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shihalyfie · 3 years

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Some fun talking about and analyzing the tri. stage play, and its relationship to Kizuna

The tri. stage play (full title: "Super Evolution Stage! Digimon Adventure tri. August 1st Adventure") is honestly quite an unusual entry in this franchise, even within Adventure standards. Nearly everything about its production is unusual -- the entire genre it's in is unexpected, the choice of time period to release something like this is unusual, and moreover, now that Kizuna’s out, a lot of people have noticed a lot of suspiciously similar themes and even language, most notably the key “we’ll always be together” line (phrased even exactly the same way in Japanese). In fact, despite ostensibly being a tri.-branded product, other than a few vague token nods to the anime series in the play itself, said stage play has very little to do with the actual anime sharing its name, so the similarity to Kizuna is even more striking in retrospect.

Perhaps another interesting thing about this play is that it’s a very good example of a standout work in the Adventure universe that didn’t have any original creator involvement (other than some minor tips from Seki). I think there’s often a tendency for people to think that in order for a sequel or spinoff to be true to the original, it has to have some member of original staff on there, especially since the Adventure (and 02) characters tend to be a bit overly complex and it helps to have the reassurance that someone who knows them is behind the wheel -- Kizuna used the presence of Seki and Yamatoya as an outright advertising point -- but this stage play’s director and writer had no experience with the franchise beforehand, not even as a fan, yet still made a very respectful product that has generally been received well by Adventure (and 02) fans and even got the original director’s approval, too. If anything, that makes it all the more impressive!

(Note that the below text spoils the story content of the play, but not Kizuna’s to any substantial degree.)

Some production background

Anime and video game stage tie-ins are fairly common -- much like this one, they tend to have very short runs and are targeted at a limited audience -- but they’re usually stereotyped as being for the otome crowd (i.e. predominantly female otaku audience), so works like this are generally associated with it. As a result, when this play was announced and released between tri. Parts 4 and 5, quite a few people were surprised, because this franchise originally came from products associated with shounen anime. In practice, this was a period where it was becoming increasingly clear that there was, in fact, a huge female audience for Digimon (especially Adventure universe), on top of the fact that (as noted by the performers in the final show) the audience for this show ended up being unusually mixed-gender, because Digimon really is universal -- but it did lead to the announcement of the play being initially received with heavy skepticism, partially because of the usual misogyny (stigma around things associated with female audiences, etc.), and partially because this was during a time where...well, saying that a very huge percentage of the fanbase, especially the Japanese side, was really pissed off at anything tri.-branded at the time is kind of an understatement. Ultimately, the play ended up very well-received with a small but dedicated following, and it’s currently referred to as “dejisute” (short for “Digimon Stage”) in Japanese fan shorthand. Bringing it up generally elicits positive critical feedback, even among those who were initially skeptical.

Some interesting things also surround the circumstances of its production as well. As some might know already, the tri. anime series and Kizuna share only one key member of staff: Kinoshita Yousuke, who was involved in tri. Parts 5 and 6, and eventually went on to become the producer for Kizuna and the upcoming 02-based movie. tri. was a work that (for some reason) had a huge number of producers on it, of which Kinoshita was only one; he seemed to have been replacing Arai Shuuhei, who left the project after Part 4. However, while Arai was formerly one of the most visible of tri.’s producers (he was the only one regularly brought up in interviews), how much degree of influence Kinoshita had with tri. is unknown, other than the fact he had no involvement in its story. Given that the decision to make Kizuna also seemed to have been made around Part 5, it seems that Kinoshita may have been brought on specifically for the purpose of observing and prepping for Kizuna, because his role on tri. seems to have been so minimal that the moment he was put in charge of Kizuna, the production philosophy ended up becoming completely different under his management. (When you think about it, tri. and Kizuna have very little in common, other than the rough premises of involving the older Adventure cast.)

The thing is, though, Part 5 isn’t actually the first tri. work Kinoshita is credited for, but this stage play is -- which is interesting to consider when taking into account the heavy amount of thematic parallels between this and Kizuna three years later, and in general the very unusual creative decision to make a stage play that suddenly popped up at exactly this time, making heavier tributes to Adventure (and even 02) than the actual anime it was branded with. Making things even more interesting was that the stage play’s director and writer, Tani Kenichi, was allegedly recruited by an unnamed producer impressed with his work (by the way, did I mention Kinoshita used to work in live-action before joining Toei?). Given all that, perhaps this stage play coming off unnervingly like a sort of Kizuna prototype isn’t all that surprising...

Unfortunately, right now we’re still kind of in a time period where official will get barraged with violently angry comments for even so much as putting the series on streaming services, so it’ll probably be a few more years (if ever) before official will be willing to be more open about what went on behind tri. production, and it’s probably a bit much to get too speculative about things like this when real people are involved. Nevertheless, one thing is apparent: the director and writer, Tani, was a newcomer to Digimon -- not even someone who’d been a fan beforehand -- but watched all of Adventure and 02 in preparation for it and stated openly that he was very, very emotionally touched by it. The work itself is obviously made with a lot of love and respect for the series, and one really cool thing about it is that you can also tell that it came from the perspective of an adult with no preconceived notions about it, therefore meaning it comes from someone analyzing the series without necessarily caving to fanbase mantras, and making some very cogent observations about the characters. It’s also just a fabulous work production-wise in general -- the puppet work and making the Digimon look convincing on stage is very well-done, especially when you consider that this play had only ten showings -- and you really gotta appreciate the fact that, even before Seki gave him a few pointers, he was so passionate about the importance of Digimon partners that he pushed for all eight to be represented despite the expenses.

Taking a look at the play itself

Despite ostensibly tying into the tri. anime series it's branded with, the play only really seems to loosely refer to some of its key elements as taking place at approximately the same time, such as Koushirou’s server, infected Digimon, setpieces like KNIFE OF DAY, and an eventual “reveal” that this seems to take place ostensibly around the rough time period of tri.’s Part 4. Look closely, however, and you’ll notice that a lot of things in the characterization and plot arena actually don’t track much with tri. at all -- for instance, in a very non-comprehensive list of things:

It’s implied that Yamato himself is embarrassed about the KNIFE OF DAY band name and is desperately trying to get through it with passion, which doesn’t quite line up with his attitude about it in the anime.

The timeline just really doesn’t line up; Mochizuki Meiko, Meicoomon, and the infections obviously exist, but you can’t have a time period in Part 4 where the kids recognize Meicoomon as being related to the distortions or infections while also being separated from Meiko. Moreover, the “reboot” just doesn’t seem to have happened at all (and to be fair, if you’re planning on making a two-hour tribute to Adventure, not having the Digimon with memories of said adventure would seriously limit the scope of your plot, so this kind of “leeway” was probably downright necessary).

The tri. anime series portrayed Takeru as having a very sharp shift in language, presumably under the implication he’s putting up a front as a flirtatious, aggressive playboy, and so his first-person pronoun was turned into the aggressive ore and his way of referring to Yamato aniki. In Adventure and 02, Takeru had used the polite boku and childish/cutesy onii-chan, and the boku was prominently used as a plot point to hint at Takeru’s identity as the series narrator. (Yes, these kinds of things are actually kind of a big deal in fiction.) Since even longtime fans generally agree that at some point Takeru would be likely to stop using onii-chan once he became old enough, the stage play likewise also prefers aniki over onii-chan, but, notably, it doesn’t even bother with ore in the slightest nor any of the implications that surround it, and Takeru comfortably uses boku for the entirety of the play. Considering that the use of aniki is still a bit unusual (both Diablomon Strikes Back and Kizuna prominently favor the slightly more polite nii-san instead), it seems that the play was made with an awareness that both aspects of Takeru’s language had changed, but a conscious decision to hold over only one from the anime.

And so on and so forth.

In general, the way you could describe this play’s handling of Adventure universe lore and characterization elements is that it’s a bit selective about which tri.-related elements it makes use of, particularly in regards to ones that might be too difficult to reconcile with the original Adventure (and 02). (This is basically the same attitude Kizuna roughly takes in regards to handling of tri. elements, although it’s less noticeable there partially because of the five-year gap between tri. and Kizuna.) Obviously, being completely incongruous with the tri. anime would be a pretty crude thing to do for a play that’s actually branded with it (and especially when said anime was still ongoing at the time, regardless of public opinion), but, regardless, the end result is that its actual relationship with the tri. anime’s version of canon is a bit tenuous.

The main reason for this is probably that, on the flip side, the stage play's references to Adventure -- as in, the specific series that aired in 1999-2000 and took place in the in-universe August 1 and 3, 1999 -- are incredibly aggressive. In fact, it’s actually far more aggressive in this respect than Kizuna is. For all Kizuna is branded as an Adventure movie and puts the original Adventure cast first and foremost in all of the advertising, if you watch the actual movie, in practice, it’s more of something that lies in the gap between Adventure and 02 and the two series together as a whole. Adventure was a series that practically revolved around a "trapped in another world" story and the specific impact its events had on the kids involved, but Kizuna focuses more on the “larger world”, including real world society (very much 02 things), with a lot of themes with suspicious pertinence to 02 and references to its epilogue looming over the plot; the specific Adventure references and even the Digital World don’t come into play until the climax. (And that’s before we get into the fact that the 02 quartet gets more screentime than a good chunk of their seniors.) Really, you can see it just by the fact that a majority of the primary key visuals line the 02 quartet up with everyone else; it’s a movie about both, not just Adventure.

So in other words, Kizuna is really about mixing Adventure and 02 elements, serving as a sort of stopgap work, and recasting the Adventure group in a lot of 02′s context. (And that’s by no means a bad thing; since Adventure wasn’t about that, the differing juxtaposition is a fresh perspective in its own way.) But in terms of revisiting what the actual series called Digimon Adventure was and how those events might have an influence on its relevant cast years later, this play (which actually has longer runtime than Kizuna, being around two hours) is a good place to go to if that’s what you’re looking for. The entire premise of the play revolves around copiously referencing that specific adventure back in 1999, and, more importantly, what impact it’s still continuing to have in this particular group’s memories, to the point where they’re starting to romanticize it and wish they could return to it forever...

Ah, right, that’s what this play has in common with Kizuna: the overall theme of unhealthy fixation on rose-colored nostalgia, and the need to move forward from it. (And, driving it home, “unhealthy fixation on the events of Adventure” as a symbol of that rose-colored nostalgia, to boot.)

The premise of the play itself is that the kids decide to hold a camping trip as tribute to the adventure in 1999, as part of a desire to "go back to those times" (and, as is eventually revealed, it’s actually part of a pocket universe their subconscious wishes had dreamed up as a desire to recreate the past, thanks to the power of the Digital World). So all of the references to Adventure are concrete and fleshed out in specific detail, ranging from everyone referencing specific events and how they impacted them (Jou very explicitly refers to his experiences in Adventure episodes 46-47 in terms of why it fuels his current desire to become a doctor) to even the most minor of references (direct reference to bananas on File Island, from Adventure episode 3).

As a brief aside, a positive side effect of centering the plot on this specific adventure is that it justifies the reason for why these eight are working together (at least prior to the endgame reveal that they’re still involved in tri.’s events); the eight of them weren’t portrayed as liable to do so without good reason, and while certain aspects and events from 02 are alluded to when they’re relevant, the absence of the actual quartet passing without note is completely justifiable because they simply were not on that adventure anyway. (They weren’t initially planned to be at the event in 02 episode 17, and knowing them, it’s likely they wouldn’t want to be at this kind of outright commemorative camping event, because they’d feel like they’d be intrusive in something they had nothing to do with.) So within the scope of the play in two hours, the narrative can be very neatly condensed to be mostly about Adventure itself.

Although this play and Kizuna both share the common theme of the existential crisis that comes with getting older and the tendency to romanticize one’s childhood, the underlying reasons are a bit different; Kizuna’s is very close to 02 in that it’s largely to do with societal pressures and expectations, especially since the question of "what you want to do with your career" is a driving motivation in it. In other words, the existential crisis comes from living up to other people’s expectations, or trying to fit into an arbitrary societal mold of an “adult” without necessarily knowing if that’s what you really want. In the case of this stage play, being set in everyone’s high school years where everyone’s relationship to “the world at large” is a bit more tenuous, the reason for the existential crisis is somewhat closer to Adventure’s: everyone’s started to think they might have been better people back then. More confident, less hesitant, more honest with their feelings. Adventure was a series about self-improvement and one’s relationship with oneself, so it’s understandable that a work meant to look back on that specific adventure will ask the question “well, did they become better people after all?” as a result.

But there’s two problems with this line of thinking: one, this is a very rose-colored evaluation of their former selves, because just because they might have been “more confident” back then doesn’t mean they didn’t have other problems going on (Hikari calls her past self out for being arguably “more honest”, but also somewhat of a dependent child), and two, being more hesitant doesn’t make one a weaker person, just one who’s dealing with a lot more problems and awareness and things to worry about because of how much the scope of their lives has increased. As Agumon says at the end, the old Taichi and the current Taichi are still the same person; it’s just that he’s dealing with more, so he’ll naturally worry about more, and taking on those extra burdens is actually his own way of “evolving”.

Particularly interesting is the position of Jou, the not-so-unsung hero of this story, who is explicitly identified as the person most clearly aware of his future dreams and proceeding without hesitation towards them, to the point of being somewhat immune to the effects of the dream world. (Somewhat, mainly because the ending establishes that he wasn’t entirely.) It's consistent in line with the fact that we actually saw, directly, the train of thought that led to his decision to become a doctor back in Adventure, and he even states it directly in this play himself: he doesn’t consider himself someone who wants to solve things through fighting, but rather someone who can prevent casualties and heal the injured if he pursues this line of study, and thus is determined to make it happen. Even from the very early points of the play, there are several hints at him being able to see a metaphorical “future” that the others cannot, and while he remains unfailingly loyal to his friends (there’s a long sequence of him constantly claiming he’ll leave them as per Koushirou’s request but constantly coming back because he just can’t bring himself to abandon them), he also is the first one to depart the camping trip to attend to a test -- that is to say, he treasures his past, but he has a strong enough dream for his future that he’s willing to move on better than the others can.

Jou’s also the one to personally advise Yamato about the difference in nuance between doing things because you feel you must, versus doing it because you yourself truly want to, a difference in nuance that also becomes very pertinent in Kizuna. Also pertinent to both works in common is the discussion of nuances between “staying trapped in one’s memories” and “violently cutting them all away” (the consequences of the latter being more extensively discussed in Kizuna), versus the ideal situation of reflecting on those memories and experiences from the past in order to productively move forward.

And in the end, rose-colored nostalgia is, indeed, rose-colored nostalgia. Because, sure, that adventure back in the day was great, and they grew a lot, but they also grew a lot because they were overcoming some very harsh, difficult troubles; omitting those parts is losing the substance. The re-invocation of the fun “camping trip” also means re-invoking all of the other things that came along with it, including all of the dangerous threats they’d faced back then. It’s a package deal, and you can’t just filter those out, because it misses the point of what you gained out of it in the first place.

In general, the character writing for this play is also very good; there are some differences between the characters here and them back in 02, but they’re all within the believable scope of positive progression within three years and general adherence to core tenets of their character (Koushirou is certainly more assertive, but emphasis continues to be placed on his deference to others, penchant for spotting details, and capability for being an organizational leader in his own sense). Also notably, this play manages to verbalize a lot of the subtleties in Adventure and 02 that the mainstream tends to gloss over (and don’t tend to get put in official profiles) but are well-known to those deeply familiar with the series. This is the kind of attention to detail usually associated with those who have been studying the series for years, so it’s refreshing to see these come out in words -- for instance, Koushirou stating outright that he was one of the closest people to Taichi for a long time (very true!), Hikari and Takeru actually commenting on each other from back in Adventure (something we never really got in 02, despite “them having known each other for a while” being part of their character arcs), and Sora explicitly admitting that she goes out of her way for others because it’s easier to work for others than it is to even think about herself.

Actually, the attention to detail in general is fantastic; other than a minor slip-up (Sora refers to having met Koushirou during the summer camp at the beginning of the play when she’d actually known him prior from the soccer club, a detail that’s very easy to miss because it’s only mentioned once in Adventure episode 16 and clarified further in the novels), a lot of things from Adventure and 02 are made use of and framed in very clever context; the choice of Etemon as the enemy for this play is well-placed for both his entertainment value and the fact that, as an enemy personally defeated by MetalGreymon in Adventure episode 20, it makes perfect sense that he would have a grudge against Taichi in particular. (It’s also explicitly mentioned that Hikari and Tailmon never met Etemon in person even once, and that Taichi never actually got to see MetalEtemon, so there’s a lot of attention paid to logistics like that.)

Also, while 02 is not really brought up within the scope of the story (and really shouldn’t be, not when this story so heavily centers around Adventure and its themes), its place in canon and its contributions to the worldbuilding are fully respected; a lot of the offhand references to family situations and background are elements that were originally introduced in 02, and many aspects of its Digital World lore are used to assist the plot premise (in particular, the idea of the Digital World being connected to something that can conjure up unconscious dreams wasn’t explicitly invoked until 02). Rather amusingly, at one point, Hikari uses the events of 02 episode 13 to tell a “scary story” to troll Mimi, and it’s interesting and rather refreshing to see the implication that Hikari’s been able to move past the incident enough to use it to troll someone else. There are also some latent epilogue references as well, with Hikari directly bringing up her goal of becoming a kindergarten teacher, Takeru making some really subtle references to wanting to be a novelist and chronicle their adventures (in true Takeru fashion, he never states it outright, but anyone familiar with the epilogue can figure it out), and Taichi alluding to an ultimate goal of humans coexisting alongside Digimon.

Finally, attention should be called to the play’s relationship writing in general. As stated before, the play does call attention to relationships between characters that often don’t get brought up by the mainstream but are somewhat more well-known to fans -- Koushirou and Taichi, Sora and Mimi, Jou and Yamato -- but even the well-known ones are treated with nuance endemic to that from Adventure and especially 02, given that Taichi and Yamato don’t actually have the stereotypical “cold rivals” atmosphere that shounen anime would usually suggest, and the two of them have an extended heart-to-heart in which Yamato actively tries to figure out what’s wrong with Taichi and treat him kindly. (Like in Adventure, the only time they break out in a fight is when Yamato gets emotionally compromised and starts worrying that Taichi isn’t doing enough for others’ welfare.) It’s also very consistent with how the two treat each other in Kizuna as well (the izakaya scene comes to mind, and has a lot of similarities to the awkward-but-ultimately-close conversation they have at night in this play).

And, of course, the centerpiece of the narrative overall: the human-partner relationship. Of course, a lot of this was probably helped by Seki lecturing Tani to not mess this part up, but it really is impressive to consider in light of the fact we’re working with a lot of puppets that have handlers clearly in plain view, so you have to have some massive suspension of disbelief to make this work. But not only are the movements well-done to make it convincing that you really are seeing these actors physically interacting with their partners on stage, the narrative also puts huge spotlights on them, making the Digimon outright be the ones to snap their partners out of their worst patterns of thinking (especially with Agumon and Taichi), and dedicating a long period of silence where literal stage spotlights are dedicated to each kid having some alone time with their partner. The intimacy is very convincing, and, truly, Tani’s insistence on making sure every single one of the main Digimon was represented in spite of the prohibitive budget paid off very well. The point is made: a Digimon partner has to be someone who knows you well and intimately and can call you out at your worst moments, and Taichi even spells it out: Agumon’s capable of seeing right through him.

Putting it next to Kizuna -- a movie dedicated entirely to examining the meaning of a partner relationship, what happens when it deteriorates, what that means for oneself, and what it takes to recover it again -- it’s perhaps unsurprising that this play ends on the same line that was used in all of Kizuna’s advertising and was central to its own plot: “We’ll always be together.”

#digimon #tri stage play #digimon adventure last evolution kizuna #shihameta

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sunseteyes · 3 years

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Not me slowly creeping here with my favs 😳, but Tendou, Tsumu, Noya and Akaashi with a rlly big crush on reader and how they try to get her attention?

getting their crush’s attention

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ starring: tendou satori, atsumu miya, yuu nishinoya, keiji akaashi

ㅤ ㅤ↪︎ themes: heavy signs of flirting pft. fluff!

ㅤ ㅤ↪︎ announcement: hi anon thanks so much for requesting! so sorry this took so long~ i really liked writing this though! feel free to pitch in hc requests if you like~ oh btw my format in posting kinda changed! hope you liked it~ taglist is now below the post !!

『• • • ✎ ATSUMU MIYA

knowing atsumu, he’s going to want to get your attention as soon as possible

one of his steps in order to do that is to try and woo you with his volleyball skills. what more could he give best than show you what he specializes in doing?

so it’s most likely that you’d be invited into one of their games, even if it was a practice match. another possibility will be during their training but he might be selfish enough not to let you have a moment to speak to the others and let them steal his momentum

if that fails or if you needed some more push, atsumu will probably try to invite you for a lunch outside. coffees wouldn’t be atsumu’s thing. and it’s because he’ll reason out that “a way to someone’s heart is through their stomach.” nobody gets full with just coffee

and yes, he knows it because of his brother.

he may also try to even convince his brother to cook for the two of you and invite you to their house for dinner.

“’tsumu, why do i have to be caught up with this?” “come on, be my wingman for once, ‘samu!”

osamu may be slightly pissed off at his brother but he’s going to do what he can to help his brother out. as for atsumu, he will be too focused on you to notice his brothers efforts, but surely they will be obvious enough until you figure it out

“w-what? did ‘samu tell you i like you? ah really!!! that osamu!!!”

“huh he didn’t? then-?”

in the end, there’s a high probability he accidentally confesses due to his carelessness

no matter, he’s going to be the type to pull off his plans on trying to attract you. and even if he slips, he knows that he already has you wrapped around his finger by then

『• • • ✎ KEIJI AKAASHI

akaashi is a silent admirer. he would rather admire you from afar than speak to you head on

but he does pitch in occasional praises whenever it is acquired. like when he learned that you got into a club that you’ve been wanting to attend, or maybe you got high scores in your test, then he’ll most likely praise you

“congrats, (y/n)-san. i heard you got perfect in english today.” he’ll say while bokuto is in the middle of rambling when he saw you. of course, bokuto will know you, that guy knows everyone.

though that’s the thing akaashi will be thanful of. at least he’ll get to at least have reason to talk to you, no matter how short of a time it may be

one thing about akaashi is that he doesn’t like trying to gain your attention just because he likes you, unless of course they’re important matters.

in short, if he likes you, he likes you. he wouldn’t do anything to try and give a shot whether you like him back or not—especially if you’re not showing any of those signs.

but the secret wouldn’t last as a secret that long because surely someone else will notice how he would seemingly treat you more kindly and just differently than others

or maybe bokuto was just teasing him and suddenly the other members of fukurodani catches upon the slight hesitation in akaashi’s reaction

so when they find out about it, no matter how lowkey akaashi is, he’s going to get caught sooner or later, but it would only be by those who was used to akaashi’s personality and how he treats other people—his team mates, most probably

they wouldn’t rat him out nonetheless, but do expect them to be the ones to give akaashi even the slightest push

and of course, who was akaashi to say no especially when they tempt him that much?

as long as he is not doing anything to invade your privacy or force you to do anything, akaashi would agree. because even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he’d take in any kind of suggestions and finds it rather amusing when they indeed work on you

for example, when one of his team mates suggested to give you a love letter

akaashi will probably take that suggestion, but he’d make himself anonymous

or maybe that time when you received another anonymous flowers during valentines

or the good luck post-it note you had on your locker the day you were going to have a finals exam

akaashi will be the type to show you that you are beautiful and important; inside and out. his actions wouldn’t even be too weird for you, nor would you feel uncomfortable with his lowkey advances.

it’s quite unlikely that he’ll reveal himself, unless maybe when he finally decided to. he’s someone who will wait for that “perfect time”

he’ll plan for it and wait for it diligently. and even if it takes forever, akaashi will wait for it

『• • • ✎ SATORI TENDOU

satori already knows what to do in order to win that heart of yours.

he also wouldn’t be the type to hesitate or shy away when it comes to you, especially if he knew he had a chance

but if it seems that he doesn’t, he’ll still do his best to take your heart. he will know each and every likes you have, or even your pet peeves. he’s that observant, remember?

by knowing your likes, he would know what to do to catch your attention.

“(y/n)-san, do you like coffees? or are you perhaps a fruit-shake lover? which one is it? which one?”

you like plants? he’ll invite you to join him in trying to find plants he could take care, and surely if you know a lot about them, he’d have a reason to strike a conversation with you

you like anime? he’ll watch them with you!

you like watching the shiratorizawa volleyball team? he’d invite you to their trainings.

and if you’re the type who would like having their alone time, he wouldn’t bother you every day just to prevent you from being irritated by his presence

satori is not one to give up, but if you decided you did not like him, he will stop his advances

however, if you do find a little bit of spark between the two of you, then that’s good.

although it might end up to you confessing instead of him with how he could tease you into saying it. when he knows you’re wrapped around his finger, he’ll know how to make you even more flustered and what puts you on edge

so yep, be prepared to be embarrassed, folks

but still, at least you’ll get a boyfriend afterwards. fighting!

『• • • ✎ YUU NISHINOYA

nishinoya is very much like satori, but do expect him to be more... energetic chaotic

with how he’s acting with kiyoko, that would probably be how nishinoya would act

only this time, it would be different in a way that he’s more careful and observant into what would tick you off and what wouldn’t. he’ll also give more respect to your space, so don’t worry about that.

nishinoya would make himself be “worthy” of your love, no matter how sad that sounds like

he would still appear to be infatuated with how he always try to catch your attention by buying you coffee every morning, or when he brings you bento for your lunch when he realizes that you don’t eat that much, but his actions will be genuine.

he’ll make his move. the minute nishinoya realizes that he has feelings for you, you’ll realize just how much he became part of your life that when he’s not there, you’ll feel kind of... lonely

and yes, it will happen even if you didn’t like him at first

and what happens after that? nishinoya would immediately see if you blush or sense that you get flustered by his advances, and he wouldn’t believe it at first

nor did you honestly

because who would have thought you’d fall for his charm after he basically chase after you with his heart wide open??

anyway congrats! just wait for him to make a move again after he has his own panic when he noticed that you like him too. but it will be quick!! expect for a bouquet of flowers plus chocolates or teddy bear maybe hehe

regulars: @kacchanori @chickynn @todominica @brinthie @sparkleswritings @bitchtrynafck @patricia-ceballos @giyuus-wife @kawaiinishii @moonlightaangel @mrs-kuroojinguji @meliorist-midoriya

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ to be added, please do send an ask. if you’d like to only be tagged for a specific fandom, please include it in your ask.

