And Florges and Shaymin helping in the harvest of fruits, flowers and other foliage that they could help with the local farmers.

And so much more.

Oh yeah!

Did i mention that the town you have been residing on for 6 years is also the home town of Komatsu?

The adevnture awaits then for you ;)

And for those you have send me the requests, one of them is almost done so watch out!

Also, i will be experimenting with other media with Pokémon so i will making quite a few crossover.

If ya all want, go ask ahead or even request of what you want to see in the Toriko x Pokemon, TWST x Pokemon and even the TWST x Palace pets.

Stay tune my Galaxies! ;3

#anime #crossover #pokemon #toriko #toriko x pokemon #reader #au #female reader #sunny #coco #komatsu #animals #ingredients #beasts #gourmet

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sweetdreamsbuck · 2 years

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you deserve a soft epilogue, my love

beefy!bucky x f!reader

prompt: while hiding in Bucharest, Bucky meets you— a home, bearing cups of coffee— a refuge for a life that’s riddled with battles of his torturous demons.

warnings: angst. fluff. all the feelings. some suggestive language. talk of nightmares, body image, and trauma. love.

wc: 11.5k and not even a bit sorry

a/n: SORRY I'M POSTING SO LATE I JUST NEEDED TO AS SOON AS IT WAS DONE!! my beefy puppy just means too much to me, deal with IT

i do not give permission to translate, copy, or share any of my work

It became second nature to you; along with your usual latte, to order a black coffee with no sleeve around the cup.

The first time you'd ordered something for him, you couldn't quite place why you had. Maybe it was because you wanted to start doing nice things for people. The inadequacy you'd been feeling lately as a part of society was getting to you— how much could gifting someone one cup of coffee cost you?

Everything.

It first appeared in the anxious dwelling; the inability to drive the mysterious man from your mind. Then came the burden of knowing— insomnia following not too far behind. Sleepless nights spent worrying about the quality of that of his own. Storms of pain and violent bouts of grief you never could've seen coming; in panic and waves of sad exhaustion— love and all its unspoken repercussions.

*******

You'd seen him frequently around the booths littering the overcrowded markets of the cobblestone streets. He always seemed to be hiding from something, his body language closed off and completely guarded against the world, walls shielding him that you couldn't see or understand the force of— and doing a terrible job at that.

He stuck out sorely, as if his size and the restless air that seemed to float behind him weren't enough, the number of layers he pulled on even in the heat of the Bucharest sun acted as a spotlight. There he was, a man never destined to be viewed in the limelight in such a way.

You wanted to.

His shoulders, while clothed in countless layers of fabric, were always pulled firmly back. Tension and panic apparent even through the undershirts and jackets meant to conceal and protect him from appearing his most visible.

They had the opposite effect.

Always shuffling around the carts of fruit just outside the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop you frequented, his body remained close to the wooden frames holding mountains of produce. You watched for the first time a few weeks back as he contemplated what to grab; his hand tentatively following the path of his eyes, unsure as to what he really wanted to be choosing.

And now, well— you'd always look for him.

*******

Thoughts and images of him never could escape your mind. The nervous twitch, the way his eyes were never visible to the world around him, the cap that was secured snug on the top of his head; and while his stature was large and darkly apparent, you'd never seen someone look so small.

Approaching the counter of the small cafe, you quickly mumbled your usual order making sure to grab something for the man with the extra layers and black leather gloves. You'd never heard words escape him prior, how were you to know what he liked?

Purchasing that first coffee for him stirred something in the atmosphere. For one thing, you realized all too late that ordering something for someone who you didn't know the first thing about would mean you needed to actually go and acknowledge them. How do you tell someone 'I've been watching you the past few weeks, have a coffee, on me' without appearing a bona fide stalker?

But it was just that; it was an obsession. You felt you knew everything— and nothing about him. His body contained the harsh vibrations of isolation and desolation; they danced inside of his swift shadow, rendering him with a burdened aura. You felt a longing to carry some of it, too.

The thoughts you had surrounding him arose in the way he shrunk himself, the way he hid himself away in his fear of appearing too much. But the lightness in which his feet carried him juxtaposed the dark fog always following shortly behind. He’d always move forward, never back. And the tip of his hat remained pointed down, his overwhelming size paled silly to that of the overcrowded market. There was no way he wouldn’t be seen, and yet, he acted as if he shouldn’t be. That was enough knowledge for you to feel a persistent nagging, sharp prickles of anguish buzzing in the base of your skull, spurring the need to crave more.

Quickly paying and tipping the woman at the counter, grabbing the two coffees became a reality check. You'd have to talk to the man you'd been watching. He'd have to see you, too.

How you decided on a simple black coffee, you'd never know. Instinct, mostly. A man his size would look ridiculous attempting to drink anything else, and you could only imagine the last thing the man who always seemed to be in hiding would want was to be caught holding anything but a small cup.

Finally working up the courage to hand him the small offering of your existence, he didn't respond. No shred of recognition washed over his face, no semblance of appreciation offered to you in sound or even in a curt nod of the head.

You weren't looking for anything in return, but you were dying for something.

All but cornering him in front of the bin filled with dirt-clad spuds, a huffed out air of apology was all you were given as he panicked he had bumped into you. His eyes met your hairline briefly, the rim of his hat quickly ducking down with the movement of his head, his shoulders doing that inward roll you always noticed when someone encroached on his space.

You knew you had to be careful. The way you had approached him seemed normal enough, but he had no way to walk around you without brushing past some part of your body, and you held two cups in your hands with steam leaving the mouths of them— there was no comfortable way to walk past you without fear of causing an unwanted spill or touching some part of a stranger he didn't know.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, one that he wouldn't allow himself to see until a few days later. You slowly pushed the hand holding the cup meant for him forward, the steam moving along with your motion, quickly catching his attention and causing him to shift his weight further back into himself. "I uh, got this for you… seen you around and thought you could use something warm. You're always wearing those gloves so I uh, I figured you hated being cold. Listen I get it, but I'm still gonna drink my coffee iced no matter the weather, even though it's uh, pretty warm. Just not today I guess, figured we’d have the same thing... " a dying exhale left your lips, muted amusement dripping from the light quip you hoped would help calm him.

It didn't.

He barely moved an inch, his head never once moving to find your line of sight or even to allow a breath of air to enter his chest. The twitch in his fingers started up, one you'd only ever seen from a few yards away but it looked as violent up close as it did from afar. He swallowed sharply, a harsh sound that presented pained and forced as if it was the only action he could muster to show any sort of recognition of the act in which you were trying to do. But the shake in which his hand reached out to you for the coffee was everything you needed to know that you'd do it again.

And again and again.

And then he briskly pushed past you.

*******

That first order was meant to be a kind gesture. An act of something, anything, to mask the way you couldn't ignore the feeling of your heart clinging to your rib cage; the pressure constricting your breathing and solidifying a foreign quake within your chest anytime you caught sight of that dark cap with soft locks of chestnut peaking out.

He always seemed cold. You didn't know what it was, but the air around him visibly shrink-wrapped itself to anyone or anything in his close proximity. Maybe that was why you felt so frozen with him. His air was all-consuming even though you’d only been in his immediate vicinity for one moment in time. Though, he was always right there; a correlation could be made. The very air meant to sustain him, always betraying him. He was never meant to carry it in such a way. It still followed him.

But everything seemed to respond to him; it was this that made you itch. His stature was timid while weaving in and out of the rows of produce, but it was a commanding presence— that in each of his tentative movements seemed to absorb little bits of life as if it was the first time; the roll of a grape falling from his gloved hands and bouncing down the side of a cart, the way an apple gleamed at him after he brushed a speck of dirt from its skin. He couldn’t have known the compelling intensity his feet carried. The most terrifying of angels don’t know the span of their wings, they only know that they were burdened with being carried by them.

*******

You went back the next week hoping to find him there. 1:45 on the dot, he showed up.

A red undershirt peeking out of his worn brown riding jacket, black gloves, and a baseball cap resting snugly against his hairline. You ordered another coffee for him, quickly tapping your foot along with the fast rhythm of your heart, unaware you even had nerves so strongly at the idea of another encounter. He'd think you were stalking him now; surely there'd be no positive way for him to view this.

But you needed to know him. There was something about him you needed to touch.

Grabbing the drink, heading out towards where he was, this time in front of a cart of plums and fresh cherries, he seemed more certain. Quickly sifting over the plums and pointing to the man behind the bin to let him know it was that, he'd wanted.

There was a very subtle curl of his upper lip, for a brief moment, his eyes making contact with the man and immediately parting the other way the second the produce was in his gloved hands— it left his face as quickly as it appeared. Turning without looking, he walked directly into your path, halting briskly before having an accident that would involve completely knocking you over.

You always seemed to be right there.

He tensed, his shoulders instinctively curling inward as his hands began their familiar trembles, trying his best to ground himself tightly around the plastic bag.

"Sorry to startle you but uh, I got you another coffee." This time, he stared— long and hard at the hand extended out towards him. It seemed like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, time seemed to still with him.

It was as if he'd never seen someone hold something so unique to him before; as if it wasn't just a cup of coffee that cost a few dollars; as if no one had afforded him this kind of kindness in decades.

If only you then knew of the horrors concealed behind each twitch of his hand.

You watched as his eyes focused on the cup, his height granting you the privilege to finally get a good look at his pensive features.

He was beautiful. Nothing like you'd seen in movies, but the type of beauty only artists could capture. It was the kind of staggering air that overwhelmed and sang to you in the oldest of ways, in the darkest recesses of memory— he was captured there, too. A painting only grew more mysterious and remarkable as it was studied, and you couldn't help but suddenly understand the impossible task artists had of capturing their muse.

You wanted the challenge.

His eyes shone a dark blue that only seemed to grow crystallized the longer he stared in rushed thought. They were haunting— severely so that their color burned something you'd never seen captured before that moment. Your transfixed gaze followed to where they were tightly pointed, seeing that he was stuck on the paper sleeve meant to shield hands from the sting of the heat swallowing the cup.

It seemed to bother him; maybe he was one of those types that felt it did worse for the planet than it did to help the heat from seeping through. With the assumptions you'd made about him, conserving the environment wasn't at the top of the list.

But you caught something in how he stared at the thin cardboard, his glower sinking deeper into the crevices of his face. As if the thin wrapping somehow was a hindrance to enjoying the hot drink, causing the coffee to spoil before he even brought it to his lips. Growing anxious in your own thoughts, you quickly clear your throat in the hope his eyes would finally find yours.

A slight raise in his eyebrows caught your attention, so quickly you almost missed it— had you not been so focused on the mesmerizing spectacle in front of you, you surely would’ve— but it happened nonetheless. It was the recognition that someone stood in front of him, wanting to offer him something meant entirely for him, no charge or expectation necessary.

He slowly reached his hand out towards the cup, the tremor still evident but severely calm compared to the times you'd watched it shake the past few weeks. He took it from you, the cardboard around the cup catching in his leather glove as he attempted to find a comfortable position to hold the small drink between his large palm.

Nodding his head at you, his eyes never left your face as you smiled softly at him.

A smile.

It was subtle. One of those smiles that barely changed the way your face appeared, but Bucky didn’t care. It was the first smile he could remember being directed towards him in a very long time, and from you.

Could you hear how abruptly the beat of his heart stilled?

With another look at the cardboard, wrinkling and pulling at his glove, his eyes shifted back to your face. They brushed along the creases and curves; noting how your eyelashes seemed to dance with the soft blink of your eyes; how the corners of them wrinkled in quiet delight; trying his best to take every single inch into memory— one small last glance at the smile awarded to him, before brushing past you as if he was never there.

*******

It became routine. Each week you went to visit him, you'd grab him a drink and offer a kind smile.

Week after week, again and again and again.

After a few weeks, he seemed to grow more comfortable in his environment. The skittish glances at the sea of people around him seemed to fade the more he grew aware of the vendors and the frequent shoppers of the market.

You filed the assumption that routine was a familiar friend to him away in the back of your mind.

The occasional quick movement and loud shriek of a child startled him, the twitch in his hand and curl of his shoulders a reflex. But his body language had changed a little since you first saw him, and now— he would look you in the eye directly when you handed him his coffee.

"You didn't come last week." His voice— that was new— gravelly and dry from lack of use, but it was heavenly all the same. He clutched the small cup to his chest as his eyes watched the steam leave the lid.

And he'd noticed you weren't there. How were you to know that you'd become part of his routine— the part he looked most forward to week after week.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. I wasn't feeling too well so I was here on Tuesday instead." He watched as you fidgeted with the idea to say more, your mouth opening and closing as your eyes looked all around you.

"Bucky," his voice startled you.

"I'm sorry?"

"My name,” he whispered with pointed certainty, “Bucky."

"Bucky…that's uh, that's really nice to know. I'm—"

And as you told him your name, the atmosphere shifted once more.

*******

It was instant, the way you both craved the other. He’d been watching you all those weeks prior as you smiled at the baristas, how you tucked your shoulder under the thin strap of your bag as it would constantly fall down your arm, the way your eyes always moved with the purpose of knowing, the way your lips curled with all the secrets to living he grew jealous of longing to hear.

He wanted to be known by you.

He offered a piece of himself to you that day. You didn't know it then, but it was that first moment that you'd afforded him the kindness of a drink he'd never sip that he fell struck by you. Now, offering his name was just his first step towards his own reclamation. One he'd have to prepare himself for, and now you.

*******

The first time you'd entered his apartment, you felt it. It took him a few tries but he finally mustered the courage to have you see this part of him. He needed you to.

After weeks of anxious interactions, long glances and soft smiles filled with unspoken conversation, a weird stupor overtook the room. The intimacy of the moment was not missed by either of you— and you knew he felt something, too.

He stood in the doorway watching you take in his small space, the space that felt nothing more than a solitary confinement cell for his damage. The space where he only knew the tremor of continuous recounts of nightmares and agony— but his reckless thoughts fell still as he caught wind of how your perfume broke through the tortured air; with how the soft pads of your fingers left their prints on the layers of dust collected on his tabletop; enamored with the light catching your eyes as you gracefully waltzed around the room— completely tainting the space with you.

His breath caught in his lungs, the pressure twisting and squeezing vivaciously up the tunnel of his throat. He couldn’t help but rub his hand over the strangled asphyxiation he was feeling in his heart, actively trying something, anything, to subdue it. As you shrugged your bag off of your shoulder and placed it on his counter, he had one thought: surely you’d be his ruin.

The sight of you, the sight of something that was entirely yours making a place for itself in the midst of his chaos was enough to confirm the way in which you’d managed to wrap yourself around his heart.

He kept denying it, kept ignoring the nag he felt to feel you, to know you. But seeing you make yourself at home, for the first time, in the place he never considered that of his own was enough to grant justification for his reverie.

He was given this glimpse of what you looked like in his life and he never wanted to know anything but.

His place was small, but in a way that seemed fitting for the manner in which he carried himself. Dishes and cutlery strewn recklessly about, a few pieces of paper and empty food boxes placed unceremoniously about the space of the kitchen, napkins and coffee cups littered his small kitchen table, but all with an odd sense of order. Through the open floor plan of the apartment, you had a view of every wall, crevice, and door of the space. There weren't many rooms, but there was a door that led to a bathroom and what you assumed to be a bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar, a mirror visible to you from where you were standing, broken. A web of cracks spidering out from the middle in what you could only assume was provided by a fist.

Ignoring the pull you felt to the glass, you turned your attention back to the kitchen, where Bucky was quietly watching you. It was messy, but you didn’t mind. He felt okay showing you himself in this way and you would take it, more than thankful for the opportunity to know him.

The table, however, seemed beyond familiar upon viewing. The coffee you'd been getting for him; lined up, stacked in some areas, coupled together in others in a messy array amongst his mess.

He blushed at the sight, forgetting that he'd been collecting the cups over the last few months that the beautiful stranger had been gifting him. The thought of you ever being a stranger to him tugged him back to focus, his hand reaching behind his head to rub at his reddened neck, harshly trying to get a grip on something that felt tangible while your perfume continued to permeate the reality he never knew was his to have.

The confusion on your face was not missed by Bucky as you walked towards the cups. You seemed baffled more than anything; how were you to know he needed them? That he had to hold on to them, to keep them close so he’d never forget the feeling of receiving them?

If that wasn’t surprising enough, almost all of them were still filled to the lid— untouched— just another victim succumbed to his cold air.

He hated coffee. How were you supposed to know? The thought occurred to him a few times that he should probably tell you. You’d been buying him drinks for weeks now, all burning cold and wasted. But what if you stopped meeting him? What if you took his distaste for the drink as an offense? He remained quiet on the matter, although he had an inkling you already knew. But god he'd pretend to like coffee for as long as you kept granting him the pleasure.

Looking closer, a tower of cardboard sleeves was nestled in between a few of the cups. Bucky noted how your eyebrows knitted together and how you slowly blinked a few times before reaching your hand out. Those damn cup holders; a few of them seemed to have senseless scribbles of writing along the fronts of them.

Of course you’d known the way he always fixated on them, the way the thin material would cling to his gloves and cause frustration to overtake him— but he'd kept them? He’d kept them even after telling you why he hated them?

The memory of you finding out his true disdain with them danced in the front of your mind as the newfound air of his apartment continued to overwhelm you. The aching ping you had grown all too familiar with slowly overcame the lull of your chest:

"Bucky? Why do you hate those things?"

"They get stuck." He briskly stated, the thought seemingly something he assumed was already obvious to you.

"But you could take it off. Or take the gloves off. You never take them off... at least around me, you don't."

His eyes cast downward, the brim of his hat was all you could see— an unfortunate sight of worn edges and ripped fabric you'd come all too familiar with. He could use a new hat.

"It's warm."

"What?"

"The cup... I like when I feel it through my glove."

"Yeah, but isn’t it too hot? It can burn you, Bucky…"

He hums out a huff of air, a mocking that is evident in the crease between his eyes and the shake of his head— almost a laugh but not nearly joyous enough to be called one, "Better than not feeling it at all."

His chest heaved, exhaling a shaky breath. Taking his gloves off, the sound pierced you, planting a new emotion to bloom. The sigh surrounded you— almost as disastrously as the depth of the floods that constantly drowned him— as he removed his gloves for the first time.

Right glove first, then the left.

His right hand immediately wrapped itself around the piping hot drink; the action seeming to ground him, the warmth from the cup reminding him he was there, holding something between fingers that he could feel. He kept his head down and his lips tightly pursed, so he wouldn’t have to see the faces of those running around the market he assumed would be staring at the shiny metal. But it wasn’t truly that— it was a burning desire, never wanting to offer you any words that could express the torrents raging in his mind. He would shield you from those for as long as he could.

But you wanted them.

You rushed forward, slowing to regain some sense of your composition once you realized how much haste you’d acted with, a soft hand wrapping itself around the metal wrist hanging burdensome at his side. The first time you’d ever touched him— on a limb he’d never know the weight of your caress on. But boy, did he feel it.

Tears pooled in his eyes at the sight of you trying your hardest to ground him in a moment you didn’t expect; the overwhelming thought he’d never know what it was like to feel your fingers dance down the length of his metal arm; to feel your fingertips tease softly at the skin there. But you wanted to touch him all the same, to have him know you felt him.

You decided you'd never order a coffee without asking them to remove the cardboard sleeve. And you’d never go another day without holding his left hand tightly in yours.

"You kept these?" you breathed, wonderment and awe apparent, but you couldn't help yourself. Running your fingers along the dust clinging to some of the cups, you felt the weight of liquid slosh around some of them. "Most of ‘em are nearly full, Buck..."

"I need them."

"You need them?" He curtly nodded his head at you, his eyes never leaving the mess littering his table. He cleared his throat slightly and moved closer to the table, rocking his weight gently back and forth between the balls of his feet. His hand brushed against yours as he grabbed the cup you'd been holding in amazement.

A small smile graced his features, his eyes glazed over with something you'd swallow for him if asked, an emotion you never wanted him to feel alone, ever again.

"I don't have much, but I have your coffee. And that's enough for me."

There it was again, that strange propel of air shifting the atmosphere.

That day, you both cleaned his apartment, top to bottom. Emptying the old coffee cups down his drain, but stacking them in one another, using some as a centerpiece on his table, and picking a few flowers from the market to stuff inside them.

Cleaning his apartment together became something new to add to his routine. Another thing to look forward to with you.

*******

Weekly encounters soon turned into bi-weekly meetings. Several meet-ups throughout the week to daily, daily lunches or dinners morphing into continued hours of lunch, dinner, and the soft swaddling under blankets on the couch.

It was bliss.

He slowly started opening up to you. About his past, about the things he could remember, or the lack thereof. He’d tell you about the lives he’d lived and the ones he was trying to piece together to come to terms with, the different names and titles that came along with them. Sometimes he couldn't find the voice to express the grief that overcame him so he'd write you short letters, short notes to let you know what he was always thinking. When he couldn’t muster the strength to do that, he’d let you wrap your arms around him, bringing him to sit closely next to you on his couch or to bring the seat of your chair close to his.

He showed you his notebooks. Besides your coffee cups, he seemed to only collect another mess of journals— pages covered in nonsensical ramblings, short snippets of memories he'd had, newspaper clippings adorned with the faces of America’s own Steve Rogers, terrible doodles and drawings of places and faces of people he'd remembered.

They were his life, all he had to remind himself of who he was as he reintegrated himself into this new world.

But what struck you most about the life he held messily between the walls of those fragile journals were the few articles he’d found and kept pertaining to himself. A picture of one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the handsome and fearless young man who was supposedly the only of The Howling Commandos to lose his life in service.

And yet, here he sat. A precious, wounded, little boy, forced to live inside an almost 100-year-old’s body.

You could only imagine what he felt like, waking out of the horrors that eroded his reality for decades to now try and join back together with a life that he could no longer call familiar.

It broke your heart— he shouldn’t be here with you right now in this small apartment in Romania. For many reasons. You shouldn’t know him, logic and emotion and ethics don’t measure up to something of his size. And yet, here he is.

*******

He’d been having a rough week. The cold weather of the fall months had quickly snuck up on you both and they brought in a new wave of terrors for Bucky. Nightmare after nightmare, memories reappearing and overwhelming him in the worst of times, dizzy spells that seemed to be occurring more frequently the less he slept, panic attacks and episodes of violent emotions spoiling every breath and blink of his eye— he was having a bad day.

You immediately assumed the worst when he failed to meet you at the market, 1:45 like usual. 1:53 rolled around, your nerves growing but nothing too great yet.

Maybe he was late.

2 o’clock came and went, the number continued rising, taunting you as the minutes kept adding up. He’d never not shown up before; he would never do that. Coming to the market and getting a coffee from you after buying his fruit was something he always did. He had told you it was something he needed to do, no matter how close you two became. Bucky sought to feel wanted, and that is what your kindness allowed him.

Looking at the face of your watch, the numbers mocked you: little hand in between the 2 and the 3, big hand just ticking to pass the 3. Clutching your bag to your chest, not even bothering to grab him a coffee, your feet spun you around and picked up their pace before you could think otherwise. Running to his apartment, every terrible and horrible thought you’d been hiding in the back of your mind all came to a sharp head.

What if someone took him? What if they found him? What if he had to run away and didn’t tell you beforehand? What if he left?

‘Please be okay, please be okay, please’ screaming throughout your bloodstream. You needed to see him.

Turning the corner of his hall, your veins ran frigid. Loud screams and chokes of air made their way directly through his door and into the pit of your stomach. Gripping a hand around your arm to steady yourself, the sharp and pained sounds leaving the body of the man who hardly voiced anything propelled your body forward.

‘Please be okay, please be okay, please Bucky…’ singing inside your chest, the deep vibration of pain you always fought with effectively ripped deeper by the sounds of loud banging and the crashes of what could only be ceramic coming from behind the door. Preparing yourself for the worst, you swallowed your fears and tried to put on a brave face, banging as softly but commanding as you could on his door. “Bucky? Buck, it’s me. Let me in…”

The restless motion behind it stopped, the noise seemed to cease altogether as your hand rested against the wood of the door. The shuffling of his feet was heard and the rattling of a handle was all you could try and focus on as frantic thoughts ran wildly through your brain.

The door swung open and stole all the breath from within you.

His eyes were bloodshot, wet tracks of tears clinging to his face, tears still streaming down the reddened apples of his cheeks, his hair was wild and recklessly matted to the sweat and tears of his face and neck. He was shirtless and appeared larger than ever, but the pain he wore on display effectively wiped you of all thoughts other than fixing whatever it was that was plaguing him.

“Bucky… what’s wrong?” His chin trembled as his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his arms shook violently as they tried their best to wrap around his quivering middle.

You quickly took a step into his apartment, shutting the door and ushering him further into the room. His body was warm even though you hadn’t put a hand on him, you could feel his suffering rolling off of him in hot cascades of pain.

You wanted to hold him, to tightly cling to him while he let all his worries and storms melt into you. You didn’t care if you drowned, you needed him to be okay. But how would he react in a state like this?

Your hands moved to his elbows, rubbing softly at them as he tried to hold himself together, tightening his arms around his still shaking frame. His eyes opened at your touch, the crystal clear wells looking deeply into those of your own, calming him internally more than he ever could’ve shown.

“Breathe with me, okay Bucky? Can you try that for me?” He shook his head violently, hiccups and a fresh wave of tears erupting from him, but he kept his gaze focused on you and his mind on the feel of your soft fingers caressing the flesh of his elbow and the metal of the other.

Wrapping your fingers tighter around his arms you squeezed harshly at his right, hoping to ground him with a feeling he’d be able to place if he knew where it was coming from. He watched your lips and the way they wrinkled and stretched in their movement as you continuously breathed in through your nose and exhaled out of your mouth, completely unaware it had already been a minute of your exaggerated attempts to get him to follow you.

“Baby, come on, you gotta try for me…” you let the name slip from your lips before you could think otherwise, but you were desperate, his mind seemed to leave him hollow and boneless in front of you, something raging inside him but refusing to give itself a name.

His eyes frantically searched yours, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t breathe, the air wasn’t entering his lungs no matter how hard he gasped for breath. More tears escaped him, his vision beyond saving, but he could only focus on the feel of your fingers.

