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shadowsndaisies · 2 years

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codename: nightingale - insecurity

Reference: Young Justice Season 1 Episode 23

WC: 8.6k

synopsis: ng has issues with december, robin is mia so wally steps up. roy is a snarky shit, and tests even ng’s patience. meanwhile oliver and kaldur take turns mother henning our favorite birb. ps: all artemis needs is a little confidence and some tlc

main masterlist

codename: nightingale series masterlist

a/n: this chapter does get a bit heavier due to some of NG's history. There's brief talk about how she became an orphan spread through the chapter, so if that's something activating; be advised. that being said we get a lot quality bff wally west in this update

STAR CITY

December 4th, 12:35 EST

“I can’t believe you actually told them no,” Roy huffed, opening the door to Lenetti’s for you.

“Roy,” you said his name with a long-suffering sigh. He’d been haggling this point hard since Thanksgiving.

“The Justice League wants to indoctrinate you, making you the youngest member ever, and you said no,” he practically hissed as you skipped past the front and beelined for your usual booth.

“I’m not the youngest; Billy’s in the League,” you shoot back. It was true; Shazam was actually Billy Batson, a 10-year-old kid.

“He doesn’t count. He turns into an adult,” Roy dismisses.

“Seems like a grey area,” you hum as you wave at Mrs. Lenetti, who had smiled as she spotted you and Roy settle in.

“You’re an idiot,” Roy decides as he slumps in his booth.

“Roy Harper, you know better than to call her names. How many times has this sweet girl pulled your ass outta trouble?” Mrs. Lenitti scolds as she approaches, having caught his last statement.

Roy scowls a bit, and you can’t hide the prideful smirk on your lips.

“It’s okay, Mrs. L. Roy just doesn’t understand a decision I made recently,” you cover as Roy rolls his eyes.

“Well, if it’s something she’s serious about, honey, maybe it’s worth it to trust her gut. I don’t believe it’s led either of you wrong yet,” Mrs. L says sagely, gaining a softened look from Roy. “I’ll send your lunch orders in, same as usual?”

“Yes, please,” you smile brightly, and Mrs. L pats your cheek gently as she nods in affirmation.

“I’ll have the new girl bring you some water,” she adds from over her shoulder as she walks back toward the kitchen.

Your eyes catch on a blonde girl who must be in high school, watching as she nervously read the number on the ticket and then counted the tables under her breath.

“I can’t do it,” you finally say, voice low and soft, and it seems to snap Roy out of his brooding.

“What?”

“I can’t be 14-year-old (Y/n) Roxo and be a part of the league. When I’m older, obviously I want to do it, but I don’t think I’m ready for it just yet,” you explain.

“But it’s the League,” Roy’s voice had dropped to a softer tone as well. You could see him mulling over your words as he thought them through.

“The League wants the Sonic Sidekick, not soon to be a freshman in high school (Y/n),” you lament.

“I can’t believe you’re about to start high school,” Roy huffed.

“Makes a lot of sense when you look at it that way, doesn’t it?” you tease.

“Maybe,” he scoffs, dropping your gaze to fiddle with his napkin.

“Okay, Mr. High School Graduate,” you shoot back, and Roy offers a playful smirk.

“High percentile, too,” he winked.

“And yet you broke all our hearts when you decided college wasn’t for you,” you snort.

“According to Dinah and Ollie, I’m taking a gap year,” he shot back with a warning glare.

“Which is bullshit,” you scoffed out, knowing that Roy had no intention of actually going to college at the end of his gap year, despite how he sold the point to Dinah and Oliver.

“Language,” Roy teases, with a very Dinah-esque tone, as the new girl brings your drinks to the table. Once she walked away, he sobered up a little, and you knew what topic was coming before he opened his mouth. “The 6th is a few days away,” he says cautiously.

“Yeah, it is,” you nod, finding your glass of water way more interesting.

“Birdy,” Roy’s voice is gentle as he broaches the topic.

Your lips curl into a very flat frown, “It’s been eight years… what do you want me to say?” you huff.

“Dinah planning to distract you all day again?” he asks, and based on his tone, you know he’s trying to make it more light-hearted.

“I hope not. It worked well the first few years, but there’s only so much you can do to distract from the day a girl watched her parents get killed in front of her,” you lament, your tone flat.

“She means well,” Roy argues, showing a rare level of fierce protection for your shared pseudo-mom.

“I know,” you huff. “Look, I’ll probably stop by the cemetery and talk to them for a bit, but I don’t have a lot of plans. I’m stopping by the cave tomorrow, but Red, D, and Bats know unless the world is ending, I won’t be around on the 6th. I might go to Gotham for a bit, I dunno….”

“I know I’m not always the most reachable, but for the 6th, anything you need, I’ll get it for you, I promise,” Roy said seriously.

“Alright, that’s enough emoting. Let’s move on,” you scoff.

“Says the empath,” Roy smirks.

“I mean this with the most disrespect, fuck off,” you huff flipping him off.

“Oh! Party fowl, Dinah would not approve,” Roy tutted.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile slipped through, and soon enough, the conversation was moving away from darker themes.

GOTHAM CITY

December 5th, 16:30 EST

“You know coming to Gotham at night is not exactly what I had in plan,” you drawl as you join Artemis on a fire escape a block away from the Zeta Point.

“Thanks for coming,” she said softly, and you frowned at the obviously downtrodden tone in her voice.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting down next to her and letting your legs hang.

You watch her wrestle with whatever she wants to say for a minute. You can feel the conflicted feelings rolling off her, and with the limited space and how your legs are touching, you’re getting clear markers for anger, humiliation, frustration, and pride. So you wait. You give her time to think it through and phrase what she wants to say. Instead, you let your eyes wander on the horizon of Gotham, tracing over buildings and city lights that seem to shine through the smog.

“That first mission we all went on, you told me you knew I wasn’t GA’s niece, but you said you’d be here as a teammate, a friend, whenever I needed,” she began.

“I did, I am,” you assure her.

“Did GA tell you when he took me on?” she asked, voice cracking slightly.

Your lips tighten, “No,” you say the word slowly.

“He tell you anything after?” she followed.

You look down at the alleyway below you, “he did not.”

Artemis’ lips pull into a frown, “I was a pity case,” she frowns.

“What are you talking about?” eyebrows pulling down as you turn to her.

“My mom begged GA and Bats to take me on, to keep me in check. They showed up after I saved you guys against Amazo,” she explains, and for the first time since you met her, you’re finally learning the truth.

“That might be on me,” you smirk. “Rob, and KF, they got excited, thought Speedy was watching out for us, but I’ve spent half my life training with Speedy. I know what his arrows look like. I mentioned it to Ollie later that night because they sure as hell weren’t his arrows either.”

“They only took me in because my mom begged, NG, she begged,” Artemis scoffed.

“Maybe, but that’s not why they brought you to the mountain,” you say. “GA’s got a bit of a bleeding heart, no doubt, but Batman? He brought you to the team, he gave you a chance to be one of us, and you are, by the way. Begging or not, they brought you to the mountain because they saw something in you that means you’re like us. The boys and I started this team because we wanted to prove that we could do more than be sidekicks. Maybe your mom begged, but you’re on the team because GA and Batman think you can be more than a sidekick, that you can be every bit the hero you aspire to be.”

Artemis goes quiet as she takes in what you’ve said, and after a few minutes, you decide to change the topic, “how was patrol last night?” you ask.

Her face lights up in a second, “GA got knocked down! Black Spider was trying to get to this dad, and we swooped in! But Ollie got knocked down, flat on his ass. He tried to play it off, even let me take the lead, but you know him,” she smiled.

“I do,” you smiled back. “Ha! I can’t believe he got knocked on his ass. He’s never gonna live it down,” you cackle. “I wonder if we can find any security footage?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.

“None that he’d let us keep,” she laughs, shaking her head.

“You’re probably right,” you muse, turning to lean against the rail and face the blond. “We should probably get going. We’re supposed to be at the mountain at 5,” you hum softly after some silence.

“Yeah,” she nods, sniffing and standing up.

You follow, and then you both are repelling back to the ground. You walk to the zeta point but stop and grab Artemis by the arm before you walk in. “Maybe you weren’t brought in because you impressed them. But you just spent the last four months doing nothing but,” you tell her seriously, and she stares at you with wide eyes. “You’ve got nothing to prove. You’re one of a kind,” you reassure her.

She offers a hesitant nod and tries to move back to the Zeta point, but you keep your grip, “What?”

“Say it, Artemis,” you tell her. You catch as she rolls her eyes, but you know she needs it right now. You know she needs to say it just as much as she needs to hear it. “I’m serious. Say it.”

She heaves a heavy sigh but nods, “I've got nothing to prove. I'm one of a kind,” she says flatly.

“Say it with meaning,” you press, a smirk quirking at the ends of your lips.

“I’ve got nothing to prove,” she says thoughtfully. “I’m one of a kind,” she finished with a nod, and you can see how the words resonated with her. You can feel it cement a bit, reassuring her nerves from the grip you still had on her arm.

Satisfied, you let her go, “Good, let’s go. We’re already late,” you nod before disappearing through the Zeta.

MOUNT JUSTICE

December 5th, 17:04 EST

“Recognized; Nightingale b-14,” the computer announced as you stepped through the Zeta.

You freeze in place as you take in the group before you—the team, minus Robin, but also Red Tornado, Green Arrow, and most surprisingly, Roy.

“Roy?” your lips purse as you walk up to him.

“Hey, Birdy,” he greets, coming up to you for a hug.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper while he’s hugging you.

“Ollie’s idea,” Roy scoffs as he pulls back.

“What idea?” you ask as the zeta powers up again behind you.

“Recognized; Artemis b-07,” the computer announces.

“Artemis! Just in time, look who’s agreed to join the Team!” Ollie announced, and you felt the fracture in Artemis's armor, even without touching her.

“Finally!” Wally cheered.

You frowned a bit at Roy and then at Ollie. You hadn’t realized this was one of the League's caveats on Roy’s admittance.

“Sure, Team’s needed a real archer,” Artemis scoffs a bit under her breath, but you heard it. Your frown deepened a bit as you stared at the girl in green. You see Wally’s confused expression as he stares after her too.

“Okay, people, listen up! Dynamic Duo’s on a case in Gotham, but Batman gave me a heads up. Sportsmaster was spotted coming through Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport,” Ollie explained, pulling up details on the holo-screen.

“In full costume?” Zatanna asked, “Nervy!”

Her quip teased a playful smile as you took in Ollie’s exasperated expression. “In street clothes,” he corrects. “Facial recognition software picked up the ID. Find out what he's up to.”

“All of us?” Conner asks, gesturing to the ever-growing group that was your team. “Seems like overkill for a shadow job.”

He’s not wrong; you think to yourself as you look around.

“Perhaps a small squad?” Tornado offers. “Miss Martian's camouflage abilities seem ideal.”

“Thought the sidekicks- Sorry, ex-sidekicks could suit up on this,” Ollie offers instead. “Nightingale, Aqualad, Kid Flash, Red Arrow.”

“Good,” Conner huffs, “stakeouts make me crazy.”

M’gann nods in concession, “We could use the night off.”

“I want in,” Artemis’ voice cuts in, and GA seems shocked, though you can’t place why. On the other hand, you had a pretty good idea of why she’s volunteering. “With M'gann and Robin out, no one's logged more hours piloting the bioship,” she tags on.

GA seems to hesitate, “Artemis, are you sure?”

You watch as she squares her shoulders, “Absolutely.”

You all broke away shortly after that to get ready. Before making your way to the landing, you did a quick inventory check. You watched Artemis as you went; she checked her quiver and bow. You catch on how Wally also seems to be tracking all of her moves. When he notices you watching him, a light blush coats his cheeks, and you can’t help but raise a brow. That is definitely a thread you’ll be pulling on later. He ducks his attention away, and you turn back to your gear, surprised to see Roy headed your way.

“Red Arrow,” you tease.

“Are you sure you want to go?” he asks, and your hands freeze.

“I’m sorry, what?” you ask, lips pulling down.

“I know you said you would take it easy today and then be off tomorrow. If you don’t want to go, we can come up with an excuse,” he offers.

You frown at him, “I’m fine, Roy.”

“(Y/n)...” his voice drops low as he says your name.

“This’ll be good, alright?” you tell him. “It’s a chance to focus on something else, anything else… I want to go.”

“Okay,” he nods.

You offer him a small smile, “okay.”

“Now, uh, would you tell Ollie please because he looks like he’s going to climb the walls,” he adds cautiously.

You scoff but pat Roy’s shoulder as you walk past him and over to where Ollie’s leaning against the wall, watching as everyone gears up. You lean against the wall beside him, close enough for your shoulders to touch. You feel him take a breath and release it, and the tension seems to relax as he feels you next to him.

“I know I singled you out for this, but sweet girl, you don’t have to go. Not with tomorrow being what it is,” he sighs.

You take a deep breath and lean a little more into Ollie, “I want to go. I need the distraction,” you admit.

“I worry about you, kiddo, you know that,” he sighs.

“I know, I appreciate it, I really do, but I want to do this, plus someone’s gotta make sure both Roy and Artemis come back without killing each other,” you muse.

“Yeah, not the biggest fans of each other, are they?” Oliver heaved.

“No, they are not, but I like her. She’s tough, but I can feel it; she’s got a good heart. Plus, she called me earlier, you know? Told me all about patrol last night,” you tease.

“And here I was hoping you’d never hear about it,” Ollie chuckled.

“It’s okay to admit you’re getting a bit older, Ollie,” you laugh. “Your balance just isn’t what it used to be,” you tease.

“I’m not above telling Dinah your age shaming me,” he argues, and you offer him a genuine smile.

“I love you, Ollie, you know that, right?” you ask. Oliver finally tears his gaze from the rest of them to focus on you. The whites of his domino block his eyes, but you can feel the surprise sizzling through him. “I really hope you’re surprised because I actually said it and not because of what I said,” you add as you feel the emotion wash through.

“This empath thing is going to take some getting used to,” he huffs, nudging you a bit. “And it’s the first one. I know you do, sweet girl. I always have,” he promises.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll have the boys. Kaldur and Roy know what tomorrow is,” you tell him. Looking over, you notice that the rest of your squad is lining up at the bioship, “it’s time,” you mutter.

You bump shoulders with Ollie one more time before shoving off the wall, “Sweet girl,” he calls, stopping you for a moment. “You have my whole heart, Dinah’s too. We’re here for you, anything you need,” he promises.

He shocks you then, placing a kiss on your forehead, not the action itself, he’s done it more and more the closer you became, but the time and place were jarring.

“I know,” you nod one last time.

Ollie offers you a nervous smile, and you leave him to grab your gear and march onto the Bioship.