#haikyuu headcanons #atsumu x reader #akaashi x reader #tendou x reader #nishinoya x reader

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sesamestreep · 3 years

Text

if dreams were thunder, and lightning was desire

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: It's one thing to agree to get married for symbolic reasons in the name of political unity. It's another thing entirely to actually be married. [AKA - further adventures in that arranged marriage medieval fantasy AU of Rogue One]

A/N: Here I am, arriving three years late with proverbial Starbucks, to post my now once-yearly attempt at fic! I'm actually posting this as a birthday gift to my forever girl @firstelevens who is also responsible for helping me flesh out this idea in the first place.... [checks notes] uh, four years ago. Happy happy birthday and thank you for being the most supportive and wonderful friend in the multiverse, even though I’ve recently become terrible at replying to texts. Further notes are there if you want them if you follow the AO3 link above!

Cassian Andor wakes up to an empty bed, which is not, in and of itself, a startling thing. In fact, there was a time, only a few months ago, when it would have been a much greater surprise to find the other side of his bed occupied. Even now that he is married, waking to find his wife already up and gone is not an uncommon occurrence. The first few times he woke to find her gone, he had been confused, certainly, but he has adjusted to her habits and the sight of her side of the bed empty no longer inspires panic or concern as it had in the beginning.

However, this morning is different. Cassian’s wife is an early riser almost without exception, but she is not normally so far ahead of him that her side of the bed is as cold as it is now when Cassian runs his palm over the linens. Even more startling is the darkness that still lingers outside the window. It’s not yet dawn, then, and she is already awake and about the castle. That is highly unusual.

Perhaps, if Cassian had slept well, he might let these confusing details go. But he never sleeps well the night before he travels and tomorrow—or today, actually, given the hour—he leaves on a scouting mission to the southern provinces. He has slept fitfully most of the night and apparently only got enough actual sleep to let his wife slip out of their chambers unnoticed. He sighs and throws off the bedding, knowing he won’t get any more rest until he knows where Jyn has gone.

In little more than three months of marriage, Cassian cannot say he’s gotten to know his wife well. She is secretive and aloof, as a rule, and he has done all he can to give her the space she seems to yearn for, because he knows that, while she has accepted him as a husband, she did not choose him. Their union is a symbolic one, designed to mollify two disparate factions of the Rebellion as they struggle to rule together. He and Jyn are not royalty or even particularly important people, aside from that. No one is waiting on them for heirs or anything of that sort, and they can spend the rest of their lives as indifferent to each other as they please.

Still, Cassian cannot help that he has learned things about his wife, in spite of the careful distance that exists between them. He is a spy, after all. His job is to discover new information, even—or perhaps, especially—when the other party does not wish to give it to him. Jyn is adept at hiding things from others, but even she is not a complete mystery to him. No one is, for one thing, but she has the distinct disadvantage of sharing a bed with him.

What he knows does not amount to much, truly. Except that he had heard his wife complain more than once, in an undertone to her brother, of how restless and bored she feels cooped up in the stone walls of the castle. That, and the early hour where almost everyone else will still be in bed, suggests to Cassian that he would do well to get dressed and try to find his wife outside.

His instincts are correct in this case, as he finds her on the southern lawn outside the castle, standing alone and, he imagines, waiting for the sunrise that is beginning to tinge the sky with an orange glow just above the horizon. He takes the opportunity, before she hears him approach, to pause and take in the image of her, alone in the pretty half-light of the early morning.

She wears no overcoat, which irks him for reasons he does not fully understand. By midday, there is a good chance it will be a balmy spring day, but now, it is still chilly and damp without the sun to warm them. Jyn could catch a cold in this weather and Cassian has never known someone who can be so cautious and so careless at the same time.

On the other hand, she did go through the trouble of getting fully dressed before heading out, so perhaps Cassian should be thankful. He apparently also got more sleep than he realized, because he hadn’t heard any sound at all while she got her clothes on in the dark of their bedchamber. He half-expected her to still be in her dressing gown, given her lack of concern with convention.

He wishes he could say she looked tranquil as she surveys the forested land that borders the castle, but, for all he can only just make out her features in the minimal lighting, he can tell she is frowning. He thinks, absently, that she is beautiful nonetheless and then regrets it. He should not be distracted by her looks when he knows she is unhappy.

The distant call of a bird draws her attention in his direction and he sees the way her eyes widen in alarm when they land upon him before she thinks to hide her reaction. His opportunity to observe her unnoticed is gone, and he has no choice but to cross the distance between them, though he does try to appear unhurried.

“Good morning, Captain,” she greets him as he comes nearer and he almost stops short.

It always trips him up when she refers to him by his rank. It’s fine when others do so—that is protocol—but hearing it from his wife always strikes him as odd. He has told her as much, but there are moments when she defers to it still. He believes, though he has no proof of this, that she does it on purpose, that she only uses it when she is in a certain mood. Cassian has yet to ascertain what that mood is—if she is being sarcastic, if she is angry, if it might be her way of showing affection, even—but he knows there is some motive behind it that he does not understand. If he knew, he might be able to respond in some clever way, but as it is, he is at a loss for words.

“Good morning, my lady,” he says, and perhaps he is cleverer than he gives himself credit for, because Jyn’s frown deepens momentarily before she can stop herself. “You are up early today.”

“As are you,” she says, her tone suggesting that she heard the question hidden in his statement and she won’t be responding to it.

Cassian laughs, without meaning to. “I couldn’t find my wife this morning. It was an alarming way to wake up.”

He expects a terse response from her, saying that she is always awake before him. Instead, Jyn’s eyebrows raise in surprise and her frown eases, just a bit. “You were worried?” She asks, disbelieving.

“I—of course I was,” he replies. He is always worried, he doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed yet.

“About me?”

“Yes,” he says, puzzled by her need for clarification. “We’re married. It is my duty to worry about you.”

Jyn tsks at that, whether in understanding or disappointment, he’s not sure. “And you are always dutiful,” she says, her tone unreadable still.

“I try to be,” Cassian says, feeling like he is stuck in a game of wits for which he is unprepared. He is capable and coherent around others, but his wife always has the upper hand on him. It never feels like he has the right answer for her. Even now, she nods before looking away, back at the horizon as it becomes rosier by the moment.

“Are you well?” He asks, when the silence starts to stretch out too long.

She blinks in confusion when she looks back at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I—yes, of course,” she says, and he realizes it was the question that confused her. “Do I not look well?”

Another question to which there is no right answer, he thinks. “It’s very early to be out of bed,” he says, instead of answering her question.

“I am always up early.”

“Not this early.”

“Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

“Jyn, I’m not chastising you,” he says, laughing. He’s not amused, not precisely, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably shout from frustration. This feels safer. “I’m asking if something is troubling you. I want to know that you are alright.”

His obvious frustration must outweigh her annoyance, because everything about her—her expression, her posture—immediately softens, the fight going out of her instantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, not when you’re leaving this morning, but I see that I did anyway.”

“You didn’t. I...never sleep well before a journey.”

“Oh?”

He hesitates to say more, lest he seem like he sought her out just to drop his problems at her feet, but she is watching him with interest and, if he’s not mistaken, concern, so perhaps she would not mind. “All of the details, the logistics of the trip, I go over them, in my head, all night long. I’m practically frantic by morning, most of the time.”

“I—” Jyn cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she had something to say and thought the better of it. “I have a hard time imagining you in a frantic state,” she says, instead.

“Well, then,” he says, feeling some strange twinge of pride, “I suppose I am doing my job well.”

“As a spy, perhaps,” she replies, her tone unreadable.

“What other job do I have?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s not, officially speaking, a spy anymore. His actual title has something to do with “intelligence,” a distinction he’s meant to care about a lot more than he actually does. He’s not spying in the same way that he was during the war, but he’s not delusional enough to tell himself that those aren’t the skills the Republic has kept him around for.

Jyn gives him a long, searching look. “It hardly matters,” she says, finally, waving a hand and looking off at the horizon again. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m a miserable excuse for a wife, though, not noticing that you couldn’t sleep.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Of course not,” she says, smiling, though the light of it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are far too polite.”

“‘Polite’ is not the first word most people would use to describe me, my lady.”

“‘Careful,’ then,” she says, pointedly.

Cassian nods, feeling as if he has lost this round. “That is far more likely.” He pauses before he says anything more, weighing the risk of it, but ultimately decides it might be worth saying. “I did not want to trouble you. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I often am, at odd hours,” she says, and there’s something light and teasing about it now. “And you could stand to trouble me more, Captain. I’ve never heard of such an undemanding husband before.”

Unable to parse what she means when she suggests he “trouble” her when he cannot sleep—and unwilling to use his imagination, knowing where it will lead him—he decides to address a less mystifying part of her comment. “I’ve told you that you needn’t call me that,” he says.

“‘Husband?’” She asks, innocently, though he sees a bit of performance in it.

“No. ‘Captain.’”

“Well, you still call me ‘my lady.’ Only one of those honorifics is still worth anything, and it surely isn’t mine.”

“I only call you ‘my lady’ when…”

“Yes?” Jyn’s features take on the expression of an animal that has backed its prey into a corner, leaving it no options of retreat.

Cassian thinks it unwise to point this out, though. He also thinks it unwise to finish what he was about to say, which is that he only calls her ‘my lady’ when he wants to call her ‘my dear’ or something equally sentimental that he’s sure she would not approve of. It feels disingenuous to him, as well. He simply finds his vocabulary for expressing the intimacy of living so closely with another person without encroaching upon the territory of affection rather wanting. He cares for her, of course—why else would he be out of bed and out of doors on a freezing morning if he didn’t?—but there is hardly a chance of love or even affection in a marriage as young and unfamiliar as theirs.

“When I do not know what else to call you,” he says, instead of the truth. It’s barely even a lie, but it nags at him like one regardless. He has been trying to lie less around his wife, but it’s a difficult habit to break.

“My name would work well enough,” Jyn replies, her tone caught somewhere between amused and suspicious.

“So would mine.”

She hesitates before responding, looking shy, although it is a rare thing from her. “I thought you might like it, being called by your rank.”

“Not from you,” he says, immediately. “I am called that by enough people. When I’m home, when I’m with you, I am just your husband.”

He doesn’t realize the way this sounds—sentimental, the very thing he was avoiding—until the words are out of his mouth and Jyn’s face goes blank with astonishment. She recovers quickly, though, looking down at her feet.

“As you wish, husband,” she says, quietly.

“Well, you know now why I could not sleep. What has kept you awake?”

“Bad dreams,” she says, matter-of-factly. “As always.”

“Always?” Cassian repeats, concerned. He didn’t know she had nightmares. She shifts in her sleep often, he has noticed, always twisting herself into shapes that cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s never known her to cry or panic enough to wake herself, the way he associates with nightmares.

“Most nights,” she confirms, looking away to avoid his gaze.

She crosses her arms over her chest, although he cannot tell if it’s a defensive gesture or simply because she is cold. He decides to proceed as though it is the latter and begins to slip his arms out of his coat’s sleeves. The rustling of the fabric draws her gaze back to him and her eyes widen with alarm when she realizes what he means to do.

“Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand to ward him off. “Don’t bother. You will freeze without it.”

“Is that so?” Cassian asks, ignoring her protests and pulling his jacket off completely.

“I know how cold you get,” she says, archly. There are things she has learned from sharing a bed with him, too, it appears.

He doesn’t take the bait to argue with her and instead steps forward until he’s only a single pace away from her and sweeps the jacket over her shoulders. She stands stiffly as he does so, as if she cannot figure out her part in this scene. Or perhaps she worries the slightest gesture will upset the moment they are sharing, though this idea might be romantic nonsense on Cassian’s part.

He draws the coat tighter around her body by the lapels and he fidgets with the collar so it will stand up and block the cold wind, since she has no scarf. He wants nothing more in the world than to take her hair that has gotten trapped in the collar and draw it out for her, if only for the excuse it would give him to run his hands through it without the risk of giving himself away. All the while, Jyn watches him with her chin tipped up, her eyes narrowed in obvious but neutral interest. Perhaps he has already given himself away.

“Do not worry on my account,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He has finished arranging the coat around her shoulders, but his hands still linger on the lapels, holding it together, not wanting to let go and give up his excuse to be close to her. “If I am any good at my job, I will convince you to come inside before I even feel the cold.”

“Your job?” Jyn asks, warily. “As a spy?”

“Yes, and as a husband.”

“It is your duty as my husband to ensure I do not freeze to death?”

“Amongst other things.” He means it plainly enough, but in this close proximity, he sees the way Jyn bites her lip and look away at the implication of his words and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, no matter how artlessly. “I have nightmares too.”

Jyn’s head snaps up. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“About the war?”

Cassian swallows and words feel more difficult than he anticipated, so he simply nods. It’s probably important that his wife knows these things about him, especially if he wants her to tell him things too.

She watches him carefully, as if she’s waiting for a trap but Cassian just gazes steadily back at her, to see if she’ll trust him. After a moment, she sighs and says, more to his chest than to his face, “most of mine are from when I was young.”

“I have a few of those too.”

Jyn nods, closing her eyes. Cassian transfers the lapels of the coat into one hand, so that his other one is free to rub her shoulder. He wants her to say more, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. Without warning, she steps further into his embrace, close enough that she’s able to perch her chin on his shoulder. Though her face is turned away from him, the sweetness of the gesture nearly overwhelms him. He places his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, just so she doesn’t think to pull away.

“I think the trouble is not having much to occupy my time here,” she says, after a moment, and Cassian could collapse with relief at hearing her speak. “I’m not accustomed to idleness. And when I try to sleep, my mind is still awake and it gives me these vivid dreams.”

He can’t help himself any longer. He smooths a hand over the back of her head, brushing back some strands of hair that have come loose from where she’s tried to tie it at the nape of her neck. He thinks he feels her pull closer. “And what do you dream of?”

“My brother and I, when we were young, we were always out of doors. We’d have breakfast with my mother and then she’d send us away and we’d spend all day together, collecting rocks and shells from the beaches or scrambling over rocks. We never came home until dinner.”

“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

“It was lovely,” she says, sounding pained, and he tightens his hold on her. “I had a very idyllic childhood, in most regards. Mostly because my parents didn’t tell me anything that was going on.”

Cassian laughs, lightly, at that. “That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

Jyn buries her face in his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “A lot of good it did me,” she says, and even her tone sounds closed-off.

“What happens in your dreams?” He asks, quietly. He knows she probably wants to end this conversation and pretend it never happened, but he needs her to know that he’s here, that he’s willing to listen.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to prepare herself. “It’s just me and Bodhi as children, running around wild like always. At first, it feels like a memory, but then it starts to feel…sinister. I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just this inexplicable dread that washes over me. Sometimes, we can hear people coming, a great mass of them, and we get scared. Other times, there’s some terrible storm moving in, faster than we can run. But we try to get home, anyway. We’re always running to find my mother, to warn her. It always feels so important that we get to her. And the ground falls away beneath our feet. Sometimes, I lose Bodhi; he falls or gets hurt and he’s crying out for my help but I can’t stop, or sometimes, he just disappears and I can’t remember how to get home. And I’m completely alone.”

After a moment’s silence, Jyn pulls back in his embrace. He doesn’t let her go, but he does give her some space. “Foolish, isn’t it?” She asks, with a false smile. He can hear the unshed tears in her voice and knows she’s trying to make light of it so he doesn’t think her weak.

“No,” he says, firmly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “Not at all. But you and your brother survived the war, Jyn. And you’re together. It must be some comfort to you.”

“Yes, it is. Of course it is. But our parents didn’t survive. And that version of us, the children who used to play on the beach together, they didn’t survive the war, either. Our lives are so different now. I think that’s what the dream is about.”

“You wish to go home?”

“I wish to go back,” she says, bearing his personal question with grace. She thinks on it a moment, before sighing in frustration and shaking her head. “If only it was as simple as returning to Lah’mu. But I know that the place will not be the same now as it was then. And I am different too.”

“Perhaps that’s why something is always wrong in your dream,” Cassian muses. “You long to go back to that time in your life, but you know you don’t belong there anymore. Maybe that’s the source of the tension you feel in the dream.”

Jyn looks at him, appraisingly, and he worries that he overstepped somehow. However, when she finally speaks, she doesn’t seem offended. “What do you dream of, Captain?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You said you have nightmares too.”

“Oh, yes,” he replies, with considerable effort. He’d forgotten about that admission. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Of course,” Jyn says, and her expression shutters immediately. “You’re under no obligation to tell me.”

Cassian reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s brushing against her collarbone, twisting the errant strand around his finger loosely. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says, quietly and more plaintively than he meant to. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about offending her by accident. “I’m not equivocating. I really do not know how to describe them.”

“Do you even wish to?” She asks, with a sharpness he deserves but is still unprepared for.

“No,” he answers honestly, which makes her blink in surprise. “I do not wish to tell you anything that will make you think less of me.”

“You should not worry about that.”

“Is your opinion of me already so low?” He asks, with every intention of making light of it but the question comes out unfortunately earnest.

Jyn, for her part, looks bewildered. “No,” she says, immediately. “Quite the opposite. I have a hard time imagining anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”

He takes a deep breath, looking away from her face and focusing instead on the strand of hair he’s still toying with. “I always dream of people I’ve…lost. People I’ve hurt or abandoned,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s much like what you’ve described, I think. They feel like memories but I know they’re not quite right. And I know there’s nothing I can do to change what happens. So I just have to live through it again. And again. Until I wake up.”

As he’s speaking, Jyn reaches for him, closing her hand around his wrist where it’s resting against her shoulder. When he feels the weight of her thumb pressing into the space between the bones of his forearm, he releases the lock of her hair, letting it unspool from around his finger. He’d pull his hand back completely, but her grip on him tightens like she’s read his mind. She brings his hand close enough that she can press her lips to the spot where his pulse is now racing wildly.

“You ought to have told me sooner,” she says, and she must be able to feel his heartbeat against her lips. The thought makes him warm with both embarrassment and anticipation.

He swallows with considerable effort. “To what end?”

“There are things,” she says, against the soft skin of his inner wrist, “that a wife can do. To help her husband sleep. To take his mind off his worries. I could do those things for you, if you wanted. You need only ask.”

She makes it sound so simple, as if they had the sort of marriage where they stated their desires plainly to each other, where they asked for what they wanted and then got it. But the asking is the most difficult part, in Cassian’s experience, or maybe the wanting is. They’ve been intimate together in the way Jyn is implying only once, on their wedding night, and, while enjoyable, it hardly left him with a strong sense of what his wife wants or expects from him.

Now, though, Jyn is offering that to him again. There was no mistaking it. His own need startles him, thrumming in his veins so loudly that he can hardly think. He has weeks of travel ahead of him, weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with only young, raucous soldiers for company. It will be cold and lonely and it will not even occur to him to complain, to dislike it, since it’s all he knows. Or, rather, it was all he knew before he was married. Before Jyn. He would be wise to avail himself of his wife’s offer while he can, enjoy the softness of her before he leaves and knows no softness of any kind for weeks.

He takes too long considering it, though, for Jyn’s face falls and she pulls back from him, only a little but it feels like a great distance, when they are this close. “Of course, you should feel no obligation to—”

“I don’t,” he replies, hastily. “I don’t feel any obligation.”

“I merely thought I should offer,” she says, and her eyes lower to avoid his gaze.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is…what I feel for you is not obligation.”

He can feel her looking at him now, the scrutiny in her gaze obvious even with his eyes still closed. “And what do you feel for me, Captain?” She asks, carefully.

An overwhelming and terrible want , he thinks. A desire so deep he has yet to discover the bottom of it. A dangerous kind of possessiveness, like they belong to one another, even though they’re not the sort of people who belong to anyone, or the sort to hold onto anything they’re given too tightly, because they know the pain of having it taken away.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking at her and the only logical conclusion to that action is to step forward and kiss her. His hand, the one she’s not still holding captive, curves around her cheek as his mouth covers hers. Her lips part for him without hesitation and their kiss deepens. It’s as good as their wedding night, but this time he’s sharp and clear headed, not hazy and tired from long hours of drinking and celebrating, and he intends to memorize every single detail. The way she wraps her arm around him and her fingers dig into his shoulder blade, desperate for purchase. The sound of surprise she made when their lips first met and how it mellows into a quiet hum of satisfaction, as if she’s been waiting for this.

When she pulls away from him after a few moments, it takes everything in his power not to whine in complaint. But they’re both breathing heavily and Jyn’s hair is even more disheveled than before, which might be his fault but could also be from the wind that’s doing its best to push them back to their warm bed. He’s beginning to think they should listen, and he’s about to say as much, when Jyn speaks first.

“You’re cold,” she says, and he’s about to take it the wrong way when she pulls his hand from her face and wraps it up in both of her own to warm it.

He laughs, more overwhelmed than anything else. “I don’t feel it,” he says, because he was too busy feeling everything else.

She levels an arch look at him, either because she’s not impressed with his effort to flatter her or because she’s actually worried he’s going to catch his death like this, kissing her on a hillside in the early morning. He’s going to die somehow, it might as well be like this, he thinks, but he doesn’t try to kiss her again. He has the sense that she has more to say.

“You can kiss me in our bedroom, you know,” she says, making it worth the wait.

His heartbeat races, caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “I can?” He asks, stupidly.

Jyn searches his face, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps, or sincerity. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she nods, slowly, and a smile overtakes her face. “You can kiss me anywhere you like,” she says, and it does his heart rate no favors.

Cassian steps back, grabbing her hand so he can pull her with him in the direction of the castle. She follows him and, as they walk, he pulls her into his side, burying his face in her neck and planting a kiss there. When she squirms slightly and elbows him in the ribs, he laughs against her skin.

“You said anywhere ,” he says, and she laughs too.

***

The next morning, the castle bustles with activity as Cassian leaves his briefing with Draven. Using the former seat of the emperor’s power as the headquarters of the government of the New Republic has always struck him as a smart choice on the part of the rebels, from a symbolic standpoint and in a practical sense of needing the actual work of governing the country to happen somewhere. By its very nature, a castle is almost comically oversized for one person’s needs, even a ruler’s, and so the former rebels had made a much better use of the space than the emperor ever had.

However, on this particular morning, with his mind already running through logistics of the mission ahead and planning what to say to the soldiers he’s bringing along, Cassian finds the crowded halls and corridors more grating than he normally does. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel this way during the war, when the emperor’s excesses had seemed so absurd and villainous, but Cassian is beginning to wonder if maybe the castle is too small for their purposes. The new government will loathe the idea of expanding, will object to spending money on something so frivolous, but it may be necessary, he thinks, as he bumps into yet another person in the crush of people moving about as he makes his way to the courtyard. The small party of soldiers accompanying him on this mission are gathering there now and they’re meant to depart in less than an hour. It will not set a good tone for the next few weeks if their captain keeps them waiting.

Much like in the old days—and it is staggering to think of the rebellion as something of the past, he realizes with a lurch—these missions are to gather information on activity across the Republic. However, unlike in the old days, he’s not trying to find the one piece of intelligence he’s certain will win the war for the rebels, which is a welcome change. He’s also, generally speaking, not in constant mortal danger anymore, though there are some areas of the country that the war ravaged worse than others, leaving desperation and crime in its wake. That’s why Draven still sends Cassian on these scouting missions, to see what corners of the nation still need aid or resources. Peacetime has been far from perfect for everyone, but even with the things he’s seen, Cassian can’t deny most people, himself included, are better off.

He’s so lost in his thoughts of the mission as he makes his way to the rendezvous point he arranged with the party that Bodhi must have had to call his name a half a dozen times before Cassian finally heard him. By the time he turns around, Bodhi is practically at his elbow, which is both impressive and guilt-inducing, from the way Cassian can see him leaning heavily on his cane. He does his best not to wince, because Bodhi doesn’t enjoy being fretted over, and slows down so his brother-in-law can more easily keep pace with him instead.

“Captain,” Bodhi exclaims, managing to only sound slightly out of breath, “I’m glad I caught you!”

“Coming to see me off, Captain Rook?” Cassian asks, pointedly.

Bodhi looks properly chastened. “Sorry, Cassian. I’m still not used to it.”

“Calling me by my first name or being a captain yourself?”

“Either,” he says, and Cassian understands. Bodhi was only promoted to Captain after his heroics in the Battle of Eadu and it was only a few months later that the treaty was signed. He’s only ever been a captain in peacetime. “I just don’t fully think of you as my sister’s husband yet.”

That does make Cassian wince and he isn’t quick enough to hide it from Bodhi, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm. “Not like that!” he practically shouts. “I mean, it’s nothing to do with you! I just can’t believe Jyn has a husband at all. In my head, she’s still six years old and telling me what to do all the time.”

“To be fair, she does still tell you what to do,” Cassian replies. “No change in your rank will ever change that.”

Bodhi laughs. “You’re certainly right about that.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Where is my sister, anyway? Isn’t she coming to see you off?”

“Oh, well, she’s—no.” He clears his throat. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”

Bodhi nods absently, seemingly satisfied with this answer and mercifully doesn’t ask for any further details. Cassian is not sure his nonchalant facade would hold up under questioning and the exact nature of the goodbye he and his wife shared this morning would soon be extremely obvious to her brother. It’s better for everyone if they somehow avoid that outcome altogether.

His relief is short-lived, however, when Bodhi suddenly asks, “And did she…uh…did she get a chance to, well…?”

They arrive at the training yard before Bodhi arrives at his actual question. Cassian pauses in the archway that leads into the yard and turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, I was just wondering if my sister got a chance to speak with you?”

“Bodhi, your sister and I are married. We speak with one another quite often as a result. You will need to be more specific.”

Bodhi makes a face that suggests he would much rather do anything else. “I thought she might have mentioned the incident with Senator Jebel?” he says, voice stuck between a statement and a question.

Cassian blinks, searching his memory for anything relevant. “Incident?” He finally asks, when nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“‘Incident’ might be too strong a word,” Bodhi admits apologetically.

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell me what happened and I’ll decide what the correct word for it is?”

“It’s just—if Jyn didn’t tell you about it, then it clearly didn’t bother her very much. I certainly don’t want to insert myself into the middle of your marriage!”

Cassian doesn’t point out that it’s a little late for that sentiment and instead asks, as calmly as he can manage, “What happened, Bodhi?”

“Well, it was just—” He pauses as a few people pass between them to exit into the yard, shifting his weight uncomfortably while trying to maintain his grip on his cane. When they’re gone, he continues, “Jyn and I were walking together the other day when we came across Lieutenant Tuesso walking with Senator Jebel. And, well, Kay was saying something to her about passing along some information for your upcoming scouting mission and—actually, Jyn told him to tell it to you himself because she’s not your secretary—”

Cassian smiles at that, able to picture it so clearly. Kay is perhaps his oldest friend and the person he trusts most in the field, but he and Jyn get along like oil and water. Still, if Kay had truly objected to Cassian’s marriage, he would have done everything in his power to stop it, but he’d only asked if Cassian was sure before giving his blessing. Well, it was more like his resignation, but coming from Kay, they’re basically the same thing. Cassian likes to imagine that Jyn’s fiery temper and sharp wit secretly amuse Kay but he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

“But that’s not the point,” Bodhi says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “The point is: Kay was talking about your trip and Senator Jebel asked why you were being sent off on a mission so close to your wedding, to which Jyn replied that it had been three months and that it wasn't terribly close. And then the Senator said she must have been very confident in…well, winning you over, if she was comfortable sending you off on your own so soon.”

