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youvebeenlivingfictional · 11 months

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Bateman Begins Part 39

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Notes: Hi it has been an embarrassingly long time since I’ve updated I am so so so sorry 🦇🖤 Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: M Warnings: This Ain't a Chapter, It's an Angst Fest Also there will be more in the future; I have an outline

The article is the first thing that throws you.

It probably shouldn’t be an almighty surprise. Vicki has practically been Nathan’s shadow for nearly two months now.

But to see The Scientific Genius of the Prince of Gotham splashed across the front page of the Gotham Gazette is like having a bucket of cold water dumped over your head.

The photo is almost alarmingly intimate.

His glasses have been removed; his beard is neatly trimmed; his eyes are downcast, and his cheeks are tinged pink with a flush, or with exertion

You think from the bowtie that he’s wearing that the photo may’ve been taken the night of the gala, after you left—and before Nathan came to see you, to tell you that there was nothing to worry about

And maybe there truly is nothing to worry about.

All you know is that you see a version of Nathan on the page that you’ve only been privy to in private.

But it’s not just that.

You start to lose Nathan in the shuffle.

Between newly arising social events, Nathan’s additional duties on the foundations that he’s beginning to be more involved with, his nightly activities, and the press coverage that he’s been getting, you feel that you're growing distant.

You still spend nights alone at the mansion, but you hardly spend nights with him at the penthouse anymore.

You still work for him, and you still work on updated forms of the suits, the batarang, the car.

But—

But it doesn’t seem as simple as all that most nights.

It doesn’t feel like you’re just missing one another because you’re both so busy.

It feels like you're missing him because his attention is being drawn elsewhere.

It doesn't help that any attempt that you make to bring it up to

Nathan is met with teasing, or outright scorn.

It goes from, "You're so jealous you're practically turning green, baby," to, "Can you see past yourself for once? Not everything is about you, or us, even."

"You like that it's about you, though."

You can't help but snap back this time. It's been a long night, a longer argument. Nathan is still in the suit; you haven't slept—and you're in no mood to swallow your words or push off his self-righteous smugness

It shuts him up for a moment, at least

With the helmet removed, you can see his raised brows, his briefly stunned shock.

"You wanna run that by me again?" He finally asks.

"Oh, please. That's the first time I've seen you in the suit in damn near two weeks."

"It's come to my attention—"

"Because Vicki Vale brought it to your attention—

"That I have a little more influence in this city than I thought. I can

make changes, help people, without the goddamn suit."

You push out a scoffing laugh.

"Is that what you're calling what you've been up to? Swanning around at parties, batting your eyelashes at the press, cozying up to that, that—"

"That what." He urges you on flatly, urging you to curse in the way that you've clearly been holding back for weeks.

You splutter, face going hot before you finally manage, "That barracuda."

Nathan's brows inch up impossibly further.

"That's the best you can do?"

"I don't trust her."

"Well maybe I do."

It's like a punch in the gut.

Maybe? For Nathan to even insinuate that he might trust her at all feels like the ultimate betrayal.

You want to damn him for trusting anyone but you.

"Does she trust you?" You ask quietly. "Does she know?"

"Know what."

"Know who you are Nathan."

"The suit isn't who I am."

"It's part of you."

"Maybe it doesn't have to be."

That takes the two of you by surprise for a few moments.

Nathan is the first to blink, to turn and step away.

As Nathan turns away from you, pitching his helmet in the direction of the couch, icy dismay courses through your veins.

He leaves you alone in the lab with your pounding heart, heated face, and spinning head.

He invites you to a few events. At least, he tries.

Or, at least, he thinks he tries

It's so throw-away, how he does it now.

He used to make himself a damned nuisance, hound you to get a dress, shoes, bag, whatever it is that you need

Now, he mentions events at the last minute, tells you what time he'll be heading out if you want to go

It feels so low-effort, so blasé that it makes you feel unwanted

You decline over and over again, choosing instead to spend the night in your apartment, working on blueprints with thicker kevlar, more efficient batarangs, added pockets for the utility belt

You ignore how tired he is in the morning, the fact that he's photographed with Vicki at so many of the events that you choose to avoid

It's a little like playing the fiddle as Rome burns.

You know very well that what you're doing isn't helping a damn thing.

Nathan hasn't made changes to the suit in months.

He hasn't asked to see your designs. You haven't offered to show him.

He hasn't been picking through the garbage bin for your scraps.

There haven't been any scraps there to pick through.

It's as if Vicki Vale has created, or perhaps, accentuated, this chasm between you and Nathan.

You've always been of two completely different worlds.

You were raised differently; you've lived differently.

Some of your values and interests are shared, but that may not be enough to bridge this gap.

As it stands, your work at Bateman Enterprises just isn't…Satisfying anymore.

Maybe it's your growing apathy toward Nathan, toward what he's doing there

He isn't involved in the day-to-day of the company, but he's starting to invest his time, his interest, his cash, in charities and businesses around Gotham that need the help

It's not something that you ought to resent him for, or even resent Vicki for

But it's changed how you see him, and how he interacts with you

You start spending less time at the the mansion

You start staying at your apartment again

And when Nathan doesn't gripe about the fact that he still thinks that you live in a shit hole, you make the decision to call it

You apply to another job, just on a whim

It's outside of Gotham, at the S.T.A.R labs facility in Metropolis, with Barry's recommendation.

The rounds of interviews are done remotely. The job offer is generous, and includes moving expenses.

In your grief and loneliness, you're certain that Nathan won't even notice that you've gone, or that you plan on going.

So seeing him turn up at your exit interview is a shock. He waves the HR person out of the room and waits for the inevitable click of the door shutting behind them before he lowers himself to sit across from you.

The room is small and windowless, and almost feels…Sterile.

Nathan's gaze is heavy with something that you can't quite read: Disappointment? Annoyance? Confusion?

"I just think it's the right move," You finally tell him.

He says nothing still, and the nerves that bubble up in you force you to push into the silence:

"I've been here too long."

More silence. More staring. Maybe he's trying to break you down—and it's working.

"It's not the money," You swear.

That seems to amuse him a little, and he draws his glasses from his face, pointedly massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Were you planning on telling me?"

"I turned in my formal resignation two weeks ago."

"Were going planning on telling me," He folds his arms on the table after he replaces his glasses, "That you would be be moving out?"

"The commute between here and Metropolis would be insane—"

"And having Alfred pack up your things and send them o you, that wasn't calculated?"

Of course it was calculated. You swallow thickly, steel yourself, admit: "I didn't think you'd notice."

Nathan doesn't so much as flinch. He just reaches into his back pocket and draws something out, unfolding it before shoving it across the table.

"Sign where it's tabbed," He orders

"What is it?" You frown as he stands.

"An NDA. You know too much."

"We're involving lawyers? Wouldn't it be easier to have my killed?" You joke dryly, drawing the NDA closer.

Nathan says nothing, and you don't dare meet his eye as you skim the contents and initial and sign where it's indicated.

Once you've finished, Nathan snatches the NDA back up and tucks it away again, heading for the door. You turn your head back toward him a little, stomach churning with nerves, with discomfort, with the fear of finality.

He opens the door, and you hear him pause before he leaves, shutting it behind himself again.

You sink back into your chair, take solace in the quiet little space, and let your tears spill.

Tag list: @blueeyesatnight ; @revolution-starter-; @massivecolorspygiant ; @foxilayde; @poedameronsbeard (wouldn’t let me tag); @danniburgh ; @carbonated-beverage ; @brandyllyn ; @missredherring ; @aellynera ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @ew-erin ; @recklessworry ; @xocalliexo ; @youngkenobilove ; @chattychell ; @selfishpresley (wouldn’t let me tag) ; @lorecraft ; @thembosapphicclown ; @emotionalsupportbatfamily ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #Bateman Begins

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redahlia-writes · 2 years

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when you hold me. | din djarin x reader

Prompt: when you hold me, I can feel your heart beating.

Words: 800ca

Content: fluff, comfort, established relationship, din being a little disaster, riduurok, implied smut but nothing explicit

A/N: prompt has been used for matt murdock as well

also on AO3 - masterlist

Din’s arms have grown familiar around you.

The weight and shape of it, his hands resting underneath your shirt, skin on skin in the dark.

He holds you in the dark of his bunk - your bunk for a few months now. His head rests in the crook of your neck, curls tingling your skin.

With the walls of his room protecting him - protecting you both - he sleeps soundly, holding you, warm and solid, his chest flush against your back, legs tangled with yours and the covers.

“Din?” you can never tell when he’s actually asleep - even when he’s so relaxed, his breathing even, kissing your skin from his parted lips, his hands don’t stop roaming across your skin, mindless patterns drawn with the tip of his fingers.

“What is it?” he mumbles tiredly, nuzzling into your neck.

You hadn’t expected the Mandalorian to be this affectionate - this physical. When his armor comes off he’s constantly searching for you, constantly searching for closeness.

“Are you alright?” you turn your head just a little - you cannot see him, but with the new angle the corner of your lips brushes his forehead.

“Of course,” he leans into you. “Why?”

“Your heart,” your hand rests on his when he stops tracing circles. “When you hold me I can feel your heart beating,” he eases his hold, allowing you room to turn and face him.

“You can?” you can almost picture the frown across his brow, how you’d reach to smooth it away. Slowly, you nod, shifting closer until you’re chest to chest, and his arms tighten around you once more, hands splayed on your back.

“It’s beating really fast,” it’s a whispered secret between the two of you, the tip of your nose brushing his. “It always does when something’s on your mind.”

“You can just tell that?” he chuckles, somewhat bewildered, tipping his chin up to brush his lips on yours.

The gentle touches are the ones you adore the most - for someone whose life is so fast, violent most of the time, it’s easy to lose oneself in tenderness. Din does just so, with lingering slow kisses and soft caresses, with embraces that last all night long and sweet touches in the morning.

“Even though I don’t know your face,” you murmur, soft-voiced, bringing your hand to his chest to press it where his pulse jumps, “I know your heart, Din.”

His breathing shifts - it’s almost imperceptible, but he’s so close and so familiar you couldn’t miss it even if you wanted to.

“There is something I’ve been thinking about,” he admits carefully, slowly, and the movement of his hands starts again, soothing mostly for himself. “For a while, now.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you offer, scratching his skin lightly. Din shifts a little, clearing his throat.

“Ah, haar’chak,” he mutters with a little scoff. “I wanted to do this properly, I wanted to do it right, this is -”

“Din, slow down,” you call, tapping his chest to the rhythm of his now racing heart. “What are you talking about?”

“Riduurok,” you know the sounds of Mando’a, but the uttered word is unfamiliar.

“What’s that?” Din inhales, shifting again, and you fight off the urge to take his face in your hands, kiss him back to calm.

“It’s a Mandalorian ceremony - a bond,” he clears his throat, voice hoarse. “A love bond.”

It’s your turn to shift, pulling back as if to look at him better, the frown forming on your face.

“What?” you shift your torso up a little, resting the weight on your arm. “Are you talking about marriage?”

“And as my riduur, I wouldn’t have to hide from you,” he exhales slowly, his hand sliding up your side lifted from the bed, following the curve of your body up to your shoulder, neck, until he’s cupping your cheek. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t do it anyway - I’d wake up tomorrow and not wear the helmet just to let you see me, but -”

“Din,” you lean into his touch, tap his chest again. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yes,” he blurts out, and you can’t help the smile pulling at your mouth. “Although maybe you should be the one to say that - or not, I’ll understand, I just -”

You lean in - after months it’s easy to find his lips with your blindly, cutting him off with a quick kiss that leaves him gasping against your mouth.

“Take a breather,” you scold in a hum. “Your heart’s still running.”

“Of course it is,” he complains, the hand still on your side giving it a quick squeeze.

“Yes, Din,” you brush the arch of his nose with your lips, and he exhales at your words, hand shifting to your back to pull you closer. “Now breathe.”

“Now I kiss you,” he retorted, a smile in his words, unabashed happiness seeping through. “Breathing can wait.”

And he did, heart jumping in his chest as if to reach you.

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onceandfutureoshainspector · 2 years

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- SO IF I’M REMEMBERING ALL OF THIS CORRECTLY:

- PICKMAN’S GALLERY: the nasty little freak painted a bunch of ominously portentious-looking paintings in blood and yellow pigment of questionable origin.