Desperately your hands moved to his face, grabbing his cheeks between your palms softly while you thumbed away his tears before fresh ones fell. “Close your eyes, listen to my voice Bucky…”

He hesitantly shut them, the sound of your breathing, loud and erratic coursing through his veins. His enhanced hearing allowed him a reprieve of focus, mainly on the sound of your frantic heart beating in time with his. When did your hearts learn to sing to the same tune?

Your fingers remained cradled tightly to his face, the stubble of his jaw feeling remarkably soothing enough for your original worries. He was right here in front of you, even though he seemed far off.

You cooed gently in reassuring hums as another set of hiccups caught in his throat, his chest and shoulders heaving with the after-effects of losing too much air. “Shhh you’re okay, I’m here with you. Won’t let anything happen to you. Just want my Bucky breathing again, okay? Let’s try.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, willing his mind to allow him a moment to breathe.

He never seemed to be able to.

Your hands shook along with the movements of his body, but the quake of your fingers was entirely of your own temperament. You’d never seen him like this. Hell, you’d never seen anything like this. The air slowly regained a place inside of him, his body still buzzing with the adrenaline he experienced from his episode.

As his lungs slowly filled, his tears never stopped, cheeks now glistening for an entirely different reason. Bringing his forehead down to yours, your fingers never leaving his face for a moment, brushing smooth circles into the wet and puffy skin.

He never wanted you to see him like this, and now you had.

“Bucky, look at me…” you whispered once his heart seemed to be beating normally again. His eyes stayed tightly shut as his head rested against yours. He didn’t want a moment this intimate to be shared with you, not like this. He shook his head, a firm ‘no’ present in his movement.

You only clutched his face tighter, your fingers stopping their motions and holding him firmly against you. “Please, please look at me. I need to see those eyes.”

He squeezed them even tighter, his head moving slightly up and down willing himself to follow your request. Letting his hands find their way to your hips, pulling your frame close to his as he breathed deeply, in and out, just like you’d shown him. He opened his eyes to you.

It was haunting— why were his eyes, completely undeserving of the torment they faced, so striking? Their blue swirled clear with poignant clarity— it was like you were finally getting to see him for the first time.

“Hi baby, y’scared me there. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay Bucky, I’m here for you.” His hands traveled up until they gripped tightly around your wrists, holding them captive to the sides of his face.

It was painful. Certainly, he didn’t realize the strength of his hands as he squeezed them around you. But you didn’t move— you’d never dare. He needed this and you’d endure all of the pain in the world if it gave him even the smallest moment of identity.

“Why don’t we get you in the shower? Then we can sit for a while. Does that sound okay?” He hesitated, his eyes filling with what you only assumed a million anxious thoughts, his eyes flickering hurriedly between your own. You smiled softly, a pained one, your thumbs brushing over the high points of his face. “Let me take care of you. Don’t want you to worry about a thing.”

You shook his face lightly, wanting the words you were speaking to sink in. He closed his eyes, the weight of the last few hours hitting him all at once. Exhaustion was a cruel enemy.

“Promise it won’t be weird. Won’t stay in there if you do—”

“Please,” a whisper so quiet, you only heard it because you watched his lips move to form it.

“Okay.” Dragging him to the bathroom wasn’t too much of a task, but trying to figure out how to keep him calm and comfortable was the challenge.

Should you help him take off the rest of the clothing he was wearing? Did he want you to stay in the bathroom with him? Was it weird you wanted to wash him up yourself? Would he let you see him like this?

He sensed your questions, the same ones flooding his own mind as he placed a towel on the cover of the toilet.

“Stay…” a whisper, simple enough.

You’d stay.

It was oddly comforting, sitting there as he washed himself new behind the sheer curtain. It was intimate— not invasive or brazen. It felt right. The room remained completely silent apart from the rapids of water hitting the tile of the tub and the skin of his back as he worked the hot water around his body. The faint scent of his patchouli and sandalwood shampoo filling the air and bringing you a renewed sense of peace. He would be okay.

The urge to spread some of the comfort between your hands and massage them along his scalp, running your fingers through the tangled locks as they reappeared soft and new; to wash all signs of exhaustion elsewhere; to help cleanse all of the decades of abuse and horrors that still plagued him away; the urge— beat dangerously inside of your chest.

Your stupor was broken as he cleared his throat, turning off the water, the noise a sign for you to hand him the towel you’d been sitting on. Moving to hand the towel to him, you turn your head to offer some privacy, unwillingly facing the broken mirror that hung shamefully on the wall. Your eyes met in the cracked glass, fragments of his face disfigured and clustered unprettily, rendering you unable to look away from the troubled man your heart always beat for.

How could he view himself in this way? Why?

The length of the scars of his shoulder appeared red and raw, angry from the severe heat with which he washed himself. His face seemed less puffy than before, but the slight tremble of his lip and the twitch of his fingers was there, eyes wide and red as ever. Observing how he repulsively stared into his ruined reflection— it was a sight you suddenly felt was all too familiar to him.

Tears filled your eyes, he was so beautiful and didn’t allow himself to know it. Bucky noticed a lone, heavy tear, trail down the side of your face.

The impulse to rush forward and take him in your arms, softly tracing his vibrant scars with words of love and the caress of your fingers was aggressive. You pulled yourself out of your retreating thoughts, wiping at the tear quickly muttering, “Dry off Bucky, meet you in the kitchen.” He nodded his head, looking down at the towel between his hands as you glanced one last time at him through the dismembered shards. You left a piece of yourself with him in that bathroom.

He quickly moved to his room, finishing his routine there, grabbing a change of sweats and a light t-shirt to throw over his damp body. He couldn’t be bothered to fully dry himself, he needed to be near you.

His feet carried him to the kitchen as he tried to get his arms and head through the sleeves, getting stuck on the wet droplets still clinging messily about him. He groaned, his head accidentally trying to fit through the armhole and his metal arm completely being ostracized from having one. The shirt was never going to get on him the way he’d been trying.

“C’mere, I got it. You put it on wrong Buck.” Meeting him halfway, you softly lift the shirt from his body, repositioning the holes so he’d be easily able to slip through, correctly. As you did, your hands brushed against the raised scarring of his left shoulder, a sharp chill running through him as he quickly inhaled at the surprising touch. “Sorry…” you mumbled. The shirt breached his waist, your hands couldn’t help but smooth over his chest and shoulders, brushing softly at the skin and rough abrasions you felt even through the layer of material.

His eyes never left yours, not wanting to miss any of the reprieve your tender care was providing.

He didn’t deserve it, he told himself. He didn’t deserve you.

“Go sit.” He nodded at your call, sitting down and pulling a chair flush to his so that the legs and frames of them were kissing. His red eyes looked expectantly up at you, waiting for you to come to join him.

Grabbing two of your paper cups from off of the counter, you moved to the sink to fill them with water. Noticing a pen sitting idly in the crease of where the wall met the stove, you picked it up, writing in your quickest of hand ‘For my Bucky♡’, along the outside. Bringing them back to the table he sat at, you placed them down in front of you both, smiling shyly at him as he watched you.

Looking towards the cup in front of him, his eyes visibly widened, not in size but in understanding. The blue mixed seamlessly with the raw redness of them as they grew, swelling with more unshed emotion to the reality of you sitting with him in his kitchen, offering one of your cups to him after the panic attack he’d faced; this time, with a note.

‘For my Bucky’— and with a heart. The sentiment bounced gleefully around every nerve of his body. He was somebody’s, and not for any reason other than the fact that he was him.

For the first time in a very long time, he felt a sense of belonging— he wasn’t alone.

His lips twitched, trying to fight any and every emotion boiling to bubble over, his mind sending him into overdrive with all the feelings he experienced after a day like this one.

Selfishly, you liked seeing him here. Not in the throes of his demons— no. But in the mist that lingered after their visits.

His guard was down, he was honest with you. His body may have betrayed his wishes, but it let you know he’d needed care. He needed you. No brooding cap or unnecessary layers required, fresh and thorough emotions on display for you to help him understand. You couldn’t help but stare at him in this new light; still just as beautiful as ever, but now in a way that was authentically real.

His skin shone warm even though it seldom saw the rays of the Bucharest sun. Even after an emotionally draining spell such as the one he’d faced, he had a glow that was littered with small freckles and scars, some dark and some soft, woven into the skin that kept him. You couldn’t help but stare. His face visibly softened gazing at you, and the tunnel vision in which he saw you shone behind the blue eyes you so often dreamt of.

Could he hear the way your heart leapt to the top of your throat?

Your hands moved before your mind could stop you, light strokes of your knuckles against the curve of his forehead, running down the apples of his scruffy cheeks and into the dimple of his chin. His hair was still wet from the shower, ringlets of tousled curls clumped and dripping lightly over the shoulders of his shirt. Your right hand moved to push its way through the roots of his scalp, softly combing through the locks that perfectly framed his face.

Even after the horrendous sobs that captivated his body, he gleamed with a cherubic beauty.

As you continued carding your hand through his hair, letting your fingers fall from his scalp to the base of his neck, you admired his lips, plump and red, calling out to you. Your ring finger slid down to trace softly over the swell of them, outlining the soft flesh a few times hoping to ingrain the very feel of them deep into your memory. The images of him biting roughly at them as he was in the midst of such violent distress only just a few moments ago strangled your lungs. They still sat impossibly soft, the divots of teeth marks and dried blood doing nothing to taint the beauty of him.

He never stopped your movements, allowing your hands to explore the skin he’d been craving you to touch.

It was addicting and it was all too much.

The light brush of your fingers reminded him too greatly of the difference between the two of you. Who he was and who you were, he could never think of ruining something so perfect. Still, his eyes closed— selfishly— wanting to feel all you’d give him for a moment longer.

Your hands found their way to the curves of his neck, resting there while you took in the image of him basking in your touch. The pads of your left hand made their way down his arm, stroking and pressing soft circles into the skin. Moving up and down, he shivered, the action one he hadn’t felt in a long time, not that he could ever remember something quite like your touch.

You continued to trail the span of his forearm, tracing the veins that called out to you. His soft sighs and shivers only fueled you, the calming effect your fingers seemed to have spurring your need to feel all of his sweet shudders.

Coaxing the evenness of his breathing, feeling the steady thump of his pulse under the digits of your fingers, you continued spidering your fingers tenderly along his forearm. The softness of your actions caused his eyes to flutter closed once more. His lips softly parted as goosebumps ignited at your touch, dancing along his skin.

Once he appeared completely calm and put at ease, you reluctantly stopped your delicate motions, opting to rest your hand softly atop the back of his hand.

"Can you…” he trailed off, his arm nudging softly into the warmth of your palm. Mistaking his action for discomfort, you quickly remove your hand from his body in embarrassment, clearing your throat and offering a forced grimace.

“No I meant… can-can you keep doing that? Please…".

He chuckled; something you weren’t used to hearing; his head lowering in unbridled meekness, mocking the words that were about to escape him, “This is uh, a lot for me. You’re so…”

Your eyes focused on his facial features, the way a scarlet hue bloomed along the high points of his cheeks, the way his wet eyes followed along each and every inch of your skin, etching it deep into his memory. Placing your hand back on his forearm and nodding at his unvoiced confession, you knew exactly what he was trying to say.

You saw it in the way he looked at you; you looked at him with the same reverence. ‘You’re so… everything I never knew I needed’. That’s what he felt, that’s what he wanted to say.

“I know Buck. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know, baby.”

For the first time since you met him, he smiled. Brightly and widely.

“Hey, you forgot my coffee…”

*******

It was never explicitly said, but you were Bucky’s person. His angel, his protector, the one he longed to shield from the horrors of the world. It was intense.

Bucky had a burning itch for you, the need to constantly be near you— to feel you. It was thrilling for him, the prospect of having something entirely for his own; a someone who held every piece of him— his past, his present, his future— his heart, in the fragile palms of their hands.

He never shied away from your fingers, always seeking their gentle motions along the skin of his back and forearm. It became his favorite feeling.

But it didn’t stop the demons from slipping inside the cracks of this life he was slowly creating.

Walking past the bathroom one night, the door was open while Bucky got out of the shower. That wasn't uncommon, he always left the door open, scared to close off any aspect of his life to yours. He was frozen, staring into the distorted shards of the mirror. At least 12 Bucky’s stared back at him, all of them appearing more cracked and broken than the neighboring.

His eyes were unblinking, the rounds of them reaching the furrowed point of his brow, a heavy crease set between the middle. He visibly shrunk himself inside of his own home, inside of his own bathroom walls. You’d replace that damn mirror.

And you did.

It bothered him, the fact that you’d been so keenly observing him that you knew the effect the shattered object had on him. You made him sit on the lid of the toilet as you removed the broken bits and hung the fresh slab, your reflection clear and bright inside.

He stared, watching the way you didn’t flinch at the sight of him in it. Your soft smile met his eyes, motioning for him to come to join you. He reluctantly stood, unable to ever deny your request.

Blue eyes bore into the glass, staring sharply at the no longer physically marred image.

You left him alone for a moment, taking in the way his eyes raked over the image looking back at him, pain and disdain crying from each slow blink of his eye. Not with tears, but in feeling.

He stayed there for longer than you thought he would, only blinking at the reflection looking back at him. Walking up behind him you wrapped your arms around him, grabbing purchase of his shoulders, softly scratching your fingers up and down the shoulder of his right arm and smoothing the tissue of the left. "You deserve to see yourself how I do," you whispered into the shirt of his back. "I want you to know how much I need that for you."

You watched as his expression changed, taking in your words. The weight of them dancing around behind his eyes, overwhelming him with what little you'd said— but you asked the world of him. Something impossible.

His eyes closed, unable to hold the gaze of your tear-ridden ones through the reflection mirrored back to him.

Bucky sunk back into your embrace, his eyes still closed, but you grounded him even in the rush of the moment. He was so tired.

But for you, he’d try.

Your lips softly moved to brush across the back of his shoulders, the first time your lips had ever pressed against any part of him. His eyes opened, not to meet yours in the mirror, but to watch the way your hands clung to him, the way your fingers looked pressing into the flesh underneath his clothing, the way your head looked brushing against the back of him as you held him closer to you.

Moments spent appreciating Bucky in the mirror became another part of his routine.

As did the caress of your lips.

*******

Some days were better than others. He'd voice more than just brief greetings and soft whispers of affection. He'd hold conversation about how he was feeling, what was troubling his mind that afternoon, the demons he faced last night in the hour he managed to get some sleep.

You didn't care how few and far in between this occurred. You wanted it all. You wanted him.

He'd been quickly getting a smile back since you initiated that first encounter. You never knew what it looked like before all the pain he'd been forced to endure; but if it was anything like the one that would greet you when he opened the door for you; the one you'd feel against the skin of your neck when he wrapped himself around you; the smile you fixated on coaxing from his as you took care of him in the bath, tears still flowing down his cheeks as you tried to ground him after a nightmare or particularly jarring episode; you knew it was divine.

He knew he was in trouble when you started making your way into his nightmares. The angel he'd come to worship in his reality, tarnished with visions of crimson taint and tortured screams. Some of his, almost all of them, yours.

Anything good he ever had come to know was always ripped from his grasp. Bucky had no control over the way you had captivated him and he had no control over the way you could just as easily be ripped from him.

Too many nights; more frequent now than ever; waking up to the tumultuous tremors shaking and twisting him, pained sobs and cries of terror searing and clawing through every crevice of his sorrow-ridden body. Bucky didn't know what was real anymore; how could he?

Clinging to him, you rocked him gently against you as he sobbed into the crook of your neck. Hot droplets of his anguish and frustration searing your skin, marring the peaceful reverie he had come to know.

"Let's wash you up baby… " you mumbled into the skin of his neck, tightening your arms around him. Soft brushes of your nose tracing the freckles along his throat as light kisses were peppered into his shoulder.

Moving him towards the bathroom he spoke, “I thought they took you."

"Who, baby?"

"The men in my nightmares.”

The sound of your heart bursting at the seams soared through you, “I’m right here Bucky, no one will take me from you.”

“Those men...what’s to stop them from being here when I'm awake?”

“I won’t let them.” You grabbed his face in your hands, bringing his eyes to meet yours.

“But, I’m there too. They made me hurt you…I didn’t want to. I tried so hard not to...”

It always went this way. And you’d be there to hold him and wash it all away.

*******

Bucky was a man of few words, the strength he found to put into voiced opinions and matters of the heart were scarce, but always when necessary.

Where the words failed him, he showed you with every fiber of his being. Intimacy was something you never knew to be so holy.

Touching you was sacred; your touch felt of celestial consecration. The moment you came into his life, his hands began trembling for very different reasons. Awe and reverence always graced your body, his hands ghosting along your arms blazing to wrap himself around you.

He hadn’t grown comfortable with his metal arm just yet. He’d made loads of progress, the newfound ability to look into the mirror being one of the biggest steps towards his refocus with identity; but the harrowing appendage staring back at him altered what he knew to be him.

Touching you with the cool metal of his extremity was not something he wanted. Many of his dreams involved the force of the arm, weaponizing it as an item in his mind more than allowing for him to see it as a part of him.

At least, not until he heard the soft whine that slipped from your lips the day it brushed past your throat, moving to rest behind your ear.

And he did it again.

Tracing his metal hand along the base of your throat, his fingers ghosting up the length of your neck to grab softly at the side of your face.

He liked touching you, more than he could ever find enjoyment in verbalizing. He’d much rather listen to you, and his new infatuation with physical comfort was the perfect way for you to both remedy this. A language only the two of you could share.

His lips would meet your temple, brushing over the soft skin, sliding his metal hand around the span of your neck— his way of asking how you were doing. 'Perfect', the flutter of your eyes would tell him.

The way your eyes fluttered closed left him remarkably captivated, more so than he usually found himself. It told him you were feeling stuck in this moment, too— never wanting to leave or know anything but.

It was love, he was certain of it. He never felt something so strongly before— nothing he could ever remember rivaled the intoxicating allure of this.

His hand found its way down the length of your spine, pulling you close as he let his mind melt with yours. His lips moved to trace words of unspoken anguish and want, pressing softly, growing more fervent, unashamedly mapping across any inch of skin he could find.

Just needing to hold you as close to him as possible, especially now he knew what it was like to feel you, to love you.

His lips spoke in hushed whispers of soft kisses and his teeth sang the cries of concern, tracing and marking his deepest thoughts into you.

'You're so perfect for me…'

'Never stop looking at me…’

'Your body is mine to worship…'

'Please let me…'

‘Ruin me— make me forget…’

'Never leave me…'

It was the language of that which was unsaid, unspoken pleas of desperation from the man who didn't need to tell you how you made him feel. You knew.

His touch always let you know.

*******

The summer months were there before either of you could’ve blinked. Tossing and turning in your bed, the air of the room felt too hot, the thick blankets usually necessary to keep you comfortable felt all too constricting. Of course, this happened to be afflicting you the one night Bucky finally seemed to be getting some decent sleep. His metal arm was tucked securely around you, his right arm holding himself against you, caging you between him and the mattress. His nose rested gently against your temple. He looked ethereal, so at peace for a brief moment in his life.

But even the sweet sighs of air leaving his pink lips couldn't calm the restless waves of insomnia.

Untucking yourself from him carefully, you place your pillow swiftly in the position you were once in. Moving to his kitchen, you fill a cup with water to calm your restlessness.

For a brief moment, the world seemed right. The lull of the air, albeit your inability to find rest, was manageable. The sigh of the night outside the kitchen window confirmed for you, you’d be alright.

After downing the remains of the cup, you move it to the tap once more to fill and bring back to the nightstand. Bucky loved a cup of water first thing when he woke up. But before you could even lift the handle, a scream echoed around the apartment.

More screams, his, piercing and vibrating all around you.

“Bucky…” you muttered, dropping the cup and running to him. His siren piercing you through and through in the short time since he called. Rushing to him, his body was frigid against the headboard— his fingers, his arms, his legs, completely stuck.

You’d never seen him this way.

“Bucky, it’s me. You’re okay…”. His empty wails continued, the petrified look of a man you didn’t recognize; he had to be sleeping. His mouth barely moved but the sounds managed to escape; you were sure they could be heard from miles around the stuffy apartment, you were certain of it. You made it to his side of the bed in what seemed to be one blurry and frantic stride, the panic bleeding out of every vein of your body. “Bucky! Bucky, wake up baby…”.

His wide eyes bore around the room even as you were standing right in front of him, your arms securely gripping onto his biceps.

But he couldn't find you, even while you squeezed with all your might, his frantic howls matched the detriment of his eyes darting recklessly around the room.

There were no tears, there was no sign of a panic attack or manic outburst. This was different.

Bucky wasn't fully out of whatever it was he'd dreamt of. You'd never seen his eyes look like that.

His eyes were dark, like they’d seen it all and then some. He was muttering something, chanting something over and over under the heat of his breath and wail of his cries— it looked a lot like the repetition of numbers or of some sort of name, but you couldn't be too sure. Not when he seemed to be outside of his own body and you had no way to ground the giant super soldier barely awake between your fingertips.

“Sergeant Barnes?” you called out. You’d try anything. His eyes snapped to yours, a shred of recognition at the title leaving your lips, effectively catching the attention of whatever this hallucination holding him captive seemed to be.

He shook his head at you, timid and wild eyes boring into yours. There were no signs of tears, but you felt them all the same.

Swallowing, you figured this was the only way to keep him from progressing worse, “Are you okay, sir?”

“I… I don’t know.” His gaze fixed looking at you, making you feel translucent even in the dark of the night.

“Would you like some water?” you croaked, unsure of what it was you were meant to do in a situation like this. He nodded. “Follow me.”

He timidly got up, his legs shaking as they tried their best to carry them to where you were leading him but you let the wobble of his walk affect you in silence. You couldn’t subject him to your tears, not in a state such as the one he seemed to be in. Pulling out a chair for him, you motioned for him to sit. Returning to the sink, you reached for the cup you’d written on all those weeks ago, filling it with water.

He watched your careful motions, nervous that at any second you’d do something to harm him. All fears dissipated when you handed him the cup, a soft but forced smile gracing the features of your face as tears escaped the corners of your eyes.

Puzzled, he accepted the drink, swallowing it down all too harshly. The cool liquid met the hoarse scratch of his throat and his eyes closed. Your hand immediately reached for him, his actions seeming all too similar to those of your sweet Bucky’s.

It was instinct, and fortunately, one he didn’t flinch from. His eyes met yours and for the first time that evening, Bucky was staring back at you. “Hi, angel…” he whispered.

A sob broke through your body as you crushed his face against your stomach, resting your head on the top of his as you rocked him side to side. His arms wound themselves tightly around you, pulling you close as he let his emotions out into the fabric of your shirt. You’d both be alright.

Keeping his arms wrapped tightly around you, he stood up and carried you back to bed, moving your legs to secure you around him. He placed you gently on the pillows, quickly moving to get under the covers and wrap himself against you. Your hands found their place in his hair and at the side of his neck, scratching and grazing his soft skin, grounding yourself with the feel of him under your fingertips. The slow beat of his heart against your stomach and the cool sighs of his breathing eased you into a sleep your body desperately needed.

Opening your eyes the next morning, he was still laying tightly around you. Your hands began their familiar motions, calming you in the soft light of the morning.

Moving under him gently, adjusting his head to rest softly in the crook of your neck, his worried eyes met yours. Bright blues still wide open, just as you’d left him last night. Rings of red surrounding them with the addition of darkened blues and purples underneath; they looked like large saucers, targets burdened with being shot at again and again.

Bucky carried the weight of targets no one could ever fathom. It was then you noticed how his hands were tightly fisted in the shirt you had on, white knuckles trembling briefly against your skin.

“Baby, did you get any sleep?” you hummed against the crown of his head. You already knew the answer, asking anyways with the need to let him know you were there.

He shook his face against you gently, moving himself to fit closer around you. “What can I do?” you whispered into the crease between his eyebrows.

“Just hold me,” he muttered, the soft rumbling muffled against your chest.

"Okay baby," pressing a kiss to his forehead, you nestled your face into the crown of his head.

It always went like this. You never asked for him to tell you what happened, what had rendered him prisoner in his own mind. He'd tell you if he wanted to. “‘M so sorry...” he whispered. Shame finally working its way up along his spine, drowning him there.

“Don’t you dare apologize. Bucky, I know there's nothing I can do to stop this, but that doesn't mean I won't try. Your pain is my pain, right?” you trail off, pulling his chin up softly to look you in the eye, “So we'll go take a shower and get some water in you. Okay?”

You’d be okay— you always assured him as such. It was in your embrace. It was in the few words you always knew just how to phrase and when to use them.

In your kiss, ‘your love is all I want in this life’; within a soft tickle, 'how did you ever know anything but’; housed inside of a firm caress, 'I will never let anything happen to you'. It consummated every worst fear into that of intimate understanding.

Your love— always fierce, verbosely wordless.

Bucky didn't expect words, he didn't want words. He'd done enough of searching, of piecing together and writing; he'd done enough of everything.

Longing for understanding and the desire of feeling— and feeling everything so deeply with you was a potent redemption.

Your love— the unspoken song of lovers.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky x f!reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #marvel #mcu imagine

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

originally i just wanted dream to recover, preferably in the syndicate. but after today's quackity lore? he deserves to fuck shit up for a bit. let him get his revenge. tommy got his revenge on dream, techno got his revenge on l'manberg, dream deserves to get revenge on quackity and sam! then he can recover after that lol

(context: ask was sent on march 16th and i am very. very late.)

but YEAH !! logic brain says revenge bad and cycle of violence will continue BUT emotion brain wants c!dream to go crazy go stupid !! go beat them up honey we’ll be here with juice boxes and fruit snacks when you’re done <3

i wrote this while looping casino royale by derivakat for (checks time) something like 12 hours straight so uhh,,, yeah LMAO have some of c!dream going apeshit bc honestly he deserves it (/hj)

tw: implied torture, abuse, mentioned injuries, suicide, murder, explosions, death, violence, dark portrayals of c!dream, c!quackity, and c!sam, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault

Sam is uneasy long before he enters Las Nevadas - Quackity’s terse, serious-sounding string of texts he’d woken up to had sent his heart racing before the country even came into sight, and he’s pretty sure the pit in the middle of his gut since Dream escaped a week ago won’t disappear until the prisoner is either jailed or dead at his feet. Still, the city hardly does his anxiety any favors - each step within its limits feels a bit more like walking to his own death, the silent storefronts and looming, boarded up casino seeming to watch his every move, making him pick up his pace to move a little faster and avoid their judging gazes.