“‘Winning me over’? What does that even mean?”

Bodhi looks uncomfortable. “You know, as a wife?” He says, sounding pained. When Cassian just stares at him blankly, he sighs and adds, begrudgingly, “Senator Jebel may have implied that a man of your rank might use a mission like this to…avail themselves of the sexual talents of women other than their wives, you know, during their travels. Unless, of course, the wife in question had already proved herself irreplaceable in that regard.”

Cassian knows that Bodhi has expressed himself clearly and put all of his words in the right order, and yet he still cannot comprehend a single thing he’s just heard. They stare at each other in silence—his baffled, Bodhi’s embarrassed—for a long time before anything clicks into place in Cassian’s mind.

“He said this to Jyn?” He asks, finally. It’s hard to speak around all of the dread pooling at the base of this throat.

Bodhi cringes. “Well, he really said it to me and Kay. He was talking over Jyn’s head, which sounds better but, as you can imagine, made it much worse.”

“And what did she have to say to all this?”

“I made sure to drag her away as quickly as possible and Kay distracted the Senator with just as much haste!”

“Bodhi,” Cassian says on an exhale. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on. “What did Jyn say?”

His shoulders sag in defeat. “She only said that she had no concerns on that front,” Bodhi says, plainly unsure if he’s helping or hurting at this point. “And then I made our excuses and got her away from him as soon as I could, I promise!”

“I believe you,” Cassian replies, holding up a hand in acknowledgement. “And I appreciate your efforts to take care of your sister.”

“I thought perhaps her feelings had been hurt by Senator Jebel’s comments, but since she has not mentioned the incident to you, perhaps she dismissed them as quickly as they deserved.”

“Perhaps,” Cassian says, for Bodhi’s benefit, but his mind is on his wife’s behavior this morning; all of her talk of the ways a wife could comfort her husband, how solicitous of his troubles she’d been, how vulnerable she’d seemed herself, even the kisses they’d shared and the way she’d allowed him to take her to bed. How different it all looked in this new light. Of course she wouldn’t mention the conversation with the Senator to him—to do so would be, in Jyn’s mind, to admit to a weakness, that she cared at all what others thought of their marriage or, worse, that she cared what Cassian thought of her as a wife—but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it as advice.

So she’d seduced him, and quite adeptly at that. He hadn’t even realized it was happening. He might have known better, under other circumstances, but he’d naively thought that being married to someone meant that you didn’t have to concern yourself with seduction. If his wife wanted to sleep with him, it seemed to him that all she had to do was show interest in such a thing or, heaven forbid, simply say so, and she could have her way. To play such games about it seems counterproductive to him, but given how easily he was manipulated on this occasion, Cassian might not be the person to ask.

“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Bodhi says, anxiously, at which point Cassian realizes he has been staring off into space for a long moment.

“Of course not,” he says immediately. “I appreciate your telling me.”

“You won’t tell Jyn I mentioned it, will you?”

“No. Like you said, if it had bothered her, she would have told me herself.” It isn’t true, not in the slightest, but Cassian can see that Bodhi needs to hear it. “Besides, now I can use my spare time on this trip to plan my revenge on Senator Jebel.”

“Revenge?” Bodhi asks, wide-eyed with concern. It’s sometimes hard to believe someone as tenderhearted as he is fought in the war, let alone survived it.

Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking of challenging him to a duel, Bodhi. Relax. But there are a great many ways a man of my position can make his life…uncomfortable and I shall enjoy thinking of as many of them as possible.”

“I am once again reminded how glad I am to be on your good side, Cassian,” Bodhi says, faintly. “And that you’re looking out for my sister.”

Cassian has never felt less capable of doing any such thing, not when Jyn is still keeping secrets from him and treating him as an opponent, but he nods anyway. His wife would likely roll her eyes at the sentiment, but he cannot stand by knowing that someone made her feel small even for a moment. He gets a savage sort of thrill out of the idea that she shall have his protection, whether she wants it or not.

“I am glad to be of service,” he says, vaguely. “But I’m afraid I must give the soldiers their orders now if we’re to be off on time.”

“Of course. Safe travels.” Bodhi offers his hand for Cassian to shake and then claps him on the shoulder as he takes his leave.

Cassian is certain that he relays Draven’s orders to the soldiers assembled in the yard as soon as he’s done speaking with Bodhi but he can’t actually remember a single thing he said by the time he’s securing the saddle on his own horse. His only excuse is that his mind is obviously elsewhere. Even though he knows he should focus on the mission ahead, he can’t stop thinking about Jyn.

As though he’s conjured her, she suddenly appears in the courtyard, with Kay and Senator Mothma in tow. The latter two are deep in conversation about something, while his wife doesn’t seem to be participating at all if the mild, far-off look on her face is any indication. It’s not surprising to see them all together; he’s sure that the Senator is the one who approved their scouting mission for General Draven and that he asked Kay to appraise her of the mission’s status because he’d rather not do it himself. And Jyn and Senator Mothma are often in each other’s company. Jyn often jokes that the Senator has claimed her as an unofficial assistant but Cassian suspects it’s just because she doesn’t want to admit that they are friends.

Before he can think better of it, Cassian calls out to Jyn, despite the fact that she’s on the other side of the courtyard still. It doesn’t occur to him until afterwards that shouting to get someone’s attention in a crowded area is probably bad manners, especially if that person is a lady. She looks startled to hear her name and the soldiers scattered throughout the area look up in shock at hearing him raise his voice at all. When her eyes meet his across the yard, Jyn’s neutral, distant expression shutters, turning into something more wary and focused. Cassian tilts his chin very slightly to beckon her over, not risking a bigger gesture lest the assembled soldiers think they’re about to witness something salacious. He’s determined they won’t, and Jyn catches his meaning anyway, even from a distance, and begins to make her way over.

He means to use the long moment it will take her to reach him to plan what he will say, how he will broach this delicate subject with her without implicating her brother in divulging the information to him, but he’s too distracted by the sight of her. She’s dressed plainly enough, not being one for embellishment, but her dress is a deep burgundy that suits and fits her well and she’s gingerly holding the skirt to keep the hem from dragging along the dirty ground. He only has to think on her clothing for a moment before his mind supplies the image of her this morning, as he was preparing to leave, just in her nightshirt, only deigning to get out of their bed to give him one last kiss goodbye. It was the only time he can remember being tempted to stay in bed rather than get on with his work. By the time she arrives, his face is warm with the sort of embarrassment he thought he’d grow out of once he was married.

“Yes, my lord?” She asks, and he’d tell her again to do away with such pointless formality if he couldn’t see the bright glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She’s trying to be funny.

He still has no idea what to say to her. His mind remains a complete blank, while his pulse is running wild. There is no way to tell her she should have trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with Senator Jebel, or that he knows the intimate moment they shared this morning was more inspired by that than by any genuine passion on her part, without giving away that he’s been listening to gossip. To admit that would only succeed in raising her defenses and causing an argument.

She didn’t trust him. That’s the heart of the matter and what is bothering him the most. Or perhaps it is that, for once in his life, he acted without suspicion or subterfuge and now he looks like a fool. Without realizing it, he’d begun to trust her but apparently the feeling is not mutual. It is only once this thought articulates itself in his mind that he catches himself; he’s embarrassed. She’s injured nothing but his sense of pride—that he always knows when someone is lying to him, that he’s always the man in the room with the most information.

But what, really, is the cost? So what if she outsmarted him? It’s not life or death, this. He wishes she had felt safe enough to be honest with him, but he can hardly blame her that she didn’t. In the grand scheme of things, they hardly know each other and three months is not long enough to change a lifetime of mistrust in others, especially if one is accustomed to it as a means of survival. He still doesn’t know much about her past before they met, but if it was anything like his, he understands why opening up to him might prove difficult.

And maybe some of it was real—the dream she told him about, the reasons she has difficulty sleeping. Maybe she needed the ulterior motive of seducing him to make sure he doesn’t stray as an excuse to tell him the truth. And what does it tell her if he gets angry? How does it look if he holds it against her for being as secretive and wary as he always is himself? How can he ever expect her to trust him with anything if he lets his ego get in the way now? And perhaps more importantly, what does it really cost him to let her be right?

If she did what he thinks she did, it was an act of desperation, to ensure that she had some control over the life she was unceremoniously shoved into three months ago. She was afraid of the idea of him leaving on this trip and forgetting the vows he’d made as soon as she was out of sight. He can see now all the ways that her own ego is tied up in this—not wanting to be seen as an inadequate wife, wanting to prove Jebel wrong after he’d been so crass and unkind to her, and perhaps even worrying that Cassian felt the same way, that he had any complaints of their marriage—but he can also see further, to the core of the matter, where it’s just Jyn being afraid and alone. How can he punish her for that, when all he wants is for her to feel safe with him?

It costs him nothing to let her be right, then; to let her believe that he’s blissfully unaware of any hidden reason for her behavior or any conflict and just play the role of the devoted, smitten husband. It’s not as if he planned to be unfaithful to her while he was away, and giving her some assurance on that matter without revealing what he knows should be easy enough. Let her believe that her machinations paid off and she’s won her husband over with her feminine wiles. There’s no harm in that. When he thinks of it that way, it’s barely even a lie.

“Cassian,” she says now, eyes full of concern at his silently staring at her. “Is everything alright?”

He comes back to the present moment when her hand comes to rest on his arm. “Yes, everything is fine,” he says, weakly. “I apologize. There were probably less dramatic ways to get your attention.”

“No matter. I appreciate the efficiency of your method, I must say.”

“Still, I do not wish to embarrass you.” When he sees she means to shrug at that, he adds, “under any circumstances.”

She blinks at him, surprised, so some of his implied meaning must come through. “You do not embarrass me,” she replies, warily.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Is that why you called me over?” She asks.

“No, I was—well, I realized I had forgotten to ask you if…well, if there was anything you needed.”

“Me?”

He nods, probably a touch too emphatically. He’s normally better at this, but Jyn has always caught him off guard. “Yes, I’m going to be traveling for the next few weeks and you can get almost anything from the markets in the southern provinces, so if there was anything you needed, I could bring it back for you.”

She stares at him as though he’s spoken in a language she’s never heard before. “I don’t believe I need anything at the present,” she says, finally, after considering her words for a long time.

“It doesn’t have to be something you need,” he says. “Something you want would suffice. Didn’t you lose your gloves recently?”

“No, I found them. I had left them in Senator Mothma’s chambers after she and I returned from a walk.”

“Still, I could get you nicer gloves.”

“It wouldn’t make much difference. I’d still forget them everywhere.”

“I could get you several pairs of gloves.”

“Cassian, what is this about?”

He covers her hand, still lingering on his arm, with his own, chafing her knuckles with his thumb. “Keeping your hands warm,” he says innocently.

She laughs incredulously. “You are not going away for the sole purpose of buying me presents. You will be busy with work. I imagine you will hardly have time to even think of me.”

“No, I’m afraid the real difficulty will be thinking of anything else,” Cassian says, his own pulse thundering behind his ears. It’s not the nerves of telling a lie and fearing getting caught, he realizes, but the panic of finally telling someone the long-guarded truth.

Jyn looks down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the gravel. “You don’t need to say such things. I do not require flattery to sustain me.”

“Well, whether you’re flattered or not is incidental. What matters is that it’s true.”

“Is that why you said it?”

“Yes. I know the truth and I have a complicated relationship, sometimes by necessity, but I try to be honest with you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that I get a little better at it with each try. It’s not much, I know, but—”

“It’s worth more than you think,” she says carefully.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking— you can be honest with me too or I wish we could know each other better —because it feels like asking too much or risking betraying Bodhi’s confidence, so he leaves it at that.

Behind him, one of the lieutenants whistles for everyone’s attention. “Everyone is here and accounted for, Captain,” he adds, to Cassian. “We’re ready when you are.”

Cassian nods to him before looking back at Jyn just at the moment the wind picks up and loosens several strands of her hair from where it’s pulled back. He attempts to brush them back into place, while she watches him with amusement.

“It seems I must be going,” he says.

“So it does,” she replies. She appears to struggle with something, turning it over in her mind for a moment before she leans in and kisses him. His hand is still buried in her hair, trying to keep it from blowing about in the breeze again, and it helps him to keep her close. He’d normally be reticent to have such a display in front of his fellow soldiers—he doesn’t want to give them inspiration for gossip or a reason to tease him mercilessly if he has to spend the next several weeks in their company—but he’ll have to make an exception this time. It feels like a coded message from Jyn, that she trusts him, that he’s done well as her husband, at least in this moment. She’s not one to say so directly, and that’s fine. He’s willing to learn to speak her language, especially if it means kissing her like this more often.

However, common sense prevails eventually and he’s forced to pull back from her before they embarrass themselves in front of all the gathered soldiers. He runs his thumb over her cheek just once, feeling the chill of the morning there more than in his own body. “Goodbye, Jyn,” he says, quietly so only she can hear, and kisses her knuckles lightly for good measure.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, in a rush. Like she’s tried to keep it to herself but couldn’t manage it. “I expect you home in one piece or there will be hell to pay.”

“Of course, my dear,” he says as he steps up into the saddle.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the lieutenant beside Cassian chimes in, looking amused. “We will make sure nothing happens to your husband. You have my word.”

Cassian shakes his head at the young man, who looks even more shamelessly delighted, but Jyn is pleased by this, he can tell.

“Good,” she replies, nodding at him. “You don’t know me very well, sir, but I will tell you this: you would not like to be on my bad side.”

The lieutenant laughs. “No, ma’am, I would not. I’ll lead the party out, if you’d like, sir,” he adds to Cassian.

“Thank you,” Cassian replies. When the group has started to move out from the courtyard, he turns his attention back to Jyn and reaches his hand out to her.

She takes it, and plants a kiss on his knuckles. “My thoughts go with you,” she says.

“And mine stay here with you.”

The answering smile he receives stays with him as he follows the rest of the party out of the courtyard, as he lies on the cold ground of their camp that night, even as the mission turns long and tedious. It lasts until he can replace it in his memory with the smile he gets when he returns home again and sweeps her into his arms once more.

#rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #au #vaguely medieval fantasy au #my writing #my fic #one day i will title one of the fics in this series with actual graceland lyrics but today is not that day #i've been staring at this fic for three years basically just take it away from me please #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since #HBD Zainab you elegant and industrious capybara

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bigfrozenfan-fanfics · 3 years

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Chapter 07 - Mattias and Halima

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday on (link)

Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting.

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It was just before sunset when they reached Arendelle. Mattias' timing had been correct. They rode right through the upper rock gate and all the splendour of their homeland opened before them. When they left two days ago they still had the journey ahead of them and did not look back. But now they had Arendelle in front of them and the view from up here was overwhelming. The fields on the mountain slopes glowed in intense colours, from the gold of the wheat, through rich green and yellow of different crops for humans and animals, to a bright mixture of colours from the many fields of flowers used for decoration and for sale in shops and at the market. In the harbour the ships and boats rocked in the soft, warm breeze and behind the majestic castle of the royal family, bathed in the orange light of the setting sun, the calm waters of the Arenfjord glittered.

Mattias could not tear himself away from the sight and gently brought his horse to a halt. Halima did the same and looked over to him. He had a dreamy expression on his face and she had to smile. She could understand his feelings, as harvest time was approaching and his homeland showed itself to him in all its beauty and fertility. She was looking forward to the harvest festival. This time they would celebrate it together.

Finally they rode up slowly and they heard the bell at the clock tower in the distance strike seven times. On the way down they passed Halima's cozy little cottage and they reined the horses. Mattias jumped boldly out of the saddle and walked around the horse to help Halima get off.

“Mattias! You jump off your horse as if you were still the lieutenant from back then. Remember that you are not young anymore. You could easily sprain your ankle,” she said laughing and shook her head over his exuberance.

He grinned and helped her dismount. “Don't worry, dearest, I'm not that old.” They held each other in their arms and looked at one another in love. Time seemed to stand still for a moment. Then he kissed her tenderly and she lifted one foot in rapture.

When they separated again he gave her a last short kiss on her cheek as a farewell. “I have to ride to the castle now to take care of everything before nightfall. I will see you later. I'll pick you up for dinner.”

“All right, darling. I'll just go down to the library and drop off some books. I'd forgotten to bring them back before we left. I hope it's still open. I'll see you later.”

He got back on his horse, put the other one on a leash and waved to her as he rode off. She waved back and gazed after him till he vanished behind the next corner of the houses. Then she went inside to get the books.

~~~

As he had passed through the castle gate, he handed the horses over to a stable boy who was just passing by, and was about to go through the front door of the castle when the captain of the guard approached him.

“General Mattias. May I have a word, please?” He saluted him and Mattias nodded.

“What's it, Captain Einar?”

“Well, I ... am a little confused. I see you, but where are the queen and her fiancé? Has something happened?” His gaze showed a mixture of amazement and concern, but Mattias also noticed a slight hint of anger on his face.

“You have nothing to worry about. She is well and she is still with her sister, Elsa. She'll be back in two days.”

“With all due respect, Sir, but you left without any protection from her guards and now you're returning alone? That's-“

“Irresponsible, you mean?” Mattias gruffly interrupted the young, overzealous captain of the royal guard. But he looked at him favorably. “She is in the best of hands with Elsa, no bodyguard in the world could protect her better than she. Have you forgotten what she did last autumn to save us all from the flood? Well ...?” He looked at him, waiting.

The captain became a little pale around the nose and stuttered, unsure what to answer, “Um ... yes, well ... in that sense, of course, you're right, Sir, I just thought I ... I mean ...”

“That's all right, Captain Einar. You're just doing your duty and being very observant, that's fine. Keep up the good work. But if you'll excuse me now, I have important business to attend to.” Mattias turned and left the captain stood speechless.

~~~

Of course, it had only been half the truth and he had to lie partly; Mattias thought, but in this situation it was necessary not to tell the captain everything.

In the following hour he called together some of the older councillors who were still faithfully carrying out their duties in Queen Elsa's time and informed them of the precarious situation. He instructed everyone to keep it under wraps and to treat the matter as confidential. Everyone agreed without reservation. On most faces there was great concern and some asked about the condition of their Queen Anna. He answered their questions in concise words, but made it clear to them that a lengthy discussion would have to wait until their return.

He then went to the royal physician and asked him to prepare everything necessary and to look for answers for Elsa's condition. He did not need to tell a doctor about his duty of confidentiality. The physician nodded and hurried away to look for precedents in his textbooks.

Finally, only one thing remained to be done. He had to find two reliable people to accompany him and he already knew who.

When he stepped outside again it had already become dark and the courtyard was bathed in the flickering light of the fire bowls and some big torches. He had fresh horses brought and rode to his home. However, on the way he stopped briefly to visit two of his old comrades who were locked up with him in the Enchanted Forest. He could trust them absolutely. Among them was a woman who was supposed to take care of suitable camouflage clothes for Elsa. He gave the man the order to get an inconspicuous wagon, some ranged weapons, food and everything else for such an action. Both of them did not ask any questions and immediately took care of this responsible task, with the intention not to arouse any suspicion.

Arriving at home, he threw on fresh clothes suitable for a dinner. After his return last autumn he had to take care of a completely new wardrobe, because he simply did not fit into the old clothes anymore. He always took care of a tidy appearance, especially now, because of Halima. He took one last look in the mirror before leaving the house again.

~~~

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The host cleared away the leftovers of their dinner while they leaned back contentedly. He enquired how it had tasted to them.

“That was delicious,” enthused Halima, smiling at the host and wiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of a napkin. “Compliments to the cook,” she added as he left. Her eyes lit up at Mattias, who rubbed his belly with satiation.

“I must have overdone it a bit with the portion,” he giggled and reached for his glass of red wine. “To your health, Halima.”

“To us, Mattias,” she said as she lifted her glass, toasting with him, while they looked each other in the eyes.

A short time later, they went for their walk, as previously planned. It was a starry night and Arenfjord glittered silvery in the bright moonlight. Down in the village all the lanterns were lit and from up here you could see that the taverns were very busy, now and then even the laughter of some guests came up here.

“How did it go at the castle?” Halima asked abruptly.

“Good. Everything is arranged and prepared. All is according to plan.”

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Before sunrise. On the one hand, we gain some time, because of the vehicle and on the other hand, there is hardly anyone on the streets and we will probably come out unnoticed.” He paused. “How was it with you? Was the library still open?”

“Yes, barely. Mr. Oddvar was just about to close, but I was able to return the books.”

They sat down in the grass and Mattias put an arm around her. Halima looked at him and then rested her head on his shoulder. They both remained silent and enjoyed their romantic evening on the hill above Arendelle for a long time.

~~~

Kristoff had woken up in the middle of the night because Anna was snoring loudly. It was still dark so he closed his eyes again. How would it be once they were married and he would have to sleep in their bed from now on; he thought. Then he grinned. He hadn't known that about Anna yet.

He recalled last night before his inner eyes. They had talked for a long time about what Anna had seen, and he had tried to convince her that what she had observed did not necessarily have to be true. Perhaps this impression was troubling. At some point she had calmed down again and he went out to get them both a warm dinner, which they then consumed silently inside the hut.

Afterwards she had prepared herself for the night while he turned his back on her for decency. She did not want to sleep alone and asked him to lie beside her. Inside the kota it was quite warm and so he asked if she would mind if he took off his thick leather tunic. She grinned at him and shook her head. It hadn't taken long then and she snuggled up comfortably against him. Through her thin nightdress he felt her warmth on his naked upper body, his hand lay light and tenderly above her waist. He enjoyed feeling her closeness in this way. Her slender, warm body seemed so fragile at this moment, but he knew that it was not so. If she wanted to, she could unleash an unimagined strength, not to mention her willpower and her sometimes almost unbearable pig-headedness. But at the moment all he felt was her softness and warm breath on his chest, her gentle hand on his back and her hair tickling his cheek. Sometimes she hummed softly and contentedly when she moved.

Finally her breath became more regular and she fell asleep. This night could last forever if he had his way; he thought, if only there wasn't this little thing that she snores such like she does now. But at some point he got so tired that it didn't bother him anymore and he fell back asleep with a broad smile on his face.

~~~

It was already after midnight when Honeymaren stepped out of Elsa's kota and almost silently closed the flap behind her. Elsa had fallen asleep at some point and she didn't want to wake her up.

She looked up and watched the twinkling stars in the cloudless night sky. The moon had already set and so she was now standing there in deep black darkness. “Crap,” she whispered softly to herself and turned towards her own kota by feeling. She knew that she would also find the way blindly and it was not far away. Nevertheless, she moved forward very carefully, one arm stretched out in front of her, to notice trees or a hut in time.

She finally reached the kota and listened. An unmistakable snoring told her that she was standing in front of the right hut. Her parents had certainly wondered where she was again, but it was extremely rare that she was so late. Silently she opened the flap and crept in. She groped her way to her sleeping place, unbuckled her belt and pulled the tunic over her head. Then she lay down, sighed quietly and soon fell into sleep like a rock.

~~~

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At sunrise Yelana left the camp and made a long walk to a kota far away. She hadn't been here for a long time and when she finally stood in front of the hut, it immediately struck her that it had seen better days before. The wood was heavily weathered and there were open gaps between the boards in some places. Nobody had repaired or renewed anything here for a long time. She opened the flap and stepped in. In the middle of the kota sat an elderly woman who was busy with a handicraft.

“Hello, Gyda.”

“Don't call me that, Yelana. You know very well I hate that nickname.” She did not even look up when she answered in a dark and powerful voice, but continued to care for her traditional duodji. She just made one of the belts as they all wore it over the tunic here in camp. However, certain details onto it told Yelana that this belt was meant for an unmarried Northuldra.

“Well, Gyríðr, but don't you think we're both a bit old for this kind of subtlety?”

Gyda looked up briefly, swung her head back and forth in a judgmental manner and then continued with the work indifferent. Yelana took a look around the dwelling. It was full of old traditional items, including a richly decorated rare gievriej, a very old sacred shaman drum, as the noaidi used to use it for their rituals. This was long before the People of the Sun moved here near by Ahtohallan and the fifth Spirit was chosen among them. All that remained of the old tradition was the soul song of her tribe. But this one here must have been made by Gyda.

Yelana looked at her again. She had become a very old woman, the deep wrinkles in her face showed her long life experience as wife of the fifth spirit. But it was also evident that she was still troubled by the fact that he had rejected her at that time and that she was losing her high position in the tribe on those days. At some point she retreated to this place and since then she had lived as a hermit. Afterwards she only had contact to the tribe through the few Northuldra that brought her food to survive. In return, she voluntarily made traditional clothing and therefore was provided with leather, fabric and all the other things that were necessary.

Yelana didn't know everything that was going on that time then, but she needed to know if Gyda had a child with him and could somehow hide it. She cleared her throat distinctly. “There have been disturbing events and I have an important inquiry.”

Gyda didn't respond.

“Please!”

The elder woman paused and finally put her tools aside.

“Ask.”

“Had the fifth spirit begotten a progeny with you?”

Gyda gave a short, dry laugh. “Are you out of your mind? Have you forgotten what happened back then?”

Yelana tightened her eyebrows. “No, of course not. But you've been living so far out here for so long that nobody notices anything, even if you're pregnant, if you know how to hide it. I need to know, and also who helped you.”

“Even if it were, what do you care?” Gyda picked up her tools again.

“Wait. Please listen to me.” Yelana sat down and told her everything, including her suspicion that Gyda's child might be responsible. Gyda listened to her attentively and asked no questions, only her gaze grew increasingly darkened. At the end she nodded and after a little while of consideration she finally answered quietly.

“Yes, I had a child with him, a boy. I gave him the name Kolgrimr.” She hesitated, but then continued, “I was already pregnant when he abandoned me because I was no longer good enough for him and could no longer perform my duties as he expected of me to. You surely remember what he was like, how ruthless and pressing. But I wanted to protect my unborn child.” She interrupted herself and took a deep breath. “I gave birth to the child some time later and Jonna helped me with. Then this king came from the south and all these strangers started to build this dam and ...,” she faltered and looked sadly to the ground. “Sometime after the completion of this stony monster, he finally came back to me and told me something about a fraud and that the land was dying and the reindeer were suffering. He was so excited and angry, I can still remember it like it was yesterday.”

“What happened next?” asked Yelana when Gyda lost herself in memories and did not continue speaking immediately.

“He took Kolgrimr from me. Said he had to make sure that his descendant would take over when he himself was no longer around. I didn't know what he meant then and I tried to stop him, but without success. I never saw him again and later heard that he was killed in his human form. Shortly afterwards the sun darkened and this fog came. You know the rest of the story.”