“Is something going on?” the rushed whisper surprises you as you turn to Wally with wide eyes.

“What?”

“GA, and you, it’s just you’re normally not like that in the cave. Is something going on?” he asks, brow furrowed.

You fight to keep your expression flat. Wally was way more observant than he’s given credit for, “Don’t worry about it, Wally,” you try to shrug off, though you see his unconvinced look. “Seriously, I’m okay,” you pair with a soft smile.

You can tell he doesn’t entirely believe you, but he does drop the topic long enough for you to load up and leave the Mountain. Soon enough, you’re all in the air, and Kaldur makes his way over. “I have a feeling that your tete-a-tete with Green Arrow has to do with the significance of tomorrow’s anniversary,” he says carefully.

You heave a heavy sigh, “So everyone is making the rounds today, huh?” you huff.

“Shut up, we care. Get over it,” Roy cuts in, and you can’t help but frown.

“I’d appreciate it greatly if we just not talk about it. I’ve already poured my heart out with Ollie and Roy; we talked a few days ago. So, until the clock strikes 12, I am going to act as if tomorrow isn’t the anniversary of the worst day of my life, and I’d appreciate it if you would do the same,” you decide sternly.

Both the older boys share a look and then turn back to you, “fine,” Roy concedes, walking back to his seat.

“His tact has always been less than desirable,” Kaldur decides. “I was supposed to speak with you quietly on my own first,” he huffs, sending a weak glare toward the back of Roy’s head.

“K…” you sigh.

“Palió fílo den eísai mónos. Tha eímai edó se períptosi pou to chreiasteíte, allá den tha piéso poté. To xéreis aftó,” the Atlantean language rolls off his tongue smoothly, and it takes you a second to realize that your heart seems to have stopped beating for a second as you take in the meaning, “old friend, you are not alone. I will be here in case you need it, but I will never push. You know this.”

You take another breath, this time much calmer, “Den se axízo…” you murmur. “I do not deserve you,” you had told him, and he offered a sad smile.

“You deserve it all,” he promises with a gentle pat on your hand before moving back to his seat, though you can see the look in his eyes as he glances back at you one last time.

You take a deep breath and roll your shoulders. In the process, you make eye contact with Wally, and you can’t help but freeze at how intensely he’s staring at you with his green eyes. A piece of you actually stutters because you know him, how big his heart is, and he wants to be here for you but can’t because you won’t talk to him. Your friendship with Wally and Dick had always been different from the borderline mother-henning you received from Kaldur, and there’s a piece of you that still thinks it’s because they didn’t know what he did.

ORLEANS PARISH

December 5th, 21:27 CST

You were crouched with Roy in the trees observing Sportsmaster. You watched as he loaded a small speedboat, fingers fiddling with one of your ring daggers. You had traded your regular leather jacket (stashed safely on the bioship) for a plain-looking zip-up covering your utility belt, leaving you in a somewhat civilian-looking state. Your mask was in a pocket on your belt, and you had shades on as you both watched your target jump into the boat.

“Target's heading north,” you say softly into your comms as you follow Roy down the hill and into the shrubs covering your jetski.

You perched behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist as you tracked Sportsmaster. “Pursue, but maintain a discreet distance. And that goes double for you, Artemis. Sportsmaster's proven adept at spotting Martian camouflage when in motion,” Roy adds, as the two of you followed at a distance.

“Was that necessary?” you ask in a hushed whisper, muting your comm.

“It is if she’s the mole,” he shot back.

“I thought we dropped this particular argument,” you hiss.

“You did, I didn’t,” Roy shot back.

You wanted to continue the argument, but up ahead, you noticed as Sportsmaster began to slow down, “He's stopped,” you mutter back into the comms, switching your mic live once more.

“Hold your positions,” Roy tags on, looking back to make eye contact with you.

He’s posing a silent question, one you can recognize after years of work together, and despite the sour taste in your mouth from your previous question, you nod your head in assent to what he’s asking.

“We’re moving in for a closer look,” he tells the team, and together, you dismount the jetski to creep through the parish as silently as possible.

It’s quiet as Roy focuses on Sportsmaster through his binoculars and as you observe the surrounding area, but when you hear a distant clinging sound, you grip Roy’s shoulder and frown. His lips pull down as you let go and start moving away from him and into the parish. You creep forward, pulling out two daggers as you follow the noise.

You manage to get close enough to spot the source of the commotion and have to stifle a groan at the sight of Cheshire. Quietly you plant your legs and wind both arms back, daggers in both. Right before you’re about to swing, whipping the blades toward the assassin, two hands grab your wrists gently. Peering back with a tightened grip on your weapons, you spot Roy, who silently shakes his head and releases your wrists. He pulls out his bow and grabs one of his trick arrows. He gestures for you to go wide towards Artemis as he pulls back.

You watch as the arrow soars, expanding into a net trap that manages to tie Cheshire to a tree. You both run after it, stopping beside Artemis. A quick visual assessment tells you she’s uninjured, though your attention is snagged away by the trapped assassin.

“Why, Arrow. If you wanted another date, you only had to ask…” she drawls, and your jaw drops.

“You two are dating?” Artemis shouts, whipping to stare at Roy, while you’re left in a mixed state of disgust and amusement, recalling the Taipei mission.

“Wh-what?” Roy stutters, “No!”

Cheshire offers a small scoff, “Why deny the attraction? After all, Arrow, you're here.” She paused for a second, switching her grip and using her katana to cut through the netting. “Really, I'm so fond of you, both. I couldn't bear to hurt you… much!” she grunts, brandishing her blade.

You twirl your ring daggers as you step forward, “and what am I? Chopped liver?”

“Of course not, little bird,” she argues, dropping into a stance, “but you’re about to be,” she hints before charging.

Your blades come up quick, and you use them to redirect hers. And when she draws back, you move forward to lunge at her, “your humor remains unmatched,” you snark as your blades make contact again.

“Hmm, it’s one of my best qualities,” she hums as the two of you continue to fight. “Your technique is improving, pretty bird. It’s impressive, but not enough,” she notes as she causes you to drop a blade and manages a superficial slice through your zip up at your arm and then again at your cheek before kicking you back.

As you stumble down, Artemis and Roy move forward, intent on getting to Cheshire. However, you lose sight of each other when the assassin sets off smoke bombs.

You push yourself up and rip off the zip-up, looking around for any clearing in the smoke or hint at your bearings.

You hear a shout from your left, “Sportsmaster!” It’s Roy’s voice but quickly followed with a grunt.

You start moving toward it, and manage to break through the smoke in time to see Cheshire on top of Roy, sai against his cheek as she kissed him.

“Oh, too bad, lover boy… but at least, a kiss is still a kiss…” she drawled, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but before you could get any closer, Cheshire was knocked back.

“And a sai is just a sai,” Wally muses, “And quite the souvenir, by the way,” Wally adds on, noting the weapon now in his hand.

“Artemis, tracer arrow on Sportsmaster, now!” Roy shouts as he pushes himself up.

Wally spots you next. A frown overtakes his face as he takes in your new injuries, but your attention breaks when you hear Artemis utter an upset huff, “He's out of range!”

“Move!” Roy demands, shoving a bit as he launches his arrow, just in time to land a tracker on the boat, before taking off to the jet ski.

“You're abandoning?” Artemis scoffed as he ran.

“I'm prioritizing!” he shot back.

“Arrow!” you shout after him, but he doesn’t respond, simply taking off after Sportsmaster.

“Oh, that's gotta sting….” Cheshire drawls, reappearing behind Wally. “He makes the shot you're afraid to even try!”

Artemis grunts before starting to shoot at Cheshire, and you dive for your daggers still on the ground. Scooping them up, you begin volleying your attack at the trained shadow. With Artemis and Wally, you switch between weaponry and tactics to attack the assassin. When Kaldur comms in with a new plan, you make eye contact with your three teammates before doing what you can to follow through.

You watch Cheshire send Artemis flying back, and when you try to turn to her, one of her shurikens flies dangerously close to your face. When you look back, she’s gone, and your eyes land on Wally helping Artemis back up.

“Hey, did you-” before you can finish your question, Artemis is nodding.

“Tracer’s on her sword,” she affirms.

“Brilliant! I knew you could-” Wally’s statement is borderline flirtatious, but when you hear the jet ski getting closer, he cuts himself off. Instead, his eyes narrow once more on the cut on your face.

“Oh, hey, there's the guys! Birdy, let me see your face,” Wally decides, grabbing at your wrist as you move to catch up to where Roy and Kaldur were.

You try to glance back at Artemis, but Wally keeps a firm grip as he tugs you along, “I’d much rather talk about whatever that was,” you tease but are met with a leveled glare. “You’re usually a lot more fun,” you pout at him.

“Birdy..” there’s a heavy sigh to his tone, “I know you’re not telling me something, and that’s… whatever, but let me see the cut. And whenever you’re ready to talk about, whatever it is you’re deflecting from, I’ll be here,” he frowns.

“Fine,” you huff, turning to face him, pushing your sunglasses up, so he has an unobstructed view. Wally’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, and you roll your eyes at him. “Just ‘cause I’m not telling you something doesn’t mean I don’t still trust you,” you snip, but your words are honest. There were very few people in your life that you trusted as much as you trusted Wally.

A small smile quirks Wally’s lips as he checks on the cut, “how many times a day do you roll your eyes at me?”

His question comes out so genuine, but the words force you to choke down the laugh that threatens to burst through, “too many times to count,” you relent, a smile curling at your lips.

“Figures,” he chuckles, pushing your sunglasses back down. “Surface cut, probably won’t even scar,” he tells you.

“Could’ve told you that myself, but thanks, doc,” you tease, pushing Wally over to where Kaldur and Roy had just stopped, and Artemis joined you a few minutes later.

“So, we threw the fight, as ordered. After Artemis planted the tracer,” Wally confirmed.

“Cheshire's heading North,” Artemis shares, holding up her tracker’s data pad.

“Sportsmaster was headed South,” Roy shoots back. “Kinda like this mission,” he adds with a harsh bite, causing you to quirk a brow at his tone.

“Maybe he'll double back,” you offer, voice level as you keep your gaze focused on Roy, “maybe she will.”

“Either way, they'll rendezvous, and we'll find them!” Wally completes.

“We had better,” Kaldur warns. “Sportsmaster acquired an attaché case. We need to learn what it contained,” he paused for a second, hesitating almost, and your lips turned down as he turned to Artemis. “If you had stayed aboard the Bio-Ship….”

“I saw Cheshire sneaking up on them!” Artemis defended.

“Then you radio a warning,” Roy argues.

“And if she found you by hacking our frequency?” she shot back.

“That’s true,” you note, pulling a lip between your teeth. It was a tough argument. You understand the importance of holding your position during a mission, you know how bad things could go, and the current situation wasn’t ideal. However, you know better than the rest that Artemis needs this right now, needs to feel useful, needs to prove herself. And right now, you don’t think she’d listen if you told her any differently.

“We have come to rely on M'gann's telepathy over our radios,” Kaldur supported.

Wally huffed, interjecting, “So let's stop looking to place blame and start looking for Cheshire.”

Artemis tossed the data pad at Roy, “Here. Since, clearly, I can't be trusted; you track her.”

“Artemis-” you try to cut in, brow furrowing deeper as you turned back to her, as Wally snatched the pad back and tried to give it back to the blonde.

“It’s fine. I'll follow in the Bioship,” she decided, waving you both off before moving back to the Bioship.

“Go, Kid. Arrow, NG, and I will return to the river. And we will all follow, as originally planned,” Kaldur decides.

“Actually, Wally, I’ll meet you by your bike,” you bite out, gaining a few looks, but you don’t elaborate.

You wait a second, allowing KF to take off and for Kaldur to walk out of earshot, gripping Roy’s arm tightly. “I know you’re mole hunting. I know you don’t like how GA brought her to the team. But let me be clear, she has earned her space on this team, and every time you undermine or belittle her, all you do is drive a wedge between her and this team. Jeopardizing how we all work together,” you say levelly, staring out into the parish but keeping your grip tight.

Roy attempts to shrug you off, but you simply tighten your grip a little more, “Birdy,” he huffs.

“No. Since day one, you’ve treated her like shit. I’m sick of it, Roy. You need to grow up. I’m here doing my best to keep my personal shit out of the mission, and if I can do that today of all days, then so can you. This mission just got extended, and I’ll be lucky to make it back before tomorrow, so pull it together because I won’t be able to for much longer,” you huff, letting go of his arm and turning to glare at him before stalking off towards Wally.

“Not that you’re not my best girl, and you know I’d follow you blindly, but any chance you want to elaborate on what’s going on?” he asks, mustering up all the nonchalance he had.

You stop for a second and take a deep breath, “we need to focus on Sportsmaster and Cheshire-”

“(Y/n)-”

“No! Wally, please… I will tell you, but not until the mission is done. I swear I will tell you, but only once we’re done, I can’t-” you cut yourself off to take a deep breath, “I can’t deal with it until we’re done because if I go into it now, it won’t stop,” your tone is borderline begging as you struggle to get a grasp on your emotions.

Wally’s eyes blew wide as he pulled his helmet off, dropping it to the floor to grab your arms, “Hey, hey, hey, okay. It’s okay, I know I’m pushing, but you don’t have to tell me,” he reminds you.

You take another deep breath and nod at him, his grip grounding you, your hand wrapping around his arms as you calm down, “I will tell you,” you repeat, though much calmer. “I will, just once we’re done,” you say softly.

“Okay,” he nods.

“We should go,” you swallow, straightening and stuffing all thoughts unrelated to the mission into a box, closing the lid, and shoving it aside until you are ready to address it properly.

Wally gives you another careful look before picking up his helmet and walking back to the bike, “You wanna drive?”

Your eyes snap to him, lips quirking up a little, “fuck yes,” you huff, and he smiles at you, gesturing for you to hope on first.

NEW ORLEANS

December 5th, 22:18 CST

“Aqualad to Kid and NG,” Aqualad’s voice crackled over the comms about fifteen minutes after the two of you had hit the road.

“What’s up, Aqualad,” KF answered from his spot seated behind you.

“Arrow’s located Cheshire and Sportsmaster, sending updated coordinates now. Kid, you should go ahead,” he instructs.

There’s a ping on the bike’s display, and you start to break immediately, “He’s right, KF. We’ve been going the wrong way. You’re faster than the bike,” you note as the two of you slow to a stop.

“Are you sure?” he asks, hopping off.

“I’ll be right behind you,” you reassure him.

Wally nods once before turning and taking off. You’re quick to do the same, pulling a u-turn before revving the bike up to its max speeds. You’d switched the sunglasses for your mask right before you took off from the parish and had since ditched the zip-up. Instead, Wally’s racing jacket was slung over your bare arms since he’d been wearing his suit underneath.