- several of his works feature motifs of golden ribbons/spirals/halos/eyes which look eerily similar to the designs on the ZEALOTS’ armour, as well as subjects with circular facial tattoos/carvings much like the CHILDREN have.

- by far the most striking painting is of a golden eye opening in a red sky, surrounded by ripples and unintelligible writing of the same colour, as blackened and burning hands reach upwards in fear or supplication - quite the portrayal of the apocalypse for a human, who couldn’t possibly be old enough to have seen it.

- PICKMAN’s name is a reference to a racist/homophobic story by HOWARD PHILLIP LOVECRAFT, wherein the titular PICKMAN paints fucked up inhuman dog people in regular everyday settings, using photographs as references for his work, and the big twist is that these photographs aren’t of the cityscapes in the background of his work but of the monsters in the foreground - the monsters are real, not drawn from his imagination. if PICKMAN is intended as a reference in more than name, it’s possible that he’s seen some things that should not be.

- DUNWICH BORERS: very shortly before the war, the mysterious and sinister “MANAGEMENT” were using the quarry as a site for mysterious and sinister rituals.

- these rituals involved MINI NUKES in some capacity, putting them less than a month (i think) before the apocalypse - i remember when i visited FORT STRONG something that gave me a “huh!” moment was that MINI NUKES had only finished development a month or so before the world ended, so even with how far they spread within that month that’s a narrow window for MANAGEMENT to get their hands on some.

- in their final message to TIM STOKES, MANAGEMENT stated that they were “very close to accomplishing [their] goal” - of course, it’s possible the ritual failed, but the presence of nuclear weapons and the fact that the world ended in fire within any time period from the same month to the same hour...

- i had assumed that the ritual involved the use of KREMVH’S TOOTH, the fucked up knife left with two MINI NUKES on the altar, but while making the above gif i looked more closely at the person doing the ritual and noticed that their knife is way too straight to be it, so it’s possible that the TOOTH was a result of the ritual rather than an ingredient. don’t the CHILDREN worship ATOM for its ability to transform?

- JACK CABOT’s comment about “disturbing geometries, tools not meant for human hands” also springs to mind when contemplating the TOOTH.

- the CABOTS: LORENZO unearthed an ostentatious helmet from an ancient civilisation, heavily implied to be created by entities beyond the scope of our reality.

- one of the effects of this object was to make him extremely resistant to radiation, as evidenced by the SERUM that his family bled from him to keep themselves eternally young - a serum so effective against the FOG that it was suggested by the game as a treatment for ANDRE. while i don’t yet know precisely how ATOM’S BLESSING works, this degree of radiation immunity/resistance without the drawbacks of physical mutation doesn’t show up many other places that i’ve seen.

- it just so happens that HIGH CONFESSOR TEKTUS wears a vaguely similar headdress - far from identical, but close enough in general shape to notice, almost like a budget version constructed by a group without the resources of an apparently advanced civilisation and with slightly different symbology of the deity they worship.

- another interesting detail: the central symbol of the CHILDREN OF ATOM’s crown (located at the third eye...) is, of course, an atom, with all the symbolism of life and death and power that holds. the centrepiece of LORENZO’s crown, on the other hand, is a scarab - often symbolic of the sun, which, in an equatorial region such as where it was found, often represent many of the same things as the atom in a world defined both by nuclear power and nuclear devastation.

- and that brings us to the CHILDREN OF ATOM.

- the CHILDREN, who worship an infinitely powerful deity from between realities, believed to have entered this world by the door of nuclear devastation, and etch their god’s circles and eyes into their possessions and bodies.

- the CHILDREN, many of whom display an extremely rare immunity to radiation that doesn’t come with a side order of disfigurement (so far all the people who are confirmed to have this ability are the ones not going bald in patches), which they claim is a blessing from their deity.

- the CHILDREN, who, despite the laughable quality of the nonsense to which they subscribe, still somehow manage to deliver on a surprising amount of what they preach, from the BLESSINGS to the strange effects of the MUSHROOM WATER to somehow remaining an active threat to their enemies despite embracing suffering as a virtue and living in literal filth and poison by choice.

- i mean, the objective of their religion is to die of radiation poisoning. in order to survive this long, throwing themselves directly at death and missing enough times to make it to the next generation, they’d need to be insanely, impossibly lucky - or there’d have to be something to their bullshit. even if they don’t actually know what they’re looking at, even if there’s just a pinch, a grain, an atom of truth at the centre of it all.

- with all of this considered, there is one thing of which i am absolutely certain: somehow, this is going to bring me back to the CORVEGA ASSEMBLY PLANT.

#i've Cracked The Code #you heard it here first folks i'm gonna fight god in the corvega parking lot #fuck i spent way too long making that gif aldjsgkljh #i was GOING to talk to the confessor but i got so distracted by his hat that i guess that's a next time thing now #fallout 4 #FALLOUT 4: THE RESURRECTION OF OSHA

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floursramona · 1 year

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Seeded

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff, a ridiculous amount of it, pining, canon-typical violence, flowers, I have minimal knowledge of the Star Wars universe, this may or may not be the beginning of a series, no use of pronouns, no use of y/n, some gendered nicknames, pre-relationship

Summary: Handing out flowers all day wasn’t exactly living the dream, but it got your bills paid. A stranger rolls through your neighborhood and you find yourself drawn to him. Oddly enough, he seems to feel the same.

Notes: This is my first ever venture into the Star Wars universe! Writing-wise, that is. I've consumed enough fic to last me a lifetime and I wanted to contribute my brain worms to the community as well. This idea came to me earlier this month, when I wanted to push myself to do something for Valentine's Day and now it's finally blossomed (ha) into… whatever this is. I may continue if I get an idea of where to go from here. Hope y'all enjoy and let me know what you think!

Cross-posted on Ao3

Handing out flowers all day wasn’t exactly living the dream, but it got your bills paid. Working at a plant shop was a unique experience and you couldn’t exactly say you regretted applying. On easy days you got to take your favorite post, and here you were, with a basket of cut wildflowers and enticing passersby to come inside. Your boss had always been eager to drum up business and what better than giving something away?

On the busy and overpopulated planet of Coruscant, most people didn’t spare you a second glance, but tourists were always willing to stop and take a free and beautiful flower. From there, it wasn’t hard to convince them to come inside to see the whole garden and the workers inside were masters at sales pitches. Almost nobody left without a new plant for their homes or a bunch of flowers for their sweethearts.

Standing outside a shop all day was rough sometimes, the sun beating down or the nasty smells but you always find yourself passing the hours people-watching. Even on your off time, you love sitting outside, making up stories and personalities for every being that walked your way. Which is exactly why, when you see the Mandalorian pass by you the first time, you are completely and utterly captivated.

It isn’t that you never saw warrior-types, no, in fact you’d seen many armored figures pass your shop. But you’d never seen one quite like this, covered head-to-toe in perfect, gleaming chrome.

The armor is the first thing that catches your eye. The second is his posture.

If you had a less careful eye, you would have taken one glance and thought that he was inexperienced. Untouched armor is a dead giveaway for someone who hasn’t actually seen battle. Watching him stalk past your shop tells a different story.

Even if he wasn’t wearing the armor, you bet he would still have that confident, broad stature. He isn’t peacocking, not strutting like he owns the place, but every bit of him says “I know who I am”. And Maker, do you like the look of that.

Your inner musings silence all at once when you see his helmet turn towards you. The T-shaped visor gives him an intimidating brow and you feel yourself freeze, unable to look away. He isn’t anywhere near you, at least 10 other people walking past, but you feel like the only two on the street. You wonder if he feels the same.

A hand grabs your shoulder and the bubble suddenly pops, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth as you turn around.

“Whoa! Didn’t mean to startle you,” It’s just your boss. You feel the hair prickle on the back of your neck and you’re tempted to turn back around, but he’s still speaking.

“What? Oh, sorry. Just a little lost in thought.”

He chuckles at you, shaking his head. “I’ve just come to relieve you. Go take your lunch.”

Nodding, you hand him your basket of flowers and try not to rush inside. Your nosy coworkers would want to know what had you all flustered and what would you say? An armored covered stranger walking on the other side of the street looked at you? And you couldn’t even say for sure if he did, because he wore a helmet?

You chuckle at yourself for being silly. He was just another tourist. You see plenty of attractive people walking down the street every day.

But none of them usually spared you a second glance, your traitorous brain supplies.

You shake your head to banish the thought, busying yourself with collecting your bag and credits where you keep it locked up in the back. You take your leave without saying anything, sure that your voice would give your unsteadiness away.

As you walk through the busy streets, you can’t help but fantasize a little longer. What if that armored stranger had been looking for a flower shop? You can’t imagine him wanting a floral arrangement but everyone could use a plant or two for their backyard. Does he even live here or is he from another planet? A silly pang runs through you as you imagine him living off-world - it means you likely wouldn’t see him again.

This time, you roll your eyes at yourself, entering your usual cantina for a hot meal. As the smells overtake you, you force yourself to leave the silly thoughts behind.

“Hey hon! Take a seat and I’ll be right with you,” The kind barmaid, Giala, who loves to waste time gossiping at your table, greets you and you smile.

“You know what I want, Gee, I’ll be over at the booths. She grins back and nods, bussing the table in front of her.

You take out your holopad to scroll through the news, but it’s quickly forgotten. You sit facing the door and a rowdy group of what appear to be businessmen draw your attention. You do your best not to stare, not that people tend to notice you much anyway. You find yourself rolling your eyes again as you listen to their conversation, and this time it’s apparent because Giala walks up to your table chuckling.

“Those fellas are gonna be trouble, aren’t they,” she says, less of a question and more of a statement. She puts down your steaming hot bowl of… well, you weren’t always sure what was in it, but it was always delicious.

“Eh, perhaps, but those types are usually harmless.” You’re quickly captivated by your food, hungry after a long morning on you feet. Your spoon is loaded up and on its way to your mouth when Giala says, “That shiny one over there might be a real issue though.”

It couldn’t be. You turn your head- it is.

The armored stranger from earlier is standing by the bar. He’s obviously not there for a drink, too rigid and hands practically gripping the edge of the bartop. He’s scanning the room and once again locks glares with you, but the spell is quickly broken by Giala blocking the view when she crouches down in front of you.

“I overheard someone say there was a bounty hunter sniffing around. Wouldn’t you think it’s him, just by the look of him?” Her eyes look at you eagerly and you peer around her again to study the figure. He’s looking back down at something in his hand. Something red and flashing, the reflection showing on his visor and it clicks for you.

“He’s a Mandalorian. I think. Supposedly some of the most feared warriors in the galaxy,” Something stirs within you that’s not quite fear, however. “Do you still work for that sleazeball manager?”

You look back toward her but before she can even get a sound out, shots are ringing out through the cantina. You thank the stars that you got your usual booth today, as you hit the ground and drag your friend under the table with you. She’s whimpering and covering her face, but you’re carefully watching the running feet from your position.

Once the shots cease, which doesn’t take long, you hold just a bit longer. You can’t see anyone moving anymore, so you lean slowly towards the edge of the table for a better vantage point. You hear a few clicks and shuffling movements and when your head is out far enough, you see him again, arranging the cantina owner to drag him out by the cuffs on his wrist.

A few other people are cowering under their tables, and there’s some scorch marks on the walls, but it doesn’t appear that anyone’s actually hurt. Well, except for the scumbag the Mandalorian’s got cuffed, but the groans he’s making give away his survival.

The Mandalorian’s about to leave but he scans the room again, and, for what you hope isn’t the last time, meets your gaze. He nods- at you, you think? You hope- and leaves. For as intriguing as he was, suddenly you’re hoping that maybe he doesn’t pay your shop a visit.

___

Of course, he does. Well, not exactly, but just about a week later, you’re stood in front of the shop again and you spot the Mandalorian on your street again. Your stomach does a flip, partially out of fear that you might be the next one in cuffs, and partially at the thought that you might not be entirely opposed to that.

He seems to be just as focused as the first time you saw him, but oh, how wrong you are. You’re staring again, you realize, because his helmet turns towards you, and your stomach is flipping again because now he’s making his way towards me, oh Maker, please tell me I didn’t commit some heinous crime in my sleep that placed a thousand credit bounty on your head and-

“Excuse me.”