“Yes, and Jonna also died fighting with the men of this dreadful king. I knew her quite well. I just don't understand why she never told me about it.”

“Because she had to promise to me not to tell anybody.”

Yelana understood and nodded. She felt pity for her, grabbed Gyda by the arm and said, “I'm very sorry for you, Gy- ... Gyríðr. No one knew about your child, and none of us wanted you living here alone. None of us ever really got it right.”

“It's not our folks' fault, I know. It was my own decision and I had my reasons.”

“Have you ever seen your son again?”

Gyda looked up. Then she slowly and sadly shook her head, “No. He's probably long dead, too.”

When Yelana later returned to the camp, she first went to her kota and thought things over thoroughly. One thing led to another and slowly a picture formed itself in her mind. It was time to make a decision, one that was very tough for her. And so she got up and walked out.

~~~

---

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know.

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp

#frozen #frozen2 #frozen3 #fanfic #epic novel #the broken bridge #chapter 07 #bigfrozenfan

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tybaku · 3 years

Text

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30691259

Midoriya Izuku finds the incarnation of beauty and divinity sitting at a window of a hole-in-the-wall café just a few blocks away from home.

Or: An artist in search of inspiration unexpectedly finds a new muse.

When Izuku lays eyes on him, it’s like salvation.

It’s a feeling of warmth, like fire licking at the grooves of his teeth and spreading throughout the apples of his cheeks. It’s a pleasant thing, the following lurch in the very pit of his chest, like all the air in his lungs had turned into honey the color of molten gold. It’s electric in the way he can feel it’s lingering buzz in his fingertips just as he’s left in a reverie.

Izuku hasn’t felt this way in weeks.

A thin, reserved smile finds its way onto his bitten lips as he twirls his mechanical pencil between his fingers. If he were an artist of a different medium—say, a photographer—he would capture this very moment for safe keeping, have it frozen in all its sharp and bright clarity and contrast. (But he is not, so he will have to make due with his pencil and paper.)

It’s a gray kind of day today. Storm clouds were rumbling gently in the sky, crooning and purring in the promise of rainfall. It set a somber mood, and a gloomy undertone to the colors of the café Izuku frequented, despite its yellow lights and setup of deep, rich browns, reds, and oranges.

Though it did pair perfectly with the man who sat by the window.

Izuku’s eyes fell, and his pencil danced on the paper of his sketchbook. Curves and corners formed a light, faint base, precise enough to embody a sitting figure. Izuku looks up again, eyes gently observing the piece in front of him.

And damn if that man at the window didn’t resemble something straight out of a Rembrandt. He was soft, pale colors, from fair skin to blond hair, and awfully kind on the eyes, muted and light. He held a dark sort of overtone over his features and the way he breathed, grays and blues amongst warmth.

He’s wearing a scarf in a bright shade of cream low on his neck, and the material gives off the impression of cotton, which is soft and comforting in the current cold of late autumn. His clothes are dark, old, and large, falling off his slim figure. His eyes are downcast, and though Izuku can’t quite tell from this distance, they are deep and dim in hue, and enraptured by the laptop in front of him, a halo of cool light illuminating his high cheeks and sharp jaw.

Simply put, the man at the window was agonizingly gorgeous, and Izuku was determined to capture his beauty on sketch paper.

He’s quietly scribbling his third concept drawing (he quietly berated himself for not bringing any paints today, but then considered the fact he wasn’t even planning to draw at the café anyway, and he could always just start a piece when he got home as long as he had a decent thumbnail) when the man stops, rolls his shoulders back, and rises from his seat.

Surprised, Izuku nearly drops his pencil, not having expected any movement and having forgotten the man at the window wasn’t actually modeling for him, nor made of marble. (He could be though, Izuku thinks. If he let me, I could immortalize him with just my hands.)

The man steps up to the counter and orders a coffee.

Izuku watches him wait as subtly as he can, glasses slipping to the tip of his nose with how often his head moves up and down, and up and down again in order to somewhat perfect the piece in his book.

Faintly, he realizes that he should maybe be a little more inconspicuous about his sightseeing, but he’s too thrilled about finally finding a view that was actually worth looking at. Plus, the man hasn’t yet noticed Izuku’s stare on his stern profile, even if the artist was just as tactful about it as a toddler.

Izuku rolls his own shoulders, a mimic of what the man had done earlier, and continues. When the man returns to his seat, Izuku is on his third sheet of paper.

They’re faint, quick doodles now, thumbnails overlapping thumbnails, because Izuku is rapidly losing his patience, and doesn’t want to spend more than a minute on a sketch. He’s too excited now, and the ideas keep coming in, insistent on making their presence known even as the page becomes more and more crowded, filled to the brim with messy artwork.

The man finally meets his eye, and scowls.

Embarrassed, Izuku ducks his head quickly, pretending to be occupied with his sketchbook. It’s a half-truth really, because he has been busy with it for the past twenty something minutes. Only now there’s a more than healthy flush to his cheeks that can’t be blamed on the chilly weather. He looks up tentatively.

The man has gone back to glaring at his laptop screen and sipping on what Izuku assumes to be his dark brew (with exactly two and a half packets of sugar substitute—Izuku knows this because he had seen him pour and stir them into his mug at the sidebar before he took his seat again).

Izuku lets out a quiet sigh of relief as the heat in his face fades out like a dying candle, and then resumes his sketching calmly. He never really could draw when he knew someone was watching, it made him feel too nervous, and much too exposed. One is meant to create art privately, and wholeheartedly, not under a persistent microscope.

Then again, Izuku probably shouldn’t be out in public if he wanted privacy and be away from prying eyes. Even if they are a deep, rich shade of brown that sat on his skin like hot, burning coal. (Even if they are red and piercing like they must be in another life, in another painting of beauty.)

And it wasn’t as if Izuku came to the little coffeehouse with the intention to create, he had simply wanted to mill about, and see if maybe he could find some inspiration outside his lonely studio apartment, and even his actual art studio. He never thought he would actually strike gold, and have to sit down to milk it for all it was worth.

Unfortunately, there comes a point where all the gold runs out, and Izuku is left with dirty hands and an ache in his chest.

The man packs up his belongings and leaves. The bell above the door sings cheerily. Izuku watches as the man breathes a puff of air like smoke before he shields his mouth from the cold with his scarf. Izuku's eyes fall when the man rounds a corner and disappears from view.

The coffee in the mug Izuku bought out of courtesy has gone cold, since he had been far too busy trying to map out the shapes and shadows of the man at the window. He looks down into it, detested, not being able to help feeling a little upset about the man’s departure.

If I had asked, Izuku thinks rather absently, would he have stayed?

He shakes his head at himself, hair tickling his cheeks, feeling a little ridiculous. That wasn’t something you could just ask of someone you didn’t even know the name of. It wasn’t appropriate by any means, to ask a stranger something so intimate. To stay. And just so you could admire them and the lines of their human body, and preserve them on sketch paper for you to have and hold selfishly.

So really, there wasn’t anything Izuku could’ve done to prevent the inevitable. The loss of a light and warmth so bright it felt holy—the inside of a dying sun, the core of a supernova.

What he does do, however, is take advantage of all that he had basked in and hurry on home with intent of creating a new art piece of paints, making sure to leave a fat tip on the underside of his untouched coffee before leaving the shop with a little spring to his step and a pink blush on his face.

He makes it home in a flurry, hair wildly windswept and cold air in his panting mouth, having broken into a sprint, and then a run, by the time he was only a block away from his apartment, nerves buzzing under his skin. He had taken two steps at a time up the stairs and into his studio, as if he were being chased by a madman. (He was the only madman around really, one who was much too eager to capture what he felt back at the café on a canvas with his oils at home, rather than make the trip to his professional workspace.)

Izuku makes a quick beeline to his art desk (it’s standing where maybe a television stand would be if he had one, right in front of his comfy loveseat, and it’s covered in all sorts of paints because Izuku tends to use it as a glorified paint palette) and sets his sketchbook down on the cleanest spot he could find, immediately crouching down in order to rummage through his art supply bins for his spare oil paints.

He mutters as he does this, about colors and brushes and the man at the window of the café, but it’s nothing short of white noise to his ears, a harmless habit. It helped him focus in fact, his own whispered musings to an empty room, and it helped him relax enough to calm the heart trying to break his rib cage and beat a gaping wound through his chest.

He finally finds the oils, and then the brushes, that he needs to replicate the image in his head that burns in the backs of his eyes. He sets them all down on his art desk, only where it’s dry, and moves about the apartment in search of the final, most important ingredient: a canvas.

He looks down, around, and behind every piece of furniture, grumbling under his breath. After about five minutes, it finally sinks in, and he makes a terrible discovery: there were no clean canvases he could use.

Usually, he would have one or two lying around, for easy commission pieces, and even when the occasional creative mood would randomly strike, but as of late, he hasn’t actually been painting much of anything, whether it be for personal purposes or professional pursuits. And his past self had figured the canvases in his art studio would suffice because of this, so he hadn’t bought any to keep at home.

His past self was a bumbling idiot.

Determined, and not yet ready to detach himself from this bout of sudden inspiration, Izuku rolls up his sleeves, gathers his supplies, and gets to work, canvas or no canvas. He paints and paints until his knuckles ache and his jaw goes sore from clenching in concentration.

He finishes his piece with tired arms and oils not only on his face, but on his plastic frames. He finishes liberated, with relief strung throughout him.

Admittedly, it’s not his best piece, for his living room wall isn’t suited for his oils, but Izuku can’t help but think it’s his most beautiful. It’s the first thumbnail he made of the man at the window of the café, one where he’s looking out the window, blown out right on the wall, his sharp yet soft profile glowing gently with warm, nude colors.

The man at the window takes Izuku’s breath away all over again.

Warm in the face, Izuku lets his eyes wander away, and fall to the wooden floor. The sun is bright and high in the sky now, a telltale sign of noon, beaming hot yellows into the apartment, and beating down onto the back of his clothes. The lighting is wonderful, and perfect for a picture, but a seed of greed is already sprouting in the mouth of Izuku’s stomach.

This sight, this piece, wasn’t one he was willingly to share with anyone just yet, if ever. It feels too deeply personal somehow, and much too intimate to showcase on any of his social medias, much less his professional art blog. Plus, it’s not even a complete piece, or one he can profit off of, since it lies dormant on his wall. There wasn’t a reason to post this anywhere, and there wasn’t a reason why Izuku should even want to. This piece was for his eyes only.

Embarrassed at the mere thought, Izuku brings his stained hands to his face, no doubt smearing more oil paint onto his blushy cheeks. Now what kind of reasoning was that? He didn’t want to share? The man at the window was only his to admire? How selfish! And how embarrassing! Izuku thinks in a flushing stupor, berating himself in belated humiliation. He hadn’t meant to think any of that, honest!

The artist smacks his face once, and then twice, to pull himself back together. Nevermind all that, there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep some of his work to himself in the first place. Just like his personal, and very much private sketchbook where he allowed himself to experiment and make mistakes, this living room piece served as an act of unexpected creativity and originality, a subjective study of an intriguing character.

At the very least, Izuku had fully convinced himself of this in less than a minute, not allowing himself to think about the matter any further lest he wanted to mutter a whole dissertation about it straight through the wall and into his neighbor’s apartment. (The walls here weren’t as thick as they were supposed to be, unfortunately.) (Vaguely, Izuku recalls his apartment lease and its rules, specifically the too-lengthy paragraph under “alterations” and how he was not allowed to “paint, wallpaper, alter, or redecorate without written consent of the landlord.”)

Izuku brings his thumb to his mouth and bites down on the painted nail to keep himself quiet, letting his eyes settle back up to his artwork. It truly was an astonishing piece, if he did say so himself. It was very new, and very different from any of his other work, and it reflected an entirely distinct side of Izuku’s artistic capabilities. It felt real, and warm, and overwhelmingly human; very dissimilar from his usual painting style.

It was nude, and dark, and utterly stunning in all the unexpectedly right ways. A handsome painting crafted by hands that never knew they could portray such divinity.

A fresh flame ignites in Izuku all over again, and his hands go back to feel the blood rising in his face once more. It was becoming increasingly more and more difficult for him to mellow out of this stage of embarrassing elation, since each time he tries to take a look to admire his piece he gets worked all up, and ends up awkward and out of place in his own home. He just—He just needs something more.

Huffing, Izuku removes his glasses and wipes them down with the hem of his shirt. His hands go a little blurry under his gaze, which was a little watery and soft at the edges, far-sightedness at its best. As he removes any paint off his lenses, he allows his mind to wander just a bit, back to his painting, and back to the prospect of sharing.

He nearly drops his glasses moments after, right on the line of a most groundbreaking revelation—a victory caused by something straight out of a storybook or myth, one where stars, planets, suns, minds, and hearts aligned.

Izuku fits his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and quickly fishes his phone out of his pocket, inputting his passcode with no hesitation.

He had some calls to make.

#fic #link #bnha #bkdk #ty.txt #ty.types

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lockefanfic · 4 years

Text

Business Trip: Pt 17 - Interrogation

The fact that there was an actual interrogation going on in the next-door interrogation room was probably the hottest thing about the whole situation.

You notice that the police officer in the cold, sterile room is questioning a heavily tattooed, scary looking dude, but that’s pretty much all the attention you give the scene, given that Park Jihyo was doing her best to distract you.

She distracted you partially with her cute, pretty face, her large, round eyes that seemed like they were always shining with some inner light, making the room brighter just with their presence. Then there was her cute button nose, her wide, blinding smile, and her short haircut that only added to the alluring cute sexiness that she exuded with every movement.

But she mostly distracted you with her breasts.

“Bae Irene is still on the loose, and finding her is our top priority.”

Your statement draws looks and nods of agreement from the women in the room, each of them determined in their own way to finding the mastermind behind the recent attacks on your company. The fact that two of Red Velvet’s members were now currently behind bars did little to dull their desire to bring its leader to justice, especially now that they had escalated things beyond mere corporate espionage and into the realm of physical assault.

Three days have passed since your successful plan to capture Wendy and Joy. You are joined in the large boardroom of JYP’s Seoul office by Momo, Choa, Seolhyun,and Jeongyeon; on a video conference monitor on the wall is Mina, joining into the meeting from back home. Her legal expertise was likely to be important in the days to come.

“Jeongyeon,” you continue, addressing the young IT specialist who had played a key role in trapping Wendy and Joy, “were you able to find anything in Red Velvet’s data that might lead us to her?”

“No,” she replies with a disturbed look on her small face, “it’s kind of crazy - there’s nothing on Red Velvet’s servers that is related to her at all. There are obvious gaps of missing data, especially in data that has a chronological sequence… but some entire files are missing.”

“What do you mean, missing? Is her data on a separate server?” Seolhyun asks. She was the head of JYP’s Seoul office now, following the retirement of her superior; she was just as determined as anyone to find Irene given Red Velvet was operating literally in her own backyard.

“I don’t know where it is. My theory is that when we established the connection to Red Velvet’s servers, it automatically triggered a program or subroutine that deleted everything related to Irene. She must have been prepared for something like this to happen and she had contingency plans in place in case her underlings got caught.”

“That bitch didn’t even give a damn about deleting her other members’ data,” Momo points out with a sneer, “some leader she is.”

“Keep digging, Jeongyeon,” you say as you give her an encouraging look, “maybe you’ll find something in one of the other members’ files that can help us out.”

Jeongyeon manages a smile, and you are surprised for a split second by how cute her determined look was; you rarely saw or had a chance to work with her, buried deep in JYP HQ’s IT floor as she usually was. But now that you had a chance to really spend some time with her, you found yourself attracted to her geeky, tomboy appeal.

“We should interrogate Wendy and Joy,” Momo says, eager as any of you for any chance to strike back at Red Velvet, “if we tell them their boss didn’t do anything to save their asses they might be more willing to sell her out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mina adds through the video conference feed, “not legally possible, anyway. We’re not law enforcement officers, and now that they’re under the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s custody, we can’t touch them. Any interrogation of those two will have to come from the SMPA. Considering the number of crimes Red Velvet has been involved in, it’s likely we’ll be waiting awhile before any interrogation relating to JYP even begins.”

Momo seems disappointed at Mina’s answer - she was really chomping at the bit to get at those two, and a small part of you takes comfort in the fact that perhaps it was because they had hurt you.

“I’ll speak to Detective Park at the SMPA today. Maybe she can give us a few minutes with them if we’re lucky,” you suggest. You were eager to meet with Park Jihyo again, if for no other reason than to thank her for her part in rescuing you three days ago.

“Then what about Sana and Tzuyu?” Momo says, “they received their orders directly from Irene when they pulled their little Taiwan stunt. Maybe they might know something that can help us.”

Momo’s tone is neutral, although you knew that she still harboured some resentment towards Tzuyu and especially towards Sana for what they did in Taiwan with Seolhyun’s company data. As much as you appreciated her eagerness in finding Irene and making her pay for what she did to you, you knew anyone that questioned Sana and Tzuyu would need a clear head. Her history with Sana would clearly compromise any questioning she did to the other Japanese girl.

“I’ll take care of that,” Mina offers, saving you from having to tell Momo that she couldn’t question the two ex-SM employees, “They’re still back here at home anyway. I’ll get some questions ready and question them in the next day or two.”

“Good, do that and report back when you’ve spoken to them,” you say, “maybe they’ll still have some contact information or something like that… A phone number, an email address, anything. Momo, you, Seolhyun, and Choa can help Jeongyeon comb through all the Red Velvet data and try to find anything that might lead to Irene. I’m sure Jeongyeon can use the help.”

“There’s terabytes of stuff to go through,” Jeongyeon adds with a sigh, “those girls were busy. There are records of at least a few dozen instances of extortion and blackmail, each with hours of recordings and video.”

“Great, let’s get to work. Let’s meet up back here tonight at 10 and we can get some drinks. It’s been a rough few days. Maybe it’ll help us cool off.”

Your team nods, and each of you head off with determined looks on your faces.

---

The other women have left to start their respective tasks, and Momo is the last to leave the room. As she steps out of the boardroom you grab her lightly by her arm.

“Momo, I was hoping we could talk.”

She had stayed by your hospital bedside for every single minute you were there, refusing to go home or even eat until Choa reminded her to do so. Thankfully whatever drug Joy had knocked you out with had no permanent effects, and you were discharged after three days of observation by hospital staff.

The whole time the two of you didn’t really speak about your relationship; she was too busy taking care of you despite your insistence that you were fine, helping you eat, fluffing your pillows or finding magazines or books for you to pass the time with. Every moment she spent with you only increased your affection for her, and your desire to talk to her about what had happened with Sana.

The two of you hadn’t slept together since the ordeal, not for lack of effort on your part. Momo refused your advances, however, as difficult as it was for her to not give in. She said it was so that you could concentrate on recovering, although you knew it was partially because she was teasing you, and partially because she wanted to punish you.

Momo responds to your request to talk with a sigh, although you could tell it wasn’t because she was dreading the prospect.

“Can we… wait until all this is over? I want to talk to you too, but I can’t relax until that bitch is behind bars,” she responds, her voice soft.

You nod slowly, happy to give her the time and space she needed.

“I… I’m happy you’re here, Momo,” you tell her, eager to tell her something, anything, that conveyed how you felt about her, “...And I’m happy you’re in my life,” you add, not quite knowing where the words were coming from - they were out of your mouth before you knew it. It was your heart speaking, you guessed.

Momo smiles softly, her large, round eyes boring into your very soul, rendering you speechless as they so often did.

“After drinks with the girls tonight I want to fuck so hard we have to call in sick tomorrow,” she says with a smile, eliciting giggles from the both of you, “I bet you’re really backed up, what with an entire three days without sex.”

Classic Momo, interrupting an emotional moment with the topic of sex. You reach for her hand and are thankful for her presence in your life. Your fingers intertwine with hers.

You spend a long minute there in silence, the two of your sharing soft smiles with each other, happy for a moment of quiet following the recent storm that the two of you had weathered together. Eventually Momo steps close and gives you a peck on the lips before turning and rejoining the rest of your team.

You watch her leave, the smile still on your lips.

---

You had expected the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s Cybercrime Division to be hidden away in some corner of the large central Seoul precinct, but you were surprised by what you found when Detective Park led you through the glass sliding doors into her department; a hyper modern, super advanced open concept office that seemed to have more screens and monitors in once place than you had ever seen in your entire life.

“Korea is one of the most connected countries in the world,” Jihyo states as she leads you through the busy department, “and as such cybercrime is a huge deal for us, especially here in the capital.”

All around you officers are glued to monitors or busy typing away on their phones. Everywhere tablets, smartphones, and laptops have taken the place of charts, notebooks and notepads. Truly this was the police department of the future.

“Please,” Jihyo says as she invites you into her office that is tucked into a corner of the floor. She closes the door behind you as you step in, and she motions for you to sit in the seat in front of her desk with an exaggerated servant’s flourish. The young detective had a cheerful, bright charisma about her that made her easy to get along with.

“I wanted to thank you personally, detective,” you start, “for your role in what happened earlier this week. We weren’t expecting them to drug me, so it was good that you and your men have such impeccable timing.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Jihyo responds, “as you know Red Velvet has been a thorn in our sides for years. I’m glad they’ve finally been put to justice.”

“Most of them, anyway.”

“Most of them, anyway,” Jihyo echoes, catching on to what you are saying.

“My team is hard at work combing through what we’ve found on their servers. We’re hoping we’ll be able to find some trace of data that might lead us to Irene.”

Jihyo gives you a small, sly smile.

“You do realize,” she begins, “that Red Velvet’s data is official evidence. You’re not supposed to have any of it.”

“It would have been foolish of us to not make a copy before we handed it over to you,” you answer truthfully.

Jihyo gives you an exaggerated sigh as though she was disappointed in you, but you could tell she was being sarcastic.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just tell me that,” she says, her bright smile still on her round, cute face. When you first met her you were still technically drugged, but now that you had the chance to have a conversation under less stressful circumstances you were surprised to see how attractive she really was. She had a bright, cheerful aura about her that was somewhat at odds with the gravity of her position.

“Anyway, i was hoping you could help us with something.”

“What might that be?”

“We’d like to question Wendy and Joy. We believe if we tell them that Irene cut her losses and left them behind, they’d be willing to co-operate with us and perhaps provide us with information regarding her whereabouts.”

Jihyo’s smile widens, surprised that you had the audacity to ask for such a thing.

“That’s kind of illegal,” she answers, “they’re suspects for a crime that is being actively investigated. Their interrogation is under SMPA jurisdiction. My jurisdiction.”

“Then maybe we don’t have to question them. Maybe you’ll just happen to accidentally leave them in a room after hours and with any recording devices turned off…”

“...a room where you and your staff might be waiting?”

“You can’t stop what you don’t know is happening, Detective Park,” you finish.

Jihyo leans forward on her desk, bringing her hands together beneath her chin and interlacing her fingers.

“I understand your eagerness to find Irene,” she says, “but you know I can’t leave you alone with Wendy and Joy after what they did to you. I’m sure you’re a fine gentleman that wouldn’t hurt a woman, but I wish I could say the same for your girlfriend. She looked like she wanted to tear Wendy’s head off.”

“Momo is… passionate,” you admit.

“Dammit,” Jihyo hisses under her breath, her volume obviously loud enough for you to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“So she is your girlfriend. I was kinda hoping she was just a friend or especially concerned co-worker or something.”

You smile as you realize what Jihyo was implying. You decide to tease her a little, saying, “Detective Park, are you attracted to me? Are you disappointed that I have a girlfriend?”

“Noooo,” Jihyo answers, leaning back into her chair. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. You smile smugly, liking where this was going.

“Well, I’ll have you know that Momo and I have… a relaxed relationship. Especially when it comes to other women.”

“I’ll have you know I’m not some easy girl that’s going to sleep with you just because your girlfriend lets you bang other women.”

“Who said anything about sleeping? There must be an interrogation room around here somewhere we can use…”

Jihyo grabs a pencil off her desk and throws it at you with a laugh, and you are happy to find that she has taken your joke for what it was. She maintains eye contact with you after you successfully deflect the projectile, a sly, alluring look on her features.

“Can you shoot?” she asks, out of the blue.

“Shoot… like, a gun?”

“No, shoot a damn basketball. We’re in a police station. Of course I mean guns.”

“Um, I can’t say ever shot a gun, although I’m pretty good with Widowmaker’s sniper rifle, if that’s the kind of gun you mean…”

Jihyo giggles before rising from her desk and tapping you on the shoulder on her way out of the office.

“Follow me,” she says, and you follow her eagerly.

---

Park Jihyo, it appeared, was quite the shot.

The pistol - a Daewoo K5, as Jihyo informed you - bucked violently in her hands that seemed so tiny by comparison, but she did an admirable job of handling the recoil of the weapon. More than admirable, it appeared, as she proudly showed you the close up shot of the target that was displayed on the tablet embedded into the wall of the firing range. Her smile was even brighter, it seemed, than it was earlier in her office.

“Cops rarely carry their sidearms on duty here in Korea,” she says as she makes her weapon safe, “and when we have to go on a raid in the field it’s usually only the SWAT guys that are carrying. But every now and then I like to sneak down here and let off a few mags to blow off steam.”

“You’ve clearly had a lot of practice. I dunno if I stand a chance here.”

“C’mon, give it a shot. All that Overwatch experience must mean something.”

You smile at her jab as you approach the firing booth and pick up the pistol, your first time handling any sort of firearm.

“Now take the long rectangular thing with the bullets in it - that’s called the magazine - and then put it in-”

You smile as you grasp the magazine and load the pistol, racking the slide back with your free hand as the pistol chambers a round.

“I’ve watched enough movies and fired enough virtual guns, thanks,” you retort, and Jihyo snorts in reply. She approaches you and you feel your senses tingle as she brings her arms around your torso. You are even more aroused by the feel of her chest pressing ever so slightly against your back. Her hands lift your forearms into the correct position.

“Shooting a real gun isn’t like clicking your mouse button,” she says matter-of-factly, “just breathe and pull the trigger back softly. You should feel a wall in the trigger. After that, the trigger will break and the gun will go off. Line up the rear and front sight, breathe out, pull the trigger…”

The pistol barks, and you both glance at the tablet that is relaying a live shot of the target downrange, looking for a bullet hole… that is totally absent.

“Did you… did you just miss the entire target? Damn, you suuuuuuck,” Jihyo teases.

“Just you wait,” you retort, “I just need some practice.”

The next fourteen rounds do little to back up your claim, but at least three of them manage to hit the paper, even if only one of those three actually lands in one of the target circles; the furthest one, at that.

“Apparently shooting a real gun isn’t like clicking my mouse button,” you say, echoing Jihyo’s earlier words and being rewarded with a throaty laugh from the detective. She steps into the booth with you to begin to fill another empty magazine with more rounds, and you tense suddenly at her close proximity.

“Maybe you just need motivation,” Jihyo says with a suddenly sultry tone.

“Maybe I do,” you agree.

“Maybe if you hit the three point circle with this next magazine, we find an interrogation room around here somewhere we can use.”

New motivation fills your veins, and you grasp the pistol in both hands as you load the newly filled magazine. Jihyo steps out of the booth, you line up your shot, and pull the trigger fifteen times.

You miss with every shot. Five miss the target altogether, eight hit the paper outside of the target circles. Two hit the five point circle, although you’re sure they were mostly fluky shots.

You eject the magazine and lay down the still smoking pistol. Jihyo retrieves it, the remaining ammunition, and your eye and ear protection and returns the equipment to the weapons storage room, replacing the lock and shutting down the range, a sly smile on her features all the while.

“Good thing there are consolation prizes,” she says with a tempting, alluring tone, taking you by the wrist and leading you out of the firing range.

---

The fact that there was an actual interrogation going on in the next-door interrogation room was probably the hottest thing about the whole situation.

But she mostly distracted you with her breasts.

She was well endowed, it went without saying, easily the largest of the women you’d slept recently. And you were practically drooling with anticipation, as at the moment they were still annoyingly encased in her strapless, white cotton bra, her blue and red checkered cardigan teasingly opened up to reveal her assets to your eager eyes.

Your lips are pressed to her neck, planting soft kisses on her smooth skin that elicit soft gasps from the young detective, and you find yourself happy, not for the first time, that the listening room was completely soundproof to the interrogation room. You move lower with your kisses, bending somewhat awkwardly at the waist now to bring your mouth closer and closer to the prize. You bring your hands up her sides, treasuring the feel of her warm skin beneath your palms as you eventually bring them to her chest and cup her bra-clad breasts.

Jihyo accommodates you by pressing her back up against the soundproof glass. The audacity of the action surprised you - there you were, devouring a young woman just a few feet away from a scary looking interrogation, the occupants of that room completely in the dark as to what was happening in the very next room.

Her back pressed against the glass, you are free to bend your neck further. Jihyo finally lets you have your consolation prize, if indeed this is what it was - she reaches behind her and undoes the latch to her strapless bra, letting the garment fall to the ground, her round, full breasts falling free as they finally escape their cotton prison.

You want to dive in, so to speak, but Jihyo pushes you back by your shoulders until you fall into the chair in the listening room. She straddles you quickly, and wasting no time, brings her chest to your face.

“Taste me,” she says, the words almost a hiss as they escape her lips.

You do just that, burying yourself quite literally in her breasts, taking her left breast first in your mouth, your tongue swirling over her already hardened nipple. Your left hand captures her right breast in its palm, squeezing the soft flesh gleefully, delighting in the feel of the large mound, happy to experience such a well endowed woman after months of smaller (but no less appealing) chests.

Jihyo leans her head back and lets out a long, low moan that gradually increases in volume as you explore more of her chest and as you deepen the sucking on her nipples. You switch after awhile, your mouth descending on her other breast, leaving her other saliva soaked nipple to be squeezed and fondled by your palm.

Momo was probably the next well endowed woman you’d been with, her breasts round and in perfect scale with the rest of her fit, slim body - but Jihyo was in another league entirely, her breasts large without being comically so, her nipples absolutely delicious, your tongue delighting in their pebbly hardness with each suck and stroke against the sensitive buds. You wanted to bury your face in her warm flesh, and you do just that, tearing your mouth from her nipple to press your face in her cleavage, delighting in the feel of her warm flesh on either cheek.

“You like my tits?” Jihyo says, although you both knew the answer.

“Fuck yes,” you answer, your voice muffled, rather pleasantly, by warm breasts.

“I’ll make you love them,” she answers, and you tingle with anticipation as Jihyo takes control, lifting herself from her straddling position until she is kneeling between your knees. Even as she looks up at you with those large, innocent looking eyes of hers, she is unbuckling your belt and hooking her fingers into your waistband, pulling your jeans and the boxers you are wearing underneath them down your hips, until they are down past your knees.

She immediately takes you into her mouth; without warning, without teasing. Other girls relished that few minutes of teasing, taking things slowly, working you with their hands and the tips of their tongues, making you squirm, making you wait, painfully, for them to take you into their mouth.

But Jihyo is not one of those girls, and as she continues to take you in and out of her wet, warm mouth, you thank god that she wasn’t, because you don’t think you could have waited a moment longer for her to begin. She is not as skilled as Seolhyun or Momo, but she makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm, swirling her tongue around your sensitive head and pumping your shaft with her closed fist.

You lean your head back in pleasure. In the interrogation room, things are getting heated, the cop appearing angered by something the gangster has said; little knowing one of his colleagues was in the listening room giving you a blowjob. You would have laughed, if you weren’t sighing out of pleasure.

Jihyo slowly winds down from her blowjob, and as it had only been a minute or so since she began you find yourself disappointed, especially since the pleasure was just beginning to build. But when she straightens her back, you realize why her blowjob was so short.

You know what she is about to do, but it does little to dim the anticipation of what is about to happen, nor does it lessen the pleasure when Jihyo leans forward and, taking each of her breasts in her hands, traps your erect shaft between her large mounds. Slowly, she grinds her chest against your pelvis, your slick shaft pumping in and out between her breasts, the saliva from her blowjob providing the perfect amount of lubrication, the head and upper half appearing and disappearing from between mounds of soft, warm flesh.

You are awestruck by the pleasure this brings, if for no other reason than because of the novelty of it - you’d never been with a woman endowed enough to even try this, and while you’d emptied yourself on plenty of womens’ chests after fucking, you’d yet to experience a titjob.

Jihyo tries, mostly in vain, to lick your head as it appears from between her breasts, only succeeding a little bit of the time, but each time her tongue makes contact with your head it sends shocks of pleasure shooting up and down your spine. The novelty, the pleasure, the fact that you were getting a titjob from a beautiful young detective while an interrogation was happening just a few feet away from you, it was a lot to take in, and it quickly became too much.

For long, pleasureable minutes, Jihyo continues to push your rock hard shaft in and out between her warm, slick breasts, her hands squeezing her flesh tightly around your cock, her fingers interlacing at her front to keep your cock from escaping the lovely embrace of her tits. She continues to try to lick the head of your cock sometimes, sometimes letting her head fall back and making eye contact with you through half-lidded, heavy, seductive eyes. It was all too much to handle.

“Fuck, Jihyo, that feels amazing.”

“Mmmmm?” she manages to reply, so absorbed she is in trying to lick your shaft as it appears between her breasts.

“Fuck… you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Then fucking cum,” Jihyo replies, returning her full attention to your pleasure, increasing her pace, squeezing her breasts even tighter around your thrusting shaft as it sinks and reappears from between her soft flesh mounds. She pumps her chest up and down faster, grinding her chest against you fast and faster, until you quickly see that edge, that edge from which there is no return.

“Fuck… Jihyo… I’m cumming!”

“Do it! Give me all your cum… give it to me… cum on my face… Cum on me! Cum all over me!”