By the time you regrouped with Aqualad, you could see the slight annoyance on his face, “what is it?” you asked as he slid onto the bike behind you, and you took off once more, heading for the rendezvous point Roy had sent.

“I found our tracker,” he said shortly.

“Okay?”

“It was on a train car. There was no evidence of Cheshire or Sportsmaster,” he explains a bit more.

Your heart thudded; with all of Roy’s accusations, it’s hard to keep from jumping to the worst, “maybe Cheshire ditched her tracker? She’s highly skilled and could’ve spotted it right after Artemis planted it. Plus, there were tracks near the parish. She could’ve meant to send us on a meaningless chase,” you attempt to reason.

“Someone most definitely did, although I am unsure as to whom,” he advised, voice leveled.

“I really hate this day,” you decide suddenly.

“On that, we agree,” he affirms before you both elapse into silence.

The two of you were too late to join the party, unfortunately. By the time you got there, Sportsmaster and Cheshire were gone- with no means of tracking them. And according to Artemis, a chance at Klarion, The Brain, Gorilla Mallah, and Professor Ivo had also been missed. None of you were happy as you piled onto the Bioship. Kaldur helped you load the bike as Artemis slipped back into the pilot’s seat.

MOUNT JUSTICE

December 6th, 03:21 EST

The flight back to the Mountain was in silence, and every minute that ticked by put you further on edge. You summoned a clock to appear in front of you. Even from your spot away from everyone, you could feel their emotions bubbling; Roy’s tension, distrust, and anger; Kaldur’s quiet yet tense contemplation; Wally’s nervous energy was vibrating off the ship's walls; a gut-wrenching mix of unclear emotions from Artemis. You did your best to tune it out and instead watched the minutes tick by, willing your brain to stop.

The second the clock struck twelve, and the date changed to the 6th, you had to fight the swell of emotions; to bite back the scream that echoed in your throat and push down the tears welling in your eyes. The mission was almost done, you were almost home, and then you could fall apart. You had to make it home, away from everyone else and their overwhelming emotions that threatened your own mental stability.

By the time you touched down, you were barely holding it together. Lips welded shut, and fists clenched tightly. The rest of the team met you in the main training space of the Mountain, and you let Kaldur take the lead.

“Let me be clear, we failed. Though the Injustice League is in custody, their allies still scheme. And we have learned nothing of their plans,” he said flatly, after a short recap of the mission gone wrong.

“Gee, I wonder why,” Roy lamented, taking a dig at Artemis and crossing his arms.

“Hey! Who found out Sportsmaster was working for Brain, Klarion, and Ivo?” she snapped, surging forward.

“Yeah, great intel! Except Ivo has been in Belle Reve the whole time!” Roy shot back. “And the guards just checked. It's the real Ivo, not a robot!”

“You know, I'm getting pretty tired of you dumping on her,” Wally stepped up, sliding himself between Artemis and Roy, the emotions in the room were rising, and your hand began to shake in spillover.

Roy simply held up a tracer, “Her tracer, so?” Wally asked. “Cheshire ditched it.”

“No,” Roy corrected. “Artemis ditched that to send us on a wild-goose chase,” he huffed before holding up an identical tracer. “She put this one on Cheshire.”

Your eyes snapped to the girl in green whose energy suddenly flattened as if the heat behind her argument had been extinguished.

“Artemis?” Wally’s voice was soft as he turned to her. He paused for a second, but when she said nothing, Wally’s emotions shifted, and his face hardened, “Are you that freaked out about Arrow joining the Team? You had to prove yourself by bringing down the bad guys solo?” he asked, hints of anger laced into his words. “Please, tell me I'm wrong!”

Artemis looked at him, and all you could feel from her was sadness and guilt as she opened her mouth to say something but then shut it, dropping his gaze.

“Well, nice going. What you proved is that you're insecure and selfish,” he frowned, voice lower than you could ever remember hearing it, but behind his words were the echo of hurt. “Keep the sai,” he decides, letting the weapon clatter to the floor. “This is the right souvenir for the mission,” he says, snatching the tracer from Roy’s grip and stomping off to the locker rooms.

“So, how will you betray us next time?” Roy asked, heat in every word as he readdressed Artemis, and you snapped.

“Enough!” you shouted, and everyone froze, looking at you with wide eyes, and for a second, even Roy lost his arrogance. “Stop it, all of you need to stop it,” you huff, taking in a shaking breath. “If making a mistake was a betrayal, we would all be traitors,” you say seriously, locking gaze with Roy, then Artemis, and finally Kaldur, when he laid a hand gently on your shoulder.

“I must report to Batman. The rest of you, get some sleep,” he decides, and everyone dispersed, casting you another weary look.

The only ones remaining were Roy, Artemis, and you.

“You're not who you say you are. This isn't over. Not by a long shot,” Roy warns before heading to the locker rooms himself.

She stands in front of you, clearly guilty and upset, and finally, you can breathe because now it’s only the two of you, and it’s easier to manage the emotions bubbling out without so much outside interference.

“You made a bad call, but I stand by what I’ve said. It was a mistake on your part, a miscalculation in how much you could trust us. But trust is a two-way street, Artemis. Most of us have known each other for too long to second guess. I grew up with Roy, and spent a year as Kaldur’s study buddy and neighbor. I trained and met with Rob and KF almost the entire time I was a sidekick. We rescued Superboy from Cadmus. He chose us and fought for us. M’gann is still learning, but she’s made choices, trusted us with her life several times, and given us access to her mind. We extend what we can to you, but you barely give us anything in return,” your voice is low as you attempt an explanation.

You watch as her shoulders sag, as she bites her lip to keep from saying something, and so you continue, “I’m not asking for your secret ID. That’s yours to protect, to give. And I’m sorry if this sounds harsh. I’ve got my shit going on too. I’m telling you because I’ve been telling you that I believe in you. I said it before we even got the mission yesterday. I told you, you’ve earned your spot. I told you that you’d proven your worth and skill. You chose to disregard that statement, to put no faith into what I shared, and instead, we lost our target, learned nothing about his visit to Louisiana, and failed the mission. I suggest you reconsider how you want our team dynamics to be going further. M’gann and I are different from the rest. We feel things more intensely, we have a better understanding, and even though I’m hurt that you didn’t trust me the way I’ve been trusting you, I know why you did it. I disagree, but I get it. Not everyone will be so quick to see that,” you further, pausing again.

This time you move a bit closer, patting her shoulder, you want to say more, but you can’t. At this point, you need to scream or cry, or both. You need to let out your emotions because staying in control is too hard and too much. It’s just too much for today, for right now. So you pat her shoulder and walk toward the locker rooms.

You slump onto the bench and close your eyes, trying to breathe. The sounds of incoming steps interrupt you. Opening your eyes, you’re ready to shout at anyone dumb enough to try to talk to you right now, but the words die as Wally crouches down in front of you. He is sitting on the floor and looking up at you with hurt in his green eyes and concern simmering just below.

“Today’s the 6th,” you mutter, pulling the specialized alcohol wipes from your utility belt to help remove the adhesive of your mask. He doesn’t say anything, eyes tracing how your hands were shaking so much that you couldn't tear the packet open even with the fingerless gloves on your hand. Instead, his hands reach out and pull it for you, but his lips stay shut. “December 6th,” you swallow as you start tracing over your mask, using the wipe against the adhesive.

“Eight years ago, today, I watched as my parents were shot and killed in front of me,” you force your voice to stay level as you finally pull the mask off, bearing the rawest part of you to Wally. “That’s why everyone was so concerned about me yesterday, why Ollie and I were the way we were. Why Kaldur and Roy kept trying to check in on me or tell me I didn’t have to go on the mission because today is the anniversary of the worst day of my life,” you hiccup slightly as all the tears you’ve been pushing down for hours, breakthrough. “Which is why I couldn’t talk about it earlier, because that means facing it, and I didn’t want to. Because eight years means I’ve spent more time without my parents than I have with them, and it hurts. It hurts in a way that I hope you never know, Wally,” you manage to spit out before the first sob wracks through you.

You keel over, hiding your face in your arms, and you feel Wally’s hands on your knees, thumbs rubbing circles as he silently does his best to support you. For once, he doesn’t joke or prod. He stays silent as he lets you cry and does his best to support you. Slowly he helps in soft, gentle movements. He unclips your utility belt, then the harnesses for the ring daggers. Unclasps your choker and helps unravel your braids. Unties and unzips your boots. He lets you cry through the process, finally releasing the tidal wave of emotion you’ve been holding back and bottling.

When you calm down enough, he hands you a towel and a change of clothes from your duffle, directing you to the shower stalls. He waits outside for you to pass him your suit, and while you’re showering, if he hears you heave a few more sobs, he never says a word.

He has you sit back on the bench when you reemerge, showered, clean, but with puffy red eyes. You’re dressed in sweats and an oversized hoodie that most likely belonged to Roy or Ollie. He grabs the hairbrush from your locker and brushes your hair back before braiding your hair in a simple single, loose braid that just barely manages to keep your hair out of your face. He forces you to drink water while he braids, and even in this in-between state, you could hear the few swears Wally drops under his breath as he wrestles with your hair. Though, overall you found the action sweet and quite soothing.

When he’s done, he comes back around and crouches in front of you again, hands on your knees, “are you hungry?” he asks gently.

It’s not the question you were anticipating, but you look at him with big, sad, teary eyes and shake your head, no. Not totally a lie because, frankly, you didn’t have an appetite.

“Am I taking you to Dinah or Ollie? Or do you want to go home with me? We have a guest room,” he asks the questions softly and waits patiently for you to answer.

“Ollie’s,” you manage to croak after the silence has stretched for a few minutes, allowing you to summon the strength.

“Okay, I’m going to call GA, so he can come to get you, and take you home,” Wally decides, standing up.

Your arms latch quickly onto his, stopping him from moving, “Please don’t leave me alone,” you beg as new tears slip down your cheeks.

Green eyes wide with concern, he shakes his head, “I won’t,” he promises, sitting back down. He pulls out his phone and taps something, “Computer, please contact Green Arrow immediately and tell him to come to the locker room ASAP. Don’t stop calling until he answers,” Wally calls out.

“Contacting Green Arrow now,” the voice confirms, and Wally returns to rubbing small circles on your knees.

You’re not outrightly sobbing anymore, and tears that slip past are primarily silent and slow, so he cautiously tests the water, “this why you were so quiet on the flight back?”

You offer a slight nod in confirmation.

“Okay, and uh, this have anything to do with what you talked to Roy about in the Parish?”

You hold up your hand, squishing your pointer and thumb together with a small gap between them as a non-verbal answer. Talking just seemed too daunting a task at the moment.

“A little?” he asks, gaining a nod from you in confirmation. “Artemis?” he follows, and you nod again. He waits a beat and then asks, “are you mad at her?”

You pause and think it through before making the same hand motion as before, and this time Wally nods, “Yeah, me too,” he frowns.

Wally stays with you, thumbs rubbing small circles into your knees as you wait for Oliver, and eventually, he shows up. Blond hair in different directions, wearing sweatpants, a hoodie, and his mask. A frow immediately pulls at his lips as he takes in the state you’re in.

“Sweet girl,” he huffs, rushing over to you, one arm lopping around your shoulders, as he crouches down next to Wally.

“She told me, what today is, and I- I didn’t want to leave her alone, she’s present and answering questions, but I don’t think she’s fully aware of everything,” Wally explains, and Oliver nods.

“Good man, Wally. Her first few years were a lot like this. She’d bottle everything and try to carry on until the bottle shattered. She was left like this, disassociating just enough to function after her initial release,” Ollie explained, and maybe if you were fully coherent, you’d get mad at how he was talking about you like you weren’t right next to him. “Thank you for calling me and staying with her, but it’s time for me to take her home.” “All her gear is in her locker. I put it there and wiped down what I could while she was in the shower,” he adds as Oliver shifts you slightly and pulls you into his arms before standing up. You curl into Oliver’s hold as Wally’s grip falls away.

“Thank you,” Ollie repeats, and slowly the three of you make your way to the Zeta. “It’s late, Wally. You should head home,” he adds as they stop moving.

Before Wally can move, your hand swings and grabs onto his arm. Wally freezes, looks at you, and inches closer, lacing your fingers with his. You still don’t want to talk, but you focus the little brain power you have left to send a wave of gratitude his way, pulling on the memories of everything he’s done for you.

He squeezes your hand, eyes wide in wonder as you share your new ability with him. “You don’t have to thank me, (y/n). I already told you, you’re my best girl,” he muses pathetically. Moving to hold your hand and squeeze, “only one to stick by me, no matter what, who never lies to me. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always be here,” he promises, placing a small kiss on the back of your hand, squeezing one more time before letting go. “I’ll see you soon, Birdy,” he adds as he taps at the Zeta stand.

“Recognized; Kid Flash, b-03,” the computer announced, and then he was gone.

“Our turn, Dinah’s waiting on the other side with a car, and then we’re going to go home. And no one, no one, is leaving you alone today,” Oliver promises, and the zeta lights up again.

“Recognized; Green Arrow, 08. Nightingale, b-14.”

everything tags:

@butterfly-skinnylegend

dc taglist:

@loninctzencarat @grey-water-colors @batarella @escapenightmare

cnng taglist:

@babymango-writes @smile-more19 @truly-dionysus @sometimeseverythingsucks @dweeb-central @explodingwaffle789 @evermoore580 @whelmedparker @midnxghtblue @putyourcigoutonmyback @emoryjosten @wheresthecoffee @unicorn-mya @bouqet-of-gay @duckmylife18 @ahyeonah @cryingnotcrying @just-living5 @wvnderstodd @mischiefmanaged71 @we-flower-fan @laurcad123 @aces-tattooartist @kate-maximoff-blog @awkward-youtube-trash @charactermoodboard @currentresidentinhell @raggedyoldwitch @ivoryeycs @farfromjustordinary @cipheress-to-k-pop @seninjakitey @bigtimesexhaving @gautier-lei @unini @brightjimini @tinybeantm @kendallambrosio @hanbedumbaf @escapenightmare @lolsnacks @galacticmei @cynthiarose07

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anastasiaskarsgard · 8 months

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Ayo I need a part 3 of the marquis x reader cop Fic. How does the reader fall for the marquis? What’s up with that other doctor? What kind of role does the reader being a cop play into the story?

The rioting had spun the city into chaos in a matter of hours. It was as though everyone had gone mad. People were looting, and destroying monuments that could never be replaced. It didn’t make any sense to her; some people’s desire to destroy.

“You see the new memo?” Richie asked her as he sat at the desk across from her at the police station.

“I just got here. Had to go home last night after they pepper sprayed us.” She said, shaking her head from the phantom burn she swore was still there.