You snap out of your spiral at the sound of his voice, a lovely, deep, gravelly voice-

“You work here.”

Fuck, you’ve gotta stop getting lost in your thoughts. He asked you a question. Except- he didn’t?

“Yes?” You manage to make your voice sound somewhat normal, if a bit higher pitched than usual.

“I assume you see a lot of people that go by,” he says and shit, it’s more than a little intimidating to have his attention on you. He’s fully facing you this time, only an arm’s length away. His hands are just resting by his sides, but the sheer amount of weaponry you see on him is not usual, even for this planet.

“You’re not here to arrest my boss, are you?” you blurt out and already you’re regretting it. He tilts his head at you and it’s almost adorable, making you think of a confused loth-cat.

“I don’t think so. I’m looking for this man. I’m told he frequents this area, and I’ve seen you out here every time I pass by,” he takes out a device that lights up with a hologram of a scruffy-looking human. Sure, you’ve seen him before, but wait- every time he’s passed by? As in more than once?

“I thought you found your bounty when you shot up the cantina last week,” and you reprimand yourself again mentally. Sure enough, he doesn’t seem happy with your phrasing when he shifts to cross his arms.

“Sorry- ‘shot up’ is a bit much. I just meant- I don’t always see that kind of… excitement around here. And we don’t exactly get a lot of folks who look like you either. So it’s a bit strange seeing you back so soon. W-why are you back again?” you’re babbling, and you know it.

He doesn’t need to answer the question and yet he does, “I was completing a job and now I’m here for another one,” he lifts up the hologram again, “Do you know this man?”

“‘Know’ is a strong word. Have I seen him? Of course,” and you go on to describe how he often slinks around, a pickpocket who preys on the unsuspecting tourists of the area. You babble on far too long with a description of the habits you’ve picked up merely by observing, his full attention overwhelming you into running your mouth.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, when you finally finish. He tucks away the hologram device but he stays standing there for another second, just looking at you. Waiting for what, you’re not sure. He’s already asked what he needs for you. Maybe he would have said something, but you beat him to it.

“Would you like a flower?” You curse yourself internally, you really just say the stupidest shit when you’re flustered. He’s still just standing there, fuck, fuck, please respond-

“I don’t- I don’t need a flower,” he says, hesitantly.

You scramble through your basket for the right bloom, something not overly feminine, something that would fit his personality, something that’s not already dying and there-

“Here,” you thrust your hand out awkwardly at him, “just take it. A-as thanks.”

He cocks his head again, as if confused. “For what? I was the one seeking information.”

“For getting rid of that asshole. In the cantina? He was a real scumbag and treated my friend like shit. I don’t know what kind of price was on his head, and I don’t know what you did with him, but the planet’s better without him. So thanks for that… you, uh, did a good job.”

He stays silent this time and Maker, that blank stare just pierced right through you. Before you lose your nerve, you reach out and wedge the stem in an empty slot of his bandolier. It looks almost silly, on a man so threatening but also fits in a strange sort of way. The spray of light blue blends quite nicely with the rest of his ensemble and the small buds don't actually attract too much attention. It reflects on his chest plate and you let yourself admire him for another moment.

“Thank you,” he finally says, interrupting your unashamed ogling. “For your time and your token.”

“Anytime, Mandalorian.” The grin comes easily to your face.

He turns to leave but not before studying you for another moment and saying, “May our paths cross again someday.”

You watch him walk away and wonder if he really means it.

——————

#i write things #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin #din x reader #din x you #din djarin x you #fluff #hope i'm not missing any other tags #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader

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ghostofskywalker · 2 years

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Chance Meeting

Din Djarin/Reader

Fictober Day 17 of 31

Words: 928

Summary: When Boba Fett brings a newcomer to your repair shop hoping that you can fix his ship, you're startled at how much you're drawn to the Mandalorian.

Din Djarin Masterlist

“Boba! Long time no see!” you said brightly as the bounty hunter/crime lord walked into your shop, with another person by his side that you didn’t recognize. The newcomer was evidently a Mandalorian based on the gleaming beskar armor he wore, and he was holding the cutest child you’ve ever seen in your life. “What can I do for you?”

“My friend here needs assistance fixing his ship,” Boba Fett said, gesturing to the Mandalorian, who sill stood stoically as the child in his arms smiled and waved a tiny green hand at you.

“That’s definitely something I can help with,” you said. “What kind of ship is it?”

“It’s an N-1 Starfighter,” the Mandalorian cut into the conversation. “I’m having some issues with the accelerator and the person I usually go to isn’t around.”

His tone wasn’t aggressive, but you still found yourself slightly nervous when speaking to him. It didn’t help that he had what you could only describe as the most attractive voice you’ve ever heard in your entire life. Once you pushed any distracting thoughts down, you cleared your throat before responding. “Why don’t we move it into my workshop area and I’ll take a look? I think that should be an easy enough problem to fix.”

It was a beautiful ship, and you couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open when you saw it. Once you got underneath it and took a look at the engine though, you could see some places where it could have been assembled better, and that was what most likely caused the problem with the accelerator.

“Can you fix it?” Boba asked as you stood up and looked at them.

“Yeah, it shouldn’t take me long either, if you want me to go ahead and fix it now,” you responded.

“Please,” the Mandalorian said. “Take as much time as you need.”

Boba Fett bid you goodbye and disappeared, leaving you alone with the Mandalorian and who you assumed was his child (though you were still really unsure about that one). You had offered them both food and water, but he didn’t accept your offer, so you just started to work on the ship.

After about half an hour of laying under the ship and trying to repair the accelerator’s wiring, you were startled from your focus by a voice. “How do you know Boba Fett?”

“I only met him a few months ago, since he took over the territory,” you said. “But since then I’ve worked on a few projects for him, and I’ll occasionally fix the speeder bikes for his security detail. What about you?”

“I met him when trying to bring the child back to his own kind,” he said.

“Obviously you haven’t succeeded at that then.”

“What?” Since you were laying on a rolling platform underneath the ship, you couldn’t see his body language, and even if you could the helmet would have hidden his expression from the rest of the world as well.

“The child,” you repeated, pausing what you were doing. “He’s still with you, so are you still looking for his kind?”

There was a pause before he spoke again. “I did find one of his kind,” he said, his voice much softer than you had heard previously. “But it didn’t really stick I guess.” You smiled. “That’s okay, he seems to be happy with you.” As if to back up your statement, you heard the child coo and giggle.

“Yeah.”

***

Halfway through your repair he had to step outside for something, and he didn’t return until after you were finished with the ship. The child had stayed, and he entertained you with his ability to make your tools float in midair with the wave of his hand. Up until this point, you had only heard rumors of the Force and those who spent their lives learning to use it, but seeing the way this little creature could just change things with a wave of his hand was wild. You wondered if the “kind” the Mandalorian had wanted to return him to was the Jedi, but you didn’t know of any Jedi left, not after they had been wiped out at the end of the Clone Wars, when you were only a toddler.

You weren’t too worried about being blown off when it came to payment, because you had both the man’s ship and his child. He didn’t make you wait too long either, eventually stepping back into the shop with a small pouch in his grip. “This should be enough to cover everything,” he said. You knew by the weight of the bag that it had more than enough credits to cover labor and repairs, and you tried to give some of them back. “No, I insist,” he just said, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so eventually you had to just shut up and take the money.

“If you have any trouble with it, feel free to come back and I’ll take a look at it. Free of charge,” you said as you walked him out of your shop.

“Thank you very much,” he responded, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice. “If you ever need anything, please feel free to reach out to Boba. He knows how to contact me.”

Not sure what that meant, you just nodded as he got into the ship, placing the child in a modified astromech port. And as he took to the skies, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were ever going to see him again.

- the end -

#ghostofskywalker.fictober #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction

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gasha40k · 1 year

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Currently a massive heatwave in my city and it’s slowly boiling me to death in my apartment like an unaware frog, so I decided it’d be a good time to distract myself by getting some tertiary work done on some lads.

From left to right: Kardon the Eternal, Lord Akselos, and some unnamed guy with a big ass axe

Starting with the most boring stuff, my World Eaters character goon squad is all primed and ready to be painted. Once I’m done assembling this army I’m gonna paint these three guys first because they’re the coolest, by far. I’m still mad proud of Akselos’ model and I’m super excited to see how he’ll look on the tabletop when he’s all shiny and colorful.

Epic unusable Chaos model, thank you GW

Speaking of painting World Eaters, here’s a CSM Legionarie that I whipped up a while back as a color test for my World Eaters army. The whole goal with my Khorne fellas is to keep them as default as possible, so the color scheme is very simple and coherent.

On this particular mini, I wanted to maximize my usage of Mephiston Red, which is exemplified most particularly on the rocket launcher, which I’d usually paint with Abaddon Black. I think that it being red, though, gives it a sort of retro feel, which I quite like. This may be one of the better single minis I’ve made, as well. No highlights or anything, but some decent, clean coloring, and a lot of Agrax Earthshade.

I have, however, been doing some highlighting on Lieutenant Sadrian’s model. I’ve also been cleaning him up periodically, coloring over little mistakes and trying to make his model really pop. He’s almost definitely the centerpiece of my Thunderbearers army now.

Check out how regal and leaderly he looks amongst his men. What a tactician!

Sadrian is one of the few models that I haven’t repainted in Skavenblight Dinge, alongside Big Harold, the Venerable Dreadnought that I’ve had since I started the hobby. They’ve both more than earned their stripes on the tabletop, having been in nearly every game I’ve played in the last two or so years, and I figured their paint jobs were pretty serviceable, so a repaint would be unnecessary.

While Sadrian is an elite taxtician that routinely exercises unmatched intellect and complex battlefield knowledge, he is also a by-the-books, reliable warrior and a ruthless marksman, hence the simplicity of the inscription upon his trusty bolt rifle

But to make him stand out more as an HQ, I added some minor highlights to his armor, particularly on his arms and helmet. I also highlighted much of his gun and did some detailing on the purity seals and red tassels. I’m very satisfied with the inscription on his gun. It’s crazy to me that I was able to write a word that small and, uh, have it be actually legible.

Every single painted Astartes model that I own. For context I have nearly 3k points of these fuckers and only 10 finished minis

I’ve painted a good handful of Thunderbearers Intercessors since my last post. Nearly a full 10-man squad, now. Sadrian definitely stands out, and I think that, when contrasted with the leagues of men that he commands, eyes are naturally drawn to him. I’ll never get over how satisfying seeing a cohesively painted army is to my weird brain.

I am so fucking in love with this model and I do not know why, although I figure it’s got something to do with its appearance in Dawn of War

In other news, I’ve got one of these disgusting classic Daemon Princes coming in the mail. GW recently did a made-to-order run of this model, and I’ve been trying to hunt an inexpensive one down for actual months. He’ll be a staple of my WE army whenever I get my hands on him, although I am kind of terrified as painting it.

I’ve just about run out of image slots on tumblr, so I’ll post a bit more about my Crusade (and some thoughts on 10th edition) next post.

#warhammer 40k #miniatures #painting #adeptus astartes #chaos #thunderbearers #world eaters #unchained path

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daydreamerdrew · 2 months

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Comics read this past week:

Marvel Comics:

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #281

This issue was published in December 1982, according to the Marvel Wiki. It was written by Bill Mantlo, penciled by Sal Buscema, and inked by Joe Sinnott.

In this issue there’s a scene where Bruce transforms into the Hulk and the narration describes, “The body of Bruce Banner is gone, but his mind remains, to guide the pulverizing powerhouse known as the Incredible Hulk!” But in the next panel Bruce phrases the transformation slightly differently, not that it’s his mind that’s guiding the Hulk’s body, but that he is the Hulk now and no longer Bruce, saying, “The current coursing through the Quinjet is unpleasant, but it’s not numbing the Hulk as it did Bruce Banner!”

There’s also a moment where Bruce says, “I was a monster! I deserved to be hunted and hounded,” referring to the time before he’d taken control of the Hulk’s body. This made me think of the scene in issue #269 where Bruce referred to the Hulk’s rampages as his rampages and Betty pushed back against that, arguing, “If anyone can find a cure for your condition, it’s you! But you’ll never succeed if you start identifying yourself with the Hulk! You’ll lose before you’ve begun- and you’ll lose me, as well,” which is very much what has happened.