Your orgasm strikes with the force of a thunderbolt, and you feel every single burst of semen as it erupts from your shaft, the first shot happening while your head was still covered by Jihyo’s breasts, sending hot, warm cum into her cleavage and further lubricating each subsequent thrust. You wonder if she is going to open her mouth to take the rest of your cum, but Jihyo instead leans her face back, letting the rest of your semen splash against her chin and face, the thick liquid spraying all over her cute, innocent features.

You weren’t usually one for giving girls facials, but there was something radically different about Jihyo. Maybe it was the environment, the fact that Jihyo was a law enforcement officer; maybe it was the gravity of the week’s earlier events; maybe it was the novelty, it being your first time receiving a titjob.

Whatever it was, you found yourself staring, awestruck, at Jihyo’s cum stained face as you finish sending your last few small streams of semen onto her chin and her upper chest, her grinding gradually slowing as your orgasm finally subsides.

Jihyo finally lets your shaft escape from her warm, wet cleavage, and she bends low to run her tongue along your shaft from its base to its tip, drawing shivers of sheer pleasure from your post-orgasm cock. She straightens her back, allowing you a perfect view of the semen splayed all over her large breasts, the smooth, perfect skin of her upper chest, and finally, the beautiful, innocent features of her cute face.

Jihyo brings her hands to her wet chest and begins rubbing the cum into her skin, lending it a shiny, slick appearance in the dim light of the listening room.

“It’s a shame you didn’t do better on the range,” she says with a sexiness you didn’t think the innocent young detective capable of.

“Oh yeah?” you manage to ask, “and what would’ve happen if I had done better?”

Jihyo smiles slyly as she captures a stream of dripping semen from her cheek and brings it to her mouth, tasting it as if it were some expensive delicacy at a five star restaurant.

“...All this cum would be in my pussy.”

---

You smile as you watch Jihyo join the other girls in the busy, swanky looking Seoul bar. Choa greets her with a warm hug, the two having worked closely together as they planned the capture of Wendy and Joy. With a warm smile the older girl introduces her to Seolhyun and Jeongyeon, who welcome the young detective warmly with smiles and a tall glass of beer.

A poke on your arm alerts you to Momo’s presence, two drinks in her hands as she offers one to you with a warm smile. You accept, and with a toast of your glasses together, you share your first sip of the evening, relishing the cold, crisp alcohol as it slides down your throats.

“Rough week,” you say, eliciting a smile from Momo.

“I’ll say,” she agrees, “Sooo… did you hit that?”

“Jihyo? No… just boob stuff.”

Momo blushes and almost chokes on her next sip of beer as she gives you a playful punch on the shoulder.

“That’s no fair, I can’t do boob stuff. She’s got an unfair advantage. Was it… a natural advantage?”

“Oh yes, I think so.”

“Dammit. I wish I could do boob stuff,” she says with an exaggerated sad face as she looks down at her own chest.

You smile widely as you wrap your arm around her and kiss her forehead.

“She’s got nothing on you,” you reassure her, leaning down to give her a small peck on the lips. Momo returns your kiss, and the kiss deepens slightly, before Momo breaks it off.

“I’m still, like, super fucking mad at you,” she says, her playful, sarcastic tone betraying the weight of her words, “and one day soon I’m gonna tear you a new one.”

“The Future Me can handle that.”

Momo lets out a snort before composing herself for what she is about to tell you.

“Before things get all drunk and alcohol-y tonight, you should know what the girls and I found while we were sifting through Red Velvet’s data.”

“What’s that?” you ask, taking another sip as you prepare yourself for what Momo is about to tell you.

“We pieced together communication between Wendy and Joy, and apparently their entire plan to trap you and get access to the JYP servers through your login was solely Wendy’s idea, and Irene had no idea it was happening. I guess she wanted to impress Irene with it.”

“So Wendy was a damn snake,” you quip, “no surprise there.”

“That’s not all. We found a message that was sent to Irene minutes before we caught Wendy and Joy. The message must have been what warned Irene in time to manually activate the program that deleted all her data from the server.”

“So it wasn’t automatically triggered when we gained access, like Jeongyeon said?”

“No. Irene actively deleted her data when she got the warning. Someone knew it was happening, and someone let her escape before we caught Wendy.”

“Fuck,” you hiss as you weigh the complications of this revelation, “who could it have been? Did you find out where the message came from?”

“No. Jeongyeon says it could have come from anyone.”

“Even one of us?”

“Even one of us,” Momo echoes, taking a deep sip of her beer in an attempt, perhaps in vain, to ease the implications of what she was saying.

“No. We’ve already been betrayed once. I refuse to believe we have another traitor in our ranks.”

“I don’t want to believe it either. And to be fair, it could be anyone who knew what was happening, not even necessarily one of us. For all we know, it could be someone we aren’t even aware of, someone we don’t even know.”

“That’s scarier,” you admit, and Momo nods in agreement.

You sigh - you had hoped this evening would lend you a small reprieve from the gravity of the past few days, but now you found another weight being added to your worries.

“Hey,” Momo says as she catches on to what you were feeling, “let’s worry about this tomorrow. Future Us can find whoever did this to us, and we’ll catch them just like we caught Wendy and Joy. Then Irene after that.”

You smile, and you find some solace in Momo’s bright smile, finding yourself thankful once more that this wonderful woman was in your life.

“Cheers to that,” you say, sharing a toast with Momo as you both rejoin your colleagues at their table, eager to forget about your worries if even for a single evening.

---

In a dark, mostly empty cafe in downtown Seoul, Bae Irene is meeting with two females.

“Wendy and Joy fucked up and got themselves caught. It’s time for you two to step up.”

The first female lets out a haughty laugh.

“Don’t talk to us like we’re your fucking employees. We’re done with that life,” one of the women answers, “we’ve had our fun. We’ve retired.”

“You’ll come back to it once you realize how much I’ll pay you.”

“What’s wrong with your other members? Seulgi and… what was the other’s name? Yubin? Yerin? Yeri?” says the second female.

“I don’t need them,” Irene hisses, “they’re dead to me now, after what they did to me.”

“This will cost you,” the first woman says.

“SM has deep pockets,” Irene answers.

“What do you want us to do?”

“I want to break JYP,” Irene answers, every syllable cold as steel, “I want to break him.”

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #Smut #pov smut #male reader #twice #twice jihyo #park jihyo

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reinabeestudio · 3 years

Photo

To celebrate Valentine’s Day, I wrote a humble one-shot featuring Phantom Thief Karamatsu and Detective Shinshia, inspired by the Phantom Thief set from Hesokuri Wars lol.

It is very simple, and I did it just to cater myself LMAO. But maybe some of you find it cute✨. As a small fact, I titled the story “Alone Together”.

Story under the cut!

Finally, February was here! Heart-shaped decorations in every store, roses of different colors were seen over different parts of the city, cute sweets… last but not least, there was the romance. For a long time, this was a sour month for the sextuplets. They were phantom thieves of renown, yet they never got a single chocolate in their whole lives by their fans! It was truly demoralizing, almost as bad as Christmas.

Tradition said that women were the ones that gifted chocolate for the men they had chosen. This year, however, the blue phantom thief had a mission. An important gift to give.

Karamatsu tried so many times in the past to convey his feelings to the new detective: Shinshia Doremi. She acted rough and distant at first. “We are enemies,” she declared coldly. But in the rare moments they could spent together, her behaviour softened and the real Shinshia Doremi was exposed: a warm, yet shy girl. Sadly, everytime he tried to tell her about what he felt, someone or something would interrupt their moment together. Often their separate duties, as detective and phantom thief.

Oh, Cupid, how cruel was he! Keeping the hearts of this couple in the scale of Lady Justice, its pans so close but never together! Such a tragic fate!

Well, perhaps the vision he had of their love inside his head had evolved into something more dramatic than what it actually was in real life. But it added some excitement to whatever their situation was.

Karamatsu was no fool, either. He knew there were others interested in the girl… Mostly, his boisterous, shitty eldest. He noticed the way that idiot looked at her, and it wasn’t love. At least, not the the type of love he felt inside. The blue thief decided it was time to strike while he still had the chance, and ask her out. Subtly.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♡ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Once more the young detective ended up being one of the few remaining people in the department. Rookies got so much paperwork, it was just ridiculous. She had to keep a dictionary close to her, too. Some of these characters looked like an amalgamation made of nightmares.

To keep boredom away, Shinshia started singing, the words echoing throughout the empty office. A soft duet, the name of which she could not call to mind at the moment. However, she did remember that it was a popular love song. It was one of the first songs she heard when she first arrived to Japan.

The sun goes to sleep once more

In this lonely time, I wonder

Is your heart dreaming of me?

The detective finished with the paper she had in front of her, and grabbed the next one in the pile. “How tedious,” she thought. She kept singing to herself.

Stars twinkle above our heads

And the moon gives us her best glowing smile

But tonight, I’ll be yours...

“... And yours alone.”

Another voice joined in with her song, singing along. Shinshia went silent and turned around, but she saw nothing besides empty desks. She went back to her paperwork, along with her song.

However, before she could sing another word, Shinshia stopped entirely when suddenly a pair of hands covered her eyes. “Who is it?” a familiar male voice asked in a sing-song tone.

“The sweet release of death, I hope.”

She resumed her work when she regained her sight as the infamous phantom thief, Karamatsu, casually leant against her desk with a subtle smile. “Long day, I presume.”

“You have no idea,” she sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears . “You should leave before someone sees you. Unless you want me to handcuff you.”

Karamatsu laughed quietly. “Heh, being helpless at your mercy sounds like a very tempting offer, darling. ” Shinshia’s face immediately flushed and he laughed again, genuinely. “But I am here to steal you away.”

“Steal me away?” Shinshia asked, not even looking away from the papers. She put some loose locks of hair behind her ear again. She was often pulling hair away from her face lately. “Sorry Karamatsu, but I have a ton of paperwork left to do. I can’t be stolen right now.”

“C’mon, Shia-chan! It won’t be for long. I’m just asking you to take a break.”

“I told you, I’m busy right n-”

The phantom thief put a hand over the paper she was writing on, and the scowling detective finally looked up at him. It was in that moment when she noticed that he was wearing casual clothes, and not his usual garish outfit filled with blue glitter. The only part that did stand out was, perhaps, the black eyepatch on his left eye. He felt triumphant over this, how she looked at him.

“Tonight, be mine alone ♪.”

After a minute of silence and a staring competition that was perhaps getting a bit too intense for the situation, Shinshia got up from her desk grumbling. “Fine. A short break.”

With a triumphant spring in his step, he suddenly scooped her up in his arms effortlessly and left the office. His plan was working so far.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♡ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Now this was strange.

Karamatsu dragged Shinshia out of the office. That was not the strange part, but instead of avoiding crowded places like he always did, they just… kept walking. Out in the open. Walking didn’t bother her, it was just unusual. He was a famous criminal, after all. It was a miracle they left the building so easily. Or maybe the author was just too lazy to think of something smart.

Wait, author? What author? That makes no sense. Just ignore it.

It was snowing outside. Snow wasn’t common where she was from, so she still marvelled at the sight of it everytime. Despite how much she enjoyed watching the snow fall, it was still cold in the streets. So smart was she, that she forgot to grab her jacket before they left, and now she was constantly rubbing her hands together.

Karamatsu laughed. “You’ll end up setting them on fire, Shia-chan.”

Shinshia snorted. The comment was lame, yet she snorted, like the fool she was. Karamatsu took her hand on his own and blew on it, before he decided to put both of their hands inside his coat pocket. She glanced at him, noticing that he was actually doing the same at her. However, as soon as he noticed her eyes on him, Karamatsu quickly looked away and instead focused on the cars that passed by.

After spending their evening with an impromptu stroll, they finally headed back to the building. Karamatsu spent most of the time silent, which was even more unusual that this whole situation. Usually, he loved doing long monologues filled with inscrutable flowery words that probably sounded cool only in his mind. But during that evening, Karamatsu seemed focused in whatever was going through his head at the moment. Then again, Shinshia didn’t talk much herself.

The poor detective couldn’t help it! He was a man that had to be put behind bars for his crimes, she knew this. However, everytime they were together, her mind just stopped working properly. This had been happening since she actually caught him once: Karamatsu, one of the six-colored phantom thieves that stole valuable pieces of art all around the city. He was pretty popular among the youngest members of her department, some of them even called themselves his fans. That was done in secret, of course.

Shinshia knew little about the man next to her. Truth be told, she wanted to unveil that air of mystery around him by herself. Not as a detective, but as… something else. Maybe as a friend. Or maybe as something deeper. Only the author knew.

Hold on, what-- you know what, nevermind that.

First she thought, maybe she was just starstruck. After all, as soon as she arrived to that building, she was assigned to the case of the phantom thieves. Shinshia was in a country that was so different to her native Spain, and she knew no one, besides this guy. A criminal. But he kept coming back when she was alone, giving her advice and listening to her troubles… And then a bond bloomed between them. So sudden, yet so natural, as if it was destined to happen.

“Shinshia,” Karamatsu called to her softly, pulling her from her thoughts, “I have a little present for you.”

“A present? Why?”

“Just a little something I got for you! It’s fine, I promise.”

Shinshia sighed. “Well, fine.”

His eye glittered as he clasped his hands happily. Gosh, what a big baby. “Good! Close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say you can, understand?” He said that last part in English, for some reason.

Strange request, but Shinshia did what he told her anyway, and closed her eyes. She could hear Karamatsu fumbling with something- not sure with what, but it was small, she supposed. He did say it was a little something, after all. Suddenly, she felt his hands on the sides of her head, playing with the locks of her hair. He put them back, and then she felt those same hair locks being slightly pulled back by something. She feels his warm hand linger on her chin, delicately caressing along her jawline before pulling away.

“Open your eyes.”

Shinshia opened her eyes, feeling really curious about what Karamatsu did. He took out a round pocket mirror and then he showed her: a blue hair bow was holding back her hair.

Karamatsu smiled at her softly. “Your hair is growing long, Shia-chan. It keeps getting in front of your eyes, doesn’t it?” She nodded, impressed. When did he notice her annoyance at her hair? It was such an insignificant detail. “Now I can see your cute face again.”

Shinshia looked down, feeling her face warm up. “T-Thanks.”

After he put the small mirror back in its place, he took an envelope out of the same pocket. He gave it to her. It would have looked like a normal letter, if it wasn’t for the small heart on the back… And the blue glitter. So painful.

“What is this?” Shinshia took the envelope and opened it. Inside there was a single piece of black paper with text in gold letters. “An invitation?”

“Observant as always! It’d make me very happy to see you there.”

“I’m not sure, Karamatsu… this is very sudden.”

“But, Shia-chan! It will be so much fun!” Karamatsu looked at her with puppy eyes. Uh, eye. “Do it for me. Please?”

How was that working so well, what the hell. Shinshia sighed in defeat. “I will think about it.”

Feeling victorious yet again, Karamatsu took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Good night, Shia-chan. I hope to see you there.” Those were his last words before he turned around and walked away, quickly melting into the crowd. Now Shinshia Doremi was left alone at the doors of her workplace with her heart beating incredibly fast.

The detective looked down at the sparkly envelope. This thing was so shiny that it hurted to look at it for too long. It was so painful! It was so tacky!

“You're so troublesome.” she said to no one. She released a deep sigh.

She was in love with the blue phantom thief called Karamatsu.

Shinshia decided to attend to the party, after all.

She didn’t go to parties often… mostly because she wasn’t invited to any of them. But, if she was being honest with herself, the promise of meeting him again was too tempting to resist. Also, free food and drinks.

Woah. She really had to have a deep crush on the man of strange monologues, if she was going to ignore her insecurity just for him. What a guy, he was making miracles happen even when he wasn’t present.

So she got ready, donning the prettiest dress she could find inside her closet. She wore the blue bow he gifted her, and after checking herself in the mirror, she grabbed her clutch purse and left to the party.

“Even if Karamatsu isn’t there, it’s better than to be alone during Valentine’s day,” she thought as she locked the door of her house behind her.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♡ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

It was a Valentine’s dance party. It should have been obvious, considering the day it took place. But she wasn’t aware that Valentine’s Day parties existed at all. Of course they do, why wouldn’t they? Maybe the host was single as hell, and this was their attempt in trying to find a partner. Or maybe it was a Jay Gatsby trying to find their Daisy Buchanan. Yikes, hopefully not.

Also, every celebration needs a party, obviously.

Somewhere, someone in the world will throw a party for Cat Day. Maybe they will put a silly little hat on top of their cat’s head, followed by the confused pet trying to swat it away with its little paws and failing as the owner was in the floor laughing to tears.

That turned to be a very amusing thought, after all. It’d be so funny if someone celebrated Cat Day like that. She didn’t even know if Cat Day existed at all, but now she really hoped that it did.

Back to reality, Shinshia grabbed a glass from the nearest table as she looked around, moving between the many guests that were having fun together. Where in the world was Karamatsu? How could a single man wearing a black eyepatch be so difficult to find among so many colorful outfits? Pretty sure his full name was Karamatsu Sandiego. A famous thief whose signature look features a blue, glittery matching top hat and long cape. Of course, it all checked out, she just solved the case.

The detective was so into her own dumb line of thought that she didn’t notice the carpet, and her shoe caught. There was barely time to react; carpet veered up, her drink tipped forward, and suddenly the floor was very close. Extremely close. However, she hadn’t bit it, and that didn’t quite make sense. Gravity existed, and through gravity, she should have hit the floor.

There was something holding her up. A hand, which connected to an arm, which led all the way to a well-tailored suit. A delicious, familiar fragrance reached her nose.

“Well now,” a voice purred so slowly, and hands turned her to face upwards. Karamatsu’s face slowly turned into a tender smile. “I see you decided to come after all, darling.”

“Ah, well…” Shinshia really couldn’t say much with her waist held so enticingly by those hands, as warm hands brushed up against her skin and tickled. “I... I had to make sure that you didn’t steal anything! There are many people here wearing valuable jewelry, I’m sure you’d manage to steal something.”

“Heh, it seems my plans were ruined by the great Shinshia once more!” Karamatsu continued onwards with that smile just deepening at her sight, and somehow, he seemed to be leaning a bit closer. The room rang with cheery laughter, and the party carried onwards without a single glance towards the thief and the detective.

“You always seem to be,” one hand caressed its fine way up to her shoulder, “Stumbling around me. I’m starting to wonder if you are tripping on purpose now, hmmm?”

He knew well she wasn’t doing it on purpose. But before she could complain about that, he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her completely. The hand on her waist pulled her just a little closer that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. He laced his fingers with hers. “I enjoy our moments together, darling.”

The orchestra struck up a mesmerizing waltz, and Karamatsu’s eye perked up enough that Shinshia could practically see the lightbulb above his head.

“Let’s dance!” he invited her without a second thought, and Shinshia stumbled as Karamatsu guided her to the dance floor. A violin hummed and a key plucked, and then his hands were on her waist, a smile beaming away.

Unexpectedly, he was good at the waltz. What the hell, that was not fair. Shinshia found herself tripping quite a lot, and the phantom thief just chuckled everytime she crashed into his body. It didn’t seem to phase him either, he just grinned all the wider and adjusted until she fell back into rhythm.

Finally, somehow the rhythm came to Shinshia. Maybe it was the guiding steps of Karamatsu. Maybe it was the smile he gave her as she fumbled along. Or, perhaps, it was the hand he still had on her waist, caring as it kindly led her along despite her inexperience. Whatever it was, it had her steps synchronize with Karamatsu’s, and suddenly she started noticing other things: how his rings glistened in the light as Karamatsu led both of them through the swarm of couples, or how his brown eye never looked away from her face. Small details, yet they were such lovely little things that made her heart beat wildly inside the detective’s chest.

“Say, Shinshia.”

“Yes?”

“You said you came here to make sure I didn’t steal anything, right?”

Shinshia raised an eyebrow in confusion, but she nodded. Where was he going on with this? Was he actually going to do that? She told it as a joke, she didn’t want to work tonight.

“Heh, well, my beloved Shinshia... ” Karamatsu leaned down slightly and whispered. “I believe I already stole something.”

Shinshia didn’t really notice the song grew faster until a violin screeched in delight and suddenly Karamatsu was really close. When the song was over, he had dipped her just as the last violin ended with an exaggerated flourish.

Karamatsu leaned forward, his lips brushing hers, and perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad thing, tripping over her own shoe. Not when she could feel him gaze at her in rapt adoration. Not when Karamatsu had her so lovingly wrapped in his hands, and clutching as if she was the most fragile, most precious thing in the world that had happened to him.

No, perhaps it was for the best.

#Self Insert #Shinshia Doremi #Karamatsu #osomatsu san #My writing #my art #HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!! HAVE SOME CRINGE <3 #the lyrics song she's singing to herself was written by me!!!#the song is called ''alone together''. hence the title lol #also yeah shia gets distracted easily by her own thoughts (bc shes me AKLSDMA)#i have no idea if valentine parties exist actually. they prolly do tho #btw if you wonder: ''Also every celebration needs a party obviously'' part?? yes it was sarcasm LMAO #more or less what you can expect in Nil Admirari #albeit the romance wouldnt happen so fast AJKSFNAJKS this is a oneshot after all

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 years

Text

The Senator and The Chiss

Until We Meet Again: Part 1/?

Thrawn x Senator!Reader, Female Pronouns

Summary: You are a newly appointed Senator of you home planet, trying your best to make it through Ascension week in one piece. Things take a turn for the interesting when you meet a Lieutenant of the Imperial Navy unlike any you have seen before.

Loosely based on an anon request.

A/N: I’m not exactly sure where this is going. I plan this to be a series of one shots revolving around this Senator!Reader. If your interested in reading more about her and Thrawn, feel free to send any request my way! And remember REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!!

Word Count: 2.6K

Ascension week was proving to be more exhausting than you had anticipated.

You understood what was expected of you and had mentally prepared to be on your feet for every day of the celebrations. But after only three days, the names and faces were starting to blur together until nothing mattered except going home and finally getting some sleep.

You clung to the sides of the ballroom, enjoying the moment’s peace while you could. You had long forgotten where exactly you were or even the host’s name. A twist of guilt resided in your stomach because of it. With any luck you could remain anonymous for another hour or so, as to not appear rude when you left early. The dress and hairpiece you were wearing, however, were making things difficult.

The wardrobe was ceremonial in nature, meant to mark you as a leader of your people. The dress was perfectly tailored to your figure with vibrant greens interwoven with golden and silver thread sewn together in a striking pattern. An elaborate crown was braided into your hair making it appear as if golden vines resided there blooming with silver flowers. It was a striking sight, meant to represented the life of your homeworld and the pride of your people.

Governor Lir had declared you a vision when you had arrived, assuring you were a testimate to Danu and would be the talk of Courscant.

You had thanked him, but knew his words rung partially false. Even when your aids had finished the final touches, you could feel yourself being buried under the weight of the dress. The metal vines poked and pulled at your scalp. You had almost tripped upon first entering the ballroom. If it weren’t for having Governor Lir’s arm, you would have fallen. It was obvious to any with a pair of eyes, and especially yourself; the dress was wearing you rather than you wearing it.

Perhaps you just needed practice. You had only been Senator of Danu for a handful of months and had just settled into your office on Courscant a few weeks ago. It would take time to adjust. But as you looked over the sea of people in the ballroom, all veteran politicians, military men, and various other powerful figures, it was becoming clear time wasn’t on your side.

You took a sip of your wine. Maybe you could convince Governor Lir you needed to rest. Surely he had introduced you to enough people for the evening.

You spotted him across the room, engaged with a handful of other Outer Rim governors.

It would have to wait. You didn’t want to be accidently sucked into another trade routes discussion, if you could help it.

You continued to walk until you came across a set of heavy curtains. They appeared hastily put up. Peaking out of one of the corners you could just make out the bright colors of some kind of mural. Most likely the host didn’t have time to finish it before the start of Ascension week. Regardless, it was exactly the reprieve you needed. Taking a quick glance to make sure you wouldn’t be seen, you ducked under and out of sight.

You turned to face the wall, not wanting to risk backing into wet paint. But, as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, it was clear such precaution was not necessary.

The mural was old, much older than any of the other paintings and portraits placed around the ballroom. The color was starting to fade, but their vibrancy would not die an easy death.

The entire wall was covered in what could only be an ancient star map. Circles and lines weaved along, connecting worlds and stars and planets together in a delicate dance. Each planet stood bodly on their own while still emphasising the importance of the lines connecting them to the rest.

You took a small step back, craning your neck to try and catch every brush stroke. It was then you noticed fresh paint along the corners. At first you assumed it was restoration, but as you examined closer, the darker, subtler color scheme told you otherwise.

A small sting of pain came to your heart. They were painting over it.

The rustle of fabric interrupted your thoughts. You turned toward the sound, an apology ready on your lips when they froze there in wonder.

A new party had entered your sanctuary, but he was unlike anyone you had ever seen.

He was alien, a rarity you had found at events such as these during your short time on Coruscant, but he didn't belong to any species you could name. His humanoid appearance and blue skin should have pointed clearly toward a Pantoran. But his face lacked the usual golden facial tattoos. More importantly his eyes weren’t the usual black or gold; they were a glowing red.

He stood tall exuding an air of confidence which left you transfixed. At first you thought he might be a general or even a prince. But, his uniform and plaque marked him as a Lieutenant of the Imperial Navy.

It felt wrong, somehow.

You blinked, suddenly realizing how long you had been staring. The only comfort you could find was that he had been staring back.

“I’m sorry,” you said, automatically. “Was this your hiding place?”

You held back a wince at your own words. Why would someone like him need to hide?

To your relief, he did not seem to take offence as his lip curled into a mildly amused expression. “No,” he said, in accented Basic. “I was merely hoping for a chance to admire the artwork. Though, it appears I have stumbled upon your hiding place.”

Your eyes darted down in embarrassment. “It was not my intention for it to be so. I just needed a moment to breathe and well…” You looked back toward the painting, and the same regretful pain tugged at your heart once more.

“I will leave you to it, then,” the alien said. He turned to leave, and a sudden panic took you.

“There’s no need,” you said, quickly. “Please, there is more than enough room for two and you may not have another opportunity.”

He paused a moment. His expression was unreadable as his red eyes gazed directly into yours.

You found yourself holding your breath, not even daring to blink.

Then, slowly, he nodded and took a place by your side.

You stood in silence, each allowing the other to observe the mural in peace.

It was actually rather pleasant. You hadn’t realized how long it had been since you had a comfortable silence with someone.

“What do you know of this painting,” he asked.

His tone was surprisingly soft. If he hadn’t addressed you directly, you would have assumed he was asking himself.

“Not much I’m afraid,” you answered. “Judging by how faded it is and the subject matter, I would guess it was commissioned well before The Clone War.”

“That was my conclusion as well. You have a fondness for that era, I take it.”

You gave a small frown. “What makes you say that?”

“You were facing the mural instead of the entrance,” he said, not bothering to take his gaze from the wall. “For one reason or another, this piece overshadowed your desire to remain hidden.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the truth of his statement as your cheeks grew warm. “I suppose you’re right. In truth, I have a fondness for any era of peace in our galaxy’s history. The Republic was so for nearly a millennium…” You stopped then, a familiar lump forming in your throat. “Until it wasn’t.”

“And what of the Empire?”

You shrugged, swallowing the lump as best you could. “Too soon to tell.”

He said nothing for a moment. His eyes still remained on the mural, but you knew he had taken your words into serious consideration. To what end, you could only guess.

“What other thoughts do you have on the painting?” he asked.

“How do you mean?”

“What do you see? What do you believe drew you to it in the first place?”

He settled his eyes on your now, with just the same focused attention as he had the wall.

“You me aside from its use as an ideal hiding place,” you asked.

His lip twisted upward slightly. “Yes, aside from that.”

You nodded, and allowed yourself a moment to ponder the question. Your eyes wandered again to the mural, to the shapes and colors and the looming ridged strokes along the edges.

“I think it has more to do with the contrast of what is to come,” you said, thoughtfully. “A riot of color rebelling against the darkness.”

You turned your eye to his. They seemed to burn in the dim light. For a moment, you thought you might burn yourself. You looked away, suddenly feeling very small and childish in your explanation.

“But, I am no expert.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But your answer is telling, nonetheless.”

Your back stiffened, and you raised your chin a little higher. “Do you presume to know me Lieutenant?”

“No,” he said, calmly. “I would not presume to know anything without more data.”

“But you have come to some conclusions.”

“Theories.”

“Which are?”

You were standing even straighter now. You would not allow yourself to be intimidated, especially by a man you barely knew.

He paused then. Something in his expression faltered, as if taken by surprise.

A small swell of pride came to your chest. You had a suspicion surprise was a foreign emotion to the alien.

It only lasted a moment and the impenetrable mask reclaimed its place on his features.

“As I said, I cannot make any certain claims,” he said, carefully. “I can only speculate. But I believe I am correct in saying, you are much bolder than you allow yourself to be.”

You blinked in wonder, not knowing entirely what to say. Slowly, you regained control of your vocabulary. “I will take it under consideration.”

He gave small nod in acknowledgement.

Another silence fell between you. It was not as comfortable as the last one. A new tension was in the air. What it was, you couldn’t name. All you knew was your ears were growing deadly hot.

“For such an intimate evaluation of my character, it feels odd I don’t know your name,” you said, in a light tone.

“Then, allow me to provide a remedy.” He straightened to attention. “I am Lieutenant Thrawn, first weapon’s officer of the Blood Crow, Imperial Navy. And, you?”

You matched him, straightening your posture and holding your head high as if to present yourself to a King. “I am Senator Y/N of Danu,” you said, with a curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lieutenant Thrawn.”

“The pleasure is mine, Senator.”

The amused line had made its way back onto his lips.

It was a small change, but you instantly fell at ease making your next question easier to bear.

“Forgive me if I sound ignorant,” you said. “And please know I mean no disrespect. But, I do not believe I’ve seen a member of your species before. May I ask where you come from?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Thrawn assured. “I’m afraid you would not have heard of my home planet as it is not on any of your star maps. I can, however, tell you that I am Chiss.”

You felt your eyes widen. “Chiss?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of the Chiss?”

“Only stories, folk tales really.” You were gawking now, you knew you were, but it couldn’t be helped. “I wasn’t entirely convinced you were real.”

“Indeed,” he said. “And how did a senator come to hear such stories?”

“Danu is part of the Outer Rim, boarding Wild Space,” you explained, mentally shaking yourself out of your shock. “My family has employed a number of traders who have explored the Unknown Region looking for hyperspace lanes or even just new trading partners. They all come back with stories.”

“Which you were inclined to listen too.”

You shrugged. “A good story is a good story, it doesn’t matter where it came from or how true it is. Although, it appears some of them may be.”

“Perhaps,” he said, thoughtfully. “I would be interested to hear these stories. A small handful have been relayed to be by my translator, Ensign Vanto. I am curious what similarities and differences may arise after comparing them to another source.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “And I would be fascinated to hear the stories straight from the Gualaar’s mouth,” you said. “But before we begin, I have one more question to ask of you.”

“Which is?”

“What do you think of the mural?”

Thrawn paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You were able to deduce some of my character from the exercise,” you said. “It’s only fair I be given the same opportunity.”

Thrawn again, said nothing. Finally he nodded. “You’re quite right.”

He was quite a long moment.

You could see the wheels of his mind turning behind his eyes. You would have given anything to know exactly what he was thinking. But as was becoming a habit, you could only guess.

Another moment passed before he blinked smoothly back to reality.

“I believe you and I see much the same thing,” he said. “But our conclusions differ as to their ultimate meaning.”

You felt your lips purse at his rather cryptic answer. You were about to ask him what exactly he meant when the curtains behind you parted.

“Lieutenant Thrawn,” an older man snapped. “I’ve been looking… Oh, my apologies.”

He faltered slightly upon seeing you, but soon gained his footing as he stood to attention.

“No need to apologize, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “Allow me to introduce Senator Y/N of Danu. Senator, this is Colonel Yularen of the ISB.”

The Colonel gave a small bow in greeting. “An honor, Senator.”

“The honor is mine,” you replied. “In truth, I should be apologizing to you. It seems I’ve distracted the Lieutenant from his duties.”

“Only for a moment,” the Colonel said, in a good natured, but firm tone which oddly reminded you of your grandfather. “But, I’m afraid I will have to steal him away from you.”

“Of course,” you said, even if you felt a small prick of pain at the loss.

He looked to Thrawn. “Lieutenant.”

“One moment, Colonel,” Thrawn said, as he turned his attention to you. “I would like to continue our discussion at a later date. Is there a time and place convenient for you?”

“I will be attending gatherings every evening this week,” you said, trying to repress the sudden surge of excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “However, I will be in my office tomorrow afternoon, if you can spare the time.”

“I am certain I can. Until tomorrow Senator.”

“Until tomorrow.”

He gave a small bow and turned to follow Colonel Yularen back into the light of the ballroom.

You stood there a moment reeling from the experience. So many questions buzzed in your mind each fighting for your attention until they became a jumbled mess. He thought you were bold?

You shook the thought away, but it didn’t stop your cheeks from growing warm once again.

Perhaps it was too soon to tell, but you had a strange feeling you would be seeing much more of Lieutenant Thrawn than just your upcoming meeting. You weren’t sure what to make of the sensation that now beat fast in your heart. All you could do was wait and see what the galaxy had in store.

Taking a small breath, you step forward towards the light. Your dress felt lighter now. The crown upon your head did not pull and prod. Your steps were smooth and easy.

However this played out, it was certain to be interesting.

#thrawn #thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #star wars imagine #timothy zahn #star wars #star wars rebels #thrawn x senator

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diagnosed-by-doyle · 5 years

Text

MC who doesn’t speak much

“Scenario- Ikevamp Scenario with an MC that often holds their tongue when they speak because they’re use to being around people tell them what they say is irrelevant and so they’re either soft spoken or silent but often have a lot on their mind.”

I’m sorry this took me a few days to get to, anon. One of my professors moved up a due date by a week and a half.

Before I get started, I just want to say that you’re not alone in this. I’m always happy to lend an ear to you.

I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~

None of these sweet boys would ever tell you that what you have to say isn’t important, and they’re always happy to hear what’s on your mind.