Stuck in his head as he is, it’s not until he’s halfway to the meeting place that he realizes how eerily quiet the place is - Las Nevadas has yet to be a particularly busy country with the casino yet to open and their recruits usually doing their own thing in the meantime, but still there’s usually at least one of them lingering on the city grounds, between Fundy’s work on his yacht and Foolish’s construction and whatever Slime does, usually involving an immense amount of following Quackity’s every move. The city as it right now feels much more like when it had been no more than a secret of his and Quackity, months spent with just the two of them working to make Big Q’s vision a reality. There’s something uniquely unnerving about it, like stepping into a ghost town, and Sam’s unease only grows.

“Sam!” Quackity calls from the base of the casino - Sam shades his eyes from the sun as he jogs over. Even from this far, it’s clear Q is displeased - his lips are flat in a small frown, skin taut from where the corner of his mouth is pulling at his scar. His tie is slightly askew and shirt rumpled - he looks disheveled, eyebrows narrowed irritatedly as he taps at something on his communicator. Sam smiles slightly, hollow.

“Hello Quackity,” he responds simply, drawing his trident and bringing it to his side. “You said we needed to meet?”

“Yeah,” Quackity’s voice is distracted, and he mumbles a curse as he jams his finger particularly hard against the communicator screen. “What is up with everyone today? They sent me these- weird fucking messages and then we get here and nobody’s here-”

“Who?” Sam’s lips press together. “You mean like- Fundy? Or Foolish?” They seem to be the ones that Quackity got messages from most frequently, if he remembers right. He doesn’t know for sure - usually, Quackity handles the social side of managing Las Nevadas.

“Fundy, Purpled, Foolish, Slime-” Quackity makes a vague, affronted noise. “All of them! Where the hell are they?”

Sam pauses.

“Q, when did Slime learn to use a communicator?”

“That’s the green one, right?” Both of them freeze, whirling around to the voice behind them, seeing nothing but the empty, arched doorway of the still-locked casino. “Naïve. Easy to fool.” The voice pauses, barks a sharp, quiet laugh. “Made my job easy, at least.”

The voice is familiar- too familiar. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get that cadence out of his head, not after months after months spent in the prison, hearing it in every possible tone and form. Quackity’s shoulders are hunched up to his ears, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Dream- I fucking swear- where the hell are you?”

“Aw, not so brave when the other person can actually fight back, are we?” Dream’s voice is lilting, mocking, and Sam’s hands tighten on the trident. “Fine, I’ll show myself. I’m not like you- no need to extend this game any longer than necessary.”

Dream slinks out from the shadows, wearing all black and covered in netherite armor, seeming fiddling with a small, grey thing in one hand. HIs stance is wide, torso pulled close to the ground - instead of a mask, his outfit includes a hooded black cloak that pulls down over his face, barely offering a glimpse of his eye glaring from underneath it.

“I’m giving you three seconds to tell me why the hell you’re in my country,” Quackity growls, sword forming in his hand, blade still crusted over with old blood, “And I’ll make your death half as painful as it’ll be otherwise.”

Dream laughs, high-pitched and unstable. “Please- what are you gonna do with that thing?” Quackity stalks forward with a low, wordless yell and Sam only barely manages to snag him back by the wrist.

“Watch it, Q,” Sam mutters, looking closer. Sure enough, there’s a faint, reddish haze rising from Dream’s body, only barely visible, interspersed with some lighter blue wisps. Strength and Speed. “He’s got potions.”

“Outmatched, aren’t we?” Dream cocks his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile visible under the hood’s shadow. “What a shame. I was hoping for a good fight.”

Quackity curses at him, loudly, but mullishly stays in place instead of lashing out like earlier, and Sam hisses a small sigh of relief. He looks back over at Dream - under the sun, he looks worse than ever, armor doing little to hide the gaunt edge of his face, limbs skinny and shaking. His hands tremble, wrists kept close together, as he continues to move the thing within them from hand to hand, small and grey and smooth from what he can tell in flashes between scarred and calloused fingers. He’s still favoring his left side slightly, but his eyes are cold and clear as they follow his every movement, clearly lucid and intelligent. Unfortunately for them, Dream is the best of fighters at the worst of times, and he has no doubt that with potions on his side and themselves relatively unprepared for battle, any fight with him won’t go particularly well.

Negotiation it is, then. “Why are you here, Dream?” If they stall long enough, then the rest of the server can come to back them up, and then even Dream won’t be able to fight back for long. He and Quackity can figure out what to do with him once he’s safely back under their control - for now, they have to play things safe. He pulls out his communicator carefully with one hand, trying to avoid drawing attention to his movements. “I doubt you’re here for a housewarming visit.”

Dream waves his hand slightly. “Something like that-” he bares his teeth in a small smile. “How about a housewarming gift, instead?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Quackity bites, aggressive in a way that speaks of how threatened he feels, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only grows. Dream’s eye seems to glow as he turns and presses his hands to the nearby wall; when he pulls them back, there’s a stone button fastened on the quartz.

“Say, Quackity,” Dream’s voice is too light to be anything but forced levity, rolling his shoulders back to try and hide the way his entire body has begun to shake even more violently than before. “How much TNT do you suppose it took for Wilbur to blow up L’manburg?”

Sam gasps, low and harsh through his teeth, a quiet, breathless no falling from his lips. Quackity’s head shakes, eyes widening in fury and denial.

“No- no what the fuck did you do- Dream what the absolute fuck did you do-”

“Eleven stacks of TNT, to blow up that country to kingdom come.” Dream laughs, directing his wild, manic expression to look them in the eye. “The amount of TNT hooked up to this thing is ten times that.”

“You’re a liar-” Quackity rushes forward, sword raised, “I’m going to fucking kill you-”

Sam grabs him, again, ignoring his yells to look at Dream, who’s still standing, seemingly unruffled, one hand hovering over the button that’ll spell doom for them all.

“That’ll kill all of us,” he tries to reason, panic clawing up his lungs, “You’re on your last life. You can’t-”

“And what, Warden, makes you think I give a single goddamn fuck about that?” Dream’s voice cracks, slightly, and for a moment Sam almost thinks he’ll break, that he can press the point until the other backs down - but Dream is nothing if not stubborn, and within seconds he’s composed himself again, looking at them with a determined set to his jaw that Sam recognizes well enough from Quackity’s visits to know that he won’t back down. “Everyone else is far away from here. I made sure of that. It’s just you, and Quackity, and me, and I’m pressing this button if it’s the last thing I do. Call it a parting shot, will you?”

Sam pulls at Quackity, wrist still locked in his grip. “Q, we have to leave.”

“I’m not letting him destroy this place Sam, are you out of your fucking mind? This- Las Nevadas- it’s everything- I’m not letting him take this place from me not again-”

“He’s going to kill us all, Quackity,” he throws a water bucket at his feet, charging up his trident. The sign taunts him at the edges of the city borders, far too far away for any of them to even hope to reach. “We have to go now-”

“Say your goodbyes,” Dream taunts, and there’s a quiet click. Sam smells the faint, smoky smell of redstone being activated, hears a hum growing in volume from the ground beneath him. He looks over to Dream, who has a hand pressing the button to the wall, fever-bright eyes wide and wet as he stares at his own hand before shutting them with a soft, almost serene smile. “And see you in hell.”

The world goes white.

[Dream was blown up by Dream.]

[Quackity was blown up by Dream.]

[awesamdude was blown up by Dream.]

#-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks #tw torture #tw abuse #tw injuries #tw suicide #tw murder #tw explosion #tw death #tw violence #tw emotional distress #prison arc #pandora's vault

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janshu · 3 years

Text

Once In A Millennia...P1.

Summary: A thousand years ago you were married to the Sukuna, a mortal man with the power of a god. Bound to him, his "death" leads you to wander the world alone, against all odds. However...his spirit remains and was resurrected by an unknown boy...

Word Count: 1k-ish.

Warnings: Gn!reader, mentions of a past life & family arranging a marriage.

The days had begun to blur into one incoherent mess.

That wasn't too out of the ordinary. You couldn't be expected to remember every moment of every day, not when you had several lifetime's floating around between your synapses. The mundane and monotonous would naturally be forgotten to make room for the impactful and important memories. The one's you hold onto like your life depends on it and maybe in some way it did, life was mysterious in its ways.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that you had seen everything. Every advancement in every field from science to medicine, going from horse-drawn-buggies to vehicles and letters to text messages. Safe to say that nothing was a surprise anymore. What was life's great surprise now? In a thousand years you had seen and experienced everything, from the divine to the depraved.

Life had begun easy. Being only the child of simple country folk who took pride in their work, worshipping the gods in their own special way, you were given more freedom than most in your childhood. Father and Mother had let you wander the secret places of the village until the sun set and dinner was ready, fed and ready for bed you'd lay down on the comfortable cot they had purchased with the earnings from that season's harvest to let you dream the night away. Until he came, that fateful day where your parents made the decision to sacrifice you to the warlord baring down on their home and land. The ultimatum that sealed your fate was simple: you or them and being the pragmatic people they were chose themselves to save.

Now hundreds of years later you weren't sure you should curse or bless them for their decision because that choice set you on the path to where you are now, browsing the morning market like the days of old with the luxuries of the modern age.

That's when you were made aware of it. The creeping cold of being watched, of being found. The inescapable reality of a person exhaling their hot breath against the back of your neck at an angle your neck simply could not turn towards. The feel of a large palm bearing its weight against the curve of your spine with the addition of three more to various hand-holds across the expanse of your body.

"Have you been well, my sweet spouse? The years haven't been kind to you, have they?"

The deep chuckle of a man thoroughly sadistic in the uncaring manner of which they dispatch those he deems maggots, a man changed, a curse upon the world.

Your husband: Sukuna Ryōmen.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten. Wouldn't it be a pity if you've forgotten your husband?"

And when you understandably twist your head around to venture a guess why he of all beings was behind you at a random stall? There was no one. Not the copious amounts of people shopping for their meal ingredients, not even the shopkeepers or the one that was impatiently waiting for you to purchase that fruit and strangely enough: no husband in sight.

An odd hallucination perhaps?

You were being followed, very conspicuously might I add. Clearly they thought themselves to be a master spy by the way they hid behind dumpsters, peeked around poles and made themselves the most obvious person in the ocean of people. Pure lunacy or a power move you weren't sure of yet, the garment they wore a dead giveaway to their intentions. The deep navy uniforms of the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. A sorcerer and not a good one if their sneaking skills alluded to their abilities.

Far more inconspicuously you took a look at the figure with the reflection of a shop's window pane. A young man, average, pink undercut and overall nondescript but there was something familiar about his aura. A sinister darkness that was foreign in his kind features. That couldn't be natural. Sepia shaded orbs trained on your figure with a burning intensity that would set your soul on fire with its pinpoint directness. The more important matter was why a sorcerer was following you. To your knowledge they believed Sukuna was a myth and your marriage to him had been forgotten in the past seven hundred years so was it superstition that led him to follow you? Or did you have a curse attached to you and he was doing his job?

Odd, to say the least.

"Excuse me? Uhh, hello? Uhm..'scuse me."

A hand clamped down on your shoulder from the opposite direction you had been watching the sorcerer. Turning back around what did you find? The very same magic user you had been spying. How did he move so quickly? That was a split moment and he was behind you. How did he manage that?

"Yes?" You responded, face rather devoid of emotions while taking a closer inspection at the sorcerer. Upon closer look he was indeed a boy, in the middle of his teen years at the most yet experience had aged his soul considerably. The windows of his eyes closer to that of a wizened old monk rather than a bright-eyed pubescent teenager. The oddest feature that stood out were the dark tattoo's across the bottom edges of his eye sockets, rather distinguished against the otherwise blank face. Fashion statements got stranger and stranger with each passing century.

The boy appeared to have a goal in mind as his eyes searched your face, your eyes and the windows to your soul. Whatever he was looking for either wasn't there or he kept the discovery to himself because after his hand was removed he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Oops, sorry! Thought you were someone else."

"No harm done, honest mistake."

Without another word the sorcerer boy turned on his heel and retreated in the direction he came from. How he had managed to double back and come from your blind spot was still a mystery, there must've been more than meets the eye on that boy.

Yuji Itadori returned to the First Year dorm hall and slid the door closed behind him as he entered. It was late, much later than when he was expected to be in bed and resting. If anyone had noticed his absence then he'd be in a world of pain. What could be worse than the punishment's Gojo could think up? Well, there was one thing. That tattooed psychopath using his body as a vessel. Whoever that person was had set him off. The control he originally thought he had on the cursed spirit had hung by a thread, a battle on who got to control his body raging on. It was a stalemate, mostly. He had control over the vast majority of his facilities but that uppy bastard had gotten his hand in the metaphorical doorway and pried himself into the driver's sleg. Taking over his legs and waltzing up to them and without a plan. They were lucky he had regained himself right as he touched them, what would've happened if he hadn't? There were moments he went on and on about slaughtering women and children like maggots but was the sight of them enough to cause a sudden bloody rampage? Apparently so.

The transition to phase into the mindscape that kept Sukuna contained was seamless. As if he had walked to another section of a home, could be considered as easy as breathing but whenever he was there it was not because he went willingly. He was summoned.

On the pinnacle of the mountain of bones, perched upon on the throne, Yuji noticed there was a crazed grin on the very man's face. Revealing the pearly whites amidst his bloody gums, eyes wide as he leaned forward. Not looking at his host, quite the opposite but something beyond him. Shoulders cloaked in a white robe rose and fell in time with his maniacal giggles, gleeful and relieved. It would be perturbing if he wasn't used to the grating sound by now. The reason why he was laughing was the disconcerting subject.

"Ahh, there you are, dearest spouse. How long will it take until you return to me?"

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jjk #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #cw:none #tw:none

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 4: The Bounty ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2400>

Warnings: allusions to male masturbation, protector!Din comes with his own warning.

Series Masterlist

Maker, you were beautiful.

The way you slept was so peaceful, basking in the moonlight. Din was surprised you could even sleep that well on top of the rock hard slap he called a bed. He thought the child was cute when he slept, but as Din watched you, revelling in the way your chest rose and fell with every breath, he swore he had never seen such heavenliness in his life.

He’d gotten lucky, he had to admit that. You were the Manda’lor, and you could’ve been a Gungan or a Rodian or who knows what… but you weren’t. You were a human who looked distinctly similar to the illustrations of angels in the fairytale books Din grew up reading. You were brave and fierce, but you were still the same girl who burst into tears only minutes after meeting Din. You were special, different. And Din had never let himself feel this way about anyone before. Truthfully, it scared him.

And Din didn’t get scared either. He was a scarred, battle hardened Mandalorian warrior. Very little affected him... but already, his heart ached for you. He was yearning. He saw the way you were with the child, and the love you had in your heart. He was a fighter, and the way the creed had brought him up, he’d never known any different, but you were a princess. You showed him that you didn’t need to win your battles through violence, but you could do it through peace and love. Just like your mother; duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.

Din sighed, and raised his hands to remove his helmet. You were asleep, so it was okay. Just for once he wanted to look at you with his own eyes. And somehow, it was even better. Din discarded his gloves and quietly took off his beskar armour and boots, preparing to settle himself down for bed, but as he undressed, he didn’t take his eyes off you once. So so beautiful.

Maybe you and Din were more similar than you first realised, because Din was throbbing by the time he went to the refresher. He leaned against the cool wall and closed his eyes, palming at his erection through his pants. He felt so confined and he was desperate for some kind of relief. But when he closed his eyes, he wasn’t seeing the usual darkness. All he could see was you.

-----

You weren't sure how long you had been asleep for. But it was the distinct smell of bone broth that woke you up. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and it took you a few moments to focus your vision, getting used to what was about to be your temporary (yet still new) home. You stretched your body and yawned, bringing your fists to your face to rub your eyes.

“You're up,” Din commented, his modulated voice stating the obvious. You jumped when you saw the beskar clad figure standing at the edge of the bed—just watching you. How long had he been watching you? “There's a bowl of bone broth waiting for you.” he informed you and you scrunched up your nose at the unpleasant smell. “What? You don't like it?”

No. Was there anyone in the galaxy who actually liked bone broth? You assumed it was just something the settlers on Sorgan ate because they had no other choice, and it was cheap. Did the Mandalorian really drink bone broth? He’d already sounded irked and you had just woken up.

“Uhm…” your voice trailed off, your gaze flicking between the bowl of soup and the Mandalorian. "Do you have any fruit? Sourberries, maybe?" You tried your best to dodge his question and sound polite, but judging from Din’s reaction, you mustn’t have done a good job.

Din scoffed, before taking his rifle out of the armoury and attaching it to the holster on his back. What did he need a rifle for? "No. You think I have the credits for that? Sorry princess." He grumbled. And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the ship.

You felt bad. You didn't mean to offend him, although you could completely understand how your comment came across. Ungrateful. You weren't ungrateful, it was just… bone broth was what you fed to the palace bluurgs. It wasn't something you ever voluntarily chose to consume. You looked back over at the steaming bowl of soup and sighed. Why did you even feel bad? You barely knew him. You were the literal princess of Mandalore and - no, you wouldn’t feel bad for a child of the watch. If anything he should feel bad for the actions of his people and what they had done to yours. What they had done to you. You slipped out of Din’s bed and picked up your bowl of broth before heading down the hull of the ship, wanting to find him and apologise. He’d given up his bed for you, he was making sure you were well fed, the least you could do was say sorry.

But he was nowhere in sight. You’d noticed the ramp of the ship had been lowered, and a stream of natural sunlight was blazing into the ship. You had landed. Were you on Nevarro? Had he… had he left you without saying anything? Surely not. You padded into the cockpit only to find Grogu sitting in the pilot seat, playing with a small steel ball. He threw it between his three clawed hands and giggled every time he caught it.

“Hey kid,” you sighed, slipping into the co-pilot seat. “Where did your dad go?”

Grogu garbled a long winded response and you listened closely. No way. He was a bounty hunter? Kriff… you’d somehow managed to tie yourself into a bounty hunter’s affairs. You cursed yourself but continued to listen to the child’s explanation. Din had gone out to earn some quick credits, goodness knows what for. And he’d left Grogu on the ship with strict instruction to watch over you. You couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. He’d asked his child to make sure you wouldn’t get into trouble.

“He can’t just leave me on the ship and not say anything,” you laughed to yourself in disbelief, letting your head fall in your hands. The birds outside the ship tweeted and for Din to have left the ramp open, you knew that Nevarro must have been a safe planet. At least for the most part. “Do you come here much?” You asked Grogu, who nodded his head in affirmation, You hummed, picking up the child and nursing him on your lap. “Does your father always expect people to follow his rules?” you asked slyly, and even Grogu giggled. “Come on. Take me around Nevarro little one. I wish to explore.”

It wasn’t like you gave Grogu a choice, but you learned that he was practically just as mischievous as you were, and Din was wrong to leave a child in command of you. He was wrong to leave anyone in command of you. You’d lived on Mandalore your whole life, not once ever leaving the planet. Now you were finally further into the outer-rim than ever before and Din just expected you to stay on the ship? Not a chance. You picked up the child and carried him outside and oh stars - it was beautiful. The golden sunlight radiated warmth and you overheard the happy sound of children excitedly chirping away. Din had parked the Crest dead centre in the middle of town, it seemed, with stalls and vendors on every corner, peppering the streets. You hummed in contentment, and sat down on the edge of the ramp with your bowl of broth and Grogu.

“Do you like this?” you asked, mixing the broth with the spoon Din had provided you. Grogu nodded his head happily and you laughed. “Does Din eat it?” Grogu nodded his head even more and his lips curled into a smile when he realised you were about to try the soup. If both Din and the child ate bone broth regularly, then it couldn’t be that bad…

And it wasn’t, not really. You could get used to the taste. The odorous smell was more off putting than anything else. So, without fuss, you ate the bubbling brown substance and discarded the finished bowl back inside the ship. You weren’t going to be gone too long, just long enough to meet the townsfolk and get a feeling off the planet. You hadn’t been this excited about anything in a long time.

-----

This was never part of the plan, but in the 24 hours of knowing Din Djarin, you had softened him considerably; more so than what the Mandalorian would like to admit. He didn’t plan on being gone long. But he still wanted, no, he needed, to get on your good side if he planned on asking you to marry him. The thought of winning you over through a façade of lies didn’t sit right with him. He never had a strong moral compass but he believed that you should at least marry for love. But then again, love was a foreign concept to him. He’d seen it before, in his parents, but that was just a distant memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, and if the Armorer told him to marry you, he had to do it.

It wasn’t a choice. It was his duty as a Mandalorian.

“I need a quick job.” Din announced, sliding into the booth opposite Karga.

“Mando! Good to see you. Kid not with you today?” Greef Karga, esteemed magistrate of Nevarro asked.

“He’s on the ship,” Din shrugged casually, knowing that the child’s safety - and yours - would be guaranteed as long as you just stayed put. “I need a quick job. Something simple and on Nevarro.”

Karga scrunched up his eyebrows in bewilderment. “Coming from the hunter who normally takes four pucks at a time, this is new,” he chuckled. “But I don’t have anything of the sort. What’s it for?”

Din hesitated, having no reason to be dishonest but yet not wanting to explain more than necessary. “Sourberries.”

This was a foolish plan, but if you wanted sourberries then Din would get you sourberries. He had this primal urge in him to appease you. To win you over.

Karga blinked before erupting into a fit of belly laughter. Din shuffled around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Sourberries? Let me guess, is that code for something? I get it Mando. Us men have needs!” Karga laughed. “I do have one puck on Nevarro. Brand new. High paid. Imperial bounty," Karga hissed once his laughter settled down, but a smirk still played upon his lips. "You could buy a whole sourberry forest with the credits from this bounty.”

“You’re doing Imperial work, after everything we’ve been through?” Din frowned, shaking his head in disappointment. “Does Cara know?”

“It doesn’t matter. The Imps are the only ones who will pay Guild rates. Besides… I really didn’t have a choice. The guy who came to see me was an ex-ISB officer. Said he’s looking for a runaway princess. Figured the guy she ran away with is a settler on Nevarro. Told me he has a very distinct look but didn’t provide much more information.”

Din swallowed, his heart sinking in his chest. It couldn’t be, could it?

“What other information do you have?” Din countered. He had to know. He had to know so he could return back to the Crest and warn you. Maybe Nevarro wasn’t as safe as he’d predicted after all.

“Will you accept the bounty?” Karga asked. “Otherwise I can’t-”

“Listen, I need to know all that you know.” Din said sternly.

“Unless you’re willing to accept the puck, I can’t give you that information.”

Dank farrik. He couldn’t accept a bounty on you… he was your protector. What would he even tell you?

Once upon a time, he would’ve felt comfortable enough to explain his situation to Greef but if he was working with the Imperials again… maybe he wasn’t as trustworthy as Din once believed. He understood where Greef was coming from, to a degree. You were living during difficult times, but if he learned that you were the bounty and you were literally just a mile away, waiting on his ship, he’d have no choice but to notify this ex-ISB officer. If it meant Greef would earn his coin, Din wouldn’t put betrayal past him.

He needed the puck. He needed the puck because if he didn’t take it, another bounty hunter would. Of course Din wouldn’t let anyone even get near you, but if it was an Imperial bounty, he knew they’d just keep coming and coming. The Imperials didn’t give up easily. They didn’t give up with the child and they wouldn’t give up on you.

“I’ll take it.” Din announced after a moment of contemplation.

“Excellent!” Karga grinned, fishing out for the puck. “What I can tell you is this. She’s the princess of once of the very few Empire ruled planets. Could be Lothal, Naboo, Dathomir, maybe even Mandalore…” and then Karga began to describe your appearance. Everything from your eye colour, hair colour, skin tone… he had you to a T. This was not good.

“Do you know why she ran away?” Din asked, trying to swallow away any fear for your safety.

“I don’t ask questions like that,” Greef responded, shooting the Mandalorian a strange look. Din should have known better. “But they’re almost certain she’s on Nevarro so hopefully you won’t have to look far. I have no doubt a man of your talents will be able to bring her back to the Guild before nightfall, right?”

“Right…” Din replied, a little too quietly. “Dead or alive?”

“Alive only. No reward for a cold body,” Greef said strictly. “Good luck Mando,” Din was going to need more than just luck. He took the puck and stood up, Greef following from behind. “Hey, for your journey,” He smiled, handing the Mandalorian a bag of sourberries. “No charge. I’ve just… missed you.”

Din made a small noise of gratitude although it wasn’t received through the modulator, before taking the berries from his friend and leaving the cantina. It really was warm outside, so much so, wearing the beskar was even more uncomfortable than usual. He had to go see Cara, but suddenly, it was very unsafe for you to be on the ship if Imps were roaming the town looking for you. Thankfully, Nevarro had the perfect hiding spot for you; the covert. Only Din didn’t know how much the other children of the watch would take a liking to you… or you them. But neither of you had any other choice.

So when Din returned to the Crest, with sourberries and one hand and your bounty puck in another, he was mortified to see that neither you nor the child were there. His heart sank into his chest and his movements became erratic as he called your name and searched every crevice. Had they found you already? Had they taken the child? Oh no no no -

On impulse, Din fished into his armoury and grabbed more weapons, including explosives and detonators. He didn’t want this to get messy, but if the Imperials had taken both you and Grogu, there wasn’t a chance he’d go down without a fight. He’d have them begging for mercy. No one gets on the wrong side of Din Djarin.

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#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #baby yoda #grogu

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xmalereader · 3 years

Text

Thomas Shelby X Male Reader X Din Djarin

—

|| Masterlist ||

This crossover will take place during the Star Wars universe! I tried to do a modern version but nothing came to mind so this’ll be my first Star Wars crossover with the peaky blinders, hopefully you like it! I tried my best. ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Requested: Is it ok if I simply ask for something with Din Djarin and Tommy Shelby? I want something with them but my brain isn't helping me with coming up with specifics for the fic :(

Warnings: crossover, language, violence, slight smut, mando’a language, Thomas is a dealer, din is manda’lore, darksaber is used, mentions of Bo-Katan, Grogu is with din.