“Ouch you were there for that? Damn girl. Looks like it’s only getting worse. Our sources say some super assassin is coming to challenge some crime boss. Frankly I say leave them alone and let them cancel each other out. They’re lost causes anyway.” Richie ranted.

As she pulled up her memo she looked over the names and faces of the players involved. A few of their faces were familiar. These guys were not amateurs. They were the type that everyone knew was no good, but never seemed to be arrested. Friends in high places, and lots of reasonable doubt in their favor.

In other words; corruption. Scanning through all the names and photos, she noticed the last name wasn’t a name at all, and had a very low quality picture that was so blurry, it could be anyone.

“The Marquis.” Richie read over your shoulder. “He’s a bad egg from all accounts. Worse than the Russians, the mob, the yakuza combined. Completely ruthless.”

“You’re such a busy body. Where do you get all these facts?” She asked as she made the bunny ears quote signs with her fingers.

As Richie went into a long tirade about his sources, she couldn’t help but wonder about the nickname. Marquis were pretty uncommon, but there was no way. She shook her head, and laughed at herself.

To think that Vincent would be a criminal was impossible. He donated to sick children, he was always an absolute gentleman and he hadn’t even tried any funny business. Even if she wished he would.

“What’s up?” Richie asked.

She realized too late she was smiling. “I’m just laughing at a ridiculous thought.”she admitted.

Richie looked at her oddly and walked away.

She looked over the names and pictures again, trying to commit them to memory, when her phone rang. Answering it, she was told by her boss to come to his office.

Suddenly very nervous, she went over any possible reasons she could be in trouble but came up with nothing. In spite of that, she was still quite nervous as she stepped out of the elevator and approached his receptionist.

Before she could even say anything, she was told to go right in. He was waiting on her.

Now she really was freaked out. Knocking lightly on the massive oak doors, she heard a clipped “come in” from inside.

Opening the door, she closed it behind her and confidently approached her boss. She didn’t want to assume she would be staying long enough to sit, so she stood before him expectantly.

“How long have you been with us?” He asked.

That was unexpected, and her confidence wavered, “it’s been seven years last month.”

“And not one single write up, infraction or reprimand. Exemplary service, all your colleagues and superiors sing your praises and you even appear to be active in the community. You’re almost too good to be true.” He stated, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. “Or are you the worst?”

Shocked by the turn of his statement, she only could get out a flustered what.

“Sit down!” He ordered.

She did, nervously running her hands on her pants before looking back up at the man.

He sat there for a few minutes, staring back at her. She had no clue where this was coming from, or where it had come from so she waited.

Finally he spoke, “what is your relationship with Vincent de Gramont?”

“He is a friend and donor for the hospital I volunteer at. Is he in trouble?” She asked.

“You are only friends with the handsome billionaire? The extravagant dinners and flowers he sent you here of all places, were friendly?”

“I don’t think my personal life is an appropriate topic.”

Huffing loudly, and standing suddenly, he made his way around his desk and stood in front of her. She couldn’t help but notice he was a very handsome man, exuding authority and commanding submission. He was probably in his fifties, and his hair was prematurely graying. Age lines and crows feet, as well as worry lines were present, even with his face at rest. She wondered all this man had witnessed in his life.

Unaware of the transparency of every emotion she had, playing clear across her face; her boss witnessed her compassion and worry written on her face. Coming to a decision, he squatted down to be eye level with her, in an attempt to soften what he was sure now, would be a devastating blow.

Looking deep in her eyes, he took her hand in his , sandwiching it between his hands, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, he stated….

“Your Marquis and my Marquis are the same.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #vincent de gramont #marquis de gramont #the marquis

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baronicelebrityspring2024 · 2 months

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Week 3

When I think on Jacinda Arderns time in office I believe her legacy goes beyond the measures of political success because her leadership style in times of crisis showed an unique combination of empathy and firm decision making. The way she responded to the Christchurch mosque shootings is a clear example of this where she chose compassion of divisiveness she brought comfort and support to a grieving nation as well as establishing a global standard for addressing hatred and terrorism. In my opinion her approach to handling the COVID 19 pandemic where the well being and safety of New Zealanders took priority above all else further solidified her reputation as a leader who genuinely cares for her people. Also her initiatives on health and climate change showered her dedication to tackling issues of our times and it makes me imagine if more leaders embraced this approach it could bring about effects not only within individual nations but also in global leadership standards.

2. This is an interesting question and actually one I had not too long ago with a friend, when I reflect on what makes a leader compassionate I believe it involves looking beyond reports and strategic plans to acknowledge the aspect that underlies all decisions. I feel that a compassionate leadership requires prioritizing people understanding their challenges and empowering them to succeed which revolves around fostering an environment where empathy serves as a guiding principle for policies and actions. I also believe that co-empathy can exist and Ardern is good good examples where their leadership supports this idea. Personally I believe that the true measure of a leaders strength lies not in their authority but in the compassion they demonstrate and it can bring about a world where leaders place importance on empathy as they do on economic growth or security.

3. The question of whether the world needs more female leaders is not a question at all in my opinion absolutely it does. The fact that as a society that we even have to question this always baffles me because I feel that no matter who a person is, they should be able to do what they want without having criticism about their identity, gender, race, culture, etc. I believe that the unique perspectives and experiences that women bring to leadership roles are incredibly valuable from what I’ve seen they often promote a work environment that places importance on collaboration, empathy and inclusivity which are qualities that are increasingly recognized as important for leadership. I am of the belief that increasing the representation of women in positions of leadership can result in equitable decision making processes which then in turn could help address some of the deep rooted inequalities persisting in our societies. This will transform the world by challenging established norms and inspiring a generation of leaders who recognize strength in diversity and compassion which could redefine success not in terms of economic achievements but also, in terms of the well being and prosperity of communities.

4. One quote from Michelle Obama that has resonated with many is, "When they go low, we go high." I like this statement because it shows her way of dealing with criticism and challenges stressing the importance of staying true to values and principles. I feel that when you look at her actions and initiatives it becomes evident that she has truly redefined the concepts of power and compassion and it shows with her involvement in the "Lets Move!" campaign, where addressed childhood obesity showcased her commitment to the well being of children not in the United States but globally. Also, her dedication to education through initiatives like "Let Girls Learn" showed her belief in the power of education and its ability to empower women. I feel that as a leader, she didn’t flex her power or dominance, she instead used her influence to uplift and improve the lives of others. Michelle seems to have a great way and ability to connect with people and to me this has made a lasting impact on a scale demonstrating how compassion and strong leadership can bring about significant and enduring change.

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aurielshop · 3 months

Text

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nachoregularryan · 2 years

Text

IDEATION

First and foremost, I acknowledge and appreciate our Team Wearables group dynamic — there is no ego and an incredible amount of respect for each other, giving one another the freedom and space to speak without judgment. Collectively, I believe that we did an excellent job of managing distinguishing actions, specifically generating ideas before selecting one, not being too precious with ideas, embracing ambiguity, and proposing ideas without judgment or criticism. Additionally, we agreed that our original problem definition may have been too general and required further focus after subsequent research.

All that said, let’s get into it! Prosthesis are incredibly expensive and as a result often times not accessible. As technology increases, it directly affects the cost for prosthetic. Our objective is to find the happy medium — how do we balance design and technology with cost? High design and technology results in high cost (and high quality. Low design and technology results in low cost (and low quality), neither of which are acceptable solutions.

There were quite a few methods and techniques that we employed in order for us to land on idea-seeking questions and resulting brainstorming to land on a few standout ideas. For me personally, I found it necessary to do some individual brainstorming based on my own research before I felt informed and confident before participating in a group brainstorming sessions. As a group, we met on two separate occasions to group brainstorm, then took a break, only to come back and revisit further brainstorming ideas to land on our idea-seeking questions. A few brainstorming ideas that popped up were in fact a little crazy, although we could have been a bit crazier in our brainstorming. We identified a few important attributes that are essential to the problem we’re trying to solve for.

In hindsight, I think with more time and potentially if we were in person, we could have tapped into other methods and techniques such as forced connections, what if statements, and lateral thinking to further explore and push the boundary of brainstorming and idea generation. The dynamic of group brainstorming remotely presents a very different challenge than an in-person session. Overall, I’m pleased with where we landed.

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cooki3face · 3 years

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How to raise & maintain standards:

when navigating romantic and platonic relationships and how to deal with disrespect and remain in control

Everyone wants to feel appreciated and loved by someone deemed worthy of their time and energy. I’d really like to discuss how to raise your standards and maintain your standards my fellow dream girl comrades. Everyone knows that while bettering yourself and being the best version of yourself that you possibly can be it’s equally important that we’re highly selective about the type of people we choose to invite into our space/lives whether it be platonic or romantic relationships we’re talking about. Always protect your peace. Be picky about your significant others and your friends like the way Cher is picky about the shoes she puts on her feet and the boys she chooses to date.

1. Are you a high-quality candidate for friendship and romantic relationships yourself?

The very first principle of attracting high-quality people into your life is being a high-quality individual yourself. For example, I’m not saying you need to own designer statement pieces to attract a rich man, I'm saying that you also need to have something of your own to bring to the table when you’re looking for high-quality people. You need to make the effort to better yourself and put your best foot forward before you seek any type of partner or companionship. Think about this quote: “Act like you're blessed, Talk like you're blessed, Walk like you're blessed, Think like you're blessed. Put actions behind your faith, and one day it will become reality.” The idea that we need to embody what we desire is true in most aspects. You can’t be a low-quality person who doesn’t reflect what she believes she wants to attract into her space. All material things aside.

2. Where’s your list of the things you’d want in a significant other or friend?

I have one of my own in my diary, it’s so important that you develop a list or vision of the type of person you’d like to see in your orbit. My own list says:

♡ A financial provider (Someone who has a job, Someone who can take care of me in the material aspect)

♡ Loyal

♡ Long-term/ marriage minded

♡ Wants children/ a family

♡ Someone who does a sport or has productive hobbies away from me

♡ Someone quiet or introverted (this isn’t a requirement, I’ve dated extroverts before)

♡ Someone who doesn’t smoke or drink heavily (Marijuana is always okay with me)

♡ Someone who’s emotionally mature and knows how to communicate

♡ A feminist

♡ An educated individual

♡ Someone who cares about their appearance and self-care

♡ Someone with at least one talent

♡ Someone with an appetite for living and learning

♡ Someone with good work ethic, self-discipline/control, and long-term goals

It's extremely important that you're abundantly clear about what it is that you desire.

3. Hold everyone who expresses the need to be around you to the requirements you’ve built for yourself and others:

Understand that how someone does one thing is how they do everything, please don’t make it so that you ignore your own standards to meet someone else who’s below you where they’re at or halfway. You need to be consistent with this for it to work. FIlter out the people who don’t fit your standards from those who do.

How to handle disrespect:

@empressofdiamonds has a really good in-depth post on how to handle disrespect. I added this into this topic because I believe it’s important that you learn how to detect and handle disrespect when establishing standards and removing/avoiding people that don't meet your standards and don’t deserve your time and energy.

1) Never allow the disrespecter to get away with their efforts to disrespect you

Remind them that you won’t tolerate it, remember to remain stern and in control when you’re telling someone what you will and won’t allow. “You break patterns by responding differently.”

2) Always cut contact with those who think it’s okay for them to disrespect you or speak to you in whatever way they see fit.

3) Never make room for people who resort to violence or clear aggressive ways of expressing emotion and use those tactics to disrespect you and others

Remember that anything you don't like or don't want in your orbit is mutable. You're the creator of your reality, you decide what's real and what's fake.

Stay Pretty, - 𝓑

#dreamgirljourney #y2kblog #standards

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cal-kestis · 3 years

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You’ve Been Lonely Too Long | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Part I of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: After parting with Grogu, losing his ship, and battling with the tenets of his Creed — Din is plagued by memories he fears will only ever exist in his past. But when he meets you, he’s surprised to see a bit of himself reflected in your eyes... and the family he still longs for. (Set after S2) Rating: M (for reasons that will happen eventually) Word Count: 6572 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut (non graphic), Action/Violence, Mentions of Blood, Hurt Comfort, Slow Burn, no use of ‘Y/N’, Din is wistful while talking about Grogu :’), he misses him A/N: Here it is! I've done a lot of research when it comes to lore, planets, etc. But I've taken a few creative liberties. Replies/comments are very welcome!

[Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

Memories keep him awake more than he cares to admit.

They conjure themselves unbidden, slithering through the iron bars of his mind. And just before they burrow, just before they brand his brain, just before they emerge from the shadows and he can recognize them — images of bright eyes and petal ears, sound bites of gentle coos, memories he wants to keep locked like a treasure — they vanish like vapor.

Sometimes he tries to chase them, like a valuable quarry. But even illustrious bounty hunters like Din Djarin know what it’s like to lose. Especially at night, when memories morph into vicious nightmares... and he becomes the prey.

If he ever does sleep, he sure as hell never rests.

And no one would catch wise. That’s the beauty of beskar. Because — despite the deep purple rings circling his wrinkled eyes, the constant dry and chapped state of his lips, and the uncharacteristically unkempt stubble on his jaw — when he walks into a room, everyone only sees the harsh glint of metal armor, the precise swagger in his gait, the loaded blaster at his belt. A Mandalorian: legend coming to life. And everyone quakes in their boots.

Everyone except you.

After he had left Gideon’s light cruiser, helmet replaced on his head — an imposter’s crown — he’d expected to say his goodbyes and carry on the way he always did before everything changed, before the kid. Alone.

He hadn’t known his next move. But picking up another stray? Not part of the non-existent plan.

Yet here he is, coasting in hyperspace aboard his cold, newly bargained light freighter, watching his crewmate modify the jammers.

“Hand me that driver, will you?” You huff, wiping sweat off your brow.

He had found you on Tatooine almost three months ago, fighting off some spice-high lowlife in a dark adobe alley. He remembers seeing you throw a heavy punch to the man’s jaw, extending your other trembling hand toward his throat before softly shutting your eyes, brows pinched in gentle focus.

Something about you had felt familiar, something he couldn’t shake. Your outstretched arm had sparked a memory of tiny green claws. And it had all happened so quickly. You had your eyes closed, the man had reached for his blaster, but Din had always been the faster shot.

Smoke had wafted from the man’s chest, your eyes had opened in shock, and Din had disappeared before you could thank him.

Instead, you had managed to stow away on his ship that same night and hire yourself as his new crewmate.

“I have nowhere to go. No home, no family,” you had explained, eyes glistening. When he’d scrutinized you, he only found a small bag slung over your shoulder and a short, chewed-on pencil tucked behind your ear. “I’m a good worker. I can cook and I’m a decent pilot, a better mechanic. And I’m… crafty?”