~~~~~

Arthur:

With one look at you, he can tell that there’s something wrong. One way or another, he’ll get you to tell him.

When he finally does get you to tell him, he makes it a point to ask for your opinion on everything you do together.

He will try his hardest to get you to see that you can be yourself with him.

With his vampiric hearing, he can hear you even though you’re speaking quietly. But he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to be reserved with him. He’ll work with you to boost your self-confidence.

Comte:

At first, he thinks that being quiet and reserved may just be your personality. He quickly realizes that that isn’t the case when he’s talking with Leonardo about a ball and you look like you want to say something.

He encourages you to speak your mind whenever he sees you wearing that expression.

He’ll set aside some time every day for you and him to talk and have tea. He genuinely enjoys these times with you, so he wants you to relax and be yourself so that you can enjoy them too.

Dazai:

Your expression is familiar to him, so he has a good idea of what you’re feeling. He doesn’t need to coax you into talking about it since he already understands.

He’ll keep doing things that make less and less sense (i.e. appearing with a chicken in his arms). Eventually, he’ll do something so strange that you can’t help but comment--from confusion to laughter, he’ll take anything. It’s his way of getting your attention.

He’ll randomly appear next to you and tease a resident in hearing range. When he’s certain he has your full attention, he’ll ask you how your day has been and make conversation with you. As you start opening up, he will ask questions that require some thought instead of just pleasantries.

Once you realize that he hasn’t once told you that what you think doesn’t matter, you slowly begin to get more comfortable with the other residents.

Isaac:

He thinks that you’re shy just like him. When he sees you deep in thought one day, he will ask you what’s wrong. He finally catches on when you tell him it’s nothing. Anyone could see that there was certainly something wrong.

He’ll put his shyness aside to talk to you.

Your quiet, short conversations together are awkward at first, but you soon grow more comfortable with each other.

Since he spends a good bit of time teaching the children in the city, he asks you to come along. The children have lots of questions. “Is she your girlfriend? She’s pretty!” They bring you out of your shell when they start asking you questions instead.

Jean:

He doesn’t really go out in search of conversation, but he doesn’t mind talking to you. He intrigued by your soft-spoken words and can tell that you’re uncomfortable.

At first, he thinks that you just don’t feel comfortable around him. After living with you for some time and observing your behavior around the other residents, he realizes that your behavior with him is the same as with everyone.

From time to time, he’ll play cards with you in an attempt to get you to talk. When he finally feels that you are comfortable with him, he starts approaching you more often when he notices you doing work around the mansion.

Eventually, the two of you have lengthy conversations. He’s happy when he feels like you’re enjoying yourself around him.

Since you know that he isn’t particularly outspoken, it warms your heart to know that he talks to you more than anyone.

Leonardo:

He notices that you won’t say much unless you’re asked a direct question. This happens while he’s doing research in the library while you’re cleaning. Your eyes locked with his a couple times, yet you never said anything. You were about to leave when he asked you how you were enjoying your time at the mansion. Your answer was very quiet, leaving him wondering if you’re upset about something.

Sometimes he pretends to be asleep so he can learn if that’s your usual behavior or if something is actually wrong. He peeks at you when you’re not looking, and he can tell that you never really say what you want to say.

He comes to visit you in your room one day. He wants to get to know you, and he teases you some in hopes that it will get you to be more easygoing and tease him back.

You frequently find him asleep outside your room. Maybe you’re afraid of living with vampires?

He soon proves to you through his caring actions that you can talk to him without fear of being told that your opinions don’t matter.

Mozart:

He rarely converses with the other residents, so he doesn’t usually see you unless you come to bring him Rouge or Blanc. He finds it a bit strange that you leave him with a quiet “You’re welcome” when he thanks you for the drink.

When you bring him his drink one random day, he asks you to sit next to him on the piano bench. After taking your seat, he’ll play for you the piece he recently finished composing. Once he’s done, he’ll ask you what you thought of it. An answer such as “It was nice” will not satisfy him. He’ll press you for details until you give him a satisfactory answer.

He starts to do this so often that you come to expect it once a week or so. You build up a mutual understanding with each other. Your opinion has become valuable to him. He finds that he wants to please you with each piece he creates.

Sebastian is surprised when he comes in search of you after you took such a long time and sees you talking to Mozart. Your closeness with Mozart leads Sebastian to ask you for details (He’s eager to write what you tell him in his journal.). Thanks to Mozart, you little by little become more confident with speaking your opinion to others.

Napoleon:

You’re assigned to wake him up after a few days of staying in the mansion. Needless to say, you’re shocked when he kisses you. After he finally wakes up enough to realize what he’s done and to who, he ask if you’re alright. After a simple “I’m fine,” he knows that you are, in fact, not fine.

Throughout the day, he tries to talk to you about it whenever he bumps into you. Finally, he tells you that you don’t have to pretend. You can say what you’d like with him.

After you finally give him an answer, he’ll take you for a ride on his horse as an apology.

From then on, he always makes an effort to talk to you and make you feel comfortable with him and everyone else.

Sebastion:

From the very beginning, he’s asking you about your interactions with the mansion’s residents.

He’ll accept your quiet, short answers at first. As time goes on, however, he’ll want more detailed answers. He believed you to just be shy.

Realizing that shyness isn’t the case, he makes time for daily “staff meetings”. These “meetings” exist so that he can get to know you. It’s hard to be in a new place without truly knowing anyone.

While talking to you, the two of you bond over experiences you had in your time (the future). He’s eager to know what your favorite things were and are. As you grow closer, the two of you start working on tasks together so that they can be completed faster. While you’re working the two of you talk to each other.

When the other residents appear, they’ll join your conversation. This is how you become more comfortable with everyone.

Shakespeare:

He finally gets to meet you at one of Comte’s balls. He wants a chance to get to know you, so he invites you to his house for tea and sweets.

He’s intrigued by you. You’re adorable in every sense of the word. He finds your soft voice endearing.

He’ll be a perfect gentleman when you come to visit. He’ll ask you questions about yourself and how you’re enjoying Paris and life in the mansion. He also asks for your opinion on his plays. He doesn’t push you for more answers, but you can tell he’s always happy when you give him some detail or start a new topic on your own.

He introduces you to his shady acquaintances. The introductions he gives of you show his admiration.

Once you realize that he’s nothing but kind to you, you’re more open to being yourself with him.

Theo:

His initial harsh behavior toward you only makes things worse. When you quickly leave the room without a word, he feels a bit confused. He’s used to people biting back at him whether they know him or not.

Comte and Vincent have to have a talk with him and explain that you’re sensitive. After that long talk, he comes to apologize to you. It’s a brief apology, but still an apology--something you’re not used to receiving.

He talks to you every morning at breakfast. He’ll even ask what you think about a couple of the articles he’d read in the paper that morning.

You notice that he’s a lot nicer to you than a lot of the other residents. He’s almost put you on the same level as his brother. Because of that, you decide that not everyone is like the people you’ve encountered in your past.

Vincent:

He always has some words of gratitude for you whenever he sees you. You work so hard that he feels it’s only right for him to show his appreciation.

His calming aura makes it easy to talk to him once he strikes up a conversation with you. He’s saddened that you don’t seem to say what’s on your mind, though. He can tell that something’s wrong.

He doesn’t feel like he should pry, but he lets you know that he’d love to listen to anything you have to say. He always shows you his finished paintings and asks what you think. If there’s a painting you really like, he’s more than happy to give it to you.

Every time he needs more supplies, he asks you to accompany him. While in town, the two of you stop take a break at a cafe that has the loveliest sweets. His smile is contagious.

He doesn’t say anything since he doesn’t want you to be surprised, but he’s genuinely thrilled about how happy you seem when you’re with him. He’s even more overjoyed when you start coming to him on your own once you’ve become comfortable with him.

#sorry that they're all sort of similar #writing for all 12 at once is difficult #Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp comte #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp headcanon #ikemen vampire headcanon

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timeforelfnonsense · 3 years

Text

Looking to Make Friends

Dafni x Astarion || T || Ao3 || Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series

Some pre relationship fun before any feelings were caught. Astarion has a pretty good WIS score and with his background, I think he'd be quite good at reading other people. It's interesting to contrast that with Dafni, who is also very perspective but in a very different way. (and they were narrative foils)

Astarion padded along softly behind Dafni, bow drawn and at the ready. He’d offered to help her catch dinner for the party. To be perfectly honest he wasn’t much for hunting. Not with a bow anyway. In truth, he’d followed her out here to pick her brain. He wanted to get the measure of each of his newfound associates and the peculiar cleric seemed the best place to start. She was far and away the most open of the bunch. The rest of their number all carried an air of privacy about them. Dafni, in contrast, was completely transparent or at least presented herself to be. She could also serve as a bridge to gaining the trust of the more discerning among them. She’d already created a respectable rapport with Gale and the pair they’d picked up in the grove, Wyll, and Criella. She’d gone out of her way to offer hospitality and kindness to each person in the party, even those who seemed less than interested in playing nice.

You do seem the type. Inquisitive. Looking for connection… It’s every man for himself and you are looking to make friends.

The corner his Astarion’s lip turned up. Shadowheart was canny. That much was clear. She was, however, too short-sided to see the benefits of having someone of that sort on her side. Dafni wanted friends and he needed to secure an ally- It was an ideal fit. He’d noticed the way she blushed at his teasing. How eager she was to keep his company. She almost certainly found him attractive. That made things a bit easier at least.

“Can I confess something to you?” He inquired, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear, “I asked to tag along because I wanted to spend time with you.” Dafni’s cheeks turned cherry red as he traced the blade of her ear. A coy smile forming across his lips. “Aw, I hope I haven’t embarrassed you. I couldn’t help but overhear the way Shadowheart rebuffed you this afternoon. It’s her loss really if she can’t see what an intriguing woman you are.”

“I-Thank you, Astarion.” She stammered, tracing a small circle in the dirt with the toe of her boot, “What did you want to know?”

“Tell me about your life before all of this?” He asked, gesturing to his temple.

“In the city or before that?” She asked, tilting her head thoughtfully, “I can think of several ways to answer that question.”

Astarion mulled his response over for a moment. He was curious about her life in the city. Dafni was a creature of the wild through and through. She seemed very much at home among the plants and creatures of the forest. It was hard to picture her strolling about the lower city. But, he’d observed her to be the sentimental sort. An inquiry into her more distant past would yield far more.

“Tell me about where you grew up?”

He heard her heart give a worrying lurch. Her honey-brown eyes falling to the faded leather of her shoes as the flush that covered her cheeks grew even deeper. That was not the reaction he had been expecting from her. Was she embarrassed? No. Nervous. Her arms crossed over her chest as she let out a rush of air from barely parted lips.

“Umm- Well, as you might have overheard Criella saying, I’m from the Feywilds originally. I should have told you the truth when you asked about my being from the city. I don’t like lying! Even by omission! I just wanted you to trust me...”

Astarion knew a thing or two about conceding one’s nature. He had to stifle the chuckle building in his chest. It would seem he and lovely little Daffodil had something in common.

Her reaction had been rather dear. But, the logic did follow. The creatures of Faerie had a certain...Reputation. View by the common folk as at best, fickle, whimsical beings, ruled by emotion and a strange sense of decorum. And at worst as wicked, Unseelie tricksters or hags looking to strike duplicitous bargains.

She wants to be liked, He thought, Her reputation is important to her.

“Think nothing of it!” He soothed with a wave of his hand, “We are all entitled to our little secrets. I’d still like to hear more if you’d be kind enough to indulge me?”

“Of course!” The tension in her shoulders loosened and she continued, “I’m actually quite proud of my heritage, despite my omission. Of all of the Protectors' children, the eladrin of the Faerie are the most like the first elves that sprung from his blood. The plane of Faerie is magnificent. As close a place to Arvandor, there is. It teems with the most beautiful plants and colorful creatures in all of creation. It is a place of enchantment and wonder, both deadly and delightful. Many creatures who stumble into a crossing by mistake lose their wits to its irresistible splendor but my people, we prosper where others wither.”

He took note of the way her back straightened when she spoke. Her posture took on an elegance he hadn’t seen in her before. He couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips. For all her charity and warmth she still held a small taste of that classic elven haughtiness. Interesting indeed.

Even more interesting still was the specific pride she took in her ability to survive what overs could not. He was not easily impressed but spirited Dafni had made quite the impression on him. She was tenacious and spirited. She would not surrender herself to their grim fate.

Another similarity.

He thought back to their first night in camp, to her girlish snickering at his unease about sleeping outdoors. She had called ‘N'Tel'Que'Tethira’, a city elf.

But, no sooner than the words left her did a modified expression fall across her pretty round face. Her next sentence had been a string of apologies and assurance she felt no superiority to her city-dwelling cousins.