@ge-m31

All of the townspeople were running to their homes, spreading the word that the ‘Shelbys’ have arrived. Everyone in town was running to hide from the dangerous man that ruled the place, claimed it as his own. He showed power just by crossing anyone’s path, not one dared to go up against the shelby family. Especially not their leader or else they will deal with the consequences. As the women ushered their children inside and made sure to lock their doors as the others hid behind homes or boxes as they watched a single man riding a Varactyl down the trail, passing by homes and markets. He would glance to his left and right every once an while, eyeing the people that lived there.

He pulled the Varctly to a halt causing the creature to huff softly and shake its head, looking around as the man turns towards one of the markets. Gently he hops off the creature and makes his way towards the small market that was selling gems and stones. He stands infront of the table and knocks on the woods, from underneath emerged a young women, letting out a nervous sigh as she avoids the mans eyes. “What can I do for you today Mr. Shelby?” She stutters out, gripping her gown softly. The man stands tall and watches her closely as he pulls out a puck from his pocket and sets it in front of her. “I have a bounty that needs to be caught for me and I am looking for someone that can help me.”

The women looks down at the puck and bites her lip. “I don’t know of any bounty hunter that can help.” She whispers out. The town watched in silence as the man reaches to take the puck back. “But I know who can help!” She is quick to blurt out. Thomas hand hovers over the puck. “Who?”

She bites her lip. “A Mandalorian passed by here a few days back, he was looking for a job—no one was able to give him any but if you need him than you can find him in woods. His ship is their and he isn’t alone.” She explains to him.

Thomas takes the puck and nods at her. “A Mandalorian, strongest warriors in the galaxy.” He says to himself as he heads back to his Varactly, riding the creature out of town and towards home.

—

“I don’t understand why we are here when we should be back on Mandalore, Bo-Katan is not going to be happy once she finds out that you left.” Said Y/n as he carries around a basket full of different kinds of fruits towards the Crest.

Din rolls his eyes under the helmet as he goes back to fixing the engines. “I may be the ruler of Mandalore but I also have my own freedom. I Can decided on what to do and like Bo-Katan said, when the time is right she’ll battle me for the Darksaber and she can become the new ruler.” He reminds his Riduur.

Grogu was sitting inside the basket as he listens to both of his parents converse with eachother, his head tilting back to look up at y/n who can only groan in frustration. They have been stuck on this god forsaken planet for a few days now, the crest had broken down and they have been trying to repair it but due to the ship being very old, it was sometimes hard to fix.

“Giving her the darksaber isn’t a good idea, you saw the look on her face when she first found out—anger is what I saw.” He sets the basket down and takes the kid out, setting him on the grass for him to play with. “Bo-katan wants power and we both know that letting her take the darksaber isnt the right choice.” He was looking down at the Mandalorian.

Din knew that y/n was right, right about Bo-Katan only wanting the power that wielded the Darksaber but, he never cared about power. He was a simple Mandalorian finding his way through the galaxy, he can easily get rid of the Darksaber but something deep down inside of him was telling him to keep it and To properly rule Mandalore. He couldn’t allow her to win it from him.

“I hate that you can be right sometimes.” Said Din.

Y/n grins at the man. “See? Always listen to your Riduur.” He nudges his shoulder and turns his attention back to the kid who was trying to eat the grass. “Hey! No, don’t eat that!” Y/n bends down to pull the grass out of the kids mouth.

Din chuckles at the sight and goes back to working on the crest, double checking the engines and making sure to fix up the damage that was caused by the trees and creatures that they had to fight off. It has been a rough couple of a days but nothing they can’t handle.

As he puts his tools away he hears rustling in the trees, by instinct he pulls out his blaster and looks over to the trees. Not spitting anything he walks over to y/n and Grogu. “Someone’s here.” He says, catching the others attention as he holds Grogu in his arms and stands next to Din. Holding out his own blaster too as the kid glares into the distance.

The three hold their guard up. “Come out or else will shoot.” Says y/n, giving off a warning to whoever was here.

Some more rustling his heard as a young boy comes out, holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t shoot, I didn’t come to cause any harm.” He says, giving the two a look. Y/n eyes the boy, he looked young and unarmed but that didn’t cause him to drop his guard.

“What do you want? Asked Din.

The boy lowers his hands and licks his lips. “My name is Finn Shelby, my family owns the town here and we were looking for someone who can help us.” Din narrows his eyes at the boy. “Whatever help you need can be done without us.” He says coldly.

Finn glares. “My brother sent me here to offer you a job, we have been told that mandalorians are the strongest warriors and we need you to hunt down someone for us.”

Din huffs and puts his blaster away. “No, thanks.” With that he heads up the razor crest. Y/n lowers his blaster and holds Grogu close, nodding towards Finn. “Tell your brother that he can hire someone else.”

“We’ve already tried!” Finn exclaims in frustration.

Y/n rolls his eyes. “Let me guess, no one accept the deal?” He says sarcastically.

“No.” Said Finn. “They’ve accepted the job but no one ever comes back.” This catches y/n attention. It wasn’t the first time that they’ve had an issue like this before, they’ve faced many dangerous jobs. Hell, they were able to survive Dark troopers!

Y/n looks at the kid up and down before pointing at him. “Stay right there.” He demands as he heads towards the crest, entering the haul he sets Grogu down and approaches Din. “Don’t tell me you spoke to the kid.” Said Din before he could even say anything to him.

Y/n chuckles nervously. “Okay but listen—the kid says that they have sent people out there and no one comes back meaning that whoever goes out their dies.” He states. “Also, we need the credits! We don’t have enough fuel to last us for the next couple of days and our rations are running low.” He walks over to Din, standing next to him as he watches the Mandalorian polish his blaster. “Din, we need the credits and it’ll be quick.” He says again.

The Mandalorian sighs deeply and looks up at his lover, giving him a glare from underneath the helmet before saying. “Alright, but if we are going to accept this job than you must listen to my instruction, do you understand?” Y/n nods quickly, “yes!” Y/n is quick to run back outside to confirm Finn that they’ll take the job.

—

They walk all the way back to town with the child inside it’s pod and protected, Finn had walked the entire time, not having a ride with him since he would rather walk.

Din on the other hand wasn’t too fond of walking, he liked traveling fast and being able to finish his job quick. But for now, he accepted the option to walk to their destination. It took a few hours before they arrived to town, the people were doing their daily business, selling parts and trying to strike up deals with other shoppers.

Y/n can’t help but look around, it was strange seeing such a lively town. I mean, Nevaroo is the same since Greef was able to make some changes with the place and finally bring peace but this town was somehow different. It felt different.

Finn guides them through the town, going through alleyways and far away from the city now into an open with long grass everywhere. Y/n was the first to notice the Varactyl causing him to halt in his steps. “It’s a Varactyl.” He breaths out with a small smile. He hasn’t seen one in years, thinking that they have gone extinct.

“Family rasies them.” Said Finn with a grin on his face. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite. He’s too entertained with the grass, keeps them happy.” He added and continues to guide the three down a path that lead them towards a large house. “This looks like a fortress to me.” Din mutters out, glancing over his shoulder to see y/n give him a shrug. “Like I said, this family could be rich.” He reminds him.

He steps ahead of Din, following Finn closely as the other pulls the doors open and allows them inside. “I suggest you leave your weapons here.”

“That’s not happening.” Said Din with a glare.

Y/n agrees with him. “We won’t leave our weapons here, not when we are in an unknown home.” He crossed his arms over his chest as Finn shrugs. “Very well, you’ll face the wrath of my brother.” He simple says as he leaves the two on their own—fetching his brother.

Y/n looks around the house and stands close to Din. “Have an escape plan in case things go sideways?” He whispers. Din nods his head once, “I always do and in case things go bad you make sure to take the kid.” Grogu was their first priority and right now they can’t risk losing the kid.

As the two wait by the entrance they notice spot Finn coming back but he wasn’t alone this time. Behind him followed an older man, he wore black clothing—almost making him look like a general that belonged with the empire. He held his head up high as he approaches the two, standing in front of them.

“It’s nice to know that Finn was able to get you two back here safely.” He says with a small smirk. Y/n narrows his eyes at the man, taking a step forward as he examines his face. Taking in the mans features as his eyes slowly widen in realization. “Tommy?” He blurts out. Catching the mans attention who eyed him in return, looking at him up and down before he too came to realization. “Well, well, if it isn’t My favorites womp rat.” He chuckles out as y/n laughs in return and rushed over to hug the man.

Din can only watch the two men in confusion, having no idea what was going on. “You know him?” Din asks, pointing over to Thomas.

Y/n pulls away from Thomas and nods at Din. “Old friend, we go way back.” He answers. Looking at Thomas with a wide smile, “Maker, you haven’t changed one bit.” He says.

Thomas grins. “I can say the same for you, it was hard to tell who you were since back then you used to wear a mask over your face. I couldn’t quiet tell who you were.” The two have known eachother for a very long time, y/n remembered working with the Shelby family at a young age before he left the family. He wanted to start his own path and left the Shelby family behind, forgetting them since he no longer needed their help. But, he and Tommy had grown close over the years—from becoming friends to lovers and soon after he had to leave Thomas behind.

“It all makes sense now, the Varactyl, the job and Finn Shelby—Maker he was only a kid when I last saw him.”

“He still is.” Said Thomas.

Y/n smiles at Thomas with a small blush on his cheeks before a cough brings him back to reality. Turning around to see Din with his hands on his hips, giving him the sass stance. Y/n clears his throat and nods. “Right—! We came because Finn told us that you needed help.”

Thomas nods. “Right, follow me.” He guides the three towards a separate room, approaching his large desk he pulls out the puck from his pocket. “A few years back I got myself involved with some problems—“ he sets the puck down and a picture of a women shows up. “Her name is Grace, she has become a spy in my town and has been watching my family closely. She’s been sending information about us to the republic and they have been wanting to toss us into prison for a very long time.” He explains.

The Mandalorian approaches the desk and looks down at the puck, taking in the information. “You said many others have taken the job but none returned, why?” Thomas gives off a small frown. “She’s smart and has her own ways to survive.” He states back. “But with a Mandalorian chasing after her, I bet she’ll give up in an instant—heard mandalorians are the strongest warriors in the galaxy.”

Thomas and Din both stare at eachother, the tension was strong between them that it was hard for y/n to break it. So, instead he placed a hand on Dins chest and gently pulls him away. “How much?” Asked Din, wanting to know how much they will get paid in order to capture the women and bring her back alive.

Thomas puts his hands behind his back as he gives the couple a price, causing y/n’s eyes to widen in shock. The amount of credits that will be given to them can last them for two years, enough for rations and for the foundlings that Mandalore is soon to claim.

“You really must be desperate.” Y/n breaths out.

Thomas hums. “Very, she contains valuable information that cannot be passed down to the republic.” He licks his lips and looks at the two, “so, will you accept the job?”

Din grabs y/n but the shirt collar, “Give us a minute.” He says as he drags him away towards a corner of the house, leaving grogu behind with Thomas. Grogu stares at Thomas and gives him a small glare. “Hello.” Says Thomas to the child who rolls his eyes and closes his pod, ignoring the man.

“What was that?” Asked Din, pulling y/n aside as he glares under his helmet. “what was what?”

“That look—I know you two were more than just friends.” He says, a hint of jealousy in his voice as y/n grins at the Mandalorian. “okay, we used to be together but that was a long time ago. Din, I am married to you, we have a kid together.” He whispers to the Mandalorian. “Also you’re Mand’alore and if Thomas ever tries something then we know that he will have to face the wrath of the king.” He teases out, trying to lighten up the mood a little bit, but of course, it wasn’t working. Huffing softly he places a hand on Din’s chest plate. “Nothing will happen, I trust you and I love you very much.” Din sighs deeply as he leans down to press his helmet against y/n’s forehead. “I’m sorry.” He says, gripping his hand softly. “its okay.” Said Y/n with a small smile.

“I’ll take the job, only because we need the credits—but you and grogu will stay behind. I can’t risk losing you and two.” Said Din after pulling away from his riduur.

Y/n holds Din’s hand as he nods along the explanation. “Okay, will stay here until you get back.” He knows that he can’t argue with him already knowing that he would lose the argument and be forced to stay behind with the kid. He knows that the bounty will take a few days but he didn’t mind, as long as he get back safe and alive.

Before Y/n can go tell Thomas about their agreement he is pulled back again, this time—Din wraps his hand around his wrist, pulling him forward as he places the darksaber in his hand. “Din—“

“Keep it.”

“Din, I can’t take this from you.”

“You aren’t taking it from you, I’m letting you barrow it. You’ll need protection and I trust you with it.” The Mandalorian lets go of his wrist as he holds the darksaber in his hands. “But the rules—“

“Fuck the rules.” Said Din. “I know that I am the only one to wield the darksaber but I trust you with it.” He bumps his head against y/n’s once more. “Use it to protect yourself and the kid in case anything bad happens, got it?” He questions, earning a nod in return. “Got it.” With that, Din lets go of him and walks back to Thomas who was leaning against his desk, hands in his pockets.

“Will take the job, but Y/n and the kid stay back in case things don’t go as planned.” Thomas smirks. “Very well.” He pushes himself off the desk and hands Din the puck and a tracking fob. “I have a room full of weapons in case you need something.” He offers as Din takes the fob and puck, putting them in his pockets and shaking his head, “With what I have will work.” Thomas nods at the Mandalorian and turns to look at Y/n.

“Looks like I’ll be in your care for the meantime.” Y/n walks over to the kids pod and opens it up, revealing the child who was playing with his favorite silver ball. Smiling he reaches down and picks him up, holding him in his arms as the kids ears move up and down every once an while as he looks around the room, taking in the decor. “Hope you don’t mind the kid destroying some things.”

Thomas chuckles at y/n. “I don’t think he likes me very much.” He points out which causes Din to laugh a bit.

This catches their attention, y/n smiles at the Mandalorian and approaches him. “be safe.” He says again. Grogu coos at his buir and with his tiny hand he reaches up and places it against the side of the helmet, giving it a small stroke as he too worries for his fathers safety. “Ill be okay kid, you take care of Y/n while I’m gone.” Grogu gives Din a stern look and nod, determained to keep his own family safe. As they say their goodbyes they watches Din rid off with one of Thomas’ Varctly.

“You look happier than usual.” He hears Thomas say, standing next to him as they watch Din disappear into the woods. Y/n sighs, “Being married to a king has its perks.” He responds back and turns his attention to the kid, playing with his ears as he heads back inside.

Thomas stands there for a few seconds before it hits him. “wait—KING!?”

#male reader #pedro pascal #din djarin #din djarin x male reader #pedro pascal x male reader #the mandalorain #star wars x male reader #star wars #the mandalorian spoilers #thomas shelby x male reader #Thomas Shelby #peaky blinders x male reader #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy x male reader #cillian murphy #crossover #crossfic

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youremyonlyhope · 2 years

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Holy Musical B@man

I told myself last week to make sure that I rewatch HMB for the 10th anniversary, and I nearly forgot. Mostly because I forgot what day it was.

But today (yesterday) is the 10th anniversary of Holy Musical B@man being posted on YouTube! Yay!

Like I did with MAMD, I’m going to try not to pause every 5 seconds, but inevitably I will end up doing it anyway. (Spoiler alert, I did)

I call this “Hope Freaks Out Over Puns and Costumes for 5000 Words and Comes Up With a Conspiracy Theory about Denise’s Character(s).”

Our first image of Jeff in a StarKid show is him maniacally laughing. Sounds about right. The underwear. I can’t. June Saito, my girl, these are still some of the funnest costumes StarKid has ever done. Oh and Chris Allen! Nico! Oh Jim Povolo my beloved. “There ain’t no such thing as a Bat” You sure about that? “Well it’s a good thing I brought... my racket.” I’M DEAD. The prop comedy in this show. This was just a taste of what’s to come. “Oh my fucking tibia!” Guys I swore I wouldn’t pause every 5 seconds but I can’t not do it. “Support your families like the rest of us. Be born billionaires.” God these lines. Nick(cholas Joseph) Strauss(-Matathia) and Lauren! The way Nick says “fear” like “fair” I’m dead. “And then it’s signed ‘Bruce Wayne’... but then that’s crossed out and underneath it’s written... Batman!” Guys. Guys. This show. Is so funny. AHH BRIAN AS CLARK KENT IN THE BACKGROUND. Love love love. I’m not the biggest DC person, I always say that my DC knowledge comes from the OG Teen Titans and Justice League over 15 years ago. But even I clocked Brian as Clark immediately, and I was so excited. “Does he want fruit or blood?” I swear, StarKid is just casually throwing in some of the most hilarious jokes in the first 10 minutes. The plane!! “Rata tat tat” I can’t. Raise your hand if you only know where your patellar tendons are because of HMB. *Raises hand.* “God’s not up here. Only. Batman!” GUYS. I’m gonna die of laughter before this show finishes. Oh that poor Shop Owner. “Batman? Rabble rabble rabble.” No I totally didn’t just go “rabble rabble rabble” with them... why would you think that... The fact that it’s taken me until now to mention Dylan’s voice in this post is disgraceful. But oh my god Dylan’s voice. So perfect for this opening and so perfect in general. Woah. I NEVER noticed that everyone is just sitting on the back platform nodding their heads to the music while Denise and Jim have their pizza scene. “I wonder if Bruce Wayne knows that Batman lives under his house.” Seriously, why did I never notice the entire cast was just sitting there until 10 years later. “‘Love Batman.’” “Love Batman.” Ok but was any of what he said about the system wrong? I don’t think I ever noticed that Batman is dancing with the rest of the cast. I guess I assume he just loomed in angst above them. Julia’s voiceover while everyone is dancing and singing the final chorus, announcing that the Joker is dead, is so dramatic and amazing.

God. The way they set up Batman’s entire backstory, set the stage for Gotham City and its many issues, and essentially told the audience “Look, the Joker’s not gonna be here, so don’t even ask. He’s dead. Bye bye.” all in an amazing 10 minute song that shows off Dylan’s beautiful voice? Incredible. Possibly the best opening of any StarKid show. Dare I say better than Back to Hogwarts? Honestly, I think it is.

"The city’s crime rates are at an all time low!” “Yay!” *everyone pulls out a gun to shoot at the sky* “Yup. Still the highest in the world but we’re working on it.” Amazing. “Hahaha. Striking terror. Best part of the job.” Bruce why. The synchronized movements, and Denise doing them all with a pizza box strapped to her hand. I’m dead. Wait didn’t that Shop Owner die? “It’s - Captain Marvel!” I want Nico to know, that when I watched Endgame and Captain Marvel came swooping in during the final Thanos battle, that Nico’s voice saying “It’s Captain Marvel!” was the only thing that went through my mind. I am not even remotely joking. I wanted to make a post about it but couldn’t find a good enough gif of him saying it so I never did. But I really wanted to. “Hey guys, it’s Captain Marvel all the way from Metropolis” “It’s Superman” “It’s Captain Marvel!” That joke deserved more laughs. “Oh no. Are my limitless powers about to run out?... 😏 No!” I’m dead. “Hey I caught the Riddler, you were looking for this guy right?” I’m dying. The way Batman walks in all slumped, then does the flourish of the cape, is great. “Now, when I wrote Huckleberry Finn...” I knew the Commissioner said something insane before the fade out. I did not remember that. Batman putting the glasses on Superman. I can’t. The fact that the citizens of Gotham were willing to shoot Superman over an insult is insane.

"It’s your father’s plane. And it’s all that’s left of him.” His father had a bat shaped plane? “Ah now there’s a good idea. Spiderman could use a good plane.” Amazing. Love the foreshadowing. “...I have a confession to make, sir.” That deserved a bigger laugh. “Turn around. The other way.” Ok wait. Is Lucius Fox being Alfred actually canon... I don’t know who Lucius Fox is, soooo, off to google! OKAY NO THE ANSWER TO THAT IS NO. Lucius Fox is Black. But in some storylines he does sort of replace Alfred. So I see where StarKid got this from, but eek feels a bit weird to me. (Can you tell I really do have only the bare minimum of DC knowledge?) “I buy you new clothes!” Amazing. [Batman sobbing... again] StarKid captions are so great. “You got my hopes up so high, and then you mugged and shot them in an alleyway.” God. I used to use that line all the time. I should start using it again. “The cave is a mess!” The dramatics. I have not yet seen the Rpattz Batman movie, but I fully imagine this is how exactly he acts. “You know, before the war, your father used these tunnels to help build the underground railroad.” Ok wait. Wait. WHAT war? And do they mean a railroad that’s underground, or the Underground Railroad? I am confusion. “And I swore I protect you - and I haven’t.” Dying. “And make bloody certain that you’d never see another dark, sad, lonely night.” The sentiment behind that line makes me actually emotional. Alfred really cares about him. “I never had a pony.” Iconic. THE BAT DANCERS. I remembered them a second before they came onstage. Ok you can REALLY tell that Lauren and Denise are the dancers, because they reacted sadly to the “peanuts and shellfish” line since they’re more used to conveying the emotions of the music, while Meredith and Jaime kept pleasant smiles on their faces. I love the way Joe mimes driving the friendship ship. God the joy I had the first time Dylan came out as Green Lantern. I knew very few DC superheroes, but Green Lantern was always a favorite. And the first time I watched the show I was like “Who’s singing with Lauren?” I honestly can’t remember if I immediately figured out it was Jeff, or if it took until everyone else was onstage and accounted for for me to realize it was him. I ADORE the way Jeff walks onstage for that part though. So much swagger. The low “Somebody. Somebody.” line is my favorite. Mostly because of Jim. “Somebody anybody everybody be a buddy.” So great. And then just the trio. Then just Batman. GOD that’s such a good song. WAIT THIS IS 1997? BUT THEY HAVE IPHONES? Did I just NEVER notice that or did I forget? “Save it for a rainy day, I will.” I can’t. That kick jump though.

“All night long I’m busy partying with my friends at the Fortress... of Solitude.” Seriously this show is too funny. Green Lantern comes in singing “I wanna beeeee” so was he singing Dark Sad Lonely Night or was he singing I Wanna Be from Starship? I know the answer but let’s pretend it’s a cute reference to another musical. But also, he’d be singing an in-universe song... which would mean that every song they sing is sung out loud and not just imaginary... I’ve overthinking again. NICK COMING IN SINGING SINGLE LADIES. Oh my god and the zipper. I can’t. “Yoink.” I’m dying. Nick kills me every show. This takes place in 1997, but Twitter’s around... ok then. “Wait. You know my secret identity?” “It’s a secret?” I laughed so hard. The way Dylan laughed at the 2 dollar bill joke was so cute. “It’s like, have you ever heard of Mr. Mxyzptlk?” “No.” “No... That’s right. Cause I do my damn job.” That scene has been gif’d and went decently viral on Tumblr over these last 10 years. It kills me every time. “My ring is ringing.” Underrated line. I love the attention to detail that it’s Meredith’s voice for Wonder Woman.

Yesssss here we go. The most iconic villain song ever! The costumes. June my girl. Amazing. I love that Jim just doesn’t even participate in the dance break. And the way Denise modifies some dance moves to be more cat-like! So good! Nick also waddles like a penguin! Yes! “I’ll weed out any wussy.” “I’m a pretty little kitty but I ain’t no-” The BEST line. The PUNS. Every other word is a pun. The way the “I thought I saw a putty-tat” works as both a cat and bird pun! “I’m sure you’ve all be reading my... tweets.” Amazing.

CONSPIRACY THEORY TIME. Nick and Matt allowed Twitter to be a thing in this show despite the 1997 setting, PURELY so they could make that one Penguin joke. I’m ready to assume that’s the reason. I do not hold it against them. It’s a good joke.

"I second that!” I laughed so hard. “Snow way.” “Leaf!” Incredible. I just rewatched this scene because of 2/22/22 so it’s very fresh, yet I’m still dying. The way you can see Jeff walk backstage to his entrance. “Get your broke ass out of here, Two-Face.” HOW DID I FORGET THAT LINE? Sweet Tooth! Here we go. The moment Jeff stole all of our hearts. Or at least stole mine. “Well well well, looks like you guys are up to your old... Twix.” Iconic. Also Jim’s shoe is untied. Oh 100 Grand bars. It’s been 9 years since I developed my chocolate allergy, and honestly, 100 Grand bars are the only chocolate bars I still miss to this day. Chilly Willy! God all the debates over who was under the Chilly Willy suit. I forget when it was finally confirmed to be Joe. But looking at him, from the way he holds himself I don’t know why I didn’t always know it was Joe. The way Chilly Willy says “three!” just after Sweet Tooth, almost excited to know the answer. I’m dead. Chilly Willy twitching on the ground. I can’t. Ok my OCD cannot handle Denise putting the lollipop in her mouth after Jeff had his hands all over the candy part. Nope nope nope. That specific part has made me anxious for 10 years. But I know Denise liked that joke though since she got a new flavor of lollipop every show. “Now quit your Snickering, you AirHeads.” Oh my god. The costume design plus the prop work plus the writing all coming together to create this amazing character. I can’t. Speaking of the costume. I LOVE the shade of aqua they use for Sweet Tooth’s vest and handkerchief. They actually both have a very nice subtle paisley-like design to it. Love love love. Also the peppermint striped tie. June Saito. You really just went above and beyond for this show. Lauren’s crown is literally so big it’s covering her eyes. You can see Brian backstage getting ready for his entrance while Nico’s doing his Sherlock Holmes bit.

Ok I have QUESTIONS. What does the Commissioner think of evil Huckleberry Finn if HE is the one who wrote the book? Either the book is public domain and Commissioner Gordon is a billion years old, OR Evil Huckleberry Finn is committing copyright infringement. Honestly though, adding copyright infringement onto whatever other crimes he’s committing would be really funny...

“The battle can begin, OOOH” The way he goes “OOOH” is so great. Evil Mother Goose. The best. Brian’s laughter as Huck Finn. “Rogues are we.” “HONK!” The BEST villain song ever. Not even just StarKid. I mean for all of musical theatre history. The number of times I’ve rewatched Rogues Are We and the Reprise over the years is insane. It’s been years since I last watched HMB in full, but I come back to Rogues Are We all the time. And the Apocalyptour and other live performance version of Rogues Medley are AMAZING too. So great.

10 years ago, 16 year old Hope finished this part, and had already decided that Jeff had soared towards the top of her favorite StarKids list. Just one song did it. He’s that amazing.