“I work alone.” He’d said it so surely, but a cloud of sadness had hovered over the words as he’d forced saliva down his dry throat.

“You don’t have to. I can be a valuable asset to you. Take some weight off your shoulders. Be someone to talk to.”

You had glanced at his stoic frame, his silence filling the room like a smoke grenade.

“Well, you don’t have to talk. But I can be helpful.”

There had been something in your eyes, or maybe even beyond them… something in you, something so achingly familiar. He’d felt it floating around the ship, radiating off your skin, seeping through his beskar armor. And he’d sighed because he couldn’t have stopped his next words from tumbling off his tongue if he wanted to.

“Just don’t touch anything.”

He remembers how you’d gasped, your arms wrapping tightly around his torso without a second thought. And he’d just stiffened like solid carbonite, not allowing himself to dwell on how warm and soft you felt, and he’d gently pushed you off, disappearing into the cockpit.

You’re still chatting away as you continue tinkering with the jammers. You’re definitely a talker. But to him, everyone seems that way when silence is his chosen weapon of survival.

Below that primary qualification of ‘someone to talk to,’ he’d realized almost right after you joined his crew of two that your resume checked out. You’d been invaluable on this new, unfamiliar ship — helping him modify it until it had some of the Razor Crest’s best qualities. Some.

When small memories like that start flooding in and try to take him under headfirst, he thinks it’s better to be alone. At least then, he can decide whether to sink or swim. So, he excuses himself to the cockpit and you hum in acknowledgment, continuing your chatter despite being your own audience.

He spends a lot of time here in solitary silence, staring at the stars as they reflect off the tiny metal ball that hangs from a string on an unused lever. It’s the only token he has from that life — the days of flying the Crest system to system with a giggling child in the backseat.

More often than not, you find him here exactly like this: helmet hung low, a silver sphere pinched between two gloved fingers, millions of confined thoughts racing through his mind faster than hyperspace and clawing at his skull.

When you find him like this, you try not to speak. Just sit in the co-pilot’s seat and watch the stars with him.

And as he studies the little gear knob from his past life, the one question that passes through his mind the most is:

What can you do when the reason you’re hurting is likely the only thing that can heal you?

—

ii.

After many months on the freighter, you’re sure of two things when it comes to your new crewmate:

First, the Mandalorian doesn’t talk much. Or ever, really.

But you quickly get used to your questions — and there are many — being answered with a curt “yes” or “no,” sometimes a grunt or sigh thrown in when the question is just right. You don’t mind too much, it’s enough to get you familiar with the way the ship works and you always know what to expect from him.

When he’s not outside hunting a quarry on some Maker-forsaken outer rim dustball, leaving you inside to tamper with the ship’s outdated systems, he’s usually on one side of the freighter and you’re on the other. If he seems busy, you leave his food outside his quarters, and later, you find his dish empty and washed in the storage cupboard. And when you’re fighting for sleep in your bed, you hear his footsteps echoing all night long. But there are times when you both find yourselves in the small, shared space of the cockpit, when your desire to see the corners of space beyond Tatooine becomes too great to stay away. In those moments under the domed viewport — faced with a myriad of vibrant hues and tremendous textures and infinite stars — he doesn’t speak and you can’t find the words, giving way to a tranquil, transfixing silence neither of you wants to escape.

The second thing you’re sure of is: the Mandalorian gets hurt, a lot.

You can’t count the number of times you’ve watched him drag himself and an unconscious body onto his ship or holed himself up in the fresher, hissing in pain as he tended to his own wounds.

But this time, he comes back and collapses outside of the ship, unable to even pull himself up the ramp, much less the dead weight of the quarry. There’s hardly a thought in your mind as your feet scurry to his side, sprawled across the ground beside his target. You don’t wait for permission before you’re reaching for the gloved hand pressed firmly to the side of his stomach.

“No,” he grits out between his teeth, groaning when the tiny word seems to tear him apart where he’s already been gashed. “The quarry.”

You frown, almost rolling your eyes at his stubbornness. Always the job first.

Still, no arguments pass your lips when you turn to pull the heavy, unconscious Trandoshan by his bound wrists. It takes all of your strength to drag him up the steep incline of the freighter’s ramp, through the main corridor, and into the supply closet, Mando’s makeshift prison. You’d asked him about it before, one of your many questions, wondering if he should consider more secure holding quarters. And he’d responded with a surprisingly long (for him) statement, “Not as good as a mobile carbonite freezing system, but it does the job.”

After chaining up the quarry’s hands and ankles and locking the closet, you nearly trip over yourself while sprinting back to the groaning Mandalorian. You kneel beside him, pulling the hand pressed against his stomach over your shoulder to lift him on his feet. A harsh, metallic scent suddenly fills your lungs, drawing your gaze to the blood-stained palm of his glove dangling over your shoulder. You do your best to ignore it, refocusing your energy on lugging him into the ship. As soon as you reach the top of the ramp, your strength gives out, sending both your bodies collapsing to the floor with a dull thud. It’s a challenge disentangling yourself from his heavy limbs but once you manage, you quickly turn to examine him before his hand stops you again.

“Gang on our tail,” he rasps, coughing then groaning in pain. “Get us out of here.”

Your lips press into a straight line, a war waging behind your furrowed brow as you decide whether or not it’s smart to leave him alone, bleeding on the floor of the main hold. But his hand shakes as he squeezes your wrist in what you think is meant to feel comforting. You release a deep sigh before getting up to close the ramp and set coordinates in the cockpit.

When you return minutes later with a medpac, you find him stretched out on his back, his neck arching with a groan, and his glove clutching his stomach once more. You kneel beside him to assess the damage, reaching your hand to his waist before he grabs you again.

“You don’t have to,” he grunts. “I can do it.”

“I know you can,” you say, gently removing the glove trapping your wrist. “But so can I. And I can actually move my limbs at a normal, painless speed, get the job done quicker. So, please, let me.”

He sighs, giving a quick nod of his helmet before allowing you to partially remove his armor.

You start with the breastplate, remove the thick padding over his stomach, then grab the ever-present pencil behind your ear and use the dull end to lift the edge of his brown undershirt, just enough to reveal the knife wound in his side.

“What happened?” You gasp, quickly gathering antiseptic, a laser cauterizer, and bacta patches from the medpac.

“Ambushed,” he grunts, wincing as you clean the cut, your breath sliding across his skin as you lean in close.

“I’ve sustained some pretty bad knicks myself. Nothing as bad as this,” you joke lightly, switching the antiseptic for the cauterizer. When the laser touches his skin, he gasps and curls in on himself as you burn the wound closed. Instinctively, you grab his hand, the one not stained with blood, and interlace your fingers with his on the ship’s floor, letting him squeeze your palm as a distraction. “Nothing I couldn’t fix up. When you’re surviving on your own, you have to learn how to take care of yourself.”

“I know,” he says quietly. I work alone, he’d said when you met.

Even through the shadowy visor of his helmet, you feel his eyes on yours and stare back openly. But as always, you only see your own warped reflection in the silver gleam of his beskar.

“It helps to have the proper supplies,” you chuckle, tearing your eyes away from his helmet to finish closing up his wound. “This bacta patch should fix you up real good.”

After smoothing the gel bandage against his skin, your fingertips linger only a second too long on the exposed warmth of his tanned stomach. You pull down the hem of his shirt, starting to reach for the pieces of iron covering his arm but feel him stop you by squeezing your joined hands.

“They only got one jab in,” he says, his voice sounding more relaxed, almost cocky. But when he sees the worry on your face, his thumb sweeps lightly across your hand and he squeezes once more. “I promise. I’m fine.”

“You’d better be,” you warn, shaking your joined hands in front of your face like a cranky geezer. “Because I’m not carrying two unconscious bodies off this ship when we land.”

He huffs out a short breath, only wincing slightly at the movement. Without another word, you pull his arm around your shoulder once more, limping him toward his sleeping quarters to rest. But you stop just outside the door, not wanting to encroach on his privacy.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his hand against the doorway.

“Your gloves,” you say, his helmet tilting in confusion when you stare at his hand pointedly. “Let me clean them for you.”

He tries to argue but you won’t have any of it, simply extending your palm out toward him until he reluctantly pulls at the yellow leather tips on his fingers and hands them over.

“You can leave your shirt outside your quarters, too. I don’t want you stinking up the ship with your bloody clothes. Wash up. Get some rest. And be more careful next time,” you say, smiling and walking backward as you talk.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and you swear you hear a ghost of a smile in his voice.

Before you can question him on it, he presses the button to his quarters and slips inside.

—

iii.

Time seems to pass quicker on the Mandalorian’s ship since the Trandoshan incident. And this man of few words quickly becomes a man of… just slightly more than a few words. Nevertheless, as his crewmate, you’ve learned quite a lot more about him.

One, he never stays in one place for long. He’s a bounty hunter, of course, and he takes multiple jobs at once. That means, together, you visit at least four different planets in the span of a few weeks, expertly flying around New Republic and Imperial scanners without a hitch. Two, he likes your cooking, a lot. You can tell because, by the end of the night, after a soft “thank you” buzzed from his helmet, his dish would always be licked clean — two dishes when you’d made his favorite. Sometimes, he’d even surprise you and try to recreate your recipes, generously leaving bowls of delicious food at your door. But he never eats where you can watch, enjoying the meals in secret and quietly washing up for you when you’re on the other side of the ship and can’t argue with him about it. Three, he doesn’t remove his helmet when you’re around, maybe even when he’s alone. “This is the way,” he’d mumble on occasion, a Creed that sounds like a foreign language even falling from his lips. Four, although he says he works alone, you see the way his helmet leans toward you when you speak and notice how his knees point in your direction when you sit side by side in the cockpit, gravitating toward you yet deeply cautious of drawing too close. And five, he’s lonely. You know because you’ve carried the same sadness in your chest almost all your life.

Several months on his ship have opened him up to giving more detailed answers to your numerous questions, and you take each opportunity where you can, desperate to unveil new pieces of his mind.

Tonight, Mando is particularly relaxed after capturing the last of four bounties, coordinates already set to turn them in. An empty bowl of bone broth sits beside his first helping. He leans back comfortably in his pilot seat as the stars shine off his chest plate and you ask about his past adventures.

“Has it always been just you?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, not wanting to disturb this content stillness, but thinking of all the times you’ve found him sitting alone in the cockpit clutching onto a silver ball.

He’s silent for a moment, thinking over his words. He doesn’t turn to face you when he answers, “No. There was... a child. Not long ago.”

You think back to when you had first met him, how he’d said, “I work alone,” how those words had seemed devastatingly true — in the way only a person who’s lost everything could say them so honestly.

“Yours?”

A beat. “Yeah,” he answers, a small crackling sound coming from his helmet. “Yes, a foundling. But he was as my own.”

“What happened?”

The cockpit stays silent save for the dull tones of the control board’s beeps and ticks. Mando reaches for that silver sphere, leans forward in his seat, and he holds it to the crown of his helmet.

“I... had to let him go.”

His voice breaks over the vowels, just slightly but you hear it: the familiar shattered sound of loss. It radiates off of him in waves, penetrating your skin and crawling through your bloodstream until your own heart aches for the ghost this child left behind.

“What was he like?”

He’s quiet again and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But suddenly, Mando swivels his chair to face you, the silver ball clutched tight against his chest, and he chuckles. It’s fleeting but it’s a sound you’ve never heard in all your months aboard his ship. A lovely sound you’ll never forget.

“This was his favorite toy,” the Mandalorian says, lifting the ball in the air for you to see. “He was a stubborn kid. Always getting into trouble.”

You smile, begging him to continue.

“He could do things I couldn’t even imagine. He saved me, in more ways than one. We were a clan of two.”

“A family,” you agree.

He stills for a moment, ponders your words, and hangs his head. “Yeah, a family.”

“What’s his name?”

“Grogu.” You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “His name is Grogu.”

“Grogu,” you whisper, testing the name on your tongue. “Can you describe him for me?”

You pull out a small, worn booklet of parchment from your pouch and the short pencil from behind your ear. His helmet tilts toward you curiously and you can almost imagine his eyes squinting behind the visor.

“Remember when I said I was crafty? Not a load of bantha crap,” you chuckle, waving the pencil at him. “I made a trade with some stingy Jawas to get these relics.”

He nods, quietly examining the antiquated drawing pad.

“Tell me,” you plead.

His helmet’s gaze drops back to the silver ball and he sighs a wistful sound.

“Grogu was — is special. A green, wrinkly, big-eared... very special little kid.”

“A green, wrinkly child?” You ask, looking up from the paper.

Mando laughs again and you can’t help but smile too. He describes Grogu like he’s a father mooning over his son’s first steps. You’ve never heard him talk so much, so joyfully yet sorrowfully all at once. There’s a wistfulness in his voice, a rasp that tells you he’s not used to putting it into words, at least not out loud, but he still wants to honor Grogu with every word he has. As he speaks, you can feel — almost see the image of Grogu in your mind. It’s crystal clear like your brain is reaching out and can somehow access every archive in Mando’s memories. It’s like a trance and you have to physically shake your head to release yourself.

“He means a lot to you,” you say, a matter of fact, tearing off the weathered page and giving him your quick sketch, your hand resting on one of his pauldrons. “I’m sure you mean a lot to him.”

Mando silently turns back to the controls, his fingers still clutching the little ball as he grips the page in the other hand.

He’s especially glad to have his helmet at this moment because he feels water pooling behind his eyelids as he stares at the uncanny drawing.

“That’s him,” he whispers, looking upon his boy. It’s almost an exact likeness, although in grayscale (he’ll have to find you other colors somehow). But it means everything to see Grogu again, even on a page, after months of only seeing him in fleeting dreams and distorted nightmares.

“Thank you,” he says, his hand with the drawing joining your hand on his pauldron.

You smile as he neatly, delicately folds the paper and tucks it into the small pouch on his shoulder harness, keeping the drawing close to his heart. You sit together in comfortable silence as the ship drops out of hyperspace.

“I guess you weren’t lying when we met,” he finally says.

“What do you mean?”

“You are… crafty,” he chuckles, his fingers tenderly stroking the leather pouch on his shoulder. “And you’re a good person to talk to.”

—

iv.

The Mandalorian doesn’t ask you to stay on the freighter while he works anymore.

He doesn’t want you with him while he hunts, can’t afford the distraction. But he doesn’t want you to feel trapped either. So, he tells you to explore villages and draw landscapes of forested planets with the set of pigmented chalks he’d sweetly gifted you after finishing a job one day. (“I saw them at some backwater trading post. Thought you might like them,” he’d shrugged.)