Astarion had gathered the fondness she felt for the elves was not limited to her own people but rather all varieties of elves. He’d overhead her with Gale, insisting she was no scholar yet there seemed to be no question of elven lore or history she could not summon at the drop of a pin. He’d not given much thought to his own elveness in quite some time. On the list of things, Astarion was, elf did not fall very high on the ranking of importance. Yet Dafni, from the moment she set eyes on him, saw kin and ally. He’d even seen her extend this esteem to Shadowheart.

Pride in her culture and people. He’d found another piece of her puzzle. A bit obvious but important nonetheless.

“I was born in the Faerie reflection of the Moonshaes, on the Isle of Gwynneth.” Dafni continued, “In a village called PeleiraI. It was an oasis created by the primal elves who first came to the feywilds after being cast out by Corellon.”

Astarion nodded along as she spoke. He recalled the images that had flashed through his mind upon their first meeting. Tucked away in a forest of mythical beauty, her ‘village’ had been a far cry from the thatched huts and dirt floors the word brought to mind. He’d seen spires and structures of flawless marble reflecting a breathtaking, sunset of burnt orange and vivid violet. The ethereal structures scattered among the woodland didn’t detract from the wild nature of the glen but enhanced it. Appearing as if they had been grown from the earth just the same as the imposing trees that sheltered them.

“I saw the fleeting image of a settlement when our minds touched. It looked like something out of a fairytale. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He affected his voice, coloring it with wistfulness and awe, “I can only imagine the adventures you got up to there.”

“I did a lot of nothing most days.” She snorted, “Read. Practice medicine or magic. Explore the forest. Pester my older sisters. Maybe a hunt with visiting Seelie knights if I was lucky. I was never really allowed out without my sisters or some sort of escort.” Dafni scoffed the heel of her boot hitting the tree behind her with a soft, repetitive thump. “My mother, Thesmia is our clan’s leader. She’s a well-respected wizard and historian of a sort. I think she knew I was curious about what was on the other side of the mirror so to speak. Gwyneth is littered with fey crossings and she didn’t want me wandering off to the material all alone.”

She was the sheltered daughter of a noble (or close to it)? Right within his bailiwick! Her story wasn’t an unfamiliar one. Many of his marks in the city had been young lords and ladies smothered by the expectation and duty. All itching for the taste of freedom they were certain they’d find in Astarion’s honeyed words and dark charms.

This revelation did not yield new information so much as clarify an impression he already had. He’d seen more than her childhood home that day on the beach. The worried face of an otherworldly elven woman and bone aching wanderlust still burned through him when he played the memories over in his head.

“Is that why you left to live with the wood elves?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, “To see this side of the mirror?”

“You remembered?” The flush returned to her cheeks as she fidgeted with the string of her bow.

Astarion smiled his most beguiling smile, “I told you I thought you were intriguing, did I not?”

“I suppose you did!” She hummed, “Well to answer your question, yes. In apart anyways-'' She shrugged squeezing her biceps, “I wanted to explore, I was never going to know myself in Thesmia’s shadow. She was very...resistant to the idea. She’d seen how cruel people could be. That was part of why she made a home for us in PeleiraI. If she had it her way I would have spent the rest of my days in tucked away safe in her tower.” Dafni paused for a beat, her hands anxiously toying with the edge of her sleeve, “Please don’t misunderstand me. I love my mother dearly. She can just be a bit…”

“Overbearing?” He suggested.

“Yes.” Dafni giggled, releasing the worried fabric from her fingertips, “I know she wanted what was best for me. We just didn’t agree on what that was. I wanted to live my life and she wanted me to live hers.”

“I can sympathize to an extent.” He said, his mouth turning down into a scowl.

“You had a loving but smothering ancient being as a mother?” She tittered, playfully bumping her shoulder against his.

“No.” His tone came out a bit sharper than he’d intended. He ran his hand through his hair composing himself before he continued, “But, I understand the feeling that your life isn’t really your own.”

It was a risk to offer such information up. One he maybe shouldn’t have taken but, something about her vulnerability made him feel a little less guarded. A skill that could prove dangerous. At least his slip up hadn’t been for not. Her heart had slowed to a steady thrum. The jittery shuffling of her feet had stopped.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dafni responded, placing a hesitant hand on his arm. He had expected her to pry. She was painfully curious and astonishingly open with her own feelings. Yet, she seemed to sense pressing the matter would upset him. Instead, she moved on. Her voice coming out small and far away, “I think she wanted me to be more like her. Refined. Intelligent. Graceful.” She sighed pressing her back to the mossy tree trunk, “Sometimes I worry I might have been a bit of a disappointment.”

Ah-

There it was. The piece he’d been hoping to find. She wanted reassurance. Validation. To be valued and appreciated by her own merits.

“I don’t know your mother or her mind but, for what it’s worth, I think you are quite remarkable.”

“Really?” Her voice quivered as she looked up at him with sparkling doe eyes.

“If not for the tadpole’s intervention you may well have, how did you put it, cut my smug head right off my shoulders?” He snickered toying absentmindedly with the pommel of his dagger, “Or made a respectable attempt at any rate. I’m not often bested by my quarries.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad I didn’t.” Dafni leaned in close, the sweet scent of her dizzying his senses. Her breath tickling his ear as she whispered, “Your head is far too lovely to be parted from your shoulders.”

“Why, Daffodil! I’m flattered!” He stated a pleased grin plastered across his face, “Not surprised but, flattered. You did strike me as a woman of taste.”

“Are you always this cocky?” She chided in a teasing tone.

“Probably.”

“Hmm. Why am I not surprised” Dafni had tried to sound vexed but the edges of her voice teemed with amusement. Her big, topaz eyes gleaming with joviality, “Fair is fair. Tell me about your life before the tadpoles?”

He felt a slight unease creep into his chest in response to her innocent inquiry. He’d played fast and loose with the truth countless times with his marks but Dafni was different. She was observant, always picking up on the little subtleties of people's deminers. He would do better to stick to omissions rather than out and out mistruths. He brought his hand to the back of his neck giving the tender mussels a gentle rub.

“Oh, what is there to tell.” He put on a dispassionate expression. Careful to sound cool and nonchalant. “I was a magistrate- it’s all rather tedious.”

“Really? I can’t picture you as a bureaucrat.”

“And why not?” He gasped clutching his hand over his chest.

“Well for starters, you despise rules even more than I do. You like to stir up trouble. And your sense of morality- How do I put this, seems a bit...crooked? No offense.” She explained, indicating her points on the tips of her fingers.

“Oh, none taken!” Astarion gave her a peal of hearty laughter, shaking his head, “Daffodil, I hate to be the one to tell you there is a great deal of dubious morality in government.”

Her expression soured, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly as she stuck it out, “Well, I still can’t picture it. You are far too much fun for such a stuffy job.”

“People have many sides, dear.” He shrugged glancing over at her with a playful look, “But thank you.”

#Dafni of Gwynneth #astarion #elf writes #bg3 fic

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withabackpackandcamera · 3 years

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June 27th, 2021

Day 2: Out to the Middle of Westfjords Nowhere To See Dynjandi

After an exhausting first day, it was so nice to have a good night’s sleep under our belts and wake up a little more refreshed and ready for another long day of driving adventures. Once we were all out of bed and packed, the first task of the day was filling our tummies up with delicious breakfast provided by the guest house at their attached restaurant/bar. And what a spread it was! The serve-yourself breakfast table was filled with options, from sandwich material, like cheeses, meats, and veggies, to pastries, fruit, cereal, and skyr. What a treat! With so many things to try at breakfast, we took our time and enjoyed a pleasant, slow-paced morning meal, simultaneously taking in the beautiful morning views from our table-side window overlooking the fjord.

Once our stomachs were full and satisfied, we packed the car and went on a short stroll through Drangsnes. We didn’t walk very far before deciding to turn back to save some time and start our very long trip to Dynjandi, a spectacular waterfall located in the Westfjords that I didn’t have a chance to visit last trip due to winter road closures. Because we needed to get gas before starting the trip, we briefly stopped in nearby Holmavik to fill up our tank and check out its often-visited (by me) convenience store. And just because we were already in town, I decided to quickly drive through town so everyone could get a glimpse of Holmavik before driving out.

We then started our almost three-hour drive up and down gravel roads through beautiful landscapes, countrysides, and fjords on our way to Dynjandi. With time an important factor in our day’s travel schedule, we made very few stops along the way and tried our best to drive straight to our destination with the goal of seeing things, if worth it, on the way back out of the Westfjords. Eventually, by late early afternoon, we reached Dynjandi, a beautifully large and majestic waterfall deemed the gem of the Westfjords.

To see Dynjandi up close was so cool! It was so huge that you could easily spot it from pretty far out. But as you got closer to the waterfall, you could see that there were a ton of smaller waterfalls that it gave way to as the water slowly rushed its way down toward the fjord waters. As my family and I hiked up toward Dynjandi and along the stream of waterfalls running down toward the fjord in the opposite direction, we couldn’t help but be amazed at the spectacle in front of us! It took a little bit of a hike to get all the way to the base of Dynjandi but eventually four out of five of us made it (mom’s knee, unfortunately, could not make it all the way up the rocky path). Once at the top, we spent some time getting drenched while taking photos and striking some Instagram-worthy poses for the camera. Man, the views of the fjords from the base of Dynjandi were something else and quite awe-inspiring!

We began our hike back toward the parking lot once the wind picked up and we started to get cold from the water blowing in our faces. After a quick family photo, we jumped back into the car and reversed course out of the Westfjords and toward the very-far city of Akureyri, located in north Iceland. By this point, our appetites were picking up and it was a question of whether we should stop along the way for dinner or try to make it to Akureyri for food, knowing that by the time we’d arrive, the late night dining options would be limited. So we drove and thought about it for a bit and ultimately decided to randomly stop in the town of Búðardalur because we spotted some restaurants located roadside.

For dinner, we stopped and ate at Veidistadurinn. We originally were planning to stop there because they had fish and chips. However, by the time we sat down, they were pretty much sold out of most things seafood and we therefore had to settle for their sub-par cheeseburgers with better-than-expected sweet potato fries. Even though we were slightly disappointed in the limited offerings, we were still glad to take a quick driving break and finally enjoy our first hot and fresh meal of the trip on an evening where we really needed it.

After dinner, Minh drove nonstop the rest of the way to Akureyri as we raced the sun to get to Akureyri at a relatively decent hour. Exhausted, I fell asleep for most of the drive and eventually woke up as we neared Akureyri. Unfortunately, given how long our day had been, we ended up skipping a couple of stops along the way to Akureyri to save time and energy. And by doing so, we made it to our AirBnB before midnight.

Once the car was again unloaded and everyone got comfortable at our AirBnB for the next few days, Minh and I quickly left to grab some groceries from the nearby Extra Verslun 24-hour mini mart so that we could make a hearty and hot breakfast for everyone to enjoy in the morning. By the time we had grabbed what we needed and arrived back home, it was definitely time to clean up and call it a day. Man, how taxing long driving days can be! I must be getting old! Luckily, the next few days will be slower and more chill… at least that’s the original plan heading into tomorrow...

5 Things I Learned/Observed Today:

1. If you’re driving deep into the Westfjords, expect gravel and dirt roads. And expect that some of them might be pretty rocky and rough. And if you have a choice, renting a higher-clearanced car will do you well.

2. While driving through the Westfjords, we noticed that a lot of road construction was going on and that the people working the construction site with all the heavy machinery were young Icelandic men who seemed like they were in their 20s. I wonder if these youngsters are just working a summertime job or if this is actually their real jobs given how young they look.

3. Every little waterfall that Dynjandi feeds into has an assigned name and sign to it! Pretty cool!

4. There are very few trees in the Westfjords. However, as you drive east out of the fjords and into the mainland and central north part of Iceland, you start seeing trees dot the landscape. A stark change.

5. Don’t get Icelandic hot pots confused with Asian hot pot! Unlike the Asian soup dish, Icelandic hot pots are little pools or tubs (natural or manmade) of hot, geothermal water, sometimes located in the middle of nowhere, where people hang out and socialize while relaxing themselves. They’re similar to the natural hot springs and the well-known Icelandic community swimming pools but usually smaller in size.

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ochard-fics · 4 years

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Bad Ideas - A Spider-man Story

Chapter Index: 1, 2

Pronouns used: they/them

Genre: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, young love

Warnings: None

Word count: 6.5k+

Summary: Though you moved across the country about half a year ago, you are still trying to find your footing in the strange streets of New York. On top of that, you are desperately trying to balance your demanding school life at Midtown School of Science and Technology, where you like everyone but you was much more talented and smarter than you could ever imagine to be. Among those students is the one whom you loathe the most: Peter Benjamin Parker, the boy who’s success both in school and in Stark Industries is constantly shoved in your face. The only person who helps you escape those troubles is Spider-man, the hero of Queens and your crush.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! Likes, retweets, and feedback is appreciated~

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Chapter 1 - Spider-man’s Sandwich Seller

When your mom excitedly told you that you’d start attending Midtown School of Science and Technology (MSST for short) in August you didn’t think much about it. As far as you knew, it was probably like any other public high school in America that was located in a “nice” part of a major city in America. Yet again you’d spent the last 16 years in Southern California, so your knowledge of schools outside of the area was very limited. Still, you felt no joy or resentment of the idea of being an MSST student. You assumed the title of “Science and Technology” was just to play it up as something cool.

But oh boy, how wrong you were.

It’s been four months into your junior year at MSST and you learned the hard way that the “Science and Technology” part of the school’s title was not played up for show. If the school was a cell, it’s STEM* program was the mitochondria of the institution. Everyone around you was excelling somewhere within the programs’ four disciplines, and you could not escape it’s presence no matter what. You would think that your mom would have warned you about this before she enrolled you, someone who was not savvy in the STEM disciplines AT ALL, into this foreign environment.

It had been a couple of weeks since the new semester of junior year started back up and here you were, trapped within the cold walls of the chemistry lab, staring down at your second quiz of the new semester. A pop quiz, no less. One of your worst enemy.

You glanced up at the clock to see how much time you had left. Three minutes. Crap. The first three questions on chemical bonds had you stuck, and you could feel your brain reach its thinking capacity.

Looking over the questions again, you went over your work to see if you had done something wrong. However, you weren’t even sure if the work you were doing was correct. Furrowing your brows, you desperately tried to remember something from your lecture that could make sense of this equation, but the anxiety only left your brain cloudy.

The loud ring of the school bell snapped you out of your thoughts and made you jump in shock, earning you a surprised look from your deskmate, MJ.

“You okay?” She asked, a brow raised by your sudden movement.

“I…” You sputtered, feeling your face flush in embarrassment, and looked down at your quiz to avoid eye contact with her. A heavy and defeated sigh left your body, as you immediately accepted your failure on this exam. “Yeah, the bell just startled me,” you replied, giving her a weak smile. She furrowed her brows at you, but luckily she decided not to press further.

The sound of zippers being pulled and the excited chatter of students almost drowned Mr. Cobwell’s request to hand him the quizzes as they exited the class. MJ went ahead of you as you begrudgingly shoved your pencil pack into your backpack and slung the red canvas sack over your shoulder. Guilt and shame began to press upon your chest as you walked up to Mr. Cobwell, who was trying to organize the load of papers in his arms. He notices your hunched figure as you approached, and his expression turns to that of concern. Averting your gaze from him, you hand over your barely done quiz, to which Mr. Cobwell gazes over it in dismay. He lets out a disappointed sigh, making the pressure on your chest worse.

“(Y/N),” He begins, shaking his head, “We’re half-way into the school year, this is really troubling.” Your eyes look down at your black and white canvas shoes, the embarrassment making it difficult to make eye contact with your superior. Cobwell waits for a response from you, but seems to notice your current emotions so he continues.

“You know, if you are struggling with the lessons, you can always tell me,” he says in a concerned voice, “I understand that chemistry is a very difficult subject for those who struggle with subjects like math. After class you can ask me questions about the lesson if you don’t feel comfortable doing that during the lesson.”

For some reason Cobwell’s genuine concern made you feel even more guilty. What teacher would want to waste time explaining everything to a student who didn’t even understand in the first place? Wouldn’t he think you’re dumb for not getting it? And what if you still needed him to explain because you just couldn’t get it? Wouldn’t he get frustrated and snap at you? You looked up for a moment to meet eyes with Mr. Cobwell, who was waiting for your response. Instead, you headed towards the door, head hung low, and wished him a good evening.

Squeezing through the school of teenagers flooding the hallway, you catch up to MJ, who was leaning by the club bulletin watching the crowd. You called out for her and she turned toward you, giving you a small ‘Sup with her head and leaned off of the walls as you approached her.

“Hey,” she said, nodding her head towards the chemistry classroom, “Everything good?” The last thing you wanted was to bring down the mood to your only friend at MSST, so you shrugged and replied, “Yeah, it was just about the quiz.”

MJ furrowed her brows in concern, saying, “You know, if you need any help, I’m down to do it.” Great, more guilt came from those words. You know MJ meant well, but you couldn’t help the feeling make home in your heart.

“It’s fine, MJ,” you replied, gently shooting down her offer, “Really. You’re already busy with the academic decathlon and art club. Those are more important.” MJ gives you a look, one of ‘Are you sure?’.

She lets out a short defeated sigh and shrugs, replying, “Whatever, it’s your life. Let’s just get to your locker already.” You nod and begin walking with her against the current of students. Four months ago you didn’t really think that your short interaction with MJ would lead you to being pals with her, yet here you both are. Granted, you both were similar in several ways. For one, both of you were the more introverted type, and tended to dress how you liked rather than how others expected you to dress. Both of you were pursuing artists, both having joined the new and improved art club at MSST. Plus, you both liked things that most would consider to be a bit eccentric, such as morbid things like true crime or controversial stuff like surrealist art and history. Flash Thompson, the residential rich idiot of MSST, liked to call the both of you freaks. Though MJ would usually be able to shut his ass up with a comeback that made Thompson look like a dumbass.

However, a friendship wouldn’t be such if there weren’t any differences between the two, and you both had quite striking ones. While MJ tended to be much more blunt, you tended to keep your feelings to yourself. She was also much more observant than you could ever be, since you are more intuitive, though you thought that was mostly your anxiety. Additionally, you tended to be a bit more hot-headed, which has gotten you in a few verbal spats with Flash. The most obvious difference between the two of you, was that MJ was incredibly smart, while you...well, you already know where you were several lacking in the academic intelligence department.

It’s funny, neither you nor MJ verbally agreed to be friends. Both of you just naturally gravitated towards the other whenever you were around each other. MJ insists that she’s a lone wolf, but she considers you her friend, and you the same with her.

The two of you headed towards your locker, where you noticed it was being blocked but a familiar lanky figure in a blue MSST zipper hoodie. Disgruntled, you paced faster toward the figure until you were behind it. The person leaning hadn’t noticed you yet since their back was facing toward you, so to your (and MJ’s) amusement you thought about slamming your hand on the locker next to yours to give the pasty blockade a scare. However, just as you were about to reel your hand in, the figure turns around and faces you.

“Oh! (Y/N)!” Peter Parker, the golden loser as you like to call him, chimes with a crack. You groaned mentally. Damn it, of all the people you wanted to see right now he had to be here.

Let’s get one thing perfectly clear: you despised, no, loathed Peter Benjamin Parker. He was in the same grade as you, and was, unfortunately, in all of your classes. The guy was infamous in MSST for having scored an internship at Stark Industries, where your dad currently works and the main reason you moved from Los Angeles to Queens in the first place. Admittingly, he was incredibly gifted. He, along with MJ and a handful of other students in MSST, was one of the top students at the school. Whenever you watched him in class, you could see how easily everything came to him. He just...got it.

And you hated him for it.

Parker leans off your locker quickly and steps aside, motioning you towards it.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to block your way!” he stutters, something he tended to do frequently. You said nothing and gave him an emotionless eyebrow raise, then looked over to see Ned Leeds, who looked like he was trying to hold laughing at his friend’s awkward expression. He was your locker neighbor and Peter Parker’s best friend, so unfortunately you would see Parker too often. You didn’t necessarily mind him, he’s a well-meaning guy, but at times you did find him pretty annoying.

You rolled your eyes at the boys and opened your locker, shoving your Chemistry textbook into it like it was a ragdoll. If it didn’t cost $150 you would’ve loved to lunge it across the halls instead (where it could possibly hit Flash Thompson in the head), but you knew that probably would’ve given you a temporary high of satisfaction. The boys look at you surprised but resume their previous conversation, which seemed to be about a Lord of the Rings lego set. MJ gives her signature judgemental look and, noticing your aggressive behavior, attempts to make you feel better.

“Hey,” she began as you unzipped your backpack and shuffled through the contents inside, “There’s a new episode of the Left for Dead podcast out today. You want to get paletas** and take a listen?”

“I can’t today,” you replied, not looking at MJ and you traded books to and from your locker, “I asked Delmar to give me more hours so I’m going to do part-time on Monday now.” MJ clicks her tongue in disappointment, but shrugs the decline off.

“Dang that sucks,” she says in her monotone voice, “This episode was supposed to be about Black Dahlia, too.” You were disappointed too, so you turned to her.

“We can listen to it over Zoom when I get home,” you assured her, “I’ll be back by 8.”

“Hey MJ!” Ned called out, catching the attention of both you and your friend, “If you’re free, Pete and I were thinking of going to Shawarma Palace right now! Care to join?” MJ declines the offer, saying that she’s just going to go home. Before she heads out, she bids you and the boys a farewell. You then watched as she turned around and walked towards the school entrance, disappearing into the sea of students.

Listening to the new podcast sounds much more fun than work, you thought sadly to yourself. A sad sigh left your body, which caught the attention of Parker.

“Hey (Y/N),” he started, “Are...you okay?” Despite the genuine concern coming from his tone, you felt your fight responses kick it.

“Why do you care?” you ask spitefully, shooting a look at him. The brunette is taken aback by your response, and so was Ned.

“I-I-I just…” Parker stammers, fiddling with his hands nervously, “I saw you talking to Cobwell and you looked pretty upset.” For some reason, this sets you off. Angry, you slam your locker shut, alarming the boys and everyone else around you three.

“Mind your own damn business, Parker.” You say bitterly, giving the already shocked boy an intense glare. Looking at him was only making you more angry, so you slung your red canvas backpack over your shoulder and turned your heel towards the school entrance, leaving Parker and Leeds to wonder what in the hell just happened.

It has been three hours into your shift at Delmar’s Deli and Grill, you tried to keep yourself busy in order to beat the feeling of anger that had lingered on you ever since you left school. Even the soundtracks of your surroundings like the small hum of the heater, the blissful purrs of Murph the bodega cat, the occasion honks from the cars outside, and the every-so-often flipping of pages from the paper Delmar was reading couldn’t distract you from your annoyance towards Parker.

Damn Parker, thinks he could eavesdrop into my personal life, you bitterly thought, aggressively sweeping at the murky tiled floors of the bodega, I’ll kick his ass if I ever catch him-

The small television above the newspaper racks interrupted your internal monologue. You looked up from sweeping to see it playing today’s news. Delmar and you listened in to the report:

“...was hospitalized. According to Queens police, they believe that the attackers are purposely targeting small businesses as this is the fourth one to be robbed these past two weeks,” You watched the pristine-looking woman with a sculpted hairstyle announce as footage was being shown beside her, “From security footage it can be determined that the attackers are a duo, both male, about five foot eight...”

“Jeez, I just reopened this place too,” you heard Delmar grumble, who was looking up at the TV, “Why can’t they rob a Whole Foods or something? Assholes like them, taking advantage of the working man...you must be rotten to go after family businesses. Isn’t Spider-man going to do anything about this?”

“Local police have reported that Spider-man has been informed of the current situation and will be looking into the robberies,” the reporter answered, “For now, authorities are asking that store-owners remain alert and take extra measures to secure their businesses.” Delmar let out a disgruntled grunt and turned to look at you.

“Hey kid,” he called, and you turned to look at him, “Can you keep a look out for customers? I need to make a call to the chips suppliers in the back.”

“Yes sir,” you replied with a nod, “Wait, what if they ask for cigarettes?”

“Give me a shout to ring them up, then.” He called back, already descending to the back of the store. A small huff left your body and you shoved the collected dirt from the floor into the streets of Queens. The skyline began to darken as the sun set, and you watched as the sky looked like a rainbow sorbet. Memories of late night drives with your older friends in California emerged from your memory, where you would sleep in the car to watch the sunset dip into the Pacific ocean waters. Even though you were on the other side of the country, the sunsets were still the same. Yet, for some reason, this one didn’t feel as homey as the ones back in California did.

Suddenly, a figure in a red mask covers your line of sight, and it makes you stumble back while letting out an embarrassing yelp.

“HEY THERE!” the red and blue clad figure announces excitingly, hanging upside down from the store’s awning, “Oh shoot! S-sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” Once you recognized who it was, your lips broke out into a smile. Finally, someone you actually wanted to see today.

“Well, you did,” You said with a cheeky grin, “I thought you only sneak up on criminals, Spider-Man.”

“H-hey, I said I’m sorry,” he said apologetically, coming down right-side up, “I just thought you would’ve enjoyed it.”

“I’m messing with you,” You replied with a playful punch to his arm, “But next time, maybe a heads up before you greet someone bat-style. Do that to Delmar and the dude might get a heart attack.”

“Will do,” he replied, then looked over your shoulder, “Hey, where’s Delmar?”

“Out back making a call to a supplier,” You replied, ushering him inside the bodega, “You want a number five? Pickles and smushed really flat, right?”

“O-oh! Actually,I already had dinner,” Spider-man replied, his angular white lenses widening in surprise by your offer.

“Really?” You said, shrugging your shoulders, “You usually get that during this time. Are you cheating on Delmar’s place?”

“I could never!” He said motioning his arms into an x-sign, “If I ever betray the best sandwich shop in the world then throw me into jail.”

“I’ll remember that when I have to testify in court,” you teased, making your way to the counter. Murph, Delmar’s cat, sat next to the cashier upon his favorite cushion, purring loudly as the two approached him.

“Heya Murph!” Spider-man said, scratching behind the feline’s ears, “You doing good? Keeping Spider-man’s sandwich seller company?”

“Is that what you call me?” You asked, an amused smile spreading across your face, “I feel pretty honored by that title.” The masked hero of Queens let out a chuckle, and somehow hearing it made your ears turn pink. Then, a thought came to you that you expressed out loud.

“You know,” you began, still watching Spider-man give Murph some butt scratches, “You have the exact same order as someone I know.”

“R-really?” Spider-man stammered, retreating his hand from Murph in surprise. You looked at him, brows raised, “Aha...who is it?”

“Peter Parker,” You replied, deciding to rearrange the misplaced chips from the rack beside the counter, “‘Goes to my school.”

“Y-yeah, I remember you mentioning him a few times,” He said, his voice raising, which you noticed he does when he gets nervous, “He’s the one you don’t like?”