Joe’s face when he peaks back out around the door. I can’t. “Batman loves the circus.” Yay Nick Lang! I know he was in the opening but still. “Or a clown at least. I miss the Joker.” I laughed so hard just now. “I’m Bruce-Man - I mean. I’m Bat-Wayne. Fuck!” Literally the funniest thing. “Dazzling!” Of all the adjectives to pick. “A juice box. And make it a Motts, goddammit.” I completely forgot that line. “The floorboards are warped with tears of sorrow.” Oh my god that’s so sad. “May I be frank with you?” “Well sure, Frank, if you prefer it to Dick.” “I’m just your average... run of the mill... down on his luck... billionaire.” Awww in the background you start to softly hear Dynamic Duet as Bruce gets ready to reveal he’s Batman to Dick. “It was the man behind the bat symbol, and in front of the cape.” “.........Me?” “I’m a little poopy pants.” “Yes I would like that.” Adorable. Nick plays such a convincing little boy. “You must take on the guise of what you fear most to scare... them.... yeahhhhh.” That face journey though. “I think that Batman works well because I’m a HUGE BAT, but I’m a tiny pterodactyl.” Honestly, good point. And I completely forgot that line. The tear-away suit reveal! So good! “Tonight will be a night-” “Of dancing!” “Uhh... YEAAHHHH.” That was such a cute scene.

Also I need to check if a specific tumblr account still exists... I’ll be shocked if it does. Ok maybe this was a fever dream but I am like 95% sure there was a tumblr account called Nick Lang’s Legs because of his costume in HMB, but I can’t find it. It either was deleted or it never existed at all, but I’m pretty sure it was a thing. I did find a twitter account though. I wonder if I knew the person and I just can’t remember who they were now since it’s been 10 years....

Jim’s walking stiffer as Matches out of the hospital. Great detail. AHHH I FORGOT ABOUT EGGHEAD. “Egg-cellent” I’M DYING. “SCRAMBLE.” The dead bodies snapping. I remembered that a minute before it happened. “Look Batman, a dog!” “Quick Robin! Pet it.” Oh my god. 10 years later. I FINALLY understand why StarKid picked TGI Fridays as the establishment that Calendar man robs. I guess I thought they just wanted to pick something random. But no. Calendar joke. That went over my teenage head apparently. “Calendar man your days are, numbered.” “Hee hee hee hee hee.” I’m dying. “Thank you Batman” *Batman punches her too.* HELP I laughed way too hard at that. I feel like a gif of Robin and Batman dancing the night away is really widespread. But I don’t know for sure. I just know I’ve seen that particular little moment MANY times over the years. Maybe it was in a fan-edit... Shoot I got so distracted by the dead bodies moving their arms that I missed Batman lifting Robin. Had to rewind that. Sorry I love the way Joe says Robin at the “Batman?” “Robin.” part. HUMMINGBIRD-OSTRICH-HYBRID-MURDER-BIRDS??!?! Robin tip-toeing and flapping around. I’m dead. The Penguin’s vest also has a very nice subtle pattern to it. The Penguin’s bloodcurdling scream. Amazing. I cannot handle it. “You sure got me out of a - birdcage.” The disappointment in his face at making the bad pun. “No Robin DOOOOOON’T eat those.” He stuffed it in his underwear oh my god I forgot that. “Lifelong friend.” “No...” *gasp* “Life... partner!” I forgot that part. “Buddies, bros, homies, amigos.” “Pizza.” “Nintendo.” “Woo woo woo let’s go!” I will never forget that part. Yesssss the kicks. I’VE NEVER NOTICED THE LOOK OF DISGUST ON SWEET TOOTH’S FACE WHEN EVERYONE’S GROUP HUGGING BATMAN AND ROBIN.

Ok I’ve made the executive decision to stop here for the night since it’s almost 2am and I don’t want to mess up my sleep schedule TOO much. I’ll watch Act 2 tomorrow.

OK ACT 2 TIME.

“Robin sucks!” No he doesn’t! “It’s like, don’t do that.” I think of that line pretty often. “Where’s the kid’s pants?” AN UNDERRATED LINE THAT DESERVED MORE LAUGHS. Oh hi Specs. “So say we all, Excelsior.” But Stan Lee is Marvel not DC. Also, Jim’s wearing a “I believe in Harvey Dent” shirt and I am extra confusion. That’s Two Face right? I saw all of half of Dark Knight over a decade ago, but that’s literally Two Face on Jim’s shirt. Also did Jim get that mohawk haircut for the show? It fits perfectly with the comic aesthetic. Batman’s voicemail message cutting him off as he messes up the name again. I’m DEAD. HEY SUPERMAN. I REMEMBER KRYPTO. I APPRECIATE KRYPTO. Add Krypto’s show to my limited knowledge of DC along with Teen Titans and Justice League. “And that was kind of strike 3 for Krypto” awww and the sad music. Oh my god I forgot how bad this Krypto speech is. He ran away? My childhood is ruined. “Me and... Solomon Grundy.” I forgot how sad this is. Nick Strauss’ face I can’t. I love that Robin holds Jim’s hand for so long, and then the look on Jim’s face when he finally lets go. Lauren taking off her pants oh my god. “He has to go to the hospital so he can go to jail!” “That my tum-tum wouldn’t hurt no more.” Nico’s killing me. Pop rocks and coke oh no! Sorry. Gotta take a moment to appreciate the costumes some more. The M&M zoom in shows that Sweet Tooth has peppermints for buttons. I forgot about those. Oh my god. Genius. “Aren’t you a Smartie?” “Oh I like these!” Me too. Fave candy. “My Almond Joy Wonder.” “Oh. I don’t like these.” I used to LOVE Almond Joys. Coconut is great. Everyone else is just weak. Right as I was thinking “What does Dylan’s shirt say? Does it say Bob?” Sweet Tooth says “Gob, stop her.” AMAZING. SO AMAZING. ALL FOR A PUN.\ And the Bazooka Joe joke, which is much more subtle. Too bad they didn’t have any Bazooka gum. Candy and her INCREDIBLE dress. I will never EVER be over this costume. And the wig! SO GOOD. SOOOO GOOD. “And he’s my Sweetart.” Love. Also love her two-toned lipstick. The whiplash from the “Now or Later” “Chiclet” “Take 5″ “Dove” puns coming all at once. THE WAY JIM PICKS UP NICK. I AM STILL SO IMPRESSED. HOW DOES NICK EVEN GET DOWN BACKSTAGE FROM THAT POSITION. Candy’s shoes! And her laugh! I hope Jaime knows she has the best costume in StarKid history and that she herself is amazing. I hope June knows she made the best costume ever.

I forgot the letter from Spiderman! “I don’t have any place to... stick it.” Amazing. “I follow you on the web.” I’m dying. “That I gave an A plus.... plus plus plus plus *Kissing noises*” Adorable. Shoutout to the props again for making a ROBIN SUCKS headline. “Well when you put it that way, you can’t blame them. I mean almost everything is stupid.” “WHATTT.” “Don’t bother, I’ll have them burned.” Harsh. Oh and here we go. The one true downside to this musical. God I wish they could just cut Kwan Lee out of this completely. And it sucks that the best “Bay-Wayne/Bruce-Man/Batmannnnnn” line comes from this scene. Wait it’s New Year’s Eve? “What am I thinking? I’m such a boob!” “Who can take the sunrise, ah! And sprinkle it with BLOOD.” I love the song Candyman, so I love that little joke so much. “And Two Face.” I FORGOT ABOUT THAT. The use of Whatchamacallit is amazing. The way Jeff can go from zany saying “Do I implode your heads” to being so serious and scary for “or put a bullet in the Boy Wonder’s?” Sweet Tooth’s face as Two Face pops back in. Holy quick change Batman! Nah but seriously super quick change from Two Face back to... I’m just gonna say Alfred. I’m not gonna acknowledge his other character anymore. The boop is so cute. THE PUNCH. I DIED. I FORGOT THAT UNTIL A SECOND BEFORE. WHAT WAR? YOU KEEP MENTIONING A WAR, ALFRED. “She was a double agent, but she forgot. She didn’t know who she was working for.” Underrated joke. “I know what I have to do. Fuck Gotham, I’m saving Robin!” I forgot that that was the verdict.

I love that so many comments point out that Two Face’s second appearance is in Act 2 part 2.

Also, special shoutout to the person who said the reason Alfred is so good at disguises is because Duder’s a Spy.

The tension between Construction Guy and Pizza Girl though. “You guys better get on Twitter.” OH MY GOD. The way Batman turns the phone sideways to type on the larger keyboard. That’s such a 2013 detail. Now the phones are so big that typing vertical is more comfortable than horizontal. But back in 2013, we had only just stopped using Sidekicks and EnVs with the horizontal keyboards. Nick Strauss’s “I DON’T KNOW” scream. Amazing. Nick Lang as Obama. I nearly forgot about that. “You got a phone call, motha-fucka.” That was literally my ring tone until like... ok I wanna say 2019 but the thing is that my phone’s always on silent, so even though it was my ringtone I rarely ever actually had the sound on to hear it. Actually it might still be my ringtone... did I ever change the settings... I assume I did for my newest phone... And I did it the old fashioned way. I recorded the audio on my phone then set it to the ringtone. Superman’s disappointment at getting a call from Obama instead of Batman. Amazing. “Any means necessary, Superman.” Wow this got dark quickly. I love Superman’s verse. Lupin can sing. I LOVE watching Nick Strauss dance in this. He really commits. It’s great. “And in America I do what I like.” Yep. Ok Sweet Tooth’s verse is my absolute favorite. And he does the same “OOOh” that he did for the Rogues are We reprise. So great. Also I love the way he tilts side to side when we have the front view camera. He looks like an actual cartoon in that moment. Love love love. The way Meredith says “We’re all just pawns in a fucking game of chess” on the recording is amazing. They’re so aggressive while singing it. I was listening to the soundtrack earlier today and it’s so great. Also something I thought of while listening to the soundtrack is that I realized I probably thought the way Jeff sang was a character choice, and now 10 years and... 6(?) musicals later I know that that’s just Jeff being Jeff. “A briefcase filled with 2 dollar bills!” Iconic. “That’s the American, not quite Canadian, most of us are Mexican!” Amazing.

The way Nick says “smithereens” is amazing. “But you can do that for free anytime you like.” Amazing. And I never noticed that Robin hands Sweet Tooth back the Good and Plenty box that he will throw at Candy. Was that purposeful or did Jeff hand it to Nick by accident and Nick slyly handed it back to him in time for the cue? “Wait Batman’s got a plane? Where’d he get a plane?” Sweet Tooth you just said you had Rogues on the roof, were they not there to be prepared for a sky attack? I guess he thought he’d climb to the roof, not land on it. “What are these little... Dots?” THE DOTS JOKE. God it love Dots. “I’LL NEVER WALK EVIL WATSON DOWN THE AISLE” JOHNLOCK IS CANON IN THE STARTKID UNIVERSE. YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST FOLKS. IT’S CANON. “Aw fudge it’s Batman.” “Run for your nine lives.” I think I missed the fudge pun originally. Also I love how the two women ended up unscathed and only the guys got injured. (Jim is nonbinary but Bazooka Joe’s a guy) That’s the second time this show that Batman has punched an innocent Meredith character. OK WAIT. Wait. Jim is the one holding Brian right? But xe JUST went offstage. Wow that’s a quick change. I guess just pulling on black sweatpants over leggings and switching out the leather coat and wig for a hoodie is easy, but still. Impressive. That was about 40 seconds. “Or should I say, Butthead?” “*ungodly high pitched screaming*” I can’t. The body rolls and hip thrusts in this song. Katie Spelman thank you for your choreography. Batman kicking Superman and then cradling his own leg while Superman is unfazed, love it. THE DUMMY. The lighting change for “how about some Kryptonite tonight” is epic. Yes Sarah Petty. She said in the Homecoming documentary that HMB had her favorite lighting and I agree. The look on Brian’s face after he gets punched but still singing “fuck you” is so amazing. Knowing that Brian got cut on the face by a Kryptonite punch at the one of the performances makes this funnier to me.

GOD that is such a good fight scene. They did Batman Vs. Superman so much better than the movie (I say as if I bothered to watch that movie). And the Kryptonite prop and the lighting?! So good.

Plus the fight choreo and just normal choreo is such fanservice. Katie Spelman knew what she was doing.

Jeff running with Robin I can’t. “I’ve never run so fast in my life.” “That vat of melted chocolate” Comedy comes in threes. Batman says “Grayson dive!” I never noticed until I read the captions just now. He learned from Robin! That’s actually so sweet. That one arm lift from Joe though. The slap fight oh my god. “OH you’re not coming any closer!” THE CRUNCH BAR. How did Batman know that it was there? “Gimme a break!” “See if the snozberries taste of snozberries.” I love that line. “I am falling into THAT vat of boiling hot chocolate.” Ok comedy comes in fives actually. Water shots! Nick’s little excited dance I can’t. For a second I forgot the Commissioner Gordon dies in the original timeline. The Construction Guy turning the hat around to become Pizza Girl’s son... the son she has with the Shop Owner... feels strange...

Wait. So was she cheating on the Shop Owner with the Construction Guy? Is her son not the Shop Owner’s but instead the illegitimate son of the Construction Guy and that’s why he’s the spitting image of him? Is Pizza Girl the Shop Owner’s wife Belinda?? Am I uncovering some deep StarKid lore?

The way they say “peeeople who belieeeve in good.” “...Spiderman’s an orphan.” Love it. “All the X-Men!” “You got x-ray vision! You can see girls’ totties whenever you want!” I mean, I sure hope not. “But those people are pretentious douchebags.” Calling out a chunk of the DC fandom I bet. That whole “Superheroes are cool! Helping people, is cool.” Speech is so heartfelt. I love it so much. StarKid really loves to have their shows be 95% comedy and then throw in emotional moments like that. Yesss Jim with the floating cape effects. Commissioner Gordon and the Cop reversing the motions of their deaths. Hamilton stole Satisfied’s rewind staging from Holy Musical B@man. HA when Brian had the prop facing the wrong way and we saw the cardboard branding. I can’t. “Well, goodbye!” “Good luck Superman!” “Hey! Captain Marvel!” Nico, Nico, Nico. I really think of him every single time Captain Marvel does anything. JAIME’S SUNGLASSES. SO CUTE. JUNE AND YOUR DETAILS.

"And thats, why they call me Superman!” Yes it is! “I just followed you home after the first day we met.” I forgot about that. And Robin taking off his mask to say “I’m Dick Grayson” is so cute. “I didn’t save Gotham. In fact I very nearly led you all to your doom.” Just a minor teeny tiny mistake. “Three cheers for Captain Marvel!” Best running joke of the show. “We’d be like a league, for justice.” Yes. “I have the perfect name. The Super Friends.” Yes good. Spidey coming out. I’m dead. “He’s agile as hell!... Help him up!”

Super Friends. Literally the most uplifting StarKid song ever. The number of times I’ve listened to it while walking, and literally danced my way down the street is limitless. I remember spending a day in Summer of 2012 learning the choreo to this dance number and I still know it. Oh muscle memory. I WANNA BE A MODERN DANCER! I literally did not fully get that “losing my guano” was meant to substitute “losing my shit” until this year. Or maybe last year. Wait no it was last year. Either way, way too long of a time to not truly get that line. I love how the caption says “[Lauren offstage] Aaaahhhaahaahahaaaah” Also I can normally sing those notes, but at Apocalyptour I had lost my voice from all the screaming, so by the time we got to this finale I tried to sing along to her “aahhs” and sounded like a dying cat without a voice. It was not my finest moment. Someone in the crowd literally turned back and looked at me. God I’m cringing. Jim flying in as Hawkman with the “YEAHH” “SURREE” just iconic. Amazing. THEM ALL COMING OUT TOGETHER FOR THE FINAL CHORUS. AMAZING. I WAS SO ELATED THE FIRST TIME. THIS IS SO GREAT. Nico as plastic man flapping his arms around! Yesss Dylan. Jaime’s little Flash pose before running to the back line. I can’t. Jeff doing some sort of running man move during every freestyle moment. And Nick Strauss’s dancing just before the button of the song. I can’t. I love that Meredith is the only one in boxers. I assume it’s because Wonder Woman’s normally in briefs already so June wanted to switch it up a little bit. I appreciate it

Ok. I might have to amend what I said in Starship, and make the decision that this is my favorite StarKid musical.

It almost hurts because for 11 years I’ve said it was Starship. But Holy Musical B@man’s music, jokes, prop comedy, set, lighting, and especially the COSTUMES... I think I might love it the most.

Nick Gage was such a good find for StarKid. I remember 10 years ago we were like “A StarKid musical that’s not written by Darren, AJ, or Carlos? Hmmm...” And yet, the music was amazing and unique compared to the other shows, and the PERFECT vibe for a comic book musical. Plus they got Nick to perform in Twisted a year later and he was SO funny, so yeah. Nick Gage needs more appreciation. And Scott Lamps for his additional music too. Watching the credits and shoutout to Lana McKinnon’s hair and make-up! Wow wait. The whole band was 3 synthesizers and a drum set? That’s crazy. Shoutout to Liam White as always.

So good. So so so good.

But honestly, I cannot get over the COSTUMES. June Saito you’re so great. Using the underwear and converse along with dance unitards as a base then building up from there, so genius. The billion strategically placed pockets in Sweet Tooth’s jacket and his WIG?! HIS COTTON CANDY WIG!? I cannot handle it. Candy’s custom wig and her tutu? Her incredible TUTU!?!?! The billion costume changes everyone else had to do were so great too.

Wait, is Denise’s jacket for Black Canary also her Pizza Girl jacket? OH MY GOD I THINK IT IS. Oh my god. And her shoes and tights are Cat Woman’s! The lore just goes deeper. Black Canary goes undercover as Cat Woman (because who would suspect the Canary is the Cat), and her real secret identity is Pizza Girl. She’s married to the Shop Owner who thinks her name is Belinda, but she’s cheating on him with the Construction Guy and has an illegitimate son! No I’m definitely not overthinking this in the slightest. It’s definitely not just that costume changes and versatile costumes are used and people play multiple characters. She’s totally playing just one person in this entire musical.

Anyway. Half the budget must have been spent on the converse and the candy.

Jeff Blim. We really had NO idea the impact he’d have on StarKid. We had no clue. We were just like “oh haha another StarKid who looks kind of like Joe Walker and Chris Allen!” but no. He was amazing. He made a huge impression with his first show. A bigger impression with his next. And now has written more StarKid shows than anyone else if I remember correctly. We had no clue what we were in for when he came onstage as Sweet Tooth. StarKid history forever changed with this casting and I am SO thankful.

Yay Holy Musical B@man. 10 years. Insane. It does not feel like 10 years ago but also it does. God I’m old. I’m older than half of the StarKids were in this show. I don’t like thinking about that.

#hope rewatches starkid #holy musical b@man #hmb #starkid #team starkid

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thepremedthatwrites · 4 years

Note

Hello!! Can I request a Peter Pevensie imagine where the Pevensies are visiting the readers kingdom and Lucy wants the reader to show them the best thing to do at readers kingdom. So, the reader wakes them up in the middle of the night and takes them running around the town and her Peter have a bunch of fluffy moments?

Running Around

This was a lot of fun to write! I decided to use a kingdom in a book I’m working on just to add a sense of variety in the nations used in my writings, plus I feel it makes it a bit more interesting. Anyways, I hope you like it!

I paced back and forth, the overflowing greenery of the garden brushing the fabric of my dress. As I turned on my heels, I saw a dark hooded figure making their way to me. As it got closer, the outline of a small frame and feminine curves came into view. The figure removed its hood to reveal a mop of reddish-brown hair and sparkling eyes. “Are you ready?” I questioned, my voice echoing throughout the garden.

“What exactly are you planning?” the young Queen replied with.

“You said you wanted to see the best of my kingdom, did you not?’

“I suppose I assumed you would show me during the day.” I shook my head.

“The night is when Afodilia truly comes alive,” I said, smiling. “The moonlight rejuvenates the people, the cool night air waking up their instincts to live without regret.”

Lucy shifted her weight between her feet, the noise of crickets and the rustling of the plants filling the air. “Alright,” she finally said, the moonlight revealing a toothy grin. “I would like to ask you for one more thing before we leave.”

“Anything.”

“May my oldest brother join? He’s been so caught up in his paperwork and duties as High King this entire trip and I would like for him to relax and enjoy himself for once.” I paused for a moment. I had been infatuated with the High King since the moment he stepped foot into the castle. His charming good looks were almost negligible when I saw the way he cared for his nation. Watching him be willing to do anything for the safety and wellbeing of his people was admirable and (though I would never admit it out loud) attractive.

“Of course,” I said, already feeling my heart start to race at the idea of spending so much time with Peter.

“Great. You get Peter. I need to do some last-minute things before we leave. I’ll meet you at the front gates.” Before I could protest, she was already halfway to the door leading back to the castle. I let out a sigh before following her and heading down a long corridor that led to the sleeping King.

I was surprised when I heard someone mumble “come in” as I knocked on the door. It must have been somewhere near two in the morning, a time where most people were fast asleep. I gingerly opened the door, sticking my head in before my body followed it.

“Hello Your Majesty,” I said softly. His head snapped to me, his eyes tired and posture slumped over a desk.

“Princess (y/n). Is there something wrong?” he asked, shooting up from his chair.

“Oh no, everything is fine,” I replied, pausing as I thought how to word the next sentence. “Lucy wanted to see the kingdom.” Peter let out a soft chuckle, the mention of his youngest sibling causing him to relax and the sparkle to return to his eyes.

“Lucy always loves to learn the new culture of any kingdom we visit. I’m sure we can find someone to show her around.”

“Well, I actually volunteered to do so,” I said, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. “I was going to show her now.”

“Now?” Petter questioned, his eyebrows raised. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late?”

“That’s exactly why I’m showing her now.”

“The night is a dangerous time for a young Queen and Princess to be out and about.”

“Maybe in Narnia. But in Afodilia, the best things happen at night.”

“You say that like you’ve been in the streets before, well after your parents had retired for the night and when the day soldiers had been replaced with the night shift.”

“Perhaps I have,” I replied, a mischievous smile starting to form on my lips.

“That doesn’t make it any less dangerous.”

“Then perhaps Lucy and I need someone like High King Peter the Magnificent who has battled giants and fought alongside Aslan to protect us.” Peter let out a sole laugh that seemed to rattle throughout the bedroom, a smile now on his face. He walked towards the wardrobe that sat in the corner of the room, flinging open one of the doors and grabbing his cloak and Rhindon before turning back to me.

“Lead the way, Your Highness.”

“I never saw such a busy market this time at night,” Lucy said aloud, not really caring who heard her, her head moving around as she took in the sight. The usual night sounds of owls and crickets were drowned out by the sound of buyers bargaining for lower prices and sellers advertising their goods. I stopped at a small table that showed off a variety of produce, giving the seller two gold coins for an apple. I smiled as the vendor’s eyes lit up at the sight of the gold.

I turned to see Peter watching me. I gave him a small wink before taking a bite of the apple and continuing to walk along the different tables and stands. “An apple is not worth two gold coins.” I heard someone say. I turned to see Peter at my side.

“No, but I have more money than I could count. Overpaying for a fruit won’t kill me and it helps my subjects,” I replied with, taking another bite of my apple. I turned to see Peter watching me causing me to chuckle. “Have you never seen an apple before?”

“Of course I know what an apple is,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just that your love for your subjects is admirable.”

“Oh please,” I said. This time, it was my turn to roll my eyes. “What I’ve done for my people is nothing compared to you. I don’t even know how to use a sword let alone defend my people from any physical threat.”

“You don’t need to fight a war to be a beloved monarch,” he said, shaking his head. “I would be honored to have you as my Queen.” The words seemed to have slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, his lips forming a thin line once he had finished speaking. I felt my face warm at his words.

“Thank you,” I said, rather unintelligently as my brain failed to come up with something witty to say. My hands fiddled with the apple as I looked towards the ground not able to bring myself to look Peter in the eyes.

“(Y/n), look!” Lucy’s voice seemed to snap Peter and me out of the remnants of the conversation as we both turned to her. In her hands were an array of jewelry that seemed to be handmade. “Aren’t they beautiful!” Lucy seemed to have already bought a good amount of jewelry, a collection of bracelets on her wrist as she struggled with the clasp of a necklace. I chuckled as I walked over to her, helping her with the clasp.

“Let’s go somewhere else before you spend all your money here,” I said. Peter nodded in agreement, an amused smile on his face. I grabbed Lucy’s hand before pulling her away from the stand and towards the streets.

“Where are we going now?” she questioned as we started to walk down the cobblestone path.

“To the tavern,” I replied with, Lucy’s eyes widening at the words.

“I don’t think a tavern is the most appropriate place for Lucy,” Peter said, making me jump slightly as he had been so quiet I almost forgot he was there.

“Peter! I’ve fought wars and went through rigorous training. I think I can handle a tavern.” Lucy crossed her arms as if to accentuate her point.

“I don’t know…” Peter started.

“Where were you before anyway,” Lucy cut in. “You were gone for a few minutes and now you just reappeared. What were you doing?”

“Let’s go to the tavern,” Peter said quickly, obviously wanting Lucy to drop the subject.

“Okay!” Lucy exclaimed, jumping up in excitement before skipping the rest of the way to the building. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the young Queen as we neared the building. Upbeat fiddle music and loud conversations spilled through the doors and into the quiet night. Lucy didn’t hesitate to run into the building, leaving Peter and me in the dust. Peter opened the door, gesturing for me to go in first.

“Thank you,” I said, nodding at him before walking into the tavern, Peter right behind me. Lucy had already seemed to have found her way to one of the wooden tables, a drink in her hand as she told a story to the faun next to her with animated gestures.

“Looks like Lucy’s already made a new friend,” Peter chuckled as we made our way to a more empty table. Two drinks were almost immediately placed in front of us as we sat down.

“She seems to befriend everyone she meets,” I added, a smile on my face as I watched Lucy joke and converse with the other patrons.

“I used to worry that the war would change her. But she’s still the same as ever.” I sat in silence for a moment, imagining the King and Queen as frightened kids, discovering this magical world for the first time and having to fight in a war.