He doesn’t say it out loud but you know he trusts you even more now, trusts you won’t get into trouble, trusts you can take care of yourself if it finds you anyway. And he knows you appreciate it after being stranded on Tatooine your entire life. Each time he lands on a new planet, he sees entire galaxies reflected in your awestruck eyes and he gains a new page of artwork to add to his growing collection.

His latest quarry leads the pair of you to Felucia, on the hunt for some scum who — according to the Mandalorian — is probably hoping to harvest the planet’s Nysillin, a valuable healing herb, to trade for hefty credits.

Felucia is a beautiful world you could never have even conjured in your dreams. A dense jungle of flora extends toward the upper atmosphere, kissing the yellow-tinted clouds and glowing orange and teal when night falls. Vibrant purple fungi tower high above the ferns, providing shade that did little to combat the damp heat.

You felt a strange energy running through your veins the moment you stepped off the ship, blaming it on the humidity instantly sticking to your skin like honey, a welcome discomfort compared to the sands of Tatooine.

On Tat, the sand made a habit of blowing and whipping around your ankles, scraping slashes and slivers into your skin. You’d hardly ever felt it, soft skin having evolved into a numb armor over many years on the desolate planet. Even as crystal particles would fly into your eyes, fill your lungs, nestle into your hair — you’d hardly felt it.

Sand is nothing compared to the sinister shudder that would run down your spine as you’d make haste through dark alleyways. The hairs on the back of your neck would rise and stiffen. You’d feel it more than you’d see it: the mass of darkness constantly looming over your shoulder, disfigured shadows merging with yours on the sand. And a voice would ask you each time: are you willing to do what you must to survive?

You almost had that night you met the Mandalorian. You remember your attacker’s voice like you just woke up from a nightmare, coarse and rough, burying itself under your skin like the Tatooine sands. His hands had felt slimy and sticky like the Felucian air as he’d gripped your waist. That same question of will had rung in your ears and your soul had urged you with a whisper: “Survive.” Your hand had quaked as you’d lifted it and focused your thoughts on your attacker’s throat.

Then, before you could save yourself, you’d heard blaster fire and exhaled a staggered breath, gazing upon the Mandalorian as your hand had dropped limp at your side. You never turned back.

Now, you explore more systems than you knew existed, a Mandalorian warrior at your side, filling your weathered drawing pad with sketches of worlds beyond imagination.

Felucia would be a quick job, he’d assured you when he’d left. Easy and clean. Besides, no matter how beautiful the planet seemed — you couldn’t afford to stay longer than one rotation.

The Mandalorian had warned you of carnivorous plants and mysterious beasts. He hadn’t asked you to stay on the ship, but you knew he’d feel better if you kept close by. In the low shrubs and behind sky-scraping stalks, a deep grumble echoed through the jungle — something hungry and menacing. You stayed far from the sounds, choosing to explore the other colorful flowers that lived nearer to the ruddy soil, not straying too far into the mystifying wilds. You scribble away in your booklet, airways filled with a fresh petrichor that reminds you of a watery star system the Mandalorian brought you to a couple of months back. Your chalks fly across the tiny page as you capture this planet’s inimitable beauty as best you can.

Hardly four hours pass before you hear the Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps returning. Behind him trudges a stout man, wrists in binders behind him as he follows the bounty hunter in defeat.

“You’re getting slow, Mando,” you say, grinning when he comes to a stop in front of you, hands on his hips, a slight tilt to his helmet.

“What are you drawing?” He asks, ignoring your previous comment. He kneels beside you, silently studying the chalk-smudged red flower on the page as you stroke the final flourishes of your sketch. You hand him your booklet, noticing how the quarry leans over Mando’s shoulder to sneak a peek as well.

“Beautiful,” Mando says, tone even, as if speaking a fact instead of opinion.

“Well, it’s easy to see beauty when it’s all around,” you answer, cheeks heated as you gesture to the plant life surrounding you.

“It is,” he agrees, tenderness seeping into his modulated voice. When you look up at him, his visor is already trained on your face, unwavering as you crouch eye to eye with each other.

“Hate to break it to ya,” the quarry says, coughing dramatically behind you. “But all this ‘beauty’ wants to eat us alive, so I suggest we get off this hellhole before we all become dinner.”

The Mandalorian sighs, tearing his gaze to probably glare daggers at the quarry.

“Makes you wonder what you were doing on this ‘hellhole’ in the first place,” he says, sarcastic to a fault.

“It wasn’t my choice,” the quarry argues, lifting his hands in defense. “I’m here to do a job, just like y—”

A shrill, deafening screech cuts through the jungle like a blade and the group of you shrink at the violent sound.

“Let’s go,” Mando says immediately, helping you on your feet and pushing the quarry into the freighter.

You watch from the ground behind him as Mando runs in to lock the quarry inside the storage closet, turning only when the screeching sound suddenly stops. Your eyes squint as you try to find a sign of movement in the dense jungle.

“Watch out!”

Before you can register the anxiety in the Mandalorian’s voice, you’re knocked on your back into the red soil by a hulking creature.

It towers over you, casting you completely in its shadow as it slowly stalks forward. Your vision blurs as the horrifying monster draws closer — wrinkled white skin stretching the expanse of its belly and blue spine-covered leather painting its face and shell-armored back.

“I’m guessing this is the rancor you were telling me about?” You grit through your teeth, inching away like a pathetic crab along the shoreline. Drool leaks from the rancor’s jagged teeth in dangling strands as it reaches long, webbed claws toward you.

Before they can reach your body, you see the Mandalorian’s whipcord wrap around its arm. On the other end of the cord, Mando yanks the rancor away from you, rapid blaster fire whizzing through the air, hitting the beast with deadly precision. But the blasts bounce off its thick, impenetrable skin as it continues prowling toward you with renewed anger.

“Good guess,” Mando grunts, flying above the rancor with his jetpack, shooting at it in quick succession.

The rancor turns its attention away from you to the shiny flying pest blasting at its leathery skin. It’s at least six times the Mandalorian’s height but seems worlds larger from your view on the ground.

“Stars, I thought you said these things were peaceful!” You shout.

“The Felucians don’t mind them. You must have scared it with your aggressive craftiness,” he quips, and you imagine what his smirk might look like under his helmet, even as the rancor approaches closer.

Mando launches miniature whistling explosives at the beast, but they do little to deter it. He throws grenades but the rancor swats them away like insects. It stomps toward the Mandalorian, its maw gaping wide as it releases a petrifying roar.

“Mando!” You scream when the rancor’s claws grab him by his jetpack, plowing his body into the ground with brute force.

The Mandalorian groans as he tries to stand back up, falling on his back when his bones prove too weary to support his weight.

“Get to the ship,” he rasps, voice crackling through the helmet with static. He raises his arm, flamethrower igniting at the rancor’s face, making it fumble backward with another roar. Only seconds later, the fire sputters and dies out. “Dank farrik!” He curses, reaching for his hopeless blaster once more before the monster’s claws slap it from his hand. “Get to the ship!” He yells.

Rooted to the ground like the surrounding plants, you’re helpless bantha fodder as you watch the rancor slowly creep forward, stretching to its full height above the Mandalorian. It feels like you’re sinking in quicksand — your feet and your mind hopelessly going under.

Then, you hear a soft voice ask a familiar yet distorted question:

Are you willing to do what you must so he survives?

You don’t hesitate. Anything, your soul resolves.

Steadily braced on two feet, you throw out your hand like a whip, focusing all your energy and emotions toward the blue beast. It sends the rancor flying backward like a ragdoll, wailing as it crashes through the thick jungle, loud cracks echoing from the mist as its body breaks every plant in its path. It lands far away with a heavy thud, but you feel it in your veins when it immediately gets on its feet, vengefully sprinting back toward you.

“Can’t say it isn’t persistent,” you mutter.

“How? You—” Mando grunts, a thousand questions on his tongue that will have to wait.

“I’ll explain later,” you huff, yanking his arm over your shoulder and pulling him to the ship. “We need to get out of here.”

“What’s happening?” The quarry yells from inside the locked compartment when he hears footsteps boarding the ship. You drop the Mandalorian onto the floor of the main hold rather unceremoniously, a metallic clanging sound ringing through the freighter. You punch in his code to retract the ship’s ramp before running to the cockpit. Outside the freighter, the rancor’s screeching grows louder and your fingers flit across the control panel to get the ship in the air. The engines whir to life and you swear it’s the second most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

With one final glance at the glowing jungle outside the viewport, thunderous roars softening into a low rumble, the ship finally launches out of Felucia’s atmosphere. Sinking back in the pilot’s seat, you let out a breath you’ve been holding for what feels like years. A labored dragging sound echoes behind you and you snap your head back, instinctively on defense.

But your shoulders relax when you see the Mandalorian gripping the walls of the ship as he attempts to limp closer. You run to his side, carrying his weight as you lead him to sit in the co-pilot’s chair.

“You need to rest,” you whisper, standing in front of him to quickly scan his body for signs of a major injury. “Looks like you got away with just a few shallow cuts and bruises. Nothing a bit of bacta can’t soothe.”

Your words come out like the rapid firing of his blaster before a gloved hand on your wrist stops you from speeding off.

“What happened back there? How did you...” He asks, his visor lifted at an uncomfortable angle to meet your eyes.

Your lips press into a straight line, brows pinched in worry as you turn away from him to rummage through the medpac.

“I don’t...” you start, letting out a long exhale as you gather your words. “I don’t know. Since I was a kid, I’ve been able to do things I can’t explain — move things without touching them.”

You turn back to him, bacta in hand as you study expressionless beskar.

“Sometimes, it frightens me. I have no idea where it comes from or why it happens or how to control it. I never do it around other people. I didn’t want them to know,” you admit quietly, dropping your gaze to his vambrace, wordlessly asking if he still trusts you to remove it. He nods, visor watching you with masked curiosity as you roll back his sleeves and expose bruised, tan skin. “I’m afraid of what could happen if people knew.”

You don’t tell him how you don’t sleep well most nights, your thoughts eating away at your mind as you wonder if your abilities are the reason why you’ve always been alone… if they drove your family away before you could understand and just explain.

It stays silent while you tend to his wounds, applying bacta wherever your hands coax sharp hissing sounds from his helmet. His armor lies on the floor of the cockpit, sleeves pulled up to his elbows and the hem of his shirt lifted just enough to reveal a shallow cut and smattering of bruises on his abdomen. It’s not the worst you’ve seen and the bacta seems to already be easing most of the discomfort, allowing him to sit up straighter.

You leave him for a moment to allow him to tend to the bruises on his legs himself, walking to the supply closet to make sure the quarry is secure in his makeshift prison. When you return, you sit in the pilot’s seat, facing the zooming stars as if they hold the answers to every terrifying question you’ve held inside for so long.

You almost don’t hear the soft way the Mandalorian calls your name. It takes all your strength to pivot your seat in his direction.

“Do you remember when I told you about the mudhorn?” He asks.

You nod. The story of the mudhorn, of course you remember. After he’d first told you about his child, he seemed eager to tell you even more tales of their adventures across the galaxy. The mudhorn felt like their origin story, the birthplace of his connection to Grogu.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story,” he says quietly, piquing your attention. “Grogu saved me. Not the other way around.”

You stare at him dumbfounded. “But how? He’s just a baby.”

Mando stands from the co-pilot’s seat, testing his leg’s stability before walking to the control board, leaning back on it, his knees brushing against yours.

“Grogu had powers too. He could heal people. And he could move things without touching them,” he mirrors your words, making your jaw drop as you take them in. “Just like you. I was quested to bring him to others of his kind.”

“You mean?” you ask, and he doesn’t miss the flash of hope in your eyes.

“Yes. There are others like him — like you.”

You listen with rapt attention as he unravels the legend of the Jedi — a fierce warrior he’d met named Ahsoka Tano and the hooded figure who had single-handedly defeated a platoon of Dark Troopers and became Grogu’s new mentor. He tells you the few fragments of what he knows about laser swords — lightsabers — the bright colors he’s seen them radiate. But he leaves out the heavy weight of the darksaber locked away in his weapons cabinet. Besides that, he tells you everything he knows, which he regrets isn’t much.

“The Force?” You ask in confusion.

“The Force is what gives you your powers,” he says, reciting the words like folklore passed down through generations. “It is an energy field created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training and discipline.”

Ahsoka’s words have been imprinted on his brain since she first spoke them.

“I can take you to a place where you can communicate with them,” he whispers. Truly, he doesn’t want to do as he says, doesn’t want to repeat the heartache he’s still not fully recovered from. He wishes he could snatch the righteous words out of the air before you hear them. But he knows what it would mean to you to find others, a family when you’ve had none your whole life. “The… Jedi, I mean. On a planet called Tython. If you want to be trained.”

He imagines a familiar hooded figure leading you by your hand, leaving him behind.

“I… I’d like to hear what they have to say. Get some answers,” you say. “If you’ll take me.”

“Of course.”

You stand up, allowing him to take his place in the pilot’s chair.

“After we drop off the quarry, I’ll bring you to Tython.”

His breath stops when he sees your hand reach out to cradle the side of his helmet. His eyes screw shut, imagining the plush warmth of your palm caressing the skin on his cheek instead.

“Thank you, Mando,” you say, a gentle smile on your lips.

“Din,” he offers, grinning beneath his helmet when your chin tilts in silent questioning. “My name is Din Djarin,” he clarifies. “But you can still call me Mando if you want.”

You smile, so wide and so bright it could blind him.

“Thank you, Din,” you say, unexplored galaxies sparkling in your irises. For the first time, he lets himself daydream what it’d be like to discover each one of them with you, for as many years as you’ll give him. Even as he fears his time with you is ending. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

As you walk to your sleeping quarters, the soft sound of controls beeping and ticking in the ship, you don’t hear when he whispers:

“Anything.” [READ PART II HERE]

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #reader insert #taole #mine*

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ayamadori · 3 years

Text

I LOVE COLA LOSERS - HERES WHY

This is a long essay-ish thing that dives a bit into my thoughts about Cola Losers, analysing the two boys dynamic and it's potential for Eduardos characterization. This is in no way linked to the actual real life people involved, but only the cartoon characters.

1. EDUARDO - PRE/POST-LEGACY

Pre-legacy Eduardo (as seen mainly in Hammer & Fail) is the perfect flat mean girls parody character. He comes off though as much more catty than your TV show bully, especially when he is constantly looking for a new way to make fun of Edds crew with his friends Jon and Mark. At the same time, he's still intended to be Edds counterpart - often seen in green and drinking diet cola. This similarity yet also laced with major differences causes ire from Edd, who views him with comedic contempt.

Pre-legacy Eduardo is a good example of Eddsworld constantly using (and sometimes twisting) well-known tropes in fun ways to generate more laughs. The neighbors fills a fun and vital role in the Eddsworld ecosystem.