Timely Publications:

the Captain America stories in Captain America Comics (1941) #13-14

In this batch of 4 Captain America stories I went from April 1942 to May 1942, according to the issue cover dates. All of the stories were 20 pages.

Captain America Comics #13 was the first issue, and so “Captain America and the League of the Unicorn” (writer unknown; penciled by Al Avison; inked by Syd Shores) was the first story, that reflected that the United States had joined WWII after Pearl Harbor. The cover of the issue shows Captain America punching out a Japanese general and saying, “You started it! Now- we’ll finish it!” It also has a “Remember Pearl Harbor” symbol and a banner that says “All out for America issue!” The Grand Comics Database synopsis for the story reads: “A railroad boss poses as King Zong, leader of the League of Unicorns, an oriental criminal gang that wear helmets with spikes on their foreheads to slay enemies. Zong hopes to profit from sowing discord between China and the Allies, but Cap and Bucky defeat him and hand him over to the police.” Despite the focus on positive relations between the U.S. and China, the Chinese ally characters are also drawn as racist caricatures, which was typical of this era’s comics. Though the leader of the Japanese villains ended up secretly being a white man, which is unusual to me; I don’t believe I’ve seen that before in my Golden Age comics readings. In the story the heroes use language such as oriental, slant-eyes, and nippon back-stabber. The Sentinels of Liberty secret club news page also refers to that the U.S. has joined WWII. Steve’s message opens with, “We meet again this month with grave purpose and determination!” And Bucky’s opens, “Well, guys, we’re in the war all right!”

The story “Captain America Battles the Horde of the Vulture” (writer unknown; penciled by Al Avison; inked by Syd Shores and George Klein) in Captain America Comics #14 has Captain America battling against a Native American tribe, who he realizes are really Japanese spies “using the name of the first Americans to hide behind while they attack” with no evidence other than that that’s what seems the most probable to him. And he turns out to be right, though their leader again turns out to secretly be a white man that was “an American turned traitor for the Japs with great promises of wealth for him if he succeeded as a spy!” The closing narration of the story reads, “This story has a lesson! No telling where the enemy of America may be lurking! Captain America urges every citizen to check on suspicious characters and happenings, and help with the war!” The villain in the next story of the issue, “Captain America and the Petals of Doom” (writer unknown; penciled by Al Avison; inked by Syd Shores and George Klein), was a white Nazi spy posing as an army captain, with no mention of the Japanese in this story. Also noting that I liked Betsy Ross’ use in this story.

DC Comics:

Superman (2023) #12

This issue was written by Joshua Williams, penciled by David Baldeón, and inked by Norm Rapmund. It was published this month, March 2024.

Nothing too interesting happened with Lena in this issue. I did like seeing her working alongside Superman. Also notably her grandmother got defeated in this issue. This book isn’t a chore to follow or anything, but I’m really not at all into what it’s doing with Superman and Lex Luthor. I am looking forward to this upcoming “House of Brainiac” storyline that’s crossing over with Action Comics. I’ve been waiting for the Brainiac stuff that was teased back when Lena joined the book to come to fruition.

Batman (2016) #1-6 and #9-24 and Annual #1 and The Flash (2016) #21-22

These issues were published across June 2016 to June 2017, according to the DC Wiki. This was me beginning to reread Tom King’s Batman run, which I first read a few years ago. Of note is that I have since then read Flashpoint: Batman - Knight of Vengeance (2011), Flashpoint (2011), Watchmen (1986), and Doomsday Clock (2017), and Infinite Frontier (2021)

Issues #1-6 were the “I am Gotham” storyline. All but the last issue, the epilogue of the arc, were penciled by David Finch. Issue #6, the epilogue, was penciled by Ivan Reis. Issue #1 was inked by Matt Banning. Issue #2 was inked by Matt Banning and Danny Miki. Issue #3 was inked by Danny Miki. Issue #4 was inked by Sandra Hope and Matt Banning. Issue #5 was inked by David Finch, Sandra Hope, Matt Banning, and Scott Hanna. And issue #6 was inked by Joe Prado, Oclair Albert, and Scott Hanna. I skipped the “Night of the Monster Men” storyline, which crossed over with Nightwing (2016) and Detective Comics (2011).

Issues #9-13 were the “I am Suicide” storyline. All were penciled by Mikel Janín, who also solely inked issues #9-10 and #13. Hugo Petrus worked on the inking with him for issues #11-12. Issues #14-15 were the “Rooftops” storyline. Both issues were drawn by Mitch Gerads. Issues #16-20 were the “I am Bane” storyline. All were penciled by David Finch. Issue #16 was inked by David Finch. Issues #17-18 were inked by Danny Miki. Issue #19 was inked by Danny Miki, Trevor Scott, and Sandra Hope. And issue #20 was inked by Danny Miki and Trevor Scott.

Issues #21-22 and The Flash issues were “The Button” storyline. Both Batman issues were drawn by Jason Fabok. The first includes a special thanks to Geoff Johns-the writer of Doomsday Clock (2018), which spun out of this arc- and Joshua Williamson, and the second includes a special thanks to Geoff Johns and credits Joshua Williamson and Tom King as co-plotters and Joshua Williamson as the scripter. Both of The Flash issues were drawn by Howard Porter. And both were written by Joshua Williamson and include special thanks to Geoff Johns and Tom King.

Issues #23 and #24 were both single issue stories, the former a Batman and Swamp Thing team-up and the latter titled “Every Epilogue is a Prelude.” Issue #23 was drawn by Mitch Gerads. And issue #24 was half penciled by David Finch and inked by Danny Miki and half penciled by Clay Mann and inked by Seth Mann. The Annual was an anthology book. It had a story written by Tom King and drawn by David Finch, a story written by Scott Snyder and Ray Fawkes and drawn by Declan Shalvey, a story written by Paul Dini and drawn by Neal Adams, a story written by Steve Orlando and drawn by Riley Rossmo, and a story written by Scott Bryan Wilson and drawn by Bilquis Evely.

Up next is the “War of Jokes and Riddles” storyline, which I remember not liking, but so far I’ve really loved rereading this book. Tom King’s approach to Batman really works for me.

Henry Clover paralleling both Thomas Wayne and Bruce as a parent, his speech in issue #3 about how growing up in Gotham “You stop seeing it as something other, and start seeing it as just more of yourself,” how “Its joys are your joys. Its miseries are your miseries,” and why he chose to raise his children there, “instead of retching, I breath it in deeper. And I smile. And I shout it good and loud… [No.]” And then Bruce declaring, in issue #5, “You want to kill Gotham?! For being weak! For being afraid! For failing again and again and again! I am Gotham. Kill me.”

Selina Kyle revealing her childhood fascination with a painting of Bruce’s “perfect” family at the Thomas and Martha Wayne Home for the Boys and Girls of Gotham in issue #10, that she thinks, “you’ll always be the little boy in the picture. You’ll always want to be the little boy in the picture.” And her hinging their relationship on that, while “When we kiss, the pain goes away,” “When your moment came, when they destroyed your childhood… you used all that will, all that loss, to make a better world,” and she didn’t, so they could only stay together in the event that “Someday, maybe you, too, will forget the better world. Maybe you, too, will stop feeling the love left behind and just feel left behind.”

Bruce admitting in issue #12, only to Catwoman, in a letter he wrote before this book takes place, something he believes only she understands, that his decision to become Batman was made while self-harming as a child and considering suicide and is defined that way. Him using the language that “My father was classically dignified, my mother was classically kind,” and then describing his mindset as a child as, “I was pain. That’s all I was. Everything else, every chance given to me, every promise I’d made, was pain. And what use is pain? What use is being just pain? It’s not dignified. It’s not kind. And if it’s not dignified, and if it’s not kind, then maybe it’s not worth anything.”

Bruce telling Selena in issue #14, after she’d spend an evening helping him as Batman, “I don’t like what we did. I had to do what we did.” Him feeling in issue #15, after she’d left after they’d had a good time together, that “as if it belonged to her” she’d stolen “the night.”

The parallels between Bruce and Bane in issue #18, particularly Bruce coming home with Alfred after his parents’ deaths being compared to Bane being put in the jail cell to be left to die, and Bruce calling the extended ‘Batfamily’ characters his “true strength” being aligned with a scene of Bane asking for an unsafe amount of Venom.

Bruce remembering in issue #20 how he almost died in issue #1 until the newcomer superheroes Gotham and Gotham Girl intervened, “You don’t see the impossible- You see the possibility no one else sees. So you ran through every scenario, every permutation, every way out. And every option led to the same outcome. This was your death. Coming up fast.” Him bragging, or complaining, “You know how many times I’ve heard that? ‘Rest in peace, Batman!’ ‘There’s no escape, Batman!’ ‘Time to die, Batman!’ ‘Every night. Over, and over, and over. For so many years. ‘This is the end, Batman!’ Every. Damn. Night. And yet… I’m still here.” Him him defining being Batman at the end of the issue as that the declaration “I’m Batman” essentially means that he never gives up, and so he isn’t defeatable. And Bruce’s hallucination of his mother, who speaks to him using the framing that him being Batman is a way for him to die, to whom he tells, “The girl needed help. So I helped her. That’s all it is. That’s all it’s ever been.”

Bruce briefly reuniting with his father in issue #22, a storyline which worked for me before, but had a stronger effect on me with the context of his portrayal in Flashpoint: Batman - Knight of Vengeance (2011) and Flashpoint (2011). Thomas’ described mindset back then, “the way it was supposed to be. So that Bruce would live… And I would die. As would this nightmare of a world,” the fact that he had been refusing to try to help prevent his world’s destruction before he even met Barry and learned about the original timeline and that there was a possibility of saving Bruce, and his mindset when he first appears in this book where he was disappointed that his world didn’t end when he thought it would and was preparing to kill himself (with a bomb to take out some of his enemies as well). And the fact that Martha had been horrified to find out that Bruce grew up to be Batman, like Thomas, and Thomas telling Bruce, “Don’t be Batman. Find happiness. Please. You don’t have to do this. Don’t do it for me. Don’t do it for your mother. Be a father for your son in a way I never could be for you. Let the Batman die with me,” and then Bruce not quitting as Batman, but hesitating to go out as Batman for once afterwards in The Flash #22.

And Thomas refusing to be saved in issue #22, but also choosing not to kill himself, instead ‘rising’ into the light as his world is finally destroyed, and the message Bruce receives from Swamp Thing in issue #23 but then is muddled/rescinded- “You have to tell me- tell me my mother and father are falling back into life!”

And Bruce admitting in issue #24 that, “I do this, I do all this, and I can’t… I don’t think I can stop. […] I do this. But I’m not… happy. […] I try. I do this to be happy. I try, and I fail.”

And I love Gotham Girl- her parallel but distinct origin story from Bruce in issue #3, what she brings out in Bruce, particularly in issue #24, and her whole concept as a character works really well for me on its own.

I remember when I first read this series I was struck by the limited presence of Damian Wayne, even though he might have been off in another book, he was still Bruce’s youngest child and who I would assume still needs Bruce’s parenting. Like, when Bruce went on his suicide mission to Santa Prisca for however long that was, I was wondering where Damian was and how that would affect him. I’m curious to see how that is or isn’t portrayed going forward, since Thomas put pressure on Bruce to not be Batman and be an involved parent instead, and the effect that we’ve seen of that final message so far- Bruce hesitating to go out as Batman and proposing to Selina- hasn’t involved his children yet.

Also, it’s pretty clear that Bruce’s happiness and relationship with Selina is being portrayed as antithetical to him being Batman, or at least him being Batman in the way he is now. It’s not that the way this book is going makes it definitive that he and Selina can’t get married, because I suppose it’s possible for a change in what being a superhero means for his life and mental state, but it’s not surprising that they didn’t go through with it.