“Is it hard?” I questioned. Peter looked at me, the puzzled look on his face pushing me to elaborate. “I mean going from some ordinary guy to the High King of Narnia.” Peter’s shoulders seemed to slouch as he studied the liquid in his cup.

“It gets hard sometimes,” he said, swirling his cup around. “It isn’t really the King stuff that I get stressed about though. It’s my siblings. Before we left, I promised my mother that I would keep them safe. What if I already failed that promise?”

“Peter,” I said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. His muscles seemed to relax at the physical contact. “I see the way your siblings look at you. They love you unconditionally. No matter what happens. And you certainly have not failed. Look at Lucy, she’s having the time of her life. You have done as good as a job if not better as any parent could in raising your siblings to be respectful, charismatic, and wonderful people.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at me. I felt my heart start to race at the sight of his soft lips curled into a smile. “That was the first time I actually talked to someone about how I felt. It felt nice.” I smiled.

“Maybe instead of burying yourself with work you could have fun and talk to me instead,” I replied, chuckling as Peter rolled his eyes.

“You do realize that I have responsibilities, right?”

“Just because you have duties to fulfill doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.” My face lit up as I heard the beginning of an upbeat song being played. “C’mon Mr. serious. Let’s dance.” I grabbed onto his hand before dragging him to the crowd of people dancing along to the happy tune. I laughed as Peter struggled to keep up with the beat, tripping over his own feet as I danced around him. “Does His Majesty not know how to dance?” I questioned playfully, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t usually dance at balls,” he replied, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Nice to know you actually are human and not a god sent down from the heavens.”

“What makes you think I’m a god?” Peter inquired.

“You’re perfect at everything except for dancing,” I started, chuckling. “And you’re extremely handsome.”

“So you think I’m handsome?” He let out a hearty laugh as I felt my face warm.

“Of course,” I replied quickly, feeling myself already start to stumble over my words. “I mean, just because I find you attractive doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a fact.”

“Actually, beauty is subjective which means it’s not a fact.” I stopped dancing for a moment, my brain completely focused on how to get myself out of this predicament. “And for the record (y/n).” I felt my heart start to race as I waited for his response. “I think you’re quite attractive as well. One might even say beautiful.” I felt my face warm again, only this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. The sound of bells snapped me from my daze.

“Oh no,” I said, looking around the tavern for Lucy. “We have to get back. It’s getting late and we have to seem somewhat awake tomorrow.” My eyes landed on Lucy who was now dancing with a group of fauns and dwarves. I walked towards her, Peter right behind me. The closeness of our bodies caused my heart to beat even faster as I called out Lucy’s name.

“I’ll see you all later!” Lucy shouted back towards the group she had been dancing with. “Peter, Afodilia is amazing! We have to come to visit again.” We had now left the tavern, the cool night air refreshing after being in such a warm room.

“Agreed,” he said, stealing a glance at me. We were halfway back to the castle when Lucy let out a yawn. “Tired?” Peter asked, chuckling softly.

“Only a little,” Lucy replied with. With no hesitation, Peter scooped up Lucy in his arms, carrying her the rest of the way back. I followed Peter to Lucy’s room, both of us tucking her in and wishing her a good night.

“I knew she was going to make me carry her,” Peter chuckled as we neared my bedroom door.

“If I remember correctly, she didn’t ask to be carried.”

“She was implying it heavily though.” I let out a laugh as we came to a stop. “I had a wonderful time tonight,” Peter said, his voice softer than before.

“Me too.” I took a deep inhale as I looked up at Peter, realizing just how close we were.

“I, um, got you something,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a gold chain with a single rose charm on it. “I saw it on that stand Lucy was at before and I thought you would like it.” He leaned in towards me, placing the chain around my neck. My face was almost pressed against his chest, the smell of the firewood from the tavern mixed with a hint of rosewood. As he pulled away he paused, our noses almost touching as he brought his hand to my cheek. I was worried that he could hear my heart beating, my chest rising and falling heavily from the new surge of adrenaline.

“Thank you,” I whispered, not quite trusting my voice.

“May I…” Peter started. I already knew what he wanted, not waiting for him to finish his sentence to nod vigorously. He closed the gap between us, lightly pressing his lips against mine. It wasn’t much, just a quick peck, but it filled my stomach with butterflies and I felt dizzy as he pulled away, my eyes still slightly shut. We stood silently for a moment, looking deeply into the other’s eyes. “I should probably go,” Peter said, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” I replied, my hand fiddling with the rose charm. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Good night (y/n).”

“Good night Peter.”

#peter pevensie #peter pevensie x reader #peter x reader #the chronicles of narnia #narnia #peter pevensie fanfic #peter pevensie preference #fanfic #imagine #preference #peter pevensie fluff #peter pevensie imagine #narnia fanfiction #lucy pevensie

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op-peccatori · 4 years

Text

Upon This Sword | MLQC Gavin

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Knight!Gavin/Queen!Reader

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: You’ve fought to keep Gavin by your side for a long time. When the time comes to let him go, will you find it in you to let him do the right thing?

Word Count: 6621

Warnings/Tags: fantasy au, royalty au, minor language, mentions of death, congrats you are a queen!!!, extreme cheesiness because I’m a block of cheese for these guys

a/n: yes, this is the result of reading chapter 22. I strongly debated posting this on here but honestly, I had so much fun with it I’ll probably do parts for the other boys too (~˘▾˘)~ this is an unholy union of all the fantasy shows and webtoons I’ve ever consumed.

With the early morning sun just barely making its appearance, the sounds of heavy footsteps thudding against the ground of the courtyard drown out all other sounds in the castle.

“Keep your heads up, we’ve got a few more laps to go!”

You’re aware of the eyes boring into your back, knowing there are some trying their best to stay averted, ones still glinting nervously. It hasn’t been long since you started joining the soldiers in their drills instead of working privately, but it seems not all have gotten used to your presence.

You keep your gaze fixed on the one leading the group.

Amber eyes glance back at you for the briefest of moments, a sharp brow cocked your way questioningly. A guileless smile is your only response; you pretend you hadn’t just been studying the way his shoulders flex under the thin layers of his clothing. He continues to run, unfaltering, drenched with sweat; his hair, gathered up tightly, sways with hypnotically, its edges brushing the top of his spine.

You follow, not much better off yourself, with your sleeveless tunic and leather armour clinging to you like second skin but you can’t deny the spring of motivation welling up with the presence of the others around you.

By the time the sun is high in the sky and the stone keep castle is buzzing with life, you’ve switched to sparring.

The clash of steel has heads turning, and the figures clashing keep them turned. The others have paired up, walking away as fast as possible after receiving their instructions, eager to get away from the two of you circling each other like a pair of eager, sweaty hawks.

You see pursed lips twitch, so subtle if you were anybody else you would’ve missed it, and you’re just barely swift enough to dodge the jab to your side.

Gavin narrows his eyes at you.

“You really need to work on your tells,” you tell him seriously, before propelling yourself forward to strike him head-on. He blocks it with a grunt and a tiny roll of his eyes.

“Not if you’re the only one who catches them,” he mutters, shifting his weight and you slip away, your longsword sliding off his, an impish grin blooming along your mouth.

“It’s only a matter of time before others catch up. Or are you saying you just let your guard down around me?” Your smile is saccharine as you swing your weapon in a high arc; he meets you with a strained laugh, swords meeting with a loud ring.

“Around you? I’m no fool,” he says before you both stop horsing around and charge in with a flurry of attacks, striking hard and fast. You keep him in your line of sight, focused on every minute movement from him. From the slight bend in his knees to the glistening bead of sweat at the top edge of his upper lip, your senses deeply attuned to him.

29-30 is the current tally—in Gavin’s favour. It’s time to avenge your pride.

‘I’ve got this.’

“Your majesty!”

Your sword lands in the mud behind you, the tip of Gavin’s quickly pointed at your heaving chest. The both of you turn in stone-faced unison to see Minor standing behind the fence with his hands clamped over his lips.

“That doesn’t count,” you say at once and Gavin grins at you, not budging an inch.

“Shouldn't have gotten distracted. A loss is a loss. Say it.”

Looking like you’ve eaten the most disgusting fruit in Loveland and trying to school your face into something more dignified, you sigh with no small measure of frustration.

“I suppose. This victory is yours.” He backs off without another word, rolling his shoulders as he visibly basks in the glow of his unfair win.

And then you turn to glare at Minor, who winces at the ire in your face.

“I’m so sorry! It was Anna! I mean, she sent me to inform you that there’s a council meeting in an hour.”

You see Gavin pause in your peripheral vision; there are a number of reasons why the small council would need to call a meeting, but with the recent tensions with a neighbouring kingdom, Sethia, you wonder if there’s more bad news coming your way.

A grumble on your lips, you move to yank your sword out of the ground. “This is it for now.”

You watch, unamused, as Gavin inclines his head deeply. He slicks sweat-slicked bangs back, leaving you momentarily distracted by the sight of his forehead. He smiles that quiet little smile, the one that leaves you smiling back helplessly. “Your Majesty.”

“See you.”

You reach up to feel your own damp, and maybe a little muddy hair. An hour. That’s barely enough time to clean up well enough for Anna’s standards and get some food in.

“Minor, I’m going to need some help.” You could probably get some in if someone else wrestles your hair into compliance.

“On it, boss. I’ll have someone send up a plate once you’re done cleaning up.”

From your seat at the head of the table, fingers drumming on the wooden surface without missing a beat, you study each member of your council in grim silence. Not all of them are people appointed by you; some of them you wouldn’t trust with a treasured brick, even if they’ve sworn oaths to you. If it belongs to you, they’d find a way to use it. It makes you uncomfortable, but there’s not much you can do about them.

Sunlight pours in from the wide windows, bathing the room in a soft, bright glow. It would make you sleepy if not for the stress of what’s coming.

“We’ve received reports of increased activity by Sethian soldiers near the borders,” Anna informs you, jogging a stack of papers, face set evenly. She remains the picture of grace, the one guiding presence in your life after the passing of the previous ruler—your father.

You nod at Anna, leaning back in your ornate chair.

Some council members you would trust with your life—have trusted with your life. She never loses her cool, not in front of you, and it allows you to hold onto the calm a little better.

“How many?”

“Not big enough to worry, but it’s unusual.”

“Knowing their king, I’d say it’s enough to worry,” you muse, a sour taste filling your mouth at the thought of the man. There had been an incident involving envoys from the other kingdom. In a suspicious case of misidentification, the small group had been killed. The soldiers involved, your own, had sworn to all the gods above that they had believed them to be enemy spies but could not give an account of who had given them that information, or why they had charged in and killed them without reporting them first.

It left everyone perplexed, but the biggest consequence of that was the Sethian king crying for blood. The soldiers had been stripped of their ranks and handed over for interrogation, but the muddled explanations were not satisfactory for the other ruler. While your kingdom wasn’t small by any means, you still wished to avoid warring with Sethia, what with all the other threats in the lands.

“Ahem.” You look over to see Leto frowning at you. “I agree, Your Majesty. Which makes me wonder if it’s wise to have certain council members here.”

As one, all of them—except you—shoot speculative glances at the man to your right, seated opposite Anna. Gavin stares back at them unflinchingly, and you draw their attention back to you with a light cough; fighting to keep your hands relaxed, choosing instead to lean in and rest your chin against steepled fingers.

He’s much older than you. Leto has been on this council since your father’s time, and you can admit he’s good at what he does. As the Minister of Laws, and thus the head of law enforcement he’s done a fantastic job of controlling crime within your lands, especially the capital.

But there has always been something about him that makes you want to recoil and keep him away. Whether it be the barely-hidden mockery in some of the things he says, the contempt clear in his gaze, or the hunger for power barely contained by his respect for the rules. There is also, of course, the biggest source of your aggravation when it comes to the man.

“You think it’s unwise to have our Lord Commander attend a council meeting, Lord Leto?” There’s a note of warning hidden in your silken voice, but the man doesn’t flinch. “One that involves reports of enemy soldiers?”

“I merely wish to remind you of our Lord Commander’s origins. He is, after all-”

“The man who wins our battles for us and keeps us safe. That is all you should keep in mind when it comes to Lord Gavin.” Your tone had been sharper than intended. Not waiting for a reply, knowing there won’t be one worth listening to, you turn to Gavin. “What do you think?”

How he manages to remain level-headed even in the face of Leto’s ridiculous suspicion is beyond you, but it’s always been one of his more agreeable traits. “It could be a red herring, but we still need to keep an eye of them.”

“Send Eli to the borders, give him fifty men. More if you think it’s necessary. And have someone contact the Mage Tower.”

“You think the mages will get into it?” Anna asks. “They’ve always remained neutral.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way. Has their head mage been located?” Your father taught you many things when it came to relations with different factions in all the lands. One of them had been to never, ever make an enemy of the mages.

But if you do, make sure you have people of similar power on your side first.

“No. His Excellency—Lord Lucien is still missing.”

“Assign some men to help them, just make sure you pick the ones less likely to be freaked out by mages. Actually, tell Karyu he’s got the mission, but have him give you an accurate list of the men he recruits. Tell him to work with our spymaster.”

“I’ll have a word with her, we need more eyes in Sethia’s capital as well,” Gavin says, wincing at the thought of having to track down the elusive member of their council. She probably already knows what’s going on, but you should still have a word with her about showing up for these meetings.

“Tell her to come find me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

You cast an expectant gaze around the table, ignoring the pointed looks by the old crones you wish could be forced to retire.

“Are we done, then?”

“One more thing, ma’am,” Leto leans in with a tight-lipped smile, eyes drifting to the man on your right once more. The determined look in his eyes has your hackles rising at once. “I know you said not to bring it up, but I must, once again, impress upon you the importance of keeping peace with Sethia.”

“What’s on your mind, Lord Leto?” you ask, trying your level best to keep your discomfort out of your voice. He looks at the members sitting around him before meeting your eyes, straightening his posture a little more. You don’t think it’s necessary; if the man stiffens up any more he might snap something.

Oh, perhaps he should keep puffing up a little more.

“Keeping his origins in mind, I feel the need to ask if you think they could actually be of help to us.” Gavin seems to be listening intently, much to your secret dismay. “He was born in Sethia, regardless of his current position, and I wonder if, perhaps, we couldn’t arrange a diplomatic visit to arrange a treaty—one led by Lord Gavin, of course.”

‘Oh, you would just love to send him back into the jaws of the wolves, wouldn’t you?’ you think darkly.

“As you said, my lord, Lord Gavin was born there,” you respond, keeping your tone neutral. “But he has lived here longer than anywhere else; he belongs to our kingdom. To answer your question, no, I do not think it would be wise to send him to treat with them. I doubt they would respond as peacefully as we hope they might.”

Leto looks far from pleased at your answer.

“Now, if there’s nothing else, I believe lunch is ready.”

You shoot out of your seat, striding off before anybody can stop you, and the clanking of heavy armour tips you off to Gavin’s presence behind you. Closing the heavy door behind you, you grab him by the arm and pull him into an alcove near the door, behind the statue of one of your esteemed ancestors. He doesn’t even protest, long used and resigned to your antics.

With how often you’ve used it, you wonder if one of your predecessors created this space for the very same purpose.

Gavin stands close behind you, enough that you could lean against him easily if you wished to do so. You very much do, but now is the time for some basic espionage, not acting on your often overwhelming emotions.

His breath puffs warmly against the nape of your neck as he leans in, no doubt straining his ears. You remember the first time you had done this, a smile curling along your lips when you remember the aghast look on his face at your sneaky ways.

You hear the door open, Leto’s calls of ‘Your Majesty!’ following. You both stay quiet as some of the other council members approach him.

“It was a good plan, Lord Leto. But you know she would never agree to send him away.”

“Hasn’t this gone on long enough? The late king took him in out of the kindness of his heart, treating him like one of our own, but their closeness is simply unacceptable,” Leto mutters, and you can imagine the great scowl on his face with ease. “How is any future husband of hers to accept it?”

“He’s an important asset to the military. Surely, you cannot disregard his achievements,” one of his friends try to offer.

“I’m not. I agree that he’s a gifted soldier, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is a foreigner. And yet, she still treats him like her beloved pet.” Their voices fade as they begin to walk down the hallway, but you stay in your little space, trying to breathe through the sudden rage that demands you find Leto and send him on a vacation to the dungeons.

“It’s not like that,” you whisper, all the doubts you had never quite buried finding their way to the surface once more. Because how you see the two of you differs greatly from how others see you: a fledgeling queen and her foreign knight.

“I know that. The people who matter know that,” he says into your hair. You exhale forcefully, nodding at his words. Sensing the calming waves of your mind, he continues.

“He’s an asshole, but his plan has some merit,” comes a murmur that threatens to send you hurtling back into a temper. You whirl around, looking at him in disbelief, advancing on him until he’s pressing back into the wall.

Much to your consternation, he remains infuriatingly calm even in the face of you nearly breathing fire at him.

“Oh, he’s not wrong, you say? Why don’t we fix this, then? His other solution was to marry you off, maybe we should pursue that plan too?” you spit out through gritted teeth, a voice in your head telling you none of this will help but you can’t stop the rapid thrumming of your heart in your veins. Leto has a way of getting under your skin and you’re tired of letting him, but he just makes you so angry.

“It would’ve helped,” Gavin agrees, raising a hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind one ear. “But as I told him, I could never leave your side.”

His smile is softer than all the fabrics you’ve touched in your life and good god this man puts Peggy’s desserts to shame.

“You could.” Your shoulders slump as you recall the furious threats you had made against the councillors wanting to marry Gavin off. “I’d never force you to stay.”

“No, I couldn’t,” he says firmly, and the anger leaves you in a rushed breath when armour-clad arms wind around your waist, pulling you in. You pretend you can hear the familiar, steady beat of his soft, martyr heart beneath the steel as he tucks your head under his chin.

“I don’t own you, Gavin,” you repeat, for the umpteenth time. “We’re friends. We’ve known each other since we were ten. Short of committing a massacre, you know I would support whatever decision you make.”

Friends.

A wary, subdued boy in plain clothes, standing at your father’s side when he returned from war. A ward, he’d declared, from Sethia. Be nice. You remember being baffled at his presence, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You had fallen into slumber near the window, and at the first sound of hooves thundering across the grounds you had sprinted to the hall.

But who was this little boy looking like a baby bird displaced from its nest? Surely, his parents would come looking for him.

Years went by, and there was no attempt at contact from Gavin’s people. You used to pester him about it, asking if he’d like to send them a letter, but his response was always a little smile and a quick shake of his head.

“They don’t want me back,” he told you once. “I like you much better anyway.”

That was the day you decided Gavin was one of you. If they wanted him back, they would have to fight you for him. It was risky, to allow him to join the military. It just wasn’t done. Wards were glorified hostages, a way to keep kingdoms in line.

But Gavin is ours now. He won’t go back.

He still faces contempt from people who believed he was a spy, a man who could tear the country apart. But he remains steadfast at your side through it all, content to shield you and strengthen your soldiers. A warm, reliable presence. Somewhere along the way, he became a big part of what home means to you.

“I never asked you, did I?” you realize, all of a sudden, cheek smushed against unyielding plate, fingers tracing the symbols etched into the metal.

“Ask me what?”

“If you wanted to go back. To Sethia,” you clarify and your heart throbs madly as you wait for him to reply.

He takes moment to think it through.

“I did when I first came here. Everything was unfamiliar, I didn’t know anyone...it wasn’t home,” he admits, and you pull back slightly, scrutinizing his expression. You feel his breath on your skin, see his mouth so close; you force your eyes back up, grappling with the sudden surge of desire. His proximity flusters you more than he would ever know.

He shifts slightly, his own gaze drifting down your face before he looks up quickly. Feeling a bit too warm, you finish his train of thought in the way you’d hoped it would end.

“But...now everything is familiar and this is home?” You can’t hide the hope in your eyes, and he doesn’t reply for a moment, expression blank. You feel his hands struggling with something behind your back, but just as realisation dawns he’s pinching your cheek hard with a gloveless hand, a laugh shattering his poker face at your immediate disgruntlement.

“Yes. This is home,” he assures you, warm tones and honeyed eyes leaving you feeling disconcertingly hot. You avert your gaze with haste, your stomach clenching with emotions that still give you sleepless nights, and Gavin releases you only brush his fingers along your jaw and cup your cheek. “Which is why I ask that you let me do whatever I can to help.”

The warmth leaves you in an instant. You slip out of his comforting hold and out of the alcove without another word. “No. Time for lunch!”

You stalk away, breath heavy and fists clenched, oblivious to the man standing at the end of the hallway. Gavin, who slips out behind you, watching you go with a hooded, wistful gaze, turns to look at him.

“Lord Commander,” Lord Leto greets him, a tiny, knowing smile on his lips. “I believe we have some matters to discuss?”

You’ve already disappeared around the corner, and with a sigh, Gavin follows him.

You’ve loved Gavin for nearly half your life.

You don’t know when it went from trying to make the quiet, moody boy smile, to the same boy’s smile making your entire day better. You don’t know when you fell in love. It’s carved into you so deeply you wouldn’t know who you’d be without it. You’ve gotten into all sorts of mischief together, but kept each other out of trouble and had each other’s backs no matter what.

Gavin has devoted his life to protecting you, but you value his safety and happiness just as much. You’ve fought to keep him with you, to make your home his home, and you will continue to do so until your dying breath. It would be him and you, fighting at each other's backs, sneaking food from the kitchens late at night, learning how to sew because you did everything together.

He was there when your father left you, standing at your back as you beat your sword, and your anguish, against a training dummy. He was there with his clear eyes and no judgment, coaxing you to eat something when it felt like your appetite had deserted you. He helped you breathe.

You had been there for each other after your first kills.

It’s not as if everyone suspects him. The men he fights with admire him deeply, looking to him for guidance and as a role-model. Most civilians have even set their prejudice aside, acknowledging his loyalty, won over by his charismatic demeanour, charming people everywhere he goes, often to your own frustration—mostly because you feel you’re not nearly as likeable, despite Gavin’s assurances.

But he has a place here.

“So why are you telling me you’re leaving?” you ask numbly, standing in your chambers, in your nightgown as Gavin tries to get you to put a robe on before giving up and wrapping it around your shoulders.

It’s been a week since the council meeting, with more reports of Sethian sightings coming in. You had just awoken to Gavin’s knock at your door. He’s not in his armour, dressed comfortably for long travels instead and there’s a distinctly guilty look in his eyes, with a steely resolve sheltering it. There’s a scroll in his hands.

Your heart plummets at the sight.

“If I don’t at least try—it might work, ___,” he says, so earnest it might break you. “Eli will be taking over for me, they’re sending someone else to the borders.”

“Or it might not, and they’ll kill you. And then I’ll kill them.” He sighs, rushes to you, dropping the paper on a table before cradling your pale cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. You wonder if you could reach it before him and throw it in the still lit hearth, set it on fire before he can do anything. “No.”

“Will you force me?” he asks, and a slap to the face would’ve hurt less. He notices how your face crumbles and looks slightly apologetic, but still so damn determined.

“You know I won’t.” He dips his head, pressing his forehead to yours, sweet syrup on his breath and he doesn’t get to do this, not when he’s leaving.

“I know. This is something I need to do. But, listen to me. I will come back to you.”

“Is it because you want to leave? Did I do something?” you croak, thoughts on the verge of spinning out of your control, and he visibly holds himself back from leaning in. “You’re my family. You know that, don’t you? I don’t care if they’re of the same blood as you, I…” you can’t bring yourself to continue, keeping your eyes locked with his despite the tears springing in them. But he understands.

And so he steps back to unsheathe his sword, sinking to one knee. His sword—one of a pair, forged for the two of you when you both came of age. They’ve never been too far apart either. God, you had been so confident that he’d be with you forever. He holds it pointed down, the tip of it sinking into the thick carpet.

“Listen to me.” His tone is firm in that way he uses when he needs you to focus.

You attempt to quiet your mind, knowing full well your heart is a lost cause, feeling as if the floor is collapsing beneath you.

“ ___. I swear, upon this sword, I will come back to you. Alive.” You stare down at him in conflicted silence. “You’ve protected me for so long. Let me fix this for you. I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t try. And...”

You clutch the silk of your nightgown anxiously.

“And if I didn’t feel the same way, I would never even think of going back there,” he tells you, a glow settling about him as the sun begins to peek at your parting.

“If they hurt you...” you warn, eyes darting to your own sword out of habit, where it rests near your bedside. He reaches for your hand, brushing his lips across the back of it and keeping them there for a moment. Even with the chaos swirling within your chest, the soft contact sends your nerves tingling.

“I know. It won’t come to that.” He looks up at you, soulful eyes pleading and chipping away at your resolve. “Will you sign the mission?”

It’s true. You have protected Gavin, kept him close and within reach. This is a moment that will change your lives forever. You could choose to refuse, and not sign off on this. You could keep him safe.

Or you could trust him.

You sign it in resigned silence.

You could never disrespect him, or do him the injustice of not believing in him when he’s done nothing but support you all this time.

‘You don’t know that they won't hurt you. And I know you know that,’ you think, watching him walk to the door, turning to smile at you one last time. ‘Other people aren’t like you. They’re not good.’

You wave back at him, trying to muster a smile, but the thought that this could be the last time you see him makes it near impossible. “Gavin?”

He hovers at the threshold, hand resting on the mahogany door frame. Words unspoken hang in the air between you. They’re crawling up your throat, roaring to be let out, but you swallow them like you’ve done for years.

“When you return, there’s something I have to tell you. So...Don’t take too long. I’ll be waiting.” He hesitates, wanting to ask. He leaves with a small nod.

It’s not goodbye. But the pain you feel, a quiet helpless prickling, cannot be reasoned with.

Gavin had come to your home a boy with a chip on his shoulder, and a determination to prove himself. Before you knew it, he became the one man you knew you wanted to spend your life with.

But even Anna had never been on board with that.

“You could do it. But it would make all our lives very, very difficult.”

So you had never told him how you feel. You had gathered up your love and willed it to hide within you, but it always showed, threatening to burst at the seams at the most inconvenient times. It showed how you would seek him out the minute you had some free time. How you insisted on learning together, and snuck him sweet cakes whenever he felt low. In how you watched him do the most mundane things as if he was channelling the wind his ancestors were famous for.