Legacy however takes him into a different direction. According to the legacy documentary, Paul Ter Voorde had noticed some liking for Eduardo and chose it as a chance to expand on his character. Legacy offers us a way to view Eduardo beyond the intended flatness of his pre-legacy self, opening up a chance for a bit more nuance and depth to be added to him.

2. POWEREDD AND EDUARDOS INSECURITY

PowerEdd is the legacy episode (and probably the episode in the whole series) that focuses on Eduardo the most, especially as he features as the villain. Poweredd in my eyes delves into 2 ways to interpret Eduardos characterization (and his insecurity) here. One i'd like to think of as the "pre-legacy inspired" and the other one as "legacy inspired".

| PRE-LEGACY INSPIRED; This interpretation relies on PowerEdd being a parodic exploration on superhero tropes - Eduardos disproportionate reaction to his "backstory" pokes fun of dramatic villain backstories by making Eduardos motive for his grudge seem like a silly and small thing. The episode itself is seen here as a humorous take on the superpowers trope and fits into that framework. This view relies upon the knowledge of Eduardos role in pre-legacy.

|LEGACY-INSPIRED; This takes Paul Ter Voordes statement of Eduardo into account. PowerEdd could be seen as a genuine attempt at lampshading Eduardos insecurity and his struggle with possible low self esteem. These aspects together create a superiority/inferiority complex of the highest caliber.

Eduardos behavior fits into that idea (seeing as he acts tougher than he is now in contrast to his meeker past self, goes extremely far to protect his pride as to try to destruct the source of his anxiety, makes his peers also act uncharacteristic which fails i.e Jon etc.)

It's a rather well-known phenomena in psychology that the individual who often feels a threat towards their sense of self (and thus security) uses a illusion of a tougher, more intimidating facade in order to feel comfortable with themselves.

The main argument here is that PowerEdd is not making fun of Eduardos superiority/inferiority complex, but rather tries to lampshade it and imply that this seemingly innocous event is not the /major/ cause of his insecurity, but rather the single drop that filled the glass over. Since i dont wanna base too much on assumptions, i wont expand on what these other possible events could be. But in the end, the result is quite obvious; it makes Eduardo go in a constant frenzy to prove himself superior to Edd at all times. He projected all his insecurities into this single event where his artwork came in second place, and the person who won over him.

3. HOW THIS ASPECT IS DEALT WITH

In their final confrontation in Poweredd, Edd questions Eduardos motivation for his actions. Edd (the audience proxy in this case) dont react though with mocking this reason or laughing at it. Edd actually takes it seriously and even apologizes for what he did, realising that the seemingly innocous action ended up being part of something bigger and more harmful.

This fully throws a confused Eduardo off, who had (most likely) been expecting a offensive reaction that'd validate his paranoia. But this doesn't happen. The narrative takes his frustration seriously, which is what i find so interesting and likeable about it. This so large seeming conflict diffuses so quickly because of Edds sincerity, a underexplored yet charming quality about him.

4. EDD IS NOT MUCH OF A THREAT

What made Eduardo waver and change his mind? He reaches the epiphany that Edds way too much of a dumbass to be a threat at all. Eduardo had been trying so hard the whole to prove himself to someone, to /something/ as being the better one. However, the real fool was Eduardo himself.

Edd is the furtherest from a threat that you can imagine. Honestly, he never really intentionally targets Eduardo with malicious intent (definitely prone to teasing though lol), and it's often the result of Eduardos own actions than anything else. Edd mostly minds his own businiess, and is upon a second look a rather sensible guy.

It makes Eduardo feels stupid for misjudging him, and you know he reaches that conclusion since he goes as far as to use up his last bunch of powers to defend Edd.

5. COLA LOSERS (ENCORE)

I felt like i wanted to establish all the points from earlier since they play a significant role to the way i view Edd and Eduardos dynamic. Edds relaxed and casual demeanor contrasts amusingly to Eduardos high-strung, much more neurotic tendencies. This difference makes for a surface-level funny competetive dynamic.

However, Edd is hardly a malicious person. He's not someone who actively tries to taunt Eduardo in a way intended to cause genuine harm. He's a bit silly and stupid, and his taunting of Eduardo is more based in neighbor shenegians rather than anything else. The whole point is that Edd could actually do more positive than negative for Eduardo - he can engage in a rivalry with him, but one that Eduardos actually comfortable with. Especially since by the end of PowerEdd, you can notice Eduardo clearly has nothing against Edd anymore (though still finds him annoying lol).

Something i rarely see mentioned when people talk about these two is that if they got to engage further in Eddsworld minus the grudge, Eduardo could actually make a change for the better and get something better from it. Not to mention, it hardly has to be a full on competition all the time - they could have moments where they're more friendly only to go back to being rivals again.

TDLR: I really love Cola Losers.

#eddsworld #ew edd #ew eduardo #cola losers #long post #analysis #ish

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 8- Discovery

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 2780

Warnings: None!

7- Obedience

...

Artemis had learned that although snow is beautiful, it can turn into deadly sheets of ice when the temperature dropped low enough. She came to realize that the hard way, slipping along the streets of the city when completing her tasks. She had even fallen once, the sharp jagged edges of the ice cutting a gash above her brow.

It was superficial, but it had bled, much to her annoyance. When she had returned to the cabin with blood leaking down to her chin, Ivar didn't hesitate in laughing, mocking her for being weak. How could one who was born among hot plains become accustomed to an icy hell?

Winter appropriate boots were issued, a tiny delight in an otherwise tasteless life. They were surprisingly of high quality, the interior made of rabbit fur that kept her feet especially warm. Accroding to Ivar, it was no act of kindness. He would just tire of seeing his slave bruised up and bloody from her clumsiness.

More days passed, but the winter seemed endless. Artemis grew accustomed to her new life, though she was still struggling to accept it. In the early days she'd often cry herself to sleep, feeling an overwhelming loneliness suffocate her. Now, her emotions were blurred, and she began to view the world with apathetic eyes.

Sometimes, when she stared off past Kattegat's harbor, she'd imagine herself drifting away on a tiny boat. Her ancestors were masters of the sea, why wouldn't she be able to find her way back home? But it was just a fleeting thought.

She pushed herself to assimilate as Helga had often suggested, acquaintancing herself with other thralls and finding herself with Aria for company. The Irish girl was quite the character and would be considered a woman of loose morals in Christian lands. But she was kind, and had the skills of a homemaker, teaching Artemis mending techniques whenever she had the chance.

So far, life in Kattegat was extremely bland, cold, and uneventful.

The welts on her back healed quickly, scarring minimally with the help of the healer's salve. She supposed she had Ivar to thank for that, though she'd hate to admit it.

Whenever she thought of Ivar, she'd compared him to winter itself. His demenor was frigid, just like icy winds the seeped through the cabin at night. She had no idea what to think of him anymore. Sometimes she feared him, as most did, and other times she felt bad for him, watching him disappear into the mountains to grieve his losses.

Sometimes, she followed him, only to hear his gut wrenching sobs. In normal circumstances, she would've sympathized, but he was far too complex to simply understand his behavior. There were many instances in which he decides to ignore her, while on others he couldn't stop running his mouth, glancing at her with the curious eyes of a child, as if trying to work a puzzle.

That particular night had his curious eyes locked elsewhere, on something of extreme value. Artemis watched Ivar analyze a golden chalice, his ocean eyes admiring the craftsmanship and details of its design.

"What have I done to offend you this time, hmm? If your eyes could, they would kill me," She hadn't realized she was glaring as it was second nature to her now. She was always glaring.

Looking away from his eyes shining in the candle light, she continues to mend his breeches that had laid forgotten on her lap. Ivar was constantly destroying his clothing from dragging his body everywhere, and now she was constantly mending them, a tedious task that she hated.

Ivar sat slumped over his desk, his ale untouched to the side of him. He turned to eye Artemis, who sat by the fireplace, her mending forgotten again. Her skin glowed with the shadows of the fire and her pale eyes shone brighter than anything he'd seen before. The contrast was striking and Ivar couldn't bring himself to look away.

"That cup...it was stolen from the monestary in Crete, " Artemis finally answers quietly, turning to look at the shadows dance across his chiselled face.

"And what does it matter?" Was the boyish reply, "What is so important about this cup that your eyes wish me ill?"

She watches the fire for a moment, the embers hissing as they burn and crackle loudly against the quietness of Ivar's chambers. She wondered if Bjorn had gifted him the chalice. It was to no surprise to her that Ivar had in his possession the very chalice that was to be blessed for holy communion. Was Ivar feared so, that he recieved gifts to keep his anger at bay?

"Skilled hands made that chalice,"

"And what of it?" Not understanding, he sucks his teeth in annoyance. She wasn't a seer to be speaking in riddles. He focused his eyes on her as she laid his breeches on the fur rug, meticulous in sticking the bone needle into the thick fabric.

"I made it, Prince." She replies with equal force, holding out her calloused hands as if to prove her worth.

Ivar looks at her small hands, noting the lack of smooth skin, but it could have been due to her labors since arriving to Kattegat, and so he simply sucked his teeth unimpressed, waving his hand in the air aimlessly to dismiss her statement.

"You jest," He says, fingers gliding over the small pearls embedded perfectly into the gold, "This is fine work. Not even my people have learned to craft such delicate ornaments," Vikings made weapons of destruction, not dainty items to be viewed like a beautiful woman on display. Kattegat had only seen items such as the chalice when his father returned from his first raid in Lindensfarne. Whatever fine items they had, such as jewelry, were mostly traded or stolen from the Baltic lands.

Artemis frowns at his comment.

"My father and I were employed by the abbot. He had commissioned the gold chalice in your hands, as well as all the other gold and silver that was stolen from the monastery,"

"You lie."

"I do not." Ivar's huffs, glancing at the gold again as if he was just seeing it again for the first time. It was impressive work, even he had to admit.

"You can forge silver and gold?"

"I am the daughter of a blacksmith, I can forge any metal I please," The pride could easily be detected in her tone.

"Hmm." There was silence after that.

Artemis turns back to the mending, picking up the bone needle and staring intently at the tears the were left to mend. She couldn't focus on it, pulling the thread around as if she were actually completing the task.

"And that is why you were in the monestary," Ivar breaks the silence again, "To deliver the items." Turning the gold chalice this way and that, he put it to his smiling lips as if testing it. She grunts in reply, moving to work with the tough fabric.

"I suppose you aren't the whore we thought you to be," Ivar smirks, eyes peering at his slave who sat quietly by the hearth. He was half expecting a reaction from her, but instead she remained quiet, closing her eyes tightly and inhaling deeply. She refused to say a word. She wouldn't.

"I'm quite surprised you were allowed such an upbringing," He continues to taunt, "If women aren't allowed to fight, then how could you have learned the trade of men?" She remains quiet still, trying to ignore him as she poked the bone needle into the fabric with difficulty. She would need a lot more practice.

"You may speak freely, Artemis." To this she turns her head, shocked at her name name spilling from his lips so easily. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before answering.

"I studied alongside my brother. He was to be the true heir, until he passed from plague," Artemis kept her eyes on the threading of the garment, distracting herself from Ivar's gaze, but it didn't help, "Someone had to help with the family business, even if it was a daughter." The memories of her father flashed in her mind, causing those melancholic feelings to resurface.

The man lost a wife, a son, and now a daughter. What did he have left?

Her hands begin to shake, causing her to prick a finger. She hisses, nursing her finger quickly before glancing at Ivar.

Why was he frowning?

"No mother?" He asks.

"She died when I was a girl of the side sickness,"

Ivar remains quiet, only looking at her with eyes that were less menacing and more...sympathetic. It must have been a trick of the fire. The fire makes people see what they want to see, and she had always wished for his gaze to be kinder. It was just a trick.

"I did wonder why you cannot complete the tasks a woman should," He breaks the awkward silence with a snort, "You were raised by men." He then tosses the golden cup towards her.

She catches it easily, watching the metal gleam beautifully with the colors of the roaring fire. Her reflection on it's golden surface revealed her frowning face. Ivar was right, for once. She was not the best cook or seamstress, as those tasks were expected from a woman to complete with efficiency. But her mother had passed when she was young, and Artemis didn't have the guidance that a young girl should from a mother, and there was only so much a father could provide.

"That is true," She begins, "But I can forge metals better than anyone," Well, she couldn't possibly be the best. She was still young, and with age came experience, but she was extremely skillful, and had learned so much already. She casts one last look at the chalice, thinking she'd never see it again.

Ivar eyes twinkled with mirth as a smile stretched across his pale face.

"Oh? Shall I put you to the challenge?" He was grinning now, like a mad man. Artemis ran the pad of her thumb over the rim of the chalice, her chalice, while looking at Ivar from under her lashes.

"What did you have in mind, Prince Ivar?" Ivar didn't hesitate in his answer, leaning forward in his chair as he focused all his attention on his slave.

"I am in need of a new axe, one to aid me in England. Have you ever forged one?"

The axe was the first large piece she had learned to make as it was the weapon of choice for the Emperor's soliders. Artemis hides a snicker behind her fingers, quickly gaining composure at the sudden annoyed knitting of Ivars brows.

"Of course, in the Greek fashion," Ivar hummed in approval, placing his hand under his chin in thought before replying.

"It's settled, report to me in the morning, we shall be paying the blacksmith a visit."

...

Artemis tightened her cloak around her body, hoping to shield herself from the morning chill. It seemed that the early morning and late night winds were always the harshest.

She has passed by Kattegat's blacksmith plenty of times since her duties had doubled, and she would often take a minute or two to peer inside the forge, reminiscing in the sights and sounds that tried to bring her back home. It didnt work, but she relished it, even if for a fleeting moment. But it was different arriving there with Prince Ivar, who dragged his body with gloved leather hands over the snow with determination in his eyes.

"Young Ivar, and company, what can I do for you?"

Artemis had seen this particular blacksmith before, sometimes with an older man. He was a handsome fellow, with long dark hair tied back messily, and with the typical blue eyes of the northerners. He was of strong build, broad shoulders that seemed endless and a height that made him tower over the both of them.

"Arvid," Greeted Ivar, heaving himself up onto a stool by the sharpening stone wheel, "Your father?"

"Out on business with Floki. The boats need stronger nails to support the wood," Arvid quickly answers the crippled prince, "What can I do for the prince of Kattegat?"

"My slave here is from foreign lands. She claims to be a blacksmith. I would like to put her to the test, if you can provide us with the materials needed," Ivar removes the leather from his hands, digging into the folds of his breeches to reveal a golden coin. He tosses it at Arvid who catches it in one hand with ease.

"From Ragnar's hoard?" The blacksmith asks, turning the coin over in between his fingers. It was a foreign coin for sure, but it was still gold.