Seeing the two instances where Bruce refers to Damian as his son, as opposed to referring to all of the former sidekicks as his children, reminded me of some of the controversy around this book. Batman is not a character I’m precious about; I can engage with and enjoy different contradictory portrayals of him. And, also, because he is so over-published, I am really not sympathetic to Batman fans being dissatisfied. I don’t remember if Bruce feeling differently about, say, Dick and Jason in comparison to Damian is ever delved into further in this book, but if it did that would be interesting to me and not something I have a stance against writing about. The criticism that it was wrong to portray Bruce as unhappy and made happy through his relationship with Selina because he had children and so should have had satisfaction in life through them really bothers me. I don’t think anyone, men or women, are doing something wrong by being depressed when they have children. I phrase that like that because I’m more used to that unreasonable expectation being put on women. And I don’t think that finding happiness in an adult relationship specifically is immoral either.

Also, I am looking forward to Thomas Wayne’s return and his reaction to learning about Bruce’s sidekicks, which weren’t ever explained to him in Flashpoint (2011) or “The Button” storyline, as I have gotten into sidekick drama since last reading this book.

Fawcett Comics:

the Captain Marvel stories in Whiz Comics (1940) #89 and Captain Marvel Adventures (1941) #76 and The Marvel Family (1945) #15

In this batch of 7 stories I read the Captain Marvel appearances published in September 1947, according to the issue cover dates. These stories ranged from 7 to 9 pages.

The story “Captain Marvel: Condemned to Die” in The Marvel Family #15 (written by Otto Binder; drawn by C.C. Beck) had Dr. Sivana’s most evil plot yet, to a very sad effect. He convinces Billy that Captain Marvel is a carrier for a dangerous plague and the risk that Billy will instinctively transform at some point and won’t be able to never turn into Captain Marvel again for the rest of his life is too high, so Billy has to die for the greater good. Billy is allotted one hour to say goodbye to his friends and make final arrangements, but he’s distraught all the while. His intense fear and grief are present the entire time. He breaks down and can’t enjoy his final hour, though he ultimately powers through to go and “take it like a man.” Sivana foils himself by prematurely cackling with glee while Billy was still alive in the gas chamber, but still.

#comics read this past week #my posts

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lgg5989 · 2 years

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MavDad: Superhero

A/N: So I decided to try and write another blurb of MavDad and I think it turned out so much better than yesterdays! MavDad: That’s When

I’ve decided to write like a 500-ish word MavDad a day or so, please comment or ask me any ideas you guys have, I would be happy to try and give them life!

__________

Maverick was at his wits end, they had been in the costume store for 3 hours and Brad still couldn't decide on what he wanted to be for superhero day at school. Every suggestion was shot down with vigor until they had gone through every costume in the store.

"What about this one buddy?" he questioned, holding up a cheap spacesuit and helmet.

"Astronauts aren't my heroes!" Brad shot back quickly.

"Well sweetie that's got to be every costume in the store, maybe we should look at home?" Carole suggested.

"Actually, I think I have an idea…" said Brad as he tried to hide his grin from ear to ear. The three left the store with a new mission.

-----

Upon entering the house Brad raced up the stairs as fast as his 8 year old legs could take him, exclaiming, "I have an idea, but you have to wait downstairs, it's a surprise!"

"Do you need any help?" Mav yelled.

"NO! Stay downstairs, Uncle Pete!"

Mav smiled, no matter how much the loss of Goose still affected him, he was always happy to still be a part of his adoptive family. Carole and Brad had a room for him when he was home from deployment and after all these years they never held the accident against him.

20 minutes and a loud crash later Brad came barreling down the stairs into the living room to find Carole in the kitchen starting dinner.

“Mommy look at my costume!” he shouted proudly, over the music she had been playing.

Carole turned to look at him and words escaped her, “Mav…Maverick!” she shouted into the laundry room, where Pete was fixing the dryer.

“What’s up?” came his reply, and his head from around the corner. Upon seeing his nephew Mav was struck speechless as well.

Carole was looking at him trying to hide the tears in her eyes. Standing in front of them was Brad, in what could only be described as the most fitting costume yet. Goose's helmet sitting low on his head, Mav's aviators crooked on his nose, topped off with Mav's leather jacket hanging off his small frame. And, upon further inspection, a hastily drawn on mustache, in the same eyebrow pencil Brad had been stealing from Carole for about 2 months now. He was a perfect mix between his two father figures.

As Brad waited expectantly for their reaction, his face hopeful, Mav had a mess of emotions running through his head. He couldn’t believe how much he looked like Goose, even with the touches of his own gear.

He carefully asked, "Brad, who is your superhero?"

"You and daddy." Brad replied rather bluntly but beaming with pride.

"Well bud we are fighter pilots, we don't have any special powers," Mav said with a sly smile on his face.

"I don't care, you get to fly super fast and you keep me and mommy safe!"

"Alright buddy. If that's what you want to be," he said with a smile.

Carole collected herself quickly saying, "Oh, my boys, let me take a picture!”

----

The next day at school Brad stood in front of the class with his oversized clothes and haphazard mustache telling them all about his dad Goose and his uncle Maverick. Mav couldn't have been happier when he got a call from Brad's teacher that afternoon inviting him to their career day the following week.

A/N: I’m thinking career day tomorrow??

#top gun fanfiction #rooster top gun #top gun maverick #top gun #carole bradshaw #goose bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #bradley bradshaw

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Note

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

soulmate requests / follower celebration

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina

#din djarin x reader #soulmate requests #anonymous and elle #elle only posts soulmate rqs at weird hours thats the rule

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Chapter 6: Let’s Play a Game (Overprotection)

AO3

Marinette ended up not staying for dinner. She talked to Bruce for a little bit, but he had to leave for some WE emergency and Marinette wasn’t really up to bonding with the boys- her brothers- yet. But that was fine. It wasn’t like she was desperate to get to know the man and wouldn’t be able to after this trip because she had to stay in Paris because of Hawkmoth. No, she wasn’t upset. Not at all. It didn’t hurt her feelings. Nope.

---

Walking into Madame Soleil's Wax Museum with Adrien by her side, Marinette is hit with a major wave of deja vu. And not a good deja vu. No, the memories of the last time she was in a wax museum with Adrien were awful, humiliating and- feeling a hand wrap around hers pulls her from her spiraling thoughts. Glancing down, Marinette tries (and fails) to hide her grin. Adrien is holding her hand. Adrien is holding her hand!

“Hey Marinette!” A familiar voice calls, a hand squeezing her shoulder, making Marinette squeal and whirl around.

“Dick? What are you doing here?” She asks, frowning at the boy- her brother- as he stands there with a huge smile.

“Well I heard that a new wax figure is being revealed today, and I thought I might come and see it.” He says with a nonchalant shrug.

“Really? Who?” Adrien asks. Dick’s smile twitches slightly as he glances at Marinette, making her frown. Was he seriously about to play the overprotective big brother card? Really?

“Jagged Stone.” Dick finally says, glancing at their entwined hands. Marinette tries hard not to roll her eyes. Come on, her crush is finally holding her hand and her brother (who she’s known for a day!) is seriously trying to ruin that for her?

“Oh cool! Do you think he’ll come to Gotham to see it, Mari?” Adrien asks.

“I think he’s definitely scheduled to make an appearance in Gotham in the next couple days. He’s picking up his new suit in person.” She whispers, grinning at the idea of seeing her “Uncle” in person again. He’d been touring for several months and she hadn’t been able to see him for awhile, just the occasional video call.

“So! What figures did you guys want to check out first?” Dick asks, wedging himself between the two and forcing Adrien to drop her hand. Glaring at her brother, Marinette scoffs when Dick just smiles innocently.

“The hall of heroes and villains sounds cool.” Adrien suggests, looking around Dick to see Marinette.

“Hmm. Okay, but if the Nightwing figure is in his disco costume, I reserve the right to melt the statue.” She says, frowning at the choked noise Dick makes. “Are you okay?” She adds.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah I’m fine. What’s 1so bad about that costume?” He asks, a hurt expression on his face.

“Have you even seen it? The only worse costume is Riddler’s.” Marinette says, adding a shudder for dramatic effect. Walking past the local celebrities room and the pop stars room, Marinette’s eyes widen as their small group walks into the hall of heroes and villains. Walking away from Dick and Adrien, she’s almost instantly drawn to the Batman figure. She reads the little plaque about the artist and frowns, turning to Dick who had moved to stand next to her.

“I thought it’d be taller.” She says, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion when Dick starts choking on air, gasping for breath as broken chuckles flood out of him. “Ookay then.” She mutters, turning and walking back towards the villains. Nightwing was, luckily, depicted in his most recent costume. As was Robin. Which meant the only real fashion tragedy (besides the god awful helmet Red Hood wore) was the Riddler. Pulling her sketchbook out, Marinette circles the wax figure, occasionally making notes and sketching out slight adjustments to the man’s costume.

“His costume might be terrible, but it’s still better than half of the akumas.” Adrien whispers, leaning over her shoulder. Marinette looks up at him, eyes wide as her face heats up with a blush.

“I, uh, um, yes. Yeah.” She says, trying not to wince at her lack of speaking skills. “I mean, at least we can rule out any fashion designer in Paris as Hawkmoth. Because if Hawkmoth was a designer, that’d almost be a bigger crime.” She adds, smiling as Adrien laughs.

“Good to know you’re not moonlighting as Hawkmoth, m’lady.” He says with a mock bow. Marinette snorts, then covers her mouth, embarrassment rushing over her. Adrien just shakes his head, wrapping an arm over her shoulders.

“In case you forgot, we’ve definitely seen each other at our most embarrassing.” He says, making her groan.

“Oh god, no. I tied us up with my yoyo!” She moans, turning and burying her face into his chest so she doesn’t have to look at him anymore. Her face heats up more when she feels him chuckle and wrap his arms around her.

“I’ve always thought that was paw-sitively adorable.” He says, laughing when she groans again. She pulls away slightly, looking up at him with a timid smile. He smiles back, starts to lean forward and-

“Hey guys! I heard they’re about to unveil the Jagged Stone figure. Come on, let’s go! Don’t wanna miss it.” Dick says, grabbing each of their hands and pulling them towards the exist (and successfully separating them again). Marinette tries not to glare at Dick. She’s about to have one less brother.

---

Dick Grayson wasn’t used to having a little sister that he could protect. Sure, he had a little sister. Cas was awesome, but she could also kick his ass without breaking a sweat. No, he’d never had a little sister to protect. Someone he could watch out for and support. But now….now he has Marinette. And he’ll be damned if he lets some little punk take advantage of his little sister. Ignoring Marinette’s glare, he positions himself right between her and...the boy. He’d need to ask Timmy to do a background check on the kid later. Especially if he thought he was good enough for Marinette.

“So are you guys big Jagged fans?” He asks, trying to pull the two back into a conversation. He narrows his eyes at the smile the kid gives Marinette. It’s too...adoring. Too much. She’s only...what, fourteen? Much too young to date. Especially this kid.

“Mari’s a bit of a fan, I think. But, personally, I much prefer Jagged’s designer.” He says, and Dick turns to him, missing the way Marinette’s face turns bright red.

“Are you talking about MDC? I love them! Their work is amazing! And Jagged Stone says that he’ll never have another designer. I heard that there’s a possibility of them opening their commissions again. God, I hope they do. I’d do anything for something made by MDC.” Dick rambles with a wide smile, deciding to ignore the kid for a minute in order to ramble about his favorite designer. As the group walks into the pop star room, Dick steps back and glares at the kid. He’d stepped just behind Dick and was apparently trying to hold Marinette’s hand again. Not on his watch. No siree. No one’s gonna hurt his little sister.

---

Bruce sighs, running his hands through his hair. He’d been checking the street cameras in Paris, trying to figure out what time Ladybug and Chat Noir patrol so that he can set up a meeting. Try and offer help, or maybe even offer to take control of the situation. Anything to get rid of Hawkmoth. But instead, it was like the heroes didn’t exist. He’d read reports of the heroes patrolling before, so why were they so quiet this week? The only akuma from the past couple days wasn’t even taken care of by both of them. Ladybug did it alone, and seemed worse for the wear when she came out of the battle. Where was Chat Noir? And why did it seem as though they had gone into hiding?