It became obvious when you reacted to his suitors with clear disdain, and sometimes your sword. It’s not something you have ever been able to contain, not completely.

It’s been two months. Two numbing months without him, spent pacing restlessly, asking for reports obsessively, waiting for news from the docks. It’s a bitter, hopeful taste on your tongue, a rope wound tight in your chest.

You have a few regrets. Maybe should’ve told him how you felt. Or begged him not to go. You could’ve met the king in neutral lands.

You look back down at the report in your hands, something about the fae. But the words seem to keep dancing at the edges of your comprehension, and you feel frustration rise swiftly as it’s prone to do without Gavin here to temper you. It’s unfair to put the responsibility on him, but everything just keeps reminding you that he’s not here.

There’s a series of urgent knocks at the door to your study.

“Come in,” you call out, placing the document down with no small measure of relief at the prospect of a distraction. Perhaps you should add this to the list of things you hate doing without him: read.

The door flies open to reveal Minor, panting heavily—but smiling widely. Hope blooms anew in your chest and you fight to control it.

“It’s him,” he breathes. “The ship docked nearly an hour ago. Lord Gavin’s back.”

There’s no hiding your anxiety as you watch the gates.

You had been advised to wait in the throne room, where you accept other visitors, and you had seen fit to ignore that. This isn’t a visitor.

For a brief second, you wonder if your attire is too casual, before dismissing it; it’s just Gavin. At least you’re in a dress—a plain peasant dress it may be—although Anna doesn’t seem to agree with that sentiment.

A few soldiers had been sent to escort them from the docks, Gavin’s personal horse taken along despite concerns that it could be seen as inappropriate. Why would it be? It’s his horse.

And when he rides in through the gates, you nearly collapse at the sight of him unharmed. Relief fills you, pushing out every ounce of worry you’ve kept bottled up, and you can finally breathe again. His hair is shorter. He looks a little tired but that’s to be expected with the long journey. When he dismounts, the parting of his heavy cloak gives you a glimpse of his attire. Finely woven clothes—in Sethian colours. Your eyes fall on the foreign insignia stitched at the front of his cloak, that you had overlooked in your all-consuming joy.

There are four unknown men with him. Soldiers, from the look of them.

You have a feeling, and you don’t know how you feel about it.

Gavin’s eyes fall on you and your heart flutters at the way they light up; he approaches you without hesitation. You can feel the gazes of the people around you, their confusion and unease, disquieted and unsure of what to make of this.

He bows at the waist, before straightening back up and holding his hand out to you. “Your Majesty.” You notice the approving looks the strangers shoot each other.

You don’t think twice about placing your palm on his. Whatever’s going on, you have him back. “Welcome home.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, lips curling against your skin.

Gavin doesn’t seem that different, but you know something has changed. It’s obvious he has something on his mind; he offers a crooked elbow to you and escorts you back in. It shows in how he stands, confident with a secret in his eyes, while you sink down onto your throne.

“Well?” you demand, and he fights a smile. His entourage bristles slightly, but you hadn’t missed their curious, calculating looks when you had greeted them.

“There is one thing I should probably begin with.” You wait, breath held against its will in your chest. “My family has accepted me back into their ranks.”

You wonder if you misheard.

“Elaborate. Please.”

“My revered father has reinstated me. As a Sethian,” Gavin explains and one of his escorts steps forward.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Gavin of Sethia, to be precise. Your Majesty,” he added with haste, stepping back with a bow as you resist the urge to start tapping your nail against the gilded plates of your throne. Anna, Leto and Minor stand to one side; the council members look oddly pleased at the announcement, while Minor looks floored.

You had expected and hoped for many outcomes, but for his father to take him back just like that? Batting away the jealousy, frustratingly territorial in nature, you accept this result. Gavin would not look nearly as cheerful if something had gone wrong.

“That’s quite generous of him. It’s good to see the esteemed ruler of Sethia remains as kind as ever.” Very pointedly not rolling your eyes when you see two of the group looking pleased with the praise for their king. You look back at Gavin, silently demanding him to spit it out. He looks pleased as punch and you’re literally at the edge of your seat here.

“Yes, he’s quite benevolent. Unfortunately for me, he already has an heir. My brother has been raised to rule Sethia, despite being younger in age, so that is one position he couldn’t give back to me.”

“And…” you prompt, leaning forward in your seat.

“And so he sends me with a proposal. An alliance, to keep peace, one contingent on two conditions.” The man to his right steps forward with a little smirk, holding out a document to Gavin but he waves it away. “The first is to join Sethia in the New World alliance.”

You glance at Anna, and only look back once she nods. The look on Leto’s face is, for once, unreadable.

“And the second?” you ask, clutching the arms of your seat tighter.

“Marriage.”

For a moment, there’s complete silence in the hall, before it’s broken by Minor’s gasp and the sudden chatter that comes from behind the doors to the room. In the midst of the shocked reactions, your eyes remain fixed on Gavin’s smile.

“We’ll call a meeting,” Anna announces over the voices, when it looks like you’re unable to get a word out. “It’s good to see you, Prince Gavin. While we discuss your proposal, please allow Minor to escort your men to their assigned quarters. Would you prefer your old quarters or…?”

His eyes find you and you rise from your seat, descending from the raised platform with a sudden calm blanketing over you.

“Before that. Anna, I was wondering if I could ask Prince Gavin to accompany me? Just to the gardens, there are some concerns I’d like to discuss with him.”

You take his elbow before he can even offer it, pulling him along without another word.

Your mind is oddly quiet, as if unable to produce a coherent thought, as you walk, your preferred gazebo soon within sight: the one surrounded by all your favourite flowers. Gavin’s quiet throughout as well, but the moment you’re alone and out of sight he slips his arm from your grip to curl his hand around yours, his skin just warm as you remember it, and something relaxes in your chest.

“Just to be clear, when you say marriage…” you trail off, turning to him when you step into the shade.

“Well, Sethia found themselves with a prince to spare, and what better way to secure an alliance?” Gavin explains, holding onto your hand. “And, yes, that’s me.”

‘This is too good to be true’, you think and feel a bit faint when he sinks to a knee, no sign of nervousness in the smooth lines of his face. “Are you-?”

He takes a deep breath, reaching for your hand, and it’s just like when he was leaving, but this time he’s here to stay.

“I should wait, shouldn’t I? To be honest, I don’t think I can. I’m sorry about that. But we’ve waited so long. And these two months apart have been ones I never wish to repeat in my lifetime. Even though I’ve known it for a long time, I don’t think us not being together is an option. It’s awful, it’s what I imagine foul magic is like.”

He smiles up at you, a little wobbly and so very soft. Your eyes feel wet and damn it, you had wanted to propose first.

“I love you, ___. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. And I know we’ve both known for a long time, but...there’s no longer anything that can separate us.*” He takes a deep breath, and another. “I came up with a lot of things I wanted to say but I can’t seem to recall what they were. And the ring is in my trunk. I’m sorry for springing this on you.”

You study him, his quiet frustration at not being able to recall his no doubt carefully chosen words and the way his hand flexes around yours.

You sink to your knees, hands weaving through his hair and tugging him close to finally, without the need to hide, crush your mouth to his, nearly falling into him at the taste of him on your tongue. His arms wrap around you, holding you to him, his cheeks just as wet as yours.

You kiss and kiss to your heart’s content, because even though the council will insist on discussing it—

“Yes, I will marry you,” you whisper against his lips. A part of you worries your heart might burst with how desperately it’s pounding. It feels unreal, but you think kissing him will help. “I hated it without you too. I love you so much. And I agree, I suspect dark magic is quite similar in nature.”

He listens to your rushed words carefully, nodding along.

“We’ll ask the court mage, once the tower finally gives us one.”

Us.

You grin at him, primal satisfaction rushing through you at his hazy eyes and swollen mouth. “I can’t believe we’re going to do this.”

He kisses you again, breathless with a giddy sort of joy. “I’m going to be your husband.”

“I’m going to be your wife.” Your grin mirrors his, ridiculously wide and your knees are starting to hurt, but it feels like, in this one moment, everything is going right and you get to have the one thing you’ve wanted, properly.

“Glad you let me go?” He sits back, crossing his legs and pulling you onto his lap. After aeons of very carefully just keeping yourself off him, you can’t get over how right this feels, of your bodies pressed close and hands touching freely.

His smile looks a touch smug.

“...I suppose. This victory is yours.” You can’t feign displeasure over it when you can feel his lips on your hair, your forehead, and you can tilt your head back to let him slot his eager mouth over yours.

His response is a breathy laugh against your flushed skin.

“No, it’s ours.”

It’s time to plan a wedding.

Welcome to the finish line! Thank you for reading ♡

(MLQC masterlist)

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mr love queen's choice #mlqc fanfic #mlqc bai qi #love and producer #mr love gavin #I LOVE GAVIN #now i can go back to reading without feeling guilty...for 2 days

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enkelimagnus · 3 years

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A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 3, 3387 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

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Keyleth was right about the trail. She’s the only one that really takes it.

It’s a month into Vex’s stay in Whitestone when she bumps into the red-haired half-elf again.

It’s a late morning with a pale winter sun, the kind that doesn’t really warm you in any way. Vex hasn’t had to take off her coat through the exertion of work in a couple of days. The cub plays in a pen she’s hammered into the side of the path when she got there.

She’s a couple of miles into the trail now and it’s getting harder by the day. The further away from civilisation, the more tangled the branches and roots are. She doesn’t easily fall to the ground but even her sure footing fails her regularly.

The trail now snakes along the mountainous platform Castle Whitestone sits on. A thin layer of bushes provides a buffer between the path and the rock, thicker in patches where certain harsher varieties grow. There’s some berry bushes in there, thorny but with delicious fruit that will make Vex’ delight in summer.

She decides to stop for a bit of lunch, gives the cub some milk and solid food. She’s trying to wean him off, regularly asking advice to her old mentors. Once she’s done taking care of him, she sits down on a bigger rock and starts to eat her sandwich of brown bread, cured meats and cheese, with dried fruit on the side. She’s completely out of spices and Vax won’t be there for a week at least.

It’s all a little drab. Despite the pale sun, she can feel the rain coming, and she doubts she’ll be able to spend most of the afternoon working here. She’ll have to pack up and start the hike back down to the edge of the path, for almost two hours.

She stretches out once she’s done eating, closing her eyes and letting herself dig. She settles her feet into the ground, straightens her spine and digs herself into the forest.

Her consciousness expands, past her skull, through her entire body until she’s one with her mind. And then it pushes past her physical form. Through every pore, through her feet’s connection to the ground, she breathes her mind out and lets it tangle with the forest.

It’s a strange sort of feeling. Vex stops breathing for a second as she sinks into the sensation of letting her mind run free. It’s primal. She remembers being taught this strange instinctive ability by other rangers, being taught to let herself be. Let her nature breathe out.

She stops floating after a moment though and focuses on what she’s doing this for. She’s searching for an enemy.

More specifically, she’s searching for a fey. A part of her doesn’t believe she’s truly alone and free of Saundor’s influence, so she searches. She doesn’t find any fey, nothing in the six mile radius her consciousness stretches in. What she finds however is a fiend.

She can’t tell exactly where it is, her powers aren’t that specific, but she knows it’s there. It’s in her radius, in her home, in the place she’s sworn to protect.

The trance ends and she snaps back into her body like a stretched-out rubber hand. She shudders violently, her eyes adjusting to her surroundings. She’s forgotten her own name for a second there.

The fiend’s presence leaves an ashy aftertaste in her mouth. She’ll need to go and talk to a priest about this. She has no idea what the creature’s power is, but she’d rather have some divine magic by her side if she has to root it out.

As she packs her things to get back to work, she hears something. A light footstep, to her right, coming from the south.

Vex’s hand flies to her bow. Lightning-fast, she notches in an arrow and draws it back, focusing on her target.

A half-elf with red hair, tan skin and green eyes. Her hands are up, she has a sheepish smile on her face. Keyleth.

Vex exhales. She doesn’t lower her guard, because Keyleth could still be the fiend, but she relaxes somewhat.

“You startled me,” she says in explanation, but not apology, for the arrow pointed at her.

“I’m sorry,” Keyleth replies, her hands still up even if Vex has lowered her bow. “I wasn’t expecting someone there either.”

Her eyes dart over to the rock formation for a second.

“I’m making sure this trail is secure,” Vex explains. “You can probably handle yourself, but unmarked paths like this one are just begging for idiots to climb up and get themselves injured. And then I have to deal with it,” she mutters. “And it’s a major liability.”

“I get it,” Keyleth hums. Her right hand settles on the rock.

She seems anxious despite her relaxed demeanor. It may simply be a façade. Her eyes dart to the stone right behind Vex, or up to the castle regularly, as if checking if something is still there. She’s much more nervous, almost hostile towards Vex than the first time they met. Something’s wrong.

“I was wondering,” Vex starts again, and green eyes snap back to her. “I did some… energy checks around here earlier and something was wrong. I felt a-”

“There are many wrong things in the Parchwood Timberlands,” Keyleth snaps, cutting Vex off. “Undead sometimes, some elementals too. Comes with the territory. A lot of magical energy here.”

She’s trying to distract Vex’ attention. She’s lying to her, it’s almost too obvious. The red-head is not good at deception and it immediately pings Vex’ radar. Her eyes are darting back to the stone almost in panic now, her arm not holding her staff is stiff to her side with the fist closed.

“I’m not talking about those,” Vex coldly points out. “I felt a fiend. A couple undead or werewolves or elementals I can deal with, and was warned about when I took my post. But not fiends.”

Keyleth is stiff as a board now. “I… I don’t know. I don’t come here often, and I only come on this trail. I can’t help you,” she mumbles under her breath.

She’s still lying. Vex feels the rise of anger in her throat, anger at this girl who is not letting her do her job correctly.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re lying to me but this is dangerous. I don’t know what your business with this situation is, but whatever you’re protecting, it’s gonna kill people. That’s what fiends do. They’re evil.”

Keyleth shifts, her grasp on her staff white-knuckled. “I’m not protecting anything,” she answers tightly. “I can’t help you. I’m a druid, and a weak one at that. I can’t help anyone.”

Now there is a light tone of despair in her voice and Vex can feel the guilt coming off of the young woman in waves. She sighs deeply. She hopes this one’s problem won’t be something she bumps into in the dark of the forest.

“Fine,” Vex huffs. “Do whatever you were here to do. I’ll go get the local priest of Pelor for help with that creature anyway. We need divine power to combat fiends.”

Keyleth shifts again, staring at Vex with a strange intensity. She’s maybe not as hesitant as before. There is something stronger and harder about her. Vex wonders why she would be protecting a fiend.

Evil has many faces, and maybe Keyleth was seduced by one of those. Vex couldn’t blame her if she was. She’d made that mistake before. She just wished she could save Keyleth from this.

“I… Sorry for bothering,” Keyleth mutters before she starts walking northward, to the part of the trail Vex has yet to work.

“Good luck,” Vex replies similarly as she watches the druid walk away. She seems to relax as she moves away from Vex. Well.

She screwed that one up. Keyleth could have been an ally, but her… nervousness around the topic of the fiend didn’t make her seem trustworthy.

Vex sighs heavily, closing her eyes a little. This city is much more of a mess than expected, and now she really will have to go to that Temple of Pelor and see if there’s a priest that can help her root out the fiend.

Maybe that can be her late afternoon trip, she realizes. She’s made enough headway for today, and she has no desire to stick around to see Keyleth again once she walks back down the trail in a couple of hours, hopefully satisfied with her hike.

Now that she thinks of it, coming to one specific trail once a month or once every couple of months and never any other is a strange habit. What is Keyleth finding up that trail? Is there a hideout that Vex will walk in? She should have asked her that, fuck. If that druid knows all about this trail, Vex needs to know too. She has no desire to find herself falling into a trap because she didn’t ask the person who knew.

She packs up her things and gets the cub back from his pen, before starting the long walk back down to her truck. It takes her about two hours, and she makes sure to drive home and leave the animal there before she heads into town.

Whitestone looks beautiful in the winter light, she has to admit that. It’s like the city is made to exist in this weather. She hasn’t spent enough time here to gauge if this is the average weather or not.

The high walls are almost blindingly light as she drives on the driveway surrounding the city, from the west side where she came out of the woods to the eastern side, where the cemetery and some of the temples are.

She’s done a little research and talked to some people. The Dawnfather is the main deity of the city and has been the patron of Whitestone and its ruling family, the De Rolos, since they arrived from Wildemount. Some stories say that the Parchwood Timberlands were created by the conflict between Pelor, the Dawnfather and Tharizdun, the Chained Oblivion, during the Calamity.

Stories of divine battles mark the entirety of Exandria. Fallen giants make for mountains and greatswords fit for deities are considered responsible for rivers or valleys opening into land. The supposed origin of the Parchwood Timberlands is not the only story of this kind. The place she used to call home, Syngorn, is situated in the middle of a forest known for growing from the ley energy left behind after the Divergence.

Vex has never been the most faithful. Her mother worshipped in that way that many do, partially and because of tradition and habit more than motivated by faith. When she and Vax left her for Syngorn, they found a city where the Elders’s very parents had been betrayed by the Arch Heart and left behind in the time of the Calamity. Though some had forgiven the deity and seen it as a gift, as it allowed them to become a people of the Feywild, some still held a grudge.

She guesses she took in the grudge part more than the forgiveness part.

The influence of the Dawnfather runs deep in Whitestone, from what she’s read. The Sun Tree towering in the center of the city, also represented on the city’s crest, was supposedly given by him. The Dawnfather’s temple, the Zenith, is a major place of worship, with the Lady’s Chamber. And it’s exactly what she needs.

Vex parks in the lot by the walled-up enclave of temples and cemetery. The Zenith leans against the Southern wall, towering over it. The Eastern gate is right in front of it, allowing a view of the tall wooden doors.

She steps into the yard in front of the temple and swallows. The door seems closed, but she doubts it actually is. She doesn’t know any reason why the temple would be closed today. Every house of worship of Pelor she’s seen before has been opened every day and night.

The doors are beautiful, dark wood carved with wreaths and sun rays, flames licking up the sides of it.

There isn’t anyone outside, the yard quiet and empty. As she walks across the grass, she tracks more mud than green. Vex sighs before she uses the thick iron knocker on the door. It used to be painted in gold, it seems. There’s still chips of paint in some untouched corners.

Her knock seems to echo a little inside but there is no immediate response. She waits there, wind slashing stray strands of hair into her face and sipping through her thick winter coat. From the corner of her eye, she notices that a part of the western wall of the temple is being rebuilt. She can’t imagine the cold in there.

She’s about to go and look closer at the fallen stones of the wall when something slides behind the doors. Bars probably, heavy iron locks opening. Within a few seconds, a smaller door opens in the massive right one.

Behind the panel is a human, with salt and pepper hair and a matching beard. They wear cream robes with red and gold embroideries and detailing representing suns and shields, with a golden sash wrapped around the waist. Vex can’t see exactly but they seem to be wearing several thick layers of fabric. Something about them is familiar, as if she’s seen them before.

“Sun’s Greeting, what can I do for you?” They say in a low, soft voice that must sound beautiful in a song.

Vex smiles. “Sun’s Greeting to you,” she responds. “I’m the new ranger of the Alabaster Sierras park, and I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time to discuss something I’ve sensed.”

They nod, something shifting in their eyes, though Vex cannot tell what.

“Vex’ahlia Vessar, right?” they ask. “I’ve heard about you.” They’re still smiling at her, but Vex feels frozen in place.

She hasn’t told anyone her last name yet. She’s been very careful not to. Many people and tribes do not use last names, and it is not uncommon enough to raise suspicion. The fact this person she has never met before knows a name they shouldn’t know is terrifying. She would drop into her trance and search for fey if she wasn’t in the middle of a conversation.

“Just… Just Vex’ahlia,” she replies, her voice wavering frustratingly.

“Father Reynal,” he introduces himself. “The current head of worship of the Zenith. Please, come in.”

He takes a step back to let her walk into the temple. Vex’s eyes stare at the mark of the door on the stone of the floor, but her legs walk her in automatically.

It’s almost as cold inside as it is outside, despite the large roaring fireplace behind the altar, across the room from the door. Candles are lit as the pale sun struggles to shine through the tall stained glass windows on the walls. There’s three on each of the longest walls.

Her muddy boots dirty the red carpet, but the priest doesn’t seem to pay that any mind. He’s looking right at her. Vex swallows. The door closes behind her, leaving her in the low-lit empty church.

The wall to her right is partially fallen, covered by large blankets suspended from the ceiling and attached to below the holes, to try and provide cover from the elements. It’s not working well.

Something has happened here, Vex can’t shake that feeling. The fallen walls and chipped paints and that thing about the De Rolos that the owner of the Alcove was so reluctant to talk about. Something terrible happened in this city, it hangs from the walls and through the air like ash after a catastrophic fire. It makes Vex want to cough it out, even if she knows it’s not really there.

The priest starts walking deeper in. He’s limping quite heavily. Vex follows him, dread coiling in her stomach. This is not the sunrise of divine positive energy she’s expected.

“What can I help you with? What have you sensed?” Father Reynal asks and Vex manages to make her brain start again.

“I sensed a fiend. In a six-mile radius from the stone platform on which the castle sits,” she explains. “I’ve dealt with fiends a couple of times, but not knowing what this one’s power is, I was hoping to gather some divine help.”

The priest raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m afraid a couple hours of hiking up the mountains is out of my current capacities,” he replies. His voice is much heavier, much more haunted. “That’s all you felt, right? A fiend, somewhere in that area. No specifics?”

Vex shakes her head. “My training only offers rather… general information,” she sighs. “That’s all I can give you.”

“I don’t think I can help you in any way,” he looks rather saddened by the fact.

“Maybe there is another member of your house of worship that would be up for some fiend hunt in the woods?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

Father Reynal huffs lightly. “I’m the only one here,” he says. “The only one taking care of this temple. If I can’t help you, no acolyte of Pelor can, in Whitestone.”

Vex looks around the temple. The pews wear a layer of dust she hadn’t noticed originally. A gust of wind slips under the blanket trying desperately to keep it out. The candles’ lights tremble. It’s desolate. Father Reynal looks more tired and older like this, shadows digging in his face.

“I thought the Dawnfather was the most worshipped deity of the city,” she whispers.

The priest chuckles humorlessly. “He’s still worshipped alright, but the people don’t find the time or energy to come to the temple anymore. They haven’t in years.”

A lot of her information is wrong. Way too much for her comfort, actually. Not only did she not know the de Rolos were all dead, but now this too? The nagging feeling of dread tightens in her chest again.

“I’m sorry,” she swallows.

Father Reynal sighs. “Whitestone hasn’t been the Dawnfather’s beloved city for a very long time, but it has only recently become this visible. We should have known something was wrong a long time ago but we were all blind.”

The state of the city, the thing that happened, are weighing on this man something awful. Vex swallows.

“Do you know of anyone who could help me? I think the fiend is powerful enough for mind control.” She then starts recounting her encounter with Keyleth, who the half-elf is and why she’s worried about her, with the priest watching her intently. When she��s done, she looks at him honestly, earnestly. “I really need some help in this matter. A life may be at stake.”

“I know the druid you’re talking about,” Father Reynal nods. “But I wouldn’t worry. She has a strong mind, and she knows the path well. She’s not enthralled. I would be aware.”

That feels final. He’s shutting her out of that topic, shoving her worries away. He probably knows better than her about fiends and enthrallment but Vex can’t shake the stress in her bones. Maybe it’s only her own experience with Saundor, maybe she’s projecting it all on Keyleth and that fiend…

“Unless you have something else to ask…” the priest points out. “I will see you out. Things need to be done here, work.”

He coaxes Vex back to the door and opens it. She’s being shut out of something, again. It’s what comes with being a stranger to Whitestone, but she’s here to take care of people and nature alike, not to hurt anyone. Why won’t they tell her things she needs to know?

“I understand,” she says between gritted teeth as she steps back through the door.

Right as the man is about to close the door back on her, he stops. His eyes land on her again, heavy and sad.

“Maybe go ask in town. The Lady’s Chamber might know if there are good clerics in town,” Father Reynal advises. “And the tavern is always a good place to ask.”

And with that, the thick carved wood slams in Vex’ face.

#perc'ahlia #percy de rolo #vex'ahlia #fic #critical role #vox machina #mine #vaxleth #vaxilmore

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vidalinav · 3 years

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Queen of Monsters: Chapter 6

Summary: Nesta learns more about the Rite and Illyrian traditions, but finds out first hand what that means for the potential rebellion of the largest army in the Night Court.

Rating: M (graphic elements and mature themes)

Read also: Chapter List, General Masterlist

Updates every Tuesday/Wednesday (Probably Wednesday)

“I heard he’s courting Adette,” Nesta heard, the Illyrian tucked into her fur coat, leaning a head towards her friend whispering in delightful gossip.

Nesta stood on the edge of the terrain, her hands warming besides the bonfire. One of the many placed around the field for the onlookers who watched the procession. The two girls chuckled across the way, her view tucked behind the ripple of embers burning. She thought they might have been too busy chatting to notice her anyway.

“The shoemaker’s daughter!” The other one gasped lowly, “She doesn’t have a coin to her name.”

The Illyrian rolled her eyes, and Nesta blinked at the youth they displayed. Had she ever been this young? She could distantly remember Elain’s high squeals, her own harsh opinions of this or that, but if she thought deeply on it, Nesta could only make out the remnants of starvation and petty things.

“Why would she have to? She’s beautiful.” The girl answered haughtily. “I heard Adette’s already been asked by two other males and her mother’s turned them both down.”

“What does her father say about the match?”

“What every father says. My aunt says he’s practically forcing her out the door. It’s Kallon or no one.”

Nesta lifted a cup of tea to her lips, the warmth of the liquid burning her tongue, warming her chest. The glow of the heat set the Illyrians’ hair on fire, turning the dark color into auburns and maroons. Nesta thought she might have seen the light flicker in one of the girl’s eyes, but she didn’t know if it was from joy at the news or a trick of the flame dancing in her gaze.

“Wasn’t she seeing Micah?”

“The blacksmith’s son?” She remarked sardonically. “His family disowned him two spring ago for helping out with… you know.”