"It is of no importance'" Ivar growls "Now get us what we need, she will be working on an axe," Arvid nodded, tucking the coin away in a purse before going to the back of the shop to retrieve the items.

Artemis takes in her surroundings quite vividly, as if it would be the last time she would see such a place. Not many candles were lit as the natural daylight illuminated the area just enough to work. The hearth was a familiar sight, and she absentmindedly stepped closer to it, her body shivering as it adjusted from cold to warm. It was all familiar yet so different. Everything was the same and yet nothing made it feel like home.

"Slave!" Avrid called out, "Come and help with the material."

"Her name is Artemis," Ivar shouted back with an grimace as he motioned for Artemis to remove his furs from his shoulders before taking his axe and placing it on the sharpening stone. "Go help the fool," He whispers to her. She bowed her head towards Ivar in respect before making her way towards the blacksmith, who bore the largest of smiles.

"My apologies, Artemis," Arvid had a charming smile, and she was happy to see he had all his teeth intact, "I know you," He says quietly, "You always peer in the shop. I was beginning to think it was to admire me," Arvid belted out a laugh when he saw the pink rise in her cheeks.

"I just wanted to observe your technique. It is different from what I've learned,"

"Right, well, if you say you are a smithy, then I assume you know what these items are," He had laid out on the long table familiar items to her that she had used alongside her father and brother.

"Yes." She says, running her hands over the different tools, before turning to look back at Ivar. He was sharpening his axes but his eyes were glued to the pair, the blue unmoving.

"This would take some time." Artemis says. It would take a few days, a week at most.

"Obviously," Ivar snorts, "We have time, it is not yet spring," Ivar removes the axe from the sharpening stone, testing the edge with his thumb. "We have time, but do not waste it."

"And what of my duties to you and Edda?" She wouldn't make much progress if she were expected to complete her daily duties on top of being in the forgery, it wouldn't work.

"Don't worry about the old hag, she has enough thralls to help her. But you will complete your duties to me come the morning and evening," Ivar said pointedly.

"You may begin."

Artemis flexed her fingers, removing her cloak to which Arvid took and placed away. The blacksmith then placed a small block of steel on the anvil closest to Ivar, handing her a hammer. The fires of the forge seemed to roar as Ivar's and Arvid's expectant eyes watched her for her next move.

It felt like an eternity since she had been able to touch any metals, and her hands missed the transformation of rough surfaces into smooth finishes. She placed a pair of gloves on that lay beside her with no hesitation, grabbing at the long metal tongs to grip the steel. The fire licked at the metal, turning it from its usual dark color, to a beautiful combination of bright red and orange.

Heat started to build up, and sweat began to form on Artemis' brow quickly, her curls already laying damp against her forehead. Pulling the bright yellow metal from the fire, she placed it on the anvil and took a deep breath. Gripping the hammer tightly in her hand, she raises her arm high, bringing it back down with a vicious pound.

And then she smiled.

Now it felt like home.

...

@didiintheblog @heavenly1927

#ivarxofc #ivarfanfiction #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar #vikings ivar #vikings #ivar the boneless #alex hogh andersen

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taehyungsleftear · 3 years

Text

Pied Piper Pt. 2 // (M)

genre: smut; jiminxreader

warnings: seggsss

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

———————————————————————

what an asshole. he’s been ignoring you for the past 3 days. so it was just a fuck and go? you wouldn’t let yourself be used like that but you didn’t want to say anything even though you were obviously upset. you didn’t want to tell dahyun anything because she told you not to fall for him. you should’ve listened to her. you watch him from the other side of the cafeteria, with his usual crowd of girls surrounding him, with fires from hell in your eyes. you stand up suddenly and walk over to him.

“jimin. can we talk?” you say bluntly and he looks up at you wide eyed. he looked so hot today. his cheeks go a light pink that’s barely visible but he gets up and walks out in front of you and you follow. he stops just outside where no one can hear or see you two. “yeah?” he says, unable to make eye contact. “what the fuck? you’re an asshole. you first lie to me and tell me you like me just to get a fuck then forget i exist the day after,” you snap. his head hangs low and his eyes are glued to the floor. “i do like you,” he says so softly it’s hardly audible. “but you don’t, stop lying and just apologize for messing around with me,” you say sadly. “i did really mean that i like you, i’m just scared of those feelings developing into something i won’t be able to control in the future,” he says, eyes still on the ground. you stare at him, doe-eyed, not knowing what to say.

“but i-“ you begin to say before he grabs your hands and drags you to one of the bathrooms nearby the field. he first checked if anyone else was in the bathroom before pushing you into one of the stalls and locking the door. he starts kissing you roughly and you, not being able to resist, kisses him back with just as much want. he pulls away to pull your shirt off and says, “i’m sorry, i couldn’t help it.” you were also holding yourself back but it was too late to stop be holding back now. you responded to his statement by unbuckling his belt and helping him out of his pants as he takes your remaining clothes off.

he slides his fingers over your wet slit and you moan at the contact. “jimin. please,” you beg as he teases you. “please what? tell me what you want and i might give it to you,” he says as he looks you in the eyes. you can see his lust filled eyes and your face turns a bright shade of pink. “why are you doing this. i know you want it too,” you say in a hoarse voice. “what do i want, baby? i want you to shout it loud and clear,” he whispers into your ear and you can’t take it anymore. “i want you to fuck me jimin,” you shout. if anyone was outside the bathroom they would’ve heard but you didn’t care anymore. “that’s what i needed to hear,” he says in a deep voice and as the words roll off his tongue he pushes his length inside you, so deep that he instantly hits your sweet spot and has you screaming in seconds. every thrust feels euphoric as he pushes himself in and out of you slowly. he pulls out unexpectedly, having you gasping and your puffhy gripping on nothing.

he roughly turns you around so your face and front of your body is against the cold tiles of the wall and he puts himself in you again and he fucks you against the wall. he slides one of his hands up to your throat and squeezes slightly making you moan softly. he starts sucking on your neck as he pounds into your back. he leaves several big hickeys on your neck and licks a few lines up your neck making you shake in his grip. his thrusts get harder and faster the louder you moan, as if you’re fueling his need. you’re a shaking mess in seconds as you’re cumming on his member and him releasing in you. as you’re both coming down from your highs, your legs give out from under you and you almost fall but jimin catches you and holds you close to him. you both laugh and share a sweet kiss and stare into each others eyes lovingly.

“i think we should get dressed or else we’ll be _too_ late for class,” jimin says in a goofy and chuckles. “oh shit i forgot we were at school,” you say sheepishly. he kisses you on the forehead before picking your clothes up from the floor and handing them to you and you both get dressed in the bathroom. “how late are we? i didn’t see how late it was before we left,” jimin says while he rubs the back of his head and pouts his lips. you didn’t know he had such a soft side to him. you smiled to yourself watching him be effortlessly cute. you look at your watch and reply, “we have... less than 5 minutes. i’m so surprised we aren’t late yet.” jimin exhales and looks relieved and also looks at his watch and his eyes go wide.

“can i see your watch quickly?” jimin says softly. you raise one eyebrow and hand it to him. “your watch is broken, i’ll buy you a new one, let’s go we’re late,” jimin says as he grabs your hand, entwines your fingers and pulls you out the bathroom. as you walk in to the empty cafeteria your oand she sees you and jimin walking around. “where have you two been? you’ve missed the past 2 periods. do you know how many complaints i’ve gotten. y/n , you are a new student this is unexpected of you,” she yells.

both you and jimin stand there silently, heads hung low. you hadn’t noticed but you were still holding hands but the teacher hasn’t payed much attention. “sorry ma’am, this won’t happen again,” jimin says softly. “it’s alright guys just get back to class by your next period,” she says and turns around to walk away. once she’s out of sight you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. “come on, let’s go, we won’t be in much trouble,” jimin insists and kisses your cheek. your heart skips a beat and your face turns hot. does this perfect man actually have feelings for you?

the next day, you arrive at school extra early because your dad had a business meeting and you didn’t have another lift to school. you’re alone in class and you eventually fall asleep on your arms on your desk. you wake up some time after and you feel someone lying on the desk with you. you sit up and see jimin, fast asleep on your desk with a smallish box in his hand. “jiminah, baby, wake up school is starting soon,” you whisper in his ear. he opens one eye slowly and smiles when he sees you.

“hey baby,” he utters with a raspy voice, “i got this for you, you can’t say no just take it, i’ll be offended if you refuse me.” he pushes the box across the desk. you open it and find a small, pretty watch with diamonds and a golden chain with a shiny bow on it. “jimin, thank you, but how much did this cost? i don’t want you spending a lot of money on me,” you reply. “that doesn’t matter, your watch was broken so i got you a new one that’s better quality, cuter and it’s from me, i mean why wouldn’t you want it?” he chuckles. “thank you,” you say and kiss him on the cheek. you check your watch and you were once again, late for class.

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foodreceipe · 3 years

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Dairy: Which ‘Milk’ Is Best for Our Health?

Your choice should take into account your overall diet and nutrient requirements.

The Conversation Leah Dowling

A trip to the supermarket presents shoppers with an overwhelming number of milk choices. And far from just being the domain of the modern hipster, plant-based milk alternatives are going mainstream.

These alternatives may be suitable for people who are intolerant to dairy milk, or have ethical or other personal preferences. They tend to be lower in saturated fats and energy than dairy milk, but also lower in protein (except soy) and calcium (unless fortified). Some are also high in added sugars.

As to which milk is best, there’s no simple answer. Dairy milk tends to come out on top for nutrient quality, though soy is a good substitute from a nutrition perspective. And it should be noted these alternatives aren’t technically milks, as they’re not derived from mammals.

Nevertheless, the nutritional quality of the different alternatives varies considerably, so it’s important to take note of these differences when making a selection.

Dairy milk

Milk provides us with important nutrients including calcium, protein, vitamin B12, vitamin A, vitamin D, riboflavin (B2), zinc, phosphorus and iodine. The quantity and quality of cow’s milk proteins is high, with both whey and casein containing all nine essential amino acids. Milk plays an important role in bone health and is a particularly rich source of dietary calcium.

Research investigating the ability of the body to absorb and utilise calcium determined the best-absorbed calcium source is dairy milk and its derivatives.

Although dairy foods do contain some saturated fats, the fat in dairy doesn’t seem to be overly problematic for heart health. A large study featuring people from 21 countries, published in 2018, found dairy consumption was associated with lower risk of heart disease and death.

Although dairy milk has a high nutritional value, there’s no reason why people need to drink it if they choose not to. All of the nutrients in milk can be obtained elsewhere in the diet.

Soy

If you’re seeking a dairy-free alternative, then soy is a good choice (though some people may be intolerant to soy). It’s made from ground soy beans or soy protein powder, water and vegetable oils and is usually fortified with vitamins and minerals including calcium.

A 2017 study found soy fared considerably better than other milk alternatives including almond, rice and coconut varieties in terms of nutritional profile.

Available in full-fat and low-fat versions, soy is a good source of plant protein, carbohydrates, B vitamins and most are fortified with calcium making it nutritionally comparable to dairy milk. The ability of the body to absorb and utilise the added calcium in soy drink is approaching that of dairy milk. One study indicated calcium from fortified soy drink was absorbed at 75% the efficiency of calcium from dairy milk, though there appears to be limited data on this.

It typically contains more protein than other plant-based alternatives, and contains healthy unsaturated fats and fibre.

It also contains compounds called phytoestrogens. Phytoestrogens are natural plant compounds that imitate the body’s own natural oestrogen but to a lesser extent. There was initially some speculation based on earlier animal studies about potential adverse effects of phytoestrogens on the risk of breast cancer and hyperthyroidism. However, studies conducted in humans don’t support this. Conversely, there is some evidence to suggest they may have a protective effect against some cancers. A review study from 2019 found soy consumption is more beneficial than harmful. In a position statement on soy, phytoestrogens and cancer prevention, the Cancer Council of Australia supports the consumption of soy foods in the diet but doesn’t recommend high dose phytoestrogen supplementation, especially for women with existing breast cancer.

Almond

Nut drinks such as almond consist mainly of ground nuts and water. Despite almonds being a good plant source of protein, almond drink is significantly lower in protein and calcium than dairy milk. Consumers should take care with almond drink to ensure essential nutrients are met elsewhere in the diet.

In a 2017 survey of widely available commercial almond milks, consumer group Choice found almond drink contained only 2-14% almonds, with water being the predominant ingredient. It tends to be low in energy and saturated fat and contains some healthy unsaturated fats as well as vitamin E, manganese, zinc and potassium.

Almond drink often contains added sugars. Terms to keep an eye on include those indicating added sugars, such as organic rice syrup, agave syrup, organic evaporated cane juice, raw sugar, or organic corn maltodextrin. It’s best to look for unsweetened varieties if you can.

Almond drink may be suitable for people who are intolerant to both dairy milk and soy, but isn’t suitable for those with nut allergies.

If you’re using almond milk as an alternative to dairy milk and wanting similar nutritional benefits, look for one that’s fortified with calcium aiming for as close to 115-120mg per 100mL (similar to dairy milk) as possible.

Oat

Oat milk is made by blending oats and water and straining off the liquid. It’s a source of fibre, vitamin E, folate and riboflavin. It’s low in fat and is naturally sweet, containing double the carbohydrates of cow’s milk, so it may not be suitable for people with diabetes.

It tends to be low in both protein and calcium, so look for a fortified brand. It’s not suitable for people with a gluten intolerance, nor is it a nutritionally adequate substitute for young children.

Coconut

Coconut milk is low in protein and carbohydrates, and high in saturated fat. Some brands have added sugars. Similar to nut drinks, it doesn’t naturally contain calcium and isn’t a suitable substitute for dairy milk nutritionally.

Rice

Rice drink is produced from milled rice and water. It’s naturally high in carbohydrate and sugars, and has a high glycaemic index meaning the glucose is quickly released into the blood which may mean it’s not suitable for people with diabetes. It’s also particularly low in protein and needs to be calcium fortified.

Rice is the least likely to trigger allergies of all of the milk alternatives. However, it’s not a suitable milk substitute, particularly for children, due to its low nutrient quality.

Ultimately, when deciding which plant-based alternative to drink, you should choose fortified and preferably unsweetened varieties. Also, look for those with a calcium content as close to 115-120mg per 100ml (or 300mg per cup) as possible, as this is similar to dairy milk.

Your choice should also take into account your overall diet and nutrient requirements. This is especially important for children, adolescents, older adults and those following a restricted diet. Finally, factors such as flavour, taste, texture and mouth feel are all important considerations. Leah Dowling is a Lecturer in Dietetics at Swinburne University of Technology.

https://getpocket.com/explore/item/soy-oat-almond-rice-coconut-dairy-which-milk-is-best-for-our-health?utm_source=pocket-newtab

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