---

Marinette was five seconds away from committing her first murder. Okay, probably her only murder, unless her other brothers decide to be as involved in her love life as Dick is. Because Dick won’t have the chance to be a problem for much longer. Because Marinette was honestly going to kill him. Right as she turned to finally yell at him, and tell him to knock it off, the lights flickered. She pauses her tirade, glancing to gauge Dick’s reaction to see if this is normal. And if his worried glances back at her are anything to go by, this is not normal.

“Let’s play a game! Solve my riddles and you all can leave freely, but make a mistake and someone will pay greatly! Take one out and scratch my head, I am now black but once was red. What am I?” A man’s voice asks, Marinette frowning as the Riddler walks in, a wide smile on his face. Ten goons walk in behind him, all of them carrying guns. She was used to the akuma attacks almost every day, but didn’t Gotham’s rogues have anything better to do than attack every place her class went? With guns? Come on. Riddler smirks and points at Adrien with his cane.

“A match.” She blurts out, ignoring Dick frantically shaking his head. If nothing else, she should be able to work with Adrien to get everyone out. But she knew his style. And riddles weren’t really his thing.

“Oh goody. We have a volunteer. Tell me, what has to be broken before you can use it?” Riddler asks, stalking towards her. Thinking for a second, Marinette tries to suppress a smile.

“An egg.” She says. Riddler narrows his eyes.

“I have 13 hearts, but no lungs or stomach. What am I?” He asks, Marinette frowns, running through possible answers in her head.

“A deck of cards.” She finally says.

“Buzzy, come over here and hold onto our friend.” Riddler says, gesturing to one of the goons. The man comes over and grabs Marinette’s arm roughly, she winces. That’ll definitely bruise.

“I answered your riddles.” Marinette says, deciding that now's as good a time as any to start distracting the man.

“And how did you answer them so quickly?” He asks, the frustration clear on his face.

“What do you mean? Were they supposed to be hard?” Marinette taunts, ignoring the choked sound Dick makes behind her. She knew what she was doing. She did. She had to.

“Why you-” Riddler starts, stepping forward and pulling his hand back as if to hit her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Marinette waits for the slap. The slap never comes. Opening her eyes, Marinette’s jaw drops when she sees the Riddler’s fist held tightly in Dick’s hand.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” He says lowly, a dark look on his face. Well that was unexpected. Riddler opens his mouth, probably to start spouting more riddles or other nonsense, when the goons blocking the exits drop. Noticing Red Robin and Red Hood picking off the other goons, Marinette throws her elbow back into the gut of the goon holding her. Not waiting for him to recover, Marinette stomps his foot and twists out of his grip. Grabbing his arm, Marinette manages to yank the man off balance and toss him to the ground. A hand on her shoulder makes her jump back and prepare to hit the person.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay ma’am.” The voice attached to the hand says. Marinette whirls around, ready to tell off the person, but immediately stops when she sees Red Robin.

“Sorry!” She yelps, jumping away from him. And she was too. She was determined to hit the person who grabbed her shoulder, so locked into battle mode, but she had managed to stop herself. Glancing around the room, Marinette notices Dick talking to Red Hood, his usual smile back on his face. That’s good. That’s normal, that’s right. The sudden blaring of the akuma alarm makes Marinette want to scream in frustration. Really, right now? It’s definitely already dark in Paris which means- Chat Noir. Ignoring everyone else, Marinette runs over to Adrien and grabs his hand.

“Akuma?” He asks, his voice low. She nods and tugs him towards the bathrooms, unaware of the eyes following them out.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @imarivers8 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks

#maribat #maribat bruce wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat adrien agreste #maribat adrienette #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad au #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat batfam #mbdbwm2021 #day six overprotection #ao3fic

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lovearne · 2 years

Text

The Mandalorian

Warnings: Written like two years ago, never posted it though, I don't think. Female reader

Word count: 1.2K

The small coos brought me towards him. Ignoring the same noises outside that have plagued us since we’ve left. We have been with this particular group for a few months, they always take the base and stand guard, waiting. As I got closer to the cradle, his tiny three fingers, green hand reached up, towards me. Wanting me to pick him up and hide him from the noise, keep him safe. Just as I go to reach for him, the building shakes. Dust settling all around us. I reach inside the orb, and push his little hand back in, hoping that he will be okay. I quickly press the button on the floating cradle, it closes completely. As it closes the child gives a little whimper. Thinking quickly, I push his cradle into an abandoned corridor.

“I’m sorry little guy.” I whisper as I move to a pile of rubble, a few feet in front of him, planning to take on the threat. I get myself into an albeit uncomfortable position, but definitely a good position, for defence. As I crush myself so I am less visible, voices fill the air. One I can identify as a droid, however, the other sounds like a man. It’s a different voice than I have heard since the little one and I had left. There have been so many voices over the years, but never one like this. Sure, I’ve heard plenty with a modulator, including the very deep and heavily breathed Vader, and the wookie race, but never somebody with this voice.

They came around the corner, guns drawn. The droid is an IG-11 and the man, well he was dressed in coloured metal, I can only imagine that it is steel. Interesting. Well, his helmet is shiny, so there's that. I can’t make out if he is the lead or not. I decide to sit and watch, with any luck, they will just take the base, similarly to the one before them. The man says something, I am not interested in listening to what they actually say, just his voice. Like a calm and soothing storm. They bicker back and forth about life signals and whatnot.

The man presses a button on the orb, as they drew nearer, I got myself ready for anything they try. To my surprise, the man looks almost appalled at the fact that his bounty is a child.

“It’s a child? I was told it was 50 years old.” The man says in slight disbelief. The droid turns and examines the child.

“Species age differently” Is all I caught from the droid, as I was too busy analysing the man. The droid would be fairly easy to take out, I could see the wiring from here, just one tug and he’s down. But the IG-11 also has a self-destruct sequence, and I definitely don’t want to trigger it. The man on the other hand, I couldn’t figure out. Where could I hit him to hurt him the most, that isn’t covered by the steel, besides the fact that I find him interesting. Maybe I will steal one of his guns and shoot the droid, but I have to be fairly quick on the draw in order to get him as well. I also have no clue how many weapons he has hidden in his armour. It’s a game of chance, and the child’s life is not something I want to risk on a chance.

As I am too caught up in scenarios and running the numbers and odds in my mind, there is a gunshot. My head snaps up. The bounty hunter is standing holding his hand out to the child, the droid is laying on the ground, his head giving off steam. The bounty hunter shot the droid, this changes things.

It’s time to get this show up and running. I stand up and dust my clothing rags. I make myself look more believable, rubbing dirt on my face, and making myself look dirtier than I regularly am. And I am ready. Show time.

I stumble myself out of my hiding space. “Oh, Obe!! Where did you go Obe?!?!?!” I frantically call out. “My child!!!!! Obe!!!!!!” I add, just for a little flare. I look around and glance at the bounty hunter, then I hear a small coo, yes! He remembered. Not the first time we used this trick. His small hand is poking out of the orb. I storm over to the orb, “My Baby!!!! Oh kriff, Obe, you’re alright!!!!!” I pick the child up. “Oh my baby, its okay, you’re alright, thank kriff!!!” I squeal while holding the child tightly to my chest. Squeezing him into a hug. He coos again and giggles. “There are people out there worse than Demagul himself, oh, baby. I’m so glad you are alright!!” I kiss his head a couple of times, then smushing my face into his belly.

“Excuse me,” There is a throat cleared, just behind me. “I, Don’t mean to interrupt, there must be some sort of confusion.” I turn to look at him. Gazing up at his helmet, all I could see was my own reflection.

“What?” I pause, “You killed those men, so now me and Obe here, go with you.” I inform him. Is he, is he alright? Does he have heat stroke from all the heat in that body armour. It looks a little burned. Oh, no its just red.

“The kid, you, neither of you look 50 years old.” He explains. My face must show the confusion I feel.

“You got a tracker, or beeper or whatever, and it led you here, right?” I ask him, still cuddling the little baby in my arms.

“I had a tracking fob and it led to that Orb.” He points towards the cradle. Does the kid have a Dad that made it, or maybe an uncle.” I am looking for a 50 year old. And neither of you fit that description.” He looks down at me, “You don’t look a day over 20.”

I look up in disbelief. “What makes you think, I didn’t make the carrier?” I ask him, frowning.

“It looks a lot older than you do.” He states, shaking his head after. “Just tell me where your baby’s Dad is” His head moves down to look at the child, the glare on his helmet shining right in my eye.

“He doesn’t have a father, why? Do you want to apply? Because, sorry, but the helmet is kinda too shiny to stick around comfortably.” I inform him as I rub my eyes, the glare being too much.

His helmet moves again, so his eyes are on me. “No, his Father would obviously be the bounty.” The man was getting more irritated as the seconds past. I shake my head, this man is infruriating.

“Ok, I’m going to tell you one more time, we are your bounty.” I explain to him.

“My bounty is supposed to be 50. Neither of you are and your ages don’t even add up to 50.” He again, is in disbelief. I shrug.

“Some species age differently, that’s just how it is.” I explain again.

“Then you are coming with me, to my ship, willingly.” He says and grows rigid. “I don’t want to have to shoot a baby, or its mother.”

“Alright, lead the way.” I nod.

#mando x y/n #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mando #Pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal #baby yoda #grogu

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head.

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote. He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background.

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument.

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little."

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time.

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him.

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine.

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal.

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows.

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy."

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul.

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly. "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing.

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal.

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

#my writing #pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #pierre gasly x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf #formula 1 rpf #pierre gasly fanfiction

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sabxism · 3 years

Text

But I’m Here In Your Doorway

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Based on these lines from this is me trying:

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

Word count: ~2.6k

Warnings: mentions of and encounter with possible suicide, injuries (blood, bruises, etc), mention of (previous) deaths

Summary: reader loses everything. after she nearly makes an irreversible decision, she goes to Poe for help.

GIF not mine

The screams of your squadron members bounce around in your head. It was your fault, you knew that. You shouldn’t have set off without checking your ship. Without checking for any trackers. So it wasn’t a surprise when, out of nowhere, a group of TIEs burst out of hyperspace, straight into your fleet like pins being knocked over by 30 flying bowling balls. You had watched, helplessly, as your friends - your family - were picked off one-by-one. As they went up into terrifyingly bright balls of gas and flame and smoke. It was your fault. All your fault.

Part of you was trying to cling onto the notion that you couldn’t have known, how could you have known? But the majority of your mind beat back those thoughts, letting the sickening guilt take over and push you into a dark corner. Debriefing had been a nightmare. General Organa had, of course, told you that it wasn’t your fault, that it was nobody’s fault but the spy she hadn’t discovered in time. She could sense the weight on your shoulders, sense you falling into a pit inside of yourself.

After the meeting, she had pulled you aside.

“Y/N. I need you to look at me,” she said, turning your head gently but firmly with her right hand. “It isn’t your fault. You did everything you could. Sometimes, things are just out of our control.”

“I know,” you lied, just wanting this conversation to be over. Leia could sense your apprehension, and sighed.

“Look, I know that nothing I say is going to change how you feel, because I’ve been there, and I know what you’re thinking. I know it’s hard. Trust me.” you look down at the floor, scuffing the tip of your boot across the dusty ground. “It will get better. I promise you.”

“Thanks, general.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Leia?” she asks lightly as you turn to walk away.

“A few more, apparently,” you respond, the ghost of a false smile resting over your face. With that, you turn on your heel and head to your quarters.

You step through the door as it slides open and sit down on your bed. You reach for your datapad, wanting to distract yourself with something.

You click the screen on, and your heart drops. Staring back at you are the smiling faces of your squadron. You’re all clustered around Mari’s new droid, with hands on its shiny purple head. She had been so happy to get that little guy.

Now they were both nothing more than dust drifting through the empty expanse of space.

You hurl the tablet at the wall, watching as the screen shatters and falls to the floor.

You place your head in your hands, silent sobs racking your body. You clench your hair in your hands, knuckles turning white. You stand up, body shaking, and walk out of your quarters.

You pass Finn in the hallway. He smiles at you, but you can’t bring yourself to do the same. You feel awful as he looks back at you as you pass him, but at this point there’s no use trying to fix it. You trudge outside and up to your x-wing sitting on the tarmac, the edges of the wings blackened from smoke. You glance around, checking the coast is clear, then scurry up the ladder and into the cockpit. You check the time.

1800.