Nesta did not know, though she had some idea of what occurred two years past, the subtle scream of people burning under a cauldron’s rage. The way she said it, off handed and dismissive, made Nesta want to walk through the flames and ask out right what you know meant.

“Will he compete you think?”

The Illyrian shrugged a shoulder, “He doesn’t have anything else going for him.”

Nesta lifted the mug to her lips, squinting her eyes at the two girls who laughed in their sleeves. She could hear the high-strung sound reverberate in the expansive space, and Nesta wanted to cover her ears. Like a dog whistle, it rung and pierced. Her head ached from the pitch.

Cradling her head, she leaned over the bench to set the cup down on the snow.

“He’s good for what he is,” Cassian remarked from behind her.

The cup slipped from her grasp, tipping to its side, the hot liquid spilling to the ground. Nesta sighed as the tea started to form constellations in the billowy white.

She glared at him, “Would you stop doing that!”

“I didn’t mean to” he answered, raising his hands. His eyes were bright with ease as he took in her expression, murderous and unafraid. “Seeing as you keep refusing to train with me, I’ll save the lecture on how you should be more aware of your surroundings.”

Cassian raised his chin to the male in question and Nesta followed his gaze to where Kallon and ten other Illyrian’s were taking turns beating each other to a pulp. Truth be told, she had not been watching, choosing instead to examine the two chittering females in front of her who now sat straight, quickly looking elsewhere as she caught their eyes.

Kallon was winning by far, the glittering sword in his hands made of Illyrian steel and polished to perfection. The other males’ weapons had not been half as grand.

“Do they have to do this every year?” Nesta complained, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her coat. Even next to the fire she was freezing, and she wondered why, for a race of people who’d lived longer than at least ten human generations, they did not host these fights indoors. “Compete,” she clarified.

“Yes, every year,” Cassian nodded, sitting next to her. She heard the creak as he jostled, setting his wings so they did not lie in the snow. Nesta wanted to brush them away, suddenly feeling like she needed more room on that small, tight bench. “The games are held every mid-winter to select the warriors competing in the Blood Rite in the spring.”

Nesta set her head in her palm, watching another Illyrian use the butt of his sword to blunt Kallon in the nose. She couldn’t resist the smirk that had somehow appeared on her face.

“How do they choose who gets to go?” She asked.

“Here, they have males compete for a spot and only send the top three. Whoever wins enough rounds will go to Windhaven. They’ll compete in archery, sword fighting,” He said, gesturing to the ring. “hand to hand combat… The ceremony usually lasts a couple of days before they decide.”

Nesta winced as she watched Kallon take on two males at once. He was skilled as far as knew, though she admitted it wasn’t much. The only thing she knew of battle was watching Cassian’s guts spill out and she could not very well use that to measure the skills of the sword.

Cassian leaned closer to her and she could feel his breath near her ear. Even if she knew it was more to keep the words, he was about to say, private between the two, Nesta still held her breath, careful not to take in the earthy scent of sap and firewood.

“Kallon is hoping to win, and he will, because even if he’s the son of a lord, he doesn’t earn the respect of his title until he stands on the monolith on Ramiel. If he does at all,” Cassian added, off-handedly.

Nesta titled her head towards him. Her face close enough to see her flushed reflection in his eyes.

“I heard…” She swallowed the apprehension down, “that only the three of you have done it.”

“It… as in standing on top of the mountain.” He inquired, his gaze gleaming. “not the only ones, but I admit there’ve been very few.”

Nesta watched as his gaze traveled down to her lips, a quick glance and then back again. But she’d seen it and he knew, because Cassian smirked, one, lone dimple appearing in his cheek. Nesta wanted to poke at it with her thumb.

She marveled at the silence in that moment, the civil conversation making their interaction light and airy. It seemed the cold weather was not bad for their fiery words, perhaps it had subdued him enough to not poke fun and had iced that wounded part of her that ached incessantly.

“Why? Does that impress you?” He asked teasingly.

Or not.

Nesta chose to ignore his words. “Did Lord Devlon make you participate in these competitions?”

Cassian’s grin widened at her aim to distract but appeased her anyway.

“It’s up to each camp lord to decide who gets to participate and how they’ll make that choice. Many believe only the special elite should have the right—the families from long lines of money or titles,” Cassian shrugged, staring off into the clash of swords and teeth. “Devlon, even if he’s a lord and sometimes too traditional, doesn’t care about these frivolities. He’ll let any Illyrian who thinks they’re strong enough.”

Nesta thought she admiration in the look he wore, and she was surprised, for all she’d seen were grimaces and rolling eyes when mentioning the male.

“It didn’t matter that I was born a bastard, Azriel some discarded son of a lord, or Rhysand, a half-breed with some unknown, unrivaled power. To Devlon, we were warriors—could be warriors,” He admitted. Begrudgingly, so, because his jaw clenched as if the words were hard to get out. “For that, even if on most days I want to ring his neck for making things difficult, he will always be better than them.”

He jerked his chin lowly as theirs gazes went to the males on the raised platform with their own bonfire, sequestered off from the rest of the Illyrians. Lord Ovis and Lord Ymran sat on their chairs that seemed more like thrones than casual viewing platforms. Nesta caught sight of the female from before who’d taken the basket of fruit. Even heavily pregnant, and she was heavily pregnant, they made her serve them drinks and did not offer her anywhere to rest.

Nesta almost wished one of the swords would go accidently flying through the air, stabbing at least one of them horrifically in the eye.

“What are you supposed to do here?” Nesta asked, behind gritted teeth.

Cassian paused, chewing on his lower lip and Nesta wanted to brush her thumb against it and tell him to stop. “I am supposed to keep the camp’s in order. This one especially. It’s part of my job as being the acting general-commander.”

Nesta noted that he didn’t elaborate why this camp had become an issue, and she sighed internally. Would they never trust her?

Cassian was careful to choose his next words. “After the war—even before then—many have… questioned whether I am fit for the position.”

She could hear the gasps of the girls as the bonfire flashed. The fire swelling higher for a moment then dipping back to its original size.

“Why would they ask such a thing?” She roared, suddenly angry at anyone accusing Cassian of not doing his job.

Cassian only looked solemn, facing away from her. “Because their sons didn’t come home.”

“There was a war.” She said sternly.

“It was my job to keep them alive.”

“It is your job to protect as many as you can.” She surmised, her voice growing louder even if Cassian grabbed her wrist to lower her back down as Nesta rose to her feet. “Don’t they know what you sacrificed? What we sacrificed for—”

Nesta shook her head, distraught and a loss for words.

“They were lucky they died before the war ended. Look around! Death was a privilege.”

“Not to those who died. Not to the families who have to live without them.”

Cassian looked at her, something blooming in his eyes that Nesta couldn’t name, but she swallowed it down. He still held on to her wrist as he shushed her. His calm silence breathing air into her lungs.

Nesta blinked away the harsh burning in her eyes.

“It’s hard for them, I think... It’s hard enough when people pass, but to admit to themselves that warriors are meant to die. I think it ruins the perception. This fanciful idea of being the strongest or the fastest or the most talented with a sword.” Cassian lifted a shoulder, his lips forming a thin line. “We go to war to die. I think every soldier knows this when they step out onto that battlefield. Whichever it might be.”

“My father wasn’t a warrior.” Nesta gasped. She clenched her fists and somewhere deep in her stomach, she could feel fire burning, feel her face warm up, steam rolling through her lungs like thunder. “My sisters? No... Why do they also suffer?”

“Nesta...” Cassian began, “I’m sorry that—”

Nesta couldn’t stand the look. The regret so deep in his bones. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Stop.” Nesta clenched her jaw, her teeth aching at the impact. She could hear her heartbeat, had not learned to tune it out. It sounded like a funeral dirge. She could envision the tombstone back in Velaris, though she’d never once set foot on the land.

Here lies Nesta’s hopes and dreams.

Failure. Father. Gone.

“Please... just stop.”

Cassian’s nostrils flared as if he might try once more, but a lankly looking boy ran up them. Cassian looked furious at the interruption.

“General... Commander... General-Commander.” He paused. At Cassian’s murderous expression, he gulped, looking down. “The Lords would like to speak with you about tonight’s council meeting...They say it’s urgent.”

Cassian grumbled, his chest rumbling with unsaid words and phrases.

Nesta took a breath. "Go.”

“But Nesta,” He began to argue, but she was through. The day had already settled lamely on her shoulders and she could not bear to carry it any longer.

“Go!” She yelled.

Cassian did, sulking as he lifted himself off the bench, and followed the young Illyrian. Nesta didn’t watch to see if he looked back or not. She supposed, he probably did. He was just that type of person to coddle a wounded stag after shooting it.

Nesta picked up the mug that lied haphazardly on the ground, tracing a chip on the handle she’d not noticed before.

She wanted to throw it a wall, but there was none she could see and so she carried it with her, holding it close as she walked away from the bonfire.

Distantly, she could hear the girls giggle.

“My brother told me they almost died for each other,” She heard one of them say.

“Do you think they’re in love?” The other asked.

Nesta tuned them out. Once again remembering what it was like to be young.

She thought of Tomas in that moment—where he must have been. She hoped he still had the scar on his cheek from where she’d hit him with that rock. The only thing she could find as she laid pinned under him.

She had not loved him. Hadn't cared for him even before then. But Nesta couldn’t help but wish she’d grabbed the rock again... Beat and plunder everything he took that day.

Here lies Nesta’s innocence, his tombstone would read. It was gone before he even made the first blow.

The memories seemed to follow her as she left the outdoor arena.

Her dreams did not comfort her as she trotted through the snow.

It was almost evening when she made it to the outskirts of the camp, the buildings growing less and less until all that remained were a few houses scattered about.

It must have been strange to live on a mountain, she thought. Nesta had spent so much time thinking about how Ramiel could somehow bury Windhaven, it seemed concerning that no one here had thought what the mountain would do. There was no way to plan for destruction, but it always loomed. Chaos following them around in its dark cloak looking for a chance to strike when they least expected it. A thief in the night.

Nesta wished she were a better thief. Perhaps, she could have stolen food while Feyre was galivanting through the forest, learned how to pick the pockets of those wealthy ladies she’d used to know, who raised their noses when she’d walked by; her clothes reeking of stale, dowdy water.

But no, she’d prided herself on being lavish even in troubled times. Poverty may have stained her clothes, but it would not seep into her skin where gold and diamonds had glittered.

It was that opinion, though, that had made them suffer, made her starve, and it was these opinions that Nesta found as she looked towards the forest floor, the opening dark and unknowing. She listened for the hoot of owls or chirp of birds but found none. Besides her thoughts, it was utterly quiet in the trees.

Still, she walked. If Nesta could not find the shop that sold thistle, dried basil, and thyme, another few plants on the list, she would go collect them herself. No matter how impossible that seemed in the middle of winter.

The forest didn’t scare her as much as the first time. Where there was no light, there were secrets hidden in plain view. Where there were pockets of sunshine, Nesta found the forest to be a perfect reading spot. The trees were thick but comforting. The wind chilly, but talkative.

At the very least, it was better than being around people, she thought. The snow covered the ground where she walked, the gnarly roots poking out where the leaves had covered it and Nesta wondered if Feyre had ever felt peace hunting in the woods. She’d scorned them sure. For letting her hunt. For not making it easier. But did she secretly enjoy the thrill? Did she ever look into the field and think, had she not been starving, this might have been a hobby, a calm, peace of mind?

Nesta couldn’t imagine what Feyre would say.

She knew what she would say. That no amount of peace of mind would make her hold a bow.

No amount of pleading would make her train with Cassian. No amount of love or time or regret would make her forget what the cauldron made her, or what Hybern had done to her family. Being calm? No, there was only calamity and Nesta wanted to collect it, store it in the empty space of her veins, and gulp it down as if she were swallowing a universe of stars.

Nesta looked towards the sky, the trees painting clouds where they parted. Where she thought she might have seen the burnt orange glow of a raging sunset, Nesta only saw smoke. She gripped the paper in her hands. Ira’s words faint where she’d held it in her fist.

She followed the trail as best she could. The smoke disappearing under leaves. Nesta had nearly tripped on a broken log, searching for its origin, but a few steps forward and there it would be again.

After more than a few stumbles, Nesta traced it to a cabin.

Worn and abandoned, the brick crumbled from brown to grey. But the sign at the front, scribbled on and lazily written, contained the only word she knew how to read in Illyrian.

Tucked into curling lines, like vines crawling out towards her, tucked in between letters brushing the foliage. The root word, in all its glory, bloomed.

Plants.

Nesta breathed in a sigh of relief.

Staring at the building, she wondered why Ira hadn’t told her that the shop she’d needed was in the forest. A ways away from the cluster of shops in the pavilion of Ironcrest’s judgmental stares. Perhaps, the female had wanted to punish her… for being annoying, stubborn, not easily dismissed. Perhaps, she’d wanted Nesta mad.

She was certainly furious as she kicked the door open.

Four days.

Four days she searched, climbing up the peaks of this blasted town.

Four days, getting hissed at by residents who couldn’t stand her walking around freely, never lowering her gaze, never following some archaic, undisclosed rules.

Four days, she’d worked harder than any week in her entire life.

All for what? A list of plants they could have had imported in from Velaris!

Nesta huffed as she entered the small store, the warmth swallowing her as it did the freezing, frigid air. Four days of that, too.

A soft bell rang as the door slammed shut, and Nesta surveyed all inside.

Bookshelves lined all four walls. Nesta traced her fingers along dusty spines, and were there wasn’t books, all kinds of flowers grew. She’d never seen so many, even thinking back on Elain’s garden. How many types of colors did roses come in? For there were many collected in vases. How many stalks of delphinium? They stood taller than her and Nesta reached high to measure.

Plants seemed to grow out of the floorboard, and she circled the room, only stopping as her gaze landed on a bouquet of amethyst.

In the bouquet, the deep purple flowers she’d seen attached to doors and above mantels, soaked in vase of water, along with others Nesta was not familiar with. Some white, some a dark shade of violet. Their petals twisted menacingly. They bloomed as if they were facing the sun.

Nesta reached out for one, but a cough made her jump back.

“The darkest one is wolfsbane. The white—moonflowers, and the other, the one that looks like a trumpet, is nightshade.”

Nesta turned to face the female who’d spoken. She wore a light summer fabric that Nesta found odd, even in the warmth of the room and as she stepped closer, Nesta noted that it didn’t reach her feet. Instead it crept towards her thigh in a way that made Nesta want to pull her own dress down.

Her hair, dark as midnight, was braided back and even so it went all the way to her waist and she was beautiful. Nesta wanted to roll her eyes at the thought. All fae seemed to be beautiful. But the female was not fae. Not in the way that she was… She looked towards her ears and found them human-like. Not at all pointed in ethereal warning.

“You sell a lot of them,” Nesta remarked slowly. Not a question, really, rather an observation of things she’d seen.

The female shrugged, her hair swiping behind her. “The Illyrian’s have odd ideas about what lurks in these woods… and what keeps them away. Who am I to not satisfy their whims and fancies?”

Nesta held the moonflower up to her nose. It smelled of honey and sweet dreams. “You speak as if you are not Illyrian.”

“Well, I don’t have the wings do I?” She noted, looking towards her back as if to check if she indeed carried wings. She looked back towards Nesta solemnly, seemingly disappointed.

“I have a list,” Nesta spoke, setting the flower down and handing the paper to the awaiting female. She watched as her eyes trailed the page.

“You know, for as long as I’ve been working with Ira, which I admit hasn’t been long, she’s never once sent a fae.”

“I’m new,” Nesta commented. The female shrugged and started taking out baskets, pulling out plants from the floorboards as Nesta suspected. There were a million and one places to store herbs, she thought, as the not fae, not Illyrian moved around the shop.

“You are younger than I thought you’d be.”

The female snorted, glancing up at Nesta. “We look the same age.”

“I am not very old,” She remarked.

“And I am not very young.”

“How old are you?” Nesta questioned, as she was genuinely curious, and she seldom knew anyone who’d she felt comfortable enough to ask.

The female huffed a laugh, pulling out a pair of shears from a glass planter in the shape of a frog. “Ope, what are those doing there?” She chortled, setting them in her basket.

At last when she made it to the counter with a collection of Ira’s order, she peered at Nesta, her eyes sparkling.

“We all have to keep some secrets,” She answered, smiling mischievously.

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, but a voice called out from the back of the shop.

“Ruby!”

At the small tone, the female sighed.

“Ruuu-by!” It sang, increasingly loud.

“You know just take the basket,” She said, moving the batch of plants into her arms. “I owe Ira a favor so tell her it’s settled.”

The female, Ruby, Nesta assumed, rushed ahead opening the door for her, but before Nesta could follow a little boy appeared behind the curtain leading to what seemed to be an apartment in the back. His brown hair floppily fell across his eyes and he pushed it away, revealing the prettiest eyes Nesta had ever seen. Bright green, like fresh fields.

Nesta also noted the lack of pointed ears, the normalcy in his face. He could have been human, she thought, though she knew it to be impossible.

“Jamie, go to your room! I’m helping a customer.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“You just ate an hour ago,” Ruby said, placing her arms on her hips as Nesta imagined every mother did at some point.

“But that was only a snack,” The boy whined, his lips drooping down in a pout. At Ruby’s stern look, Jamie reached up to the counter, taking a jar that Nesta remembered being nettle, and peered inside.

“What’s this?” He asked curiously, sniffing the contents. Ruby rushed to take it from him as he looked up at her with big eyes. She sighed deeply, a whole world of annoyance in that one exhale. Nesta smiled softly in sympathy.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Ruby spared her a glance, giving her a tight smile and waving her off.

“Don’t be a stranger now!” She called, happily at the last moment.

Nesta chose to take the suggestion lightly. As friendly as her words had been, she was still the nameless assistant to a crass healer and she wasn’t going to stay in Ironcrest for long. Besides, most people never meant what they said, she told herself.

She rarely had ever meant what she said.

There was chaos in the streets.

Nesta couldn’t say she was surprised. Destruction would always find them, after all.

But the commotion was not caused by falling rocks as Nesta stood there, casually tracing the people forming a group in the center of town. The cacophony came from voices, ringing high and taut. She could hear the shouts before she could see the Illyrians they had come from. Maybe the noise had come from them all. Some harmonious, calamitous symphony.

She walked towards them, her hands reaching out for the music.

“They’ve taken our sons!” A female’s voice croaked. “They’ve taken our pride. What more will they take from us in the name of the High Lord?”

She heard yells in agreement, her vision blocked by a flurry of wings that lifted higher.

“Who has seen the reward they’ve promised?” Another shouted. “Or was it the limbs our brethren lost, the memories that haunt their vision. What reward will amend for my son being blown to pieces?”

Nesta closed her eyes, suddenly seeing wings obliterated in the recesses of her mind. Ashes, but no blood. It sprinkled around her like rain.

“Who will take care of our baby?” A female screeched. Nesta stood on her toes to see an infant being raised into the air. The child hung blinking at the crowd, wailing as he heard the shouts reach a crescendo of awful sounds. Nesta huffed. As if the child didn’t scream because of his mother.

She pushed through the crowd, hearing the words hey! And stop pushing! Nesta continued until she was in the center of them. Females and males. She could not make out their faces. They blurred in unfamiliarity.

One of the females, her hair dark as night, her face covered in angry lines, pointed.

“Her!” She screamed.

Nesta only stared as the others began to look at her, too. Some sneering, some spitting on the ground near her. Nesta stepped back in repulsion. But the Illyrians stepped closer, as if they might bury her under their bodies and sweat.

“She did this to us!”

Nesta turned her gaze away, sighing slightly as her back seemed to straighten on its own accord, her chin raising in nonchalance.

“See how she mocks us.”

Nesta scoffed quietly.

“She thinks she’s better than us.”

True, Nesta wanted to reply, but thought better of it.

“Her and that bastard making a mockery of this camp!”

Nesta paused at the words, some feeling nagging at her. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch. But she didn’t brush the feeling off, instead she let it ruminate—let it build.

“Some cheap whore,” She breathed, “coming to take our lives away.”

Nesta grimaced, clutching her head. “Would you stop yelling?” She spit. “You’re giving me a headache.”

One of the females, an older Illyrian who looked matronly in her long coat and her wool hat, looked outraged at her remark, shocked that she had such a casual attitude. Nesta wanted to smile, but she merely raised a brow. Try again, it said.

One of the females, the youngest looking, sauntered closer, but Nesta didn't back away. She could feel all of them closing in, the heat of their bodies making her feel sticky in the furs.

“Go back where you came from,” The female seethed, the words forced out of gritted teeth. “human scum.”

“That’s enough!” Cassian roared, breaking through the crowd. His hair tied and tight, his leathers sticking to his skin as if he had just come from training.

She blinked lightly as he turned towards her, his eyes asking if she was okay. Nesta crossed her arms and gave him a look. She could have handled this. By herself.

The group started to grumble but Cassian cut them off, circling them as he waded in the center.

“GO! All of you!” He yelled, pointedly staring at the males who had gathered. Probably marking them down for those who’d receive punishment in the form of extra drills and training. “Anyone caught here again today will suffer the High Lord’s wrath and my own.”

“You cannot tell us where to gather, boy,” the matron scowled. If Nesta didn’t already harbor so much hatred for this female, she might have been impressed.

“Need I remind you that you have another son in my ranks,” Cassian answered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He seemed to have made a point, for the furiosity in the female’s eyes dimmed. But Nesta knew the Illyrian wouldn’t stay that way forever, just as much as Nesta knew she could never really let go. Anger was just like that. It was a hidden wound in a healthy body. The longer it was there—the longer it didn’t heal—the sicker they became. And one day, one day soon, they’d find it to be too late to heal from their own neglect. They’d die with that pain still raging through their bodies.

But for now, it was bright and burning.

The female dipped her head, smiling mockingly. The others didn’t so much as look at them as they dispersed.

Nesta watched them go, almost sad that the fire had dulled so soon.

Cassian whipped towards her, reaching out a hand as if to grab her, but he caught himself and lowered his arm. He breathed deeply.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Nesta was going to begin telling him why he should have left it alone, why she didn’t need him there, why it was all his fault to begin with, but her gaze strayed to the building beside them.

Lord Ymran was there.

He did not smile at the two of them or offer them greetings. He just stood there, his wings high, his eyes glowering. Nesta wondered how much he saw; if he’d been there all along and had done nothing. Maybe, he’d also been a part of the crowd.

Cassian followed her gaze, his shoulders going taught at the male who seemed unbothered by their perusal of him.

This time Cassian did grab her. His hand held her wrist gently and her brows furrowed at the touch.

“Can we go somewhere else?” He asked, his voice lowering to a hush. For the prying ears, she assumed.

She nodded her head, and within moments he had grabbed her by the waist, and they were soaring through the smoky skies.

Nesta didn’t want to admit that she had let out a breath as the town turned into another dot on a map.

Cassian set her down at a clearing far from the camp and Nesta ripped towards him. The flurry of snow kicking up as she moved. Cassian didn’t want to admit that he was almost joyous she was furious. Angry Nesta meant healthy Nesta.

“This is your fault!” She yelled, her cheeks blooming into rose colored daydreams.

“My fault?” Cassian fumed, astonished at her accusation.

Nesta wagged a finger, her eyes burning behind grey-blue. “This never would have happened if you hadn’t taken me to this camp!”

“You wanted to come!”

“I never wanted to be here! I never wanted to see you again! But nooo.” She sang, her words pitching higher in imitation, “Oh, Nesta you need to go to Illyria because we can’t stand to see you spending our money on ale. This apartment isn’t pretty, you should move to somewhere nicer, closer to us. Those males, they don’t mean anything to you, you shouldn’t be sleeping around. It’s not healthy for you!”

Cassian’s eyes widened as she rambled, and he waited for her to catch her breath. The red of her face trailed down her neck.

“Well you know what I like to fuck and I don’t give a fuck what you say or my sisters or any of you rotten lot. I wish I had never come here and I wish I had never met you! And I wish I’d never become fae, and I wish I would have died in that cabin all those years ago!”

“Look Nesta,” Cassian had heard enough, “I know you feel like life is shit right now. But it is shit a lot of the times and you just have to accept that, because it’s not always like that. It does get better.”

“Oh! Stuff a sock in it!” Nesta roared, her hands waving dismissively. “Don’t tell me how to live my life when you don’t know jack shit about your own. Or did you forget that you’re just as alone as I am!”

Cassian raised his hands in surrender. “You know what? I’m done. Fine. You don’t want to be here? I’m taking you back!” At the words, Nesta crossed her arms, pieces of her hair falling out of her coronet, never settling in place as the wind picked up. “You want to be happily clustered in that shitty apartment, drinking your wits away? Fine. Go head. See if I care!”

He squinted, huffing as the anger seemed to build as much as it had in Nesta. Well, two could play that game. “I hope someone loves you they way you deserve to be loved, Nesta,” He mocked, “With all the pompous half-assery, with your mediocre feelings and your hit the wall moods. Maybe your sisters can find it in themselves to just accept you that way. Nesta, their true, loving sister.”

Cassian’s eyes stung as he stared, Nesta’s red around the edges. Her lips pursed and that bitter brightness that had taken residence in her gaze lessened into a deadly stillness.

“Oh? And here, I thought you said you couldn’t understand how my sisters could love me.”

The mountain seemed to still as the words settled around them like dust, the snow refusing to fall as if it were to afraid to be there with them.

Cassian, in a moment of utter foolishness and because of his penchant for pain, reached out to her. He was always reaching. Never getting nowhere.

Nesta didn’t even look at him as she tucked her hands in her coat, walking towards a rock where she sat, facing the field of snow and sterile silence. Cassian, knowing full well, he was stuck in this moment until she wanted to leave, took up space on another rock.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he chastised.

Tagged: @my-fan-side @ekaterinakostrova @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @queenestarcheron

I love writing Nesta being oddly protective of Cassian even if she thinks she hates him right now or has some unknown vendetta against him. I just want them to be together already but legally I am not allowed. That would be defamation of character and, to me, romance is a subtle thing. Creeping up slowly and pouncing when they least expect.

Oh, god I love writing them arguing. It raises my blood pressure, but fyuh it’s cathartic!

Anyways, Like, Comment, Reblog and Happy Reading!

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #acofas #acowar #acomaf #qom #vidalinav

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