Sighing, you boot up your craft and quickly take off. You cruise over the base a few times, watching everyone go about their day. Like nothing happened. Like 10 of the most beautiful, vibrant souls hadn’t just been snuffed like a match. You swallow the knot in your throat and head for the atmosphere. You need to get away from here.

“General Organa!” Leia turns, to see a frenzied runway tech sprinting towards her. “Y/N took off on an unauthorized flight.”

Leia swallows thickly, her heart dropping. “How long ago?”

“We noticed she was left just now - but it looks like she’s been gone about an hour.”

“Then there’s nothing we can do but hope she comes back safely.”

“That’s what I was worried about.”

You land on a nearby forest planet, after searching for about ten minutes for a place to touch down. You pick a plateau on the Western side, lowering your land gear as you begin to descend. You hop down from your ship onto the grassy earth, and look around.

It’s quiet up here. There’s a soft wind blowing, and it weaves delicate fingers through your hair and across your face as you take off your helmet. You let it fall to the ground, and decide to walk around for a bit. You make your way to the edge of the plateau, and look out across the forest beyond. It stretches on for miles, a swath of dark green. The last rays of the sun blaze across the sky, painting the clouds with a pink-orange hue.

You glance down, and your heart drops to your toes. It’s a long way to the ground below. You begin to back up, but for some reason you find yourself stopping. You get closer to the edge, still looking down. It would be so easy to just take another step. Just one more. All of this would be over. You wouldn’t have to feel this guilt anymore.

Your knee lifts up slowly.

Realizing what you’re about to do, you scramble back, falling to the dirt. You brace your hands on the ground, digging your fingers into the earth to anchor yourself. Your chest heaves, and your vision spins. The ground seems to buckle, to toss you around. The sky bends and arches above you as you struggle to breathe. You roll over onto your stomach and wrap your arms around your knees.

You don’t know how long you lie there, but by the time you have the courage to stand up and walk again, the moon is floating in the sky above you, and the stars glimmer against a black backdrop.

You climb back into your x-wing and sit there, staring at your dashboard. Your eyes meet one of the few pictures leaned against the fuel gague. You and Poe lean against his x-wing a few months ago. You have your arms wrapped around each other. He’s kissing your cheek, and you’re laughing, open-mouthed, your nose scrunched up and your eyes shut tight.

You take a shuddering breath. Poe. You couldn’t believe what you’d almost done - what you still might do, if you don’t get out of here. You couldn’t leave him like that. You rapidly go through your flight checklist and then take off, headed back to base.

You land on the tarmac around 0200, exhausted and beaten down by your own thoughts. You hop out of your ship, landing on the ground with a thud.

You start walking, not really knowing where your legs are taking you, but you end up at Poe’s quarters. You can hear movement inside the room. You raise a trembling hand and knock once.

He opens the door, and his eyes widen. His mouth moves silently, searching for words.

You swallow thickly, a nervous knot tying in your stomach.

He takes a step toward you, not quite believing what he’s seeing. Leia had told him that you’d left suddenly after their meeting, and he had grown worried that you were hurt, or worse. But here you are, standing in front of him. Your form is limp and you’re drawn into yourself. Your face and neck are caked with blood and dirt, and your eyes are clouded and empty.

“Hi,” you say weakly. He quickly closes the gap between the both of you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. Your arms hang limp beside you.

“Stardust,” he breathes, holding you tightly. “I was so worried.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, falling down your face and onto Poe’s shoulder. He pulls back, concerned. Cradling your face in his hands, his eyebrows crease with worry.

He looks down at you, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb. There’s a silent question written across his features. You shake your head tearfully. You don’t know what to say.

“Baby…” he whispers, pulling you close to his chest again. You clutch at the back of his shirt with shaking hands.“I’m here now - you’re safe. You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok.” He repeats those two words over and over like a mantra, equally to himself as to you. “Let’s get you inside, ok?” he says, and you nod. Placing a hand on the small of your back, he guides you into his quarters.

“I’ll grab some clothes for you,” he says as you sit down on the edge of the bed. He rustles through his drawers, eventually coming up with a long-sleeved olive green shirt and a pair of grey boxer shorts. He sets them on the bed next to you. “Are you good to take a shower?” You think about it for a minute, and slowly shake your head. The idea of being pounded with thousands of tiny droplets makes you want to hide under a blanket.

“Too much,” you murmur, and he nods in understanding.

“Ok, love, that’s fine. We do need to clean you off and deal with these cuts, though.” he gestures to the lacerations across your skin. You nod weakly. You hear him pad over to the refresher unit and grab a medkit and some washcloths, which he wets under some running water from the sink.

He kneels in front of you, and motions for you to take off your flight suit. You slip it halfway off, letting it rest around your waist. Poe sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw the bruises blooming across your torso and arms. You’d gotten tossed around pretty bad, getting knocked through space by several of the TIEs. You’d slammed your sternum right into the dashboard at one point, and small fragments of something had slashed open nearly every bit of exposed skin and even some under your suit.

“Y/N…” he says quietly, tearing up. You bite the inside of your cheek, hating to see him so upset.

He gets to work cleaning your cuts. He’s as gentle as he can be, but you still hiss as the cold water on the washcloth cleans out your cuts, and tears start to fall as he bandages up a particularly bad cut on your stomach. He holds your hand the whole time, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you need to, never even flinching as your vice grip tightens around his fingers.

“Ok, baby, let me check your legs and then you’re all set,” he says, and you turn away, face flushing with nervousness. He’s confused for a second, then has a moment of understanding. He’s never seen you naked - you weren’t ready to get intimate yet, so you guys had been taking it slow, and now really wasn’t the best time to breach that barrier. “You can change into the shorts first,” he says quietly, and you look back at him gratefully.

You make your way to the refresher unit, shutting the door behind you. You peel off your flight suit the rest of the way, followed by your undergarments, crusted with blood from the cuts on your stomach. You pile the discarded clothes in a pile by the shower, and slip on the shirt and shorts Poe had leant you. You take the opportunity to glance into the mirror above the sink, and grimace at the reflection that gazes back at you. Hair messy and tangled, face bruised and covered with small cuts, you were not a pretty sight to behold. Sighing, you head back into the main room.

Sitting back down on the bed, you lean against the wall and stretch your legs out in front of you. Poe sits down on the mattress next to you, surveying your exposed limbs. They aren’t as bad as the upper half of your body, but they definitely aren’t good. He dabs at the cuts gently, taking your hand again. He mutters sweet nothings as you clench your teeth and shut your eyes tightly for the next few minutes as he finishes up.

“All done,” he eventually says, and you relinquish your grip on his hand, wiping the tears from your eyes. He looks up at you, and you almost melt at the love in his eyes. You realize in that moment how lucky you are - that no matter what, he’ll always take care of you. Always.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he smiles softly, opening his arms. You crawl over to where he’s leaned against the headboard and collapse into his embrace, breathing beginning to even out.

“You need sleep, baby,” he says, and you nod. “You can stay here, if you want.” You nod again, and he presses a kiss to your hair. “I’ll grab some extra blankets from the closet.” He gets up and goes to retrieve them. You get under his comforter and lay your head down on one of the pillows. Your eyes drift closed.

Poe pads back over to the bed and pauses, looking down at you. He swallows thickly, tearing up. He makes a promise to himself then and there that he’d never lose you like that. Never again.

He lays another blanket over you, then switches off the lights. He quickly changes into some sleep clothes and then gets under the covers, laying down facing you.

“Poe?” you mumble, searching for his face in the dark.

“Right here, honey,” he says softly, and you inch closer to him, a bit nervous to get too close. He senses your unease and smiles softly. “Cmere,” he says, draping a hand over your waist and pulling you close to him. You tuck your head against his chest, a warm feeling creeping into your very core. Being this close to him is grounding. You take a deep breath in. The scent of the lavender soap he uses clings to his skin, and it washes over you. You listen to his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest.

“I love you,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize what you just said. The two of you haven’t exactly said it before. You feel Poe freeze beside you, and your heart drops. You mentally kick yourself. How could you say that right now?

“I love you too,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You blush furiously as he tilts your head up with his thumb and forefinger. “To the edge of the universe and back.” He presses his lips to yours, feather soft.

“I love you,” you say again, just because you can. He smiles softly.

“I’m proud of you, I want you to know that,” he says after a while. “For...getting through all this. I know it hurts, and it’ll stay that way for a bit, but…” he pauses, taking your hand in his. “But I’ll always be here if you need me. To talk, or just listen. You can lean on me, ok?”

“Ok,” you say quietly, looking up into his eyes.

“Ok,” he whispers.

“Ok.” You smile, and his heart flips at the beauty of it. He pulls you into his chest once more, and you’re out like a light almost instantly. He presses his lips to your forehead before drifting off, holding you tightly in his arms.

#poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron angst #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fluff #star wars angst #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #fluff #angst #fluff and angst

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galactic-magick · 3 years

Text

Dreams: Echo x Reader

Request: Prompt 6, please. Y/N loves every time they dream, where they can see 'Him', but when they wake up, it's a nightmare to find him, because his face is at the bar they work at, 79s. Now, that'd be fine, but the issue is, his face is on 87% of the customers. The Clone Troopers. So they gave up. After order 66, the dreams get more concerning and they have to leave Coruscant, and takes a job on another planet as a singer for Cid's Parlour(or something like). Finally meets him. Clone of your choosing.

Prompt #6: Soulmate AU where you can see your soulmate in your dreams

Summary: Having a soulmate that looks like the entire clone army has its challenges, enough to make you lose hope. But the possibility of love for you resurfaces when a cyborg man and his strange crew enter your life.

Words: 1200+

Warnings: none

Author’s Notes: I thought Echo would go best with this prompt since for most of his life he looked exactly like the other clones, whereas the rest of The Bad Batch might be more uniquely recognizable. Hope you enjoy!

You sigh, finishing the dishes and restocking the shelves. Once again, you had a beautiful dream about your soulmate last night, but woke up with no more hope of meeting them than you had before.

For most people, the mental link through the dreamscape is no trouble at all. They get to see their soulmate long before they meet them, and then they can easily recognize them when they finally do.

But not you. No, you just hadto have a soulmate who had the same face as the Galactic Republic’s entire army.

Sure, it’s pretty cool that your soulmate is a clone soldier fighting for you and all the other citizens in the galaxy. It’s worrying sometimes, hearing about all the harsh battles they go through, but you’re proud of whoever he is nonetheless. You hope one day he’ll find his way to you safely, and you can live a life together after the war is over.

Until then, though, you’re stuck working a job at 79s, a bar on Coruscant where the majority of the customers are clones.

You enjoy your job, you really do. You like mixing all the drinks and bringing out the food, and all the soldiers are very kind. It just hurts a bit to constantly see the face of your soulmate, and not a single one recognizing you.

As much as you try to push the thought out of your mind, sometimes you wonder if he’s dead. It’s certainly not an irrational possibility. Maybe the visions of him you have in your dreams are figments of the past, nothing more than a memory. Maybe he’s long gone, and you’re better off giving up and moving on.

Several months later, your life is entirely different.

It feels like the galaxy changed overnight. One day you were working your job and everything was normal, the next you witnessed a squad of clones chase a Jedi into the bar and shoot him. You ran, not knowing what else to do, all you knew is you weren’t safe anymore.

You took the little spare money you had to book a transport to a planet you have an old friend living on, and that’s where you’ve been ever since.

“I just…I still don’t get it,” you shake your head as you watch the Empire’s latest recruitment ad on the Holoscreen.

“What’s there not to get? The war’s over,” your friend shrugs.

“So why does everything almost feel worse?”

“It’ll settle down eventually,” they say. “Hopefully,”

You know your friend was never in the midst of the war like you were, living in the center of the galaxy and hearing all the battle stories, but gosh do you wish you could convey to them that what you saw before you left was much more horrifying. Seeing the soldiers you trusted for years all of a sudden kill the Jedi you also trusted and looked up to, the soldiers who shared the face of the man you’re destined to love.

Supposedly the Jedi were not to be relied upon anymore, something about corruption or treason, but you’re not sure you believe that. Something was off about the situation, and something was definitelyoff about the clones. And why would the Empire be putting so much effort into hiring non-clone soldiers if everything was fine?

Despite your concerns though, you understand that life has to go on. Eventually you take a job as an entertainer at a local lounge and buy your own place. You meet all sorts of people and try to forget your past and troubles. You can’t even remember the last time you saw the face of a clone, so even thoughts of your soulmate have started to slip your mind.

One night, midway through singing one of your most popular songs, you notice a particularly strange group come in. They wear armor similar to the clones and troopers, but it’s painted black and red, and a little girl tags along beside them. You continue, but you keep your eye on them.

One of them is significantly taller, speaking in a loud, gruff voice. One of them takes his helmet off to reveal some tattoos and a full head of wavy hair, and one looks to be deep in thought, hunched over a screen.

And the last one was walking towards you.

As you finish your song and step off the stage for your break, he slowly approaches you, his face still hidden.

“Hi,” he says, in a voice you still recognize even after some time.

You smile politely, but stay on your guard. You have no idea if this is a clone that can be trusted.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he must’ve noticed you tense up, “I just wanted to tell you you’re very talented, and-“

He stops.

“Well, thank you very much,” you nod, trying to ease the silence. “No need to apologize, I was just surprised to see one of you around here,”

“Yeah. Things are really different now,” his head falls a bit, “Can we- can we talk somewhere?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” you smile, leading him to the back room. You doubt he’s dangerous, if he and his crew were really out to get you they probably would’ve kidnapped you by now or something. They certainly look like they could.

He takes a deep breath, and you sit down.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” he finally says.

Your heart skips a beat, “What?”

“No, no, I don’t think. I know,” he fumbles. “Seeing your face was the only thing that kept me going when I was close to death, I’ve memorized your features more than any battle plan I’ve ever drawn. It must be you,”

“Wow, I-“ you gasp. “Holy shit,”

You stand up and look into the visor of his helmet. You can’t see his eyes, but you’ve seen them a million times before in a way.

“But…” you squint. “You’re different than the others, aren’t you?”

“We’re not with the Empire,” he assures you. “We-“

“Hey,” you bring a hand up to his covered face. “You can explain everything to me later. I’m just glad we’re together now,” your fingers fall to the bottom of the helmet. “Can I see you?”

“There’s…something you should know first,” he grabs your wrist with his human hand. “I was captured by the Separatists during the war, they- they turned me into a machine. I might not look like what you’ve seen in your dreams,”

You glance down at his cyborg arm you vaguely noticed when you first saw him. You can’t tell if his legs are also cybernetic as well, but with how happy you are just to be with your soulmate right now, you don’t really care.

“I will love you no matter what,” you promise him.

He releases your wrist, and you gently remove his helmet.

He has a device wrapped around his head and ears, and scars patched with metal on the top of his head. But beneath the years of suffering plaguing him, he’s still the same familiar face you’ve dreamt of.

You run your thumbs across his cheeks, meeting his eyes with a smirk, “You really thought I wouldn’t still find you handsome?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles.

You close the gap between you, placing a soft kiss on his lips, “You’re literally everything I’ve ever dreamed of,”

He smiles, pulling you back and holding you close. He doesn’t have to say anything else for you to know everything’s going to be alright, as long as you’re together.

#echo x reader #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb echo x reader #the bad batch imagine #tbb echo imagine #the bad batch #tbb echo

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nxrthmizu · 3 years

Text

| honoured | day 16

»»——⍟——««

@daminette-december2019-2020

prompt | Royalty AU

pairing | Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

words | 1.7k

author’s note | Hi watch me indulge myself in this because it’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a royalty au

»»——⍟——««

“You’re all pathetic.” Damian hissed, twisting the sword out of yet another knight’s grip. “How are you supposed to protect me when you can’t even beat me in a duel?” His sharp words glared at the line of knights that had applied to be Gotham’s prince’s personal guard. None of them lived up to his expectations, and at this point Damian wasn’t even surprised anymore.

He huffed impatiently. “Is that all you lot have got?”

“May I try, sir?” Spoke a knight that was way too short and way too small in comparison to the line of other silver-clad men. A pair of bluebell eyes met the prince’s emerald ones, a spark of determination and confidence glinting in them.

Damian sighed, eyeing the spark in the bluebell eyes, a smirk overcoming his features. How naive, he thought. He couldn’t wait to smite out that light in those bluebell eyes.

»»——⍟——««

He didn’t.

The room was completely silent as Damian’s sword flew across the room with a clang, twisted quickly out of his grip as the small knight surprised him with the sudden attack. It was so quiet that the failed knights could hear the prince’s shallow, panting breaths that hurried to pay off the oxygen debt in his muscles.

“... What is your name.” The prince’s voice was deadly quiet as he stared into the blue eyes. The knight slid the helmet off, dark blue hair tied up in a ponytail, flushed cheeks painted red from the ten continuous minutes of unending parrying.

“Marin Cheng, sir!”

The failed knights watched with bated breath as the prince stared down coldly at the shorter knight. They had underestimated the knight greatly- No one thought that the small midget stood a single chance against the prince, who was one of the best swordsmen known throughout the kingdom.

“...” He surveyed Marin with a careful eye. “Very well. See Mr. Pennyworth about your new living arrangements.” The words were unspoken, but the whole hall was clear about what the prince had left unsaid.

You are my personal guard.

»»——⍟——««

Marin never left Damian’s side, per his request. His personal guard’s job was to follow him around to ensure he was never outnumbered in an ambush- And he had to admit, Marin’s presence was rather enjoyable. The small knight was not made out of a lot of muscle- But certainly had the wits and deftness to make up for the lack in size.

The knight quickly learnt that there were times when Damian wanted the air to be filled with chatter, and when he did not. During the times that he wanted to rid of the silence, the blue-haired knight would begin talking animatedly, chatting about anything and everything around them- The bushes around the royal garden, the new bakery that opened downtown, the new uniform for cadets. And when the prince valued his silence, the blue-haired knight would keep quiet and simply follow the emerald-eyed teen around.

“Marin.”

The knight was sitting on the floor of Damian’s private library, flipping through a book with the prince’s permission. Blue eyes glanced up instantly, the book forgotten quickly as the knight waited for the prince’s instructions.

“I’m bored.” Damian pushed the documents he was supposed to read aside. “Fence with me.”

The two of them were in the palace courtyard in a while, both their swords drawn as the prince stepped forward with the first move. The metallic ringing of sword on sword rang through the courtyard, the blows consistently repeating as the prince parried his knight’s attack.

“You’ve gotten better, my prince.” Marin commented with a slight smile, blocking another of Damian’s attacks.

A smirk slipped onto the prince’s features. “Of course.”

»»——⍟——««

Months flew by uneventfully, Marin moving seamlessly into the prince’s life, getting used to the daily schedule of the emerald-eyed teen. Marin would be up at 5am, training alone in the empty courtyard until 6, when a shower and a quick pop-in to the kitchen would be needed. At 6.30, the knight would accompany Damian to breakfast and the rest of the day would be spent in the study or in the courtyard.

Of course, Marin’s appointment as the prince’s personal guard brought a lot of attention in the form of jealousy and hate in the knight’s direction- But most of the time, these glares were simply dismissed by Marin. The other knights started trying to find any sort of dirt on the personal guard, knowing there was no way they could outmatch Marin in skill.

And fortunately for the other knights, (And unfortunately for Marin), the blue-haired knight had a giant secret.

The blue-haired knight shrieked in terror as the other silver-clad men dragged her into the middle of the king’s court, wrapped in only a white towel, all of her secrets laid out after they ambushed her in her morning bath.

“Sir!” One of the knights said with a scoff. “We have an imposter among us.”

It was clear now, without the wall of her silver armour to hide in, that Marin was actually a Marinette. Her long, dark blue hair covered her bare shoulders like a curtain of ivy, her bluebell eyes sharp in fright of the king’s reaction.

“Prince Damian’s personal guard...” The knight continued, eyeing her hatefully and with a glint of victory. “Is a woman.”

Before anyone could express their surprise at this discovery, the doors of the hall slammed open, as loud as a thunder clap across the kingdom’s skies. The furious prince stood in the middle of the doorway, marching to the centre of the court with narrowed eyebrows and a displeased frown.

“What is this?” He demanded, eyes flitting over to the nearly-naked woman sitting in the centre of the hall.

“Damian,” King Bruce begin slowly. “It seems that your personal guard is... A lady.”

‘Infuriated’ didn’t even begin to describe the prince’s expression. “And?” He snapped, turning to point his glare at the knights that surrounded the blue-haired knight. “She’s more than competent at her job. More competent than you lot, actually.”

“My prince, with all due respect, don’t you think it’s inappropriate to have a lady as a knight?” One of the silver-clad men spoke up with a raised eyebrow, his fellow knights murmuring their agreements.

The prince sucked in a deep breath before sharpening his ice-cold glare. “I am to be the future king of this country.” Hissed the emerald-eyed prince. “And if the knight, whether a she or a he, is capable of holding he or her ground in a duel against me, which, may I remind, you lot weren’t, then I would be nothing less than honoured to have her fight by my side.”

Silence rang deafening volumes in the courtyard as men registered the fact that Prince Damian- The ice prince himself- Just admitted to be honoured to fight in someone’s else company- Never mind the fact that the someone happened to be a woman.

“Father.” Damian said in an icy tone, shedding off his cloak to wrap around Marin- No, Marinette’s shoulders. “These knights clearly have no concept on respect and privacy. They dragged out a woman in nothing but her towel into the centre of a hall. Father, surely you don’t believe that these people here deserve to be knights?”

The king hummed thoughtfully. “You do have a point. I don’t suppose they do.”

“Your majesty-”

“Alfred, have these men be removed from the palace premises and be stripped of their knight titles, please.”

“Father, if I could make one more request?”

“Speak.”

Damian stood up, a cold fire burning in his eyes that would later lead him to be a fair and just ruler. “I would like to allow capable women to join knight ranks officially.”

The court was so silent that you could hear the pen scratching of Mr. Pennyworth, who was busy making arrangements and smiling proudly at the emerald-eyed prince’s request.

“That is an interesting request, Damian.” The king smiled thoughtfully. “Have your proposal on this new law finished and on my desk by tomorrow afternoon.”

The prince nodded his head, gripping his personal guard’s shoulders as he helped her stand. “Thank you, father.” He said, emerald-green eyes glinting at the now former-knights as he guided Marinette out of the hall, the doors slamming close as if nothing had just happened.

»»——⍟——««

“Did you know this whole time?” Marinette asked quietly, now decked out more comfortably in her knight gear. The prince and his personal guard were seated on the stone steps of the courtyard, the sun beating down into the ceiling-less area.

“... Ever since you beat me. Yes.” Came the prince’s answer as he watched the blue-haired woman wipe his sword clean. “You were too small-built to be a man. Your shoulders aren’t wide enough.”

“I see.”

Silence resumed as the blue-haired knight fidgeted awkwardly on the step, her hands moving quickly to make the metal shine under the glow of the sun.

“You don’t have to always wear your armour around me.” Damian mused quietly, leaning against one of the pillars comfortably. “You can just wear a shirt. It would be easier for you to move around. And since everyone knows anyway,” He shrugged. “No point in you trying to cover up with your armour anymore.”

Marinette blushed at the prince pointing her out blatantly. “I... Yes, my prince.”

“Go change. I want to duel for a bit before I have to draft up my proposal.” He said lazily, flicking his hands at her. “I’ll practice on my own first. Hurry up.”

He watched her retreating back, the clanks of her armour gradually getting softer as she returned to her room, which was only a corridor away from his. His mind flickered back to the day he first met her- Damian thought he’d never lose to a man in swordplay.

And he was right.

He lost to a woman.

A woman by the name of Marinette Cheng.

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taglist. @maskedpainter @animegirlweeb @starmist19 @myazael @stainedglassm @user00000003 @toughluna @nickristus-dreamer @missmadwoman

send in an ask to be added to Cady’s Daminette December taglist!

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also I feel so sorry for everyone waiting for me to update never knowing which dates I’ll write for lol

Oh oh and I'm pretty proud of this because I didn't use she/her at all before Marin's gender reveal :)

#damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng #daminette #damian wayne x marinette dupain-cheng #mlb x dc #mlbdc #cady's daminette december 2020 #cady writesss «

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