“Right,” You replied, not looking up from the rack, “Is it true that he works at Stark Industries?”

“Yeah, yeah! Of course he does!,” He replied, his voice going higher and cracking, “W-why do you ask?” He began to fiddle with his hands anxiously.

“Well,” You started, brushing your hands on your forest green apron, “My dad works there, but he never sees him.” Your dad was the head of International Affairs at Stark Industries. He mainly handled communication between Stark and companies they were planning on selling to. You didn’t know much about his job and you didn’t plan on it. You blamed the job from taking you away from your home, and your dad...well, you already had a complicated relationship with him. The move just made it much worse.

“R-really? Isn’t that weird,” Spider-man replies, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “W-well, I--Peter, doesn’t work with International Affairs. He works more with superhero stuff.”

“Like what?” You asked him, somewhat intrigued. You knew you were never going to find out from Peter personally, so might as well get the inside scoop from Spider-man himself.

“U-um…” His aperture-like eyes shift narrowly, seemingly unable to answer your question. Before you could press him further, you heard Delmar call out from the back of the store

“Hey kid! Your shift’s over!” Your Dominican boss announced. You look over to the counter to see him emerge from the back of the store.

“Best you go now since the streets are-” Delmar notices who is beside you and his eyes light up with glee.

“Ey, Hombre Araña!” Delmar exclaimed, smiling like he’s seeing an old friend, “Are you here for your usual? It’s on the house!”

“Hey Delmar,” Spider-man replies as he turns to him, waving to him, “N-no thanks, I just ate.”

“Hey, you better not cheat on me with Sub Heaven,” the middle-aged man jokes, waving his index finger at him, “I would know if you are.”

“Hey don’t worry, I’m loyal!” Spider-man replies with a laugh. Delmar chuckles then looks over to you, where you were looking at your favorite hero with a smile. He then turns back to look at Spider-man.

“Hey Spider-man,” He began, “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Y-yeah?” the hero says, straightening himself up, “What’s up?”

“Can you give the kid a walk to the bus stop?” He asked, motioning his head towards you“It’s getting dark and with the recent news, I want to make sure they get to their stop safely.” You shot your head at Delmar, your smile falling as your eyes widened in shock. “D-Delmar! I-it’s fine!” You began, waving your hands frantically, “It’s just a ten minute walk to the stop-”

“Of course!” He replied almost too keenly, interrupting you,”I-I’d love to!” You looked back at Spider-man, surprised. Was he saying that just to be polite? You thought as your blush began creeping down to your cheeks.

Delmar gave him a hearty thanks and motioned you to come to the back to clock out. You did so in a haste, your thoughts going into key mash mode. This wasn’t the first time you’ve ever been alone with him---you’ve had several run-ins with the masked hero. Any person who was enamored by superheroes would be stoked to have him be their walking buddy.

However, he wasn’t just any superhero. To you, Spider-man meant so much more. This may or may not have something to do with you having a major crush on him ever since you met him in the summer of last year. After almost five months of seeing him practically weekly, you liked the feeling that you knew Spider-man. Yet, you were still unaware of who was behind the mask. With your crush developing harder and harder, the curiosity began to nip at you aggressively.

You clocked out from work and hung up your apron, then wished Delmar and Murph a buenas noches, as you headed towards the deli’s entrance door. You slung your backpack over your shoulders and noticed that Spider-man was waiting in the front of the store, waving hello to an excited child passing by across from the bodega. You brushed some of Murph’s cat hair off of you (your dad would throw a fit if he found cat hair in the house again) and straightened up, mentally calming yourself. You practically skipped up to Spider-man and told him that you were ready to go. He turns to you and gives you an eye (lense?) smile, and you two begin your way towards your stop.

During the first couple of minutes into the walk, you were in an argument with your thoughts on what you should talk about with Spider-man. It would’ve killed you if this ten minute walk was in silence! Thankfully, he began speaking.

“So,” He started, “Anything exciting happened to you today?” This. You thought, but obviously you would sucker punch yourself in the face if you said that out loud.

“Eh, not much,” you responded with a shrug, “Had a chemistry quiz today.”

“How’d it go?” he asked as he looked out, resting the back of his head atop his hands.

“Wonderfully,” you said sarcastically, looking down at your shoes, “Only completed three questions out of the ten on the quiz. At this rate I’m going to be the top student!” He looked over at you, watching as you kicked a piece of gravel with your foot. You let out a sad sigh.

“It’s my fault,” you continued, “I should’ve studied harder. But I just get so overwhelmed by the material I freak out and then when I freak out I get anxious and then when I get anxious I just can’t focus and when I can’t focus I don’t study!” You exhaled.

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” Spider-man says, motioning you to calm down, “Why don’t you ask someone for help on the subject? Like your teacher or a tutor?” You let out a dry laugh, remembering what Mr. Cobwell had said earlier.

“No teacher wants to deal with a student like me,” you replied, not looking up at him, “I don’t blame them, I would get frustrated when I have to repeat the same god damn thing a thousand times to someone who still can’t get it.”

“But it’s a teacher’s job to help students understand what they’re learning,” Spider-man said, “That’s the whole point!”

“I know,” you hang your head lower. God, you hated that he was right. “I just...it feels embarrassing,” you admitted, “Even asking help from a friend.” You began to pick at your fingernails, remembering MJ’s offer from earlier.

“And a tutor...well, I used to have one back home,” you said, and Spider-man watched you closely, “But my dad saw them as a waste of money so he took over. But he’s not the best tutor.” The memories of your dad trying to “help” you made you tense, and the emotions from earlier today started to creep back.

“I get where you’re coming from, in a way,” Spider-man replied, and you looked up at him, “When I first started out as Spider-man I insisted that I didn’t need anyone’s help. I felt guilty asking for help because I wanted to assume responsibility for something I felt was my problem.” His arms fell to his sides as he looked up, reminiscing.

“I didn’t want to drag the people I cared about the most into my problems,” he continued, “I didn’t want them to get hurt. But then it ended up...hurting someone I cared about the most.” You felt the weight of his words as he looked down.

“I couldn’t look at Ma-,” he stopped himself, “I mean my closest peers without feeling like it was all my fault. If I had only been honest about my feelings, I thought maybe things would’ve been different. ”

You watched the masked man, and you could tell that this anecdote was hard to bring up. People put super-heroes on such a high pedestal, seeing them as invincible people with nothing to lose. How forgetful they are that they have lives too, that they have dealt with hardships and flaws. From the tone and inflections of his voice, Spider-man sounded fairly young to you. Maybe he was your age, or maybe slightly older. You didn’t know if he was human or not, but you could imagine that getting these powers came at a price.

Everything comes at a price, you remembered your parents telling you. Nothing comes without consequence.

“Then things began to change when Mr. Stark recruited me,” he went on, “It was the best moment of my life. Finally, I thought, I could do something more and still protect those I care about. I felt like I was finally doing more.” He let out a dry chuckle.

“I became so confident that I could do more, and I even disobeyed Stark because I thought I didn’t need help,” you continued to listen in intently, “And it blew up in my face.”

“The point is,” He looks up at you, “Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re dumb or weak, it means that you’re strong enough to know when you need it. The words weighed on you, and you looked out, thoughtfully. Maybe he’s right, your consciousness spoke, But it still seems so...terrifying. You noticed that you were at your stop, but your bus was running a bit late.

“We’re here,” You spoke, pointing your thumb towards the green bench that was next to a bus stop pole.

“Ah,” Spider-man noticed this, and you both stopped walking. You both turned to each other.

“Thank you for walking me here,” you said, giving him a smile, “I appreciate it.” The masked boy rubbed the back of his neck again, seemingly bashful by your gratitude.

“H-hey, no problem,” he said shyly, “Got to look after civilians, after all.”

“Right,” you responded with a chuckle, tilting your head to the side with a raised brow.“‘The little guys’ Are we the munchkins of Oz and you’re Dorothy Gale?”

“Wh-what?!” Spider-man exclaimed, shaking his head, “N-no! That’s not what I-”

“I mean, you guys almost have the same color scheme,” You pressed on, amused by his reaction, “You just need the ruby slippers and you’re good to go.”

“H-hey,” he whined, shuffling his feet all embarrassed.

“Gosh,” you laughed, “For a diligent super-hero, you’re way too easy to tease.”

“A-am not,” He pouts as he crosses his arms, looking down at his shoes shyly.

“Oh my god,” you said, stifling a laugh, “You’re acting like my seven year old neighbor now.”

He looks up and gives you a glare, but then lets out a chuckle; a sound that warmed up your heart and your cheeks. The sound of the bus honking made you both look over to see it pulling into your stop. Darn it, you were having such a good time with him! You thought with a scowl. A disappointed sigh let your lips and you turned to look at your crush.

“Thanks again,” you said, giving him a shy smile, “Hopefully I’ll see you soon?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, almost sounding enamored by your smile, “G-get back home safely.”

“W-will do,” you stuttered back, forcing yourself to look at him even though you wanted to desperately hide the blush that was growing on your face.

“And (Y/N),” you looked up at him as he continued, “I-if you need me to walk with you again, d-don’t hesitate to holler at me.”

“O-oh n-no it’s okay!” You exclaimed, waving your hands dismissively, “I-I don’t want to take up your time!” Then, you watched as Spider-man took a step toward you, making your heart beat widely. Gently, he placed his arm atop your shoulder, and your body froze in shock.

“You,” he began, looking at you sincerely (or as sincerely as his lenses could make him look), “You never take up my time. I enjoy being with you.”

And at that moment, you felt your soul ready to rocket itself into the clouds from pure joy.

You wished you could stay like this, but the screeching of the bus’s brakes broke both of you out of the moment, and Spider-man retreated his hand from your shoulder.

“I-I, um,” he rubbed the back of his neck yet again, while you were still processing what just happened, “You better go.”

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, then forced your body to turn it’s heel and head toward the bus. You turned and gave Spider-man a small wave, to which he returned. You adjusted your backpack and headed inside, tapping your bus card and then quickly taking the nearest available seat. As the bus doors closed and began your hour long ride, you watched as Spider-man shot a web toward the nearest building, then swung into the night.

Wow, you thought as you placed your backpack atop your lap. That was all you could think. Wow.

The bus ride had been long and tedious, but soon you were walking up the footsteps towards your house in the quaint area of Maspeth, Queens. You opened the door and upon entering your two-story brick house you could hear the television from the living room. You glanced over and saw your mom and dad sitting in their designated lounge chairs across from the wide monitor that was displayed on the wall. It seems that they were watching one of those night time talk show hosts from New York.

“I’m home,” You announced, kicking your sneakers off of your feet as you shut the door behind you. Mom looked up and saw you.

“Welcome back, dear!” Your mom greeted you with a cheerful yet tired smile, “How was work?” You told her the same old thing you’ve said to her before (“It was okay, I’m just tired.”), though you opted to leave the bit about Spider-man out.

“Well, I’m glad you got home safely,” She says, “If you’re hungry I made some dinner.”

“Nah, I ate at Delmar’s,” You replied, quickly reminiscing on your number two sandwich from earlier. It wasn’t your usual, but you were going to lose it if Delmar nagged at you for having a number five every single night you worked. Upon hearing this, mom furrows her brows in disappointment.

“Eating all of those sandwiches isn’t healthy for you,” she comments, turning back to the television, “I don’t know how well sanitized that small place is, who knows what kind of chemicals are in those ingredients.” You bit back the urge to snap at her, because this isn’t the first time she made this dumbass claim.

“Did you have an exam today?” You heard your father’s low but stern voice come from the living room. He didn’t turn to look towards you.

“N-no,” you replied sheepishly, playing with your fingernails nervously, “Just a chemistry quiz.”

“I better see an A on that,” He coldly replied, and even from the house entrance you can feel his annoyance, “You have all this time to work on your damn art projects and working in that junkyard so I better see the same effort in your STEM classes.”

Your teeth clenched, feeling the ball of emotions form in your throat. Without saying a word, you headed upstairs, where you entered your bedroom and crashed head first into your unmade bed. A long breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escaped your body, muffled by your bed sheet. You got up and slipped off your backpack, then turned to take a look around your very messy room.

It’s been a while since you last cleaned up your space. The art table was littered with your current gouache paint project of a plant study, your art board was discarded near the end of your bed, the books on your shelves were completely disorganized, your desk had your biology notes scattered upon it, and you still had a unfinished sketched canvas of an ocean sunfish lying next to it. The sound of your mom nagging at you to keep it clean knocked at your brain, immediately making you annoyed.

Dreading the scolding that could be, you let out an exaggerated huff and began to organize your art table. Mid-way through putting your gouache tubes in their designated container, you remembered your mom passively commenting about how Peter Parker probably keeps his desk very tidy, and that’s why he’s doing so well in school.

The memory had you clenching your fists, annoyance from the memory returning. Even at home, you couldn't escape Peter Parker's presence, and that ticked you off more than anything in the world. Why couldn’t he just be a dumbass and leave it at that? No, he had to be a smart dumbass. How fucking annoying.

“Stupid Parker and his stupid perfection,” you mumbled angrily to yourself as you shoved the rest of your gouache tubs into the containers, “I hope I don’t have to deal with your stupid face forever.”

Tuesday had been an arguably much better day, and it was made better by the fact that you had art club after school.

You arrived at the art club meeting room, which was just the school’s art studio. Easel stands were climbed together at one end of the room, while several artworks of students were sprinkled across the room. You could smell the wet ceramic clay from the other side of the room, where several to-be finished artworks were bagged up to keep their wet form.

The wooden drawing horses were arranged in a semicircle, where they had already been occupied by your fellow art club members. In no time you were able to spot MJ, who was waving at you to notice her. Smiling, you scuttled on over to the unoccupied wooden seat next to her, place your backpack underneath. The both of you said your greeting even though you just had chemistry together.

“What do you think we’ll be doing today?” You asked her curiously.

“Dunno,” She responded, leaning back and crossing her arms, “This is my first time joining the school’s art club. This time last year I’d be in one of the rooms where they held detention and draw the sad people in there.” You looked off and nodded, seeming to get it.

“But,” she started, and you looked back at her, “If I had to guess, I think we’ll probably talk about the spring show. The arts department needs money anyways so auctioning off student work is usually a good way to bring in the dough.”

As if on cue, Ms. Narvaez, the newest art teacher at MSST and the club’s advisor, entered the studio. Everyone turned to greet her and she returned the greeting with a gentle yet tired smile.

“Afternoon, guys,” she greeted, placing her bag of materials on her desk at the corner of the room, “I’m glad to see that everyone came today because we have something really important to discuss.” She rummaged through her bag then pulled out her trusty yellow acrylic clipboard.

“In about a month we’ll be holding our annual spring art show,” she announced, heading to the front of the semi-circle so that everyone could see her, “We need to think of a theme for this show today, so we can print the fliers out as soon as possible and encourage the students at this school to participate. Last year we had a whopping fourteen people submit work, but it was all from you guys.” Everyone looked at each upon hearing this information.

“So,” she continued, “We need a good theme so we can bring in more submissions. More submissions could mean more auctioned-off art, which will lead to more funding for our department.” Everyone began to whisper to each other, though not very enthusiastically.

“Please take out a sheet of paper and write down any themes you have in mind, no matter the number,” said Ms. Narvaez, and everyone began to unzip their bags and grab their notebooks. MJ and you did the same, grabbing a notebook that you specifically had for ideas for art. You turned to the next blank page and began jotting down anything that came up in your mind.

Camouflage

Growth

Becoming

Home

Serenity

You were about to list another word when a knock alerted you and the rest of the art club. Everyone turned and you saw your guidance counselor, Ms. Lee, peeking from the entrance of the studio.

Uh oh. You thought. Guidance counselors making unannounced appearances was never a good sign in high school.

“Oh, Florence!” Ms. Narvaez smiles upon seeing her wife, “Do you need to speak to me?”

Ms. Lee smiled. “Hi dear,” she turned to meet your eyes, “Actually, I’m here for (Y/N).”

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

Annotations

* = STEM stands for Science Technology Engineering and Math

**= paletas are Mexican popsicles that you can get from men on the street pushing a ice cream cart full of them

Ms. Narvaez is based off of American actress Lauren Velez

Ms. Lee is based off of actress Sandra Oh

#bad ideas fic #spider-man x reader #peter parker x reader #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #spider-man reader insert #spiderman fics #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x reader

31 notes · View notes

lunarthedragon · 4 years

Text

Bards are Knives and Arrows, Not Sunshine and Daisies

Written mostly from excitable inspiration from a previous post of mine here. Wrote this mostly in my free time at school so bound to have mistakes.

Read on Ao3: here

Oxenfurt University was a school of prestige. Only the best of the best went there to study; which really just meant rich kids or the exceptionally, exceptionally talented. It was a haughty establishment, encouraging space-minded men to keep their minds in space, asking questions no one actually cared to ask in the real world.

That was its reputation, anyway. What the common man or woman might say when asked what they thought of the establishment.

To a degree… they weren’t wrong. The main classes did contain quite a few children of wealth, but that was only the surface. Every old, near ancient, organization is bound to have bones in its closet, and Jaskier was intimately associated with those very bones in Oxenfurt University.

He attends classes, studying the seven liberal arts, bettering his craft, but somewhere along the way he had been noticed. He isn’t sure what it was that drew the Chancellor’s eye to him. He likes to think it was his angelic voice, but he suspects it was his innate talent of talking himself out of trouble. It was a very impressive skill, and it had gotten him an invitation to the “Society of Foxes.”

Jaskier had no idea what a Society of Foxes was supposed to be, but he had assumed it was an elite club. Oxenfurt University had quite a few of them, but Jaskier had never been invited until then.

He’d gone without hesitation, meeting the head of the Society, Anatol, far after the sun had set.

This was when he had been introduced to the dangerous, but invigorating life, of a Bard, and he never looked back.

+++

Jaskier was a marvelous minstrel. He loved to sing and dance and keep people entertained, but he was also observant. He could tell when a room began to shift and the mood of his songs needed adjusting. He knew who to focus on in a tavern or party if he wanted to get the most coin out of them.

“Your honest enjoyment in this work will make you a better Bard,” Anatol had assured Jaskier when he’d first joined their Society. Anatol was an unremarkable man. Not short or tall, not strong or skinny, not dark or light. He wore nice clothes, sure, but he wasn’t much of anything. He had sharp eyes, though, like he’d seen far more than a regular minstrel should ever have seen.

“I thought Bards were just a myth to keep the nobility entertained,” Jaskier says, suspicious and not entirely sure if he’s being hazed or not. “You know… they hire a bunch of performers and try to figure out who the Bard must be? Like a game?”

“To them, it is a game,” Anatol nods, his eyes hardening even further. “Until the actual Bard that has been spying on them for months slits their throat without anyone being the wiser.”

He’d been told he would be hired for some of the most dangerous parties, where the nobility made a point of keeping an eye on their performers and drunkenly trying to declare who the hidden spy must be. A performer might even get executed right on the spot, if a noble was certain, or drunk, enough.

Jaskier would have to ensure that performer wasn’t himself.

But there was training for that.

Jaskier continued with his courses at Oxenfurt University, but in the evenings and sometimes late into the night, Jaskier was in the belly of the school, slipping into hidden corridors and rooms, learning how to twist his words in just the perfect way to get the results he wanted.

Learning every poison imaginable and how to concoct them.

Learning how to wield, sharpen, maintain, and hide a seemingly infinite variety of knives.

Learning how to shoot an arrow near perfect every time.

Memorizing important nobles all over the Continent.

It was grueling, exhausting work, but through it all Jaskier thrived. He complained, sure, but he always managed to find time to write songs, to play his lute for his fellow Bards, to crack a joke and make his peers laugh off their nerves.

They called him the Laughing Fox, most of them got silly nicknames like that, but he was still proud of it. He felt like he was part of something bigger. Not a bigger cause, no. The Society of Foxes, and likely most Bard schools, weren’t associated with anyone. They did as they pleased and their Bards could go off and do whatever they wanted and would always be welcomed back.

They were a family, in a way, looking out for their own kind. They were competitive, sure, and they were literally taught how to murder people without detection… but every family had its quirks, right?

Well, Jaskier loved his quirky, murderous family very, very much. He doubts his blood parents would have ever approved, if they’d been alive, but he never really cared about any of that anyway.

He had a family and he was happy.

+++

Until he wasn’t.

Jaskier was a fidgety man, and eventually the walls of Oxenfurt University felt more imposing than they felt welcoming. He was suffocating within the stone, the horizon a tempting siren’s call.

It came as no surprise to anyone when Jaskier announced he wanted to travel the world. “You could never sit still for long,” Anatol nods, before giving Jaskier a warm farewell hug.

“Aw, Anatol,” Jaskier coos, hugging his mentor back, “You were always like the strange, senile uncle I never wanted.”

“Off with you, heathen,” Anatol responds, swatting at Jaskier as he laughs and flees.

Wojciecha, one of Jaskier’s fellow Bards who had trained alongside him and garnered the title Sharpened Fox during her time perfecting her capabilities with bladed chains, accompanies him to the edge of Oxenfurt territory. Jaskier knew for a fact that those very lethal chains of hers were hidden under her flowing, flashy sleeves, but that was only because he knew her so well. No one else would be the wiser.

Wojciecha, or just Sharp for short, was a tall, dark-skinned woman with severe eyes, long dreads, and not a musical bone in her body. She was a spectacular dancer, however, and often slipped through parties, gaining information, with ease, her flashy clothes and movements distracting any man or woman that suspected her.

She was also significantly taller than Jaskier, which he once felt was a strike to his masculinity. Nowadays, though, he just felt lucky to count her among his family.

“Careful of monsters,” Sharp says as they walk.

“I’ll stick an arrow in their eye and run, if needed,” Jaskier assures, waving off the woman’s concerns.

“I still don’t understand what you hope to gain from this little adventure of yours,” Sharp grumbles, rolling her eyes.

“Hopefully something more substantial than ‘little’,” Jaskier huffs, looking forward along the path.

“Is that what the men and women you sleep with say before you take off your pants?” Sharp smirks, her smile as cutting as her name, and Jaskier shoots her a displeased glare.

“I wish to see the world,” Jaskier answers Sharp’s original consideration, “And, if I really must have a more specific, beneficial goal to everything… I wish to increase my reputation across the Continent. More and more people of power will invite me to perform, Jaskier the Greatest Minstrel, and then I can rob them of all their secrets.”

“And maybe a few hearts?”

“I am not THAT promiscuous, you know.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Yeah, I am…”

They share a laugh and continue walking. Eventually Sharp stops and wishes him a proper good-bye before heading back to Oxenfurt University, leaving Jaskier alone to continue on his grand journey.

+++

Jaskier had not lied when he told Sharp and the rest of the Society of Foxes that he wanted to better his reputation as a minstrel to increase his success as a Bard, but that had not been the entire truth. There was a selfish part of him, the fantastical part of him that lived in his music, that wanted to make just as much coin as a minstrel that he did as a Bard.

A paying job for a Bard usually came from nobles or those with a lot of money to their name. Information wasn’t cheap on any day, and the nobility were willing to pay out their asses if they could get even a little dirt on their rivals.

Thus, a Bard could make a hefty amount of coin if they were consistent enough. A Bard couldn’t be too present, though, for threat of being found out, but still it was a very prolific, if seedy, business.

Jaskier wanted that kind of financial security to come from just his music alone. He wanted people to speak as highly of the Greatest Minstrel, Jaskier, as they did the frightening Laughing Fox.

It was an optimistic dream. It was a foolish dream. But Jaskier didn’t care. He was a great Bard, but he had always been called to his lute and his lyrics more than his knives and his bow.

This was a selfish journey he was embarking on, and he didn’t have enough shame in his body to feel guilty about it.

+++

Bards know monsters. Maybe not the monsters in fairy tales or nightmares, but rather the most terrifying, destructive monster of them all: Man.

Wild monsters, without souls or a care for anything but themselves, were born that way. They had no choice in the matter. Still dangerous, and needing to be eradicated at times, but blameless for their nature.

Man, though? Humans? They had souls, but some actively chose to ignore theirs. They were born with the capacity for greatness and love and compassion, but chose a darker, colder path instead.

Bards knew these monsters. Bards fought these monsters with their own, twisted games. Bards toyed with the remnants of these monsters’ souls to get them to do what they wanted.

Bards knew a few basic facts about wild monsters, too. Just enough if they were travelling on the road and needed to get away, but they were hardly experts. No, that was more of a Witcher’s expertise, not a Bard’s.

So, Jaskier stuck to what he knew. He performed every chance he got, but he knew his situation was going to be bleak for quite some time until he got his feet firmly on the ground. Knowing that, he kept his eyes and ears peeled, collecting secrets, and selling any information or service he could.

He had a mask for in-person meetings, of course, he wasn’t a fool.

It still wasn’t much. Without the direct contracts through the Society of Foxes, he had to begin building his own contacts out in the world. He was tempted to invest in business cards, honestly. Or a nice pamphlet.

Still, he made a decent amount of coin with the information he gathered, along with one or two assassinations here or there. Jaskier was never a fan of blood or murder, but he knew how to work with both when it was required of him.

He even helped a tiny village struggling with a bandit problem. He was rightly proud of that one.

He was complete rubbish in a proper fight. He could bob and weave, but he could hardly throw a punch or square off against a child, much less a fully grown attacker. He wasn’t ashamed to admit his short comings, because he was fully aware of his capabilities in stealth.

No one ever saw him coming.

“I wonder if there is a song to be written here,” Jaskier had wondered aloud, standing alone in the middle of the bandit camp, the bandit leader face down in his cot, an arrow through the back of his skull. Scattered all over the camp were corpses, painstakingly dispatched without a single person ever being made aware, until every, single bandit was dead.

Jaskier looks around the bandit leader’s room, searching for inspiration, but nothing comes. He always had trouble writing songs about himself that weren’t mournful, after all.

“They didn’t seeeee,” Jaskier attempts anyway, under his breath, digging around for some of the villagers’ possessions. “Didn’t see the fox cominggggg. Didn’t seeeee… Didn’t see their death risingggg.”

Jaskier cringes at the words and shakes his head. No, likely nothing worthy of performance would be coming of this.

He drops the stolen possessions he finds off at the village center in the dead of night, mask in place, then slips away to sing at their tavern and get completely boo’ed into silence.

+++

At most taverns Jaskier performs at he is boo’ed and heckled out of the building, or at least into a corner. At a few he is ignored. At far, far less he is applauded.

He knows how to read a ballroom, he realizes with more and more clarity the more he travels. People come to a noble’s gathering expecting music and finery, and often don’t even applaud the performances anyway. The musicians and entertainers are, for the most part, background noise. It is what makes it so easy for a Bard to work in secret.

Taverns, though… taverns have opinions. Sometimes they don’t want music at all, but more often than not they are just going to lay it out, very clearly, exactly what they think of your performances.

Jaskier has always been less successful performing in taverns, but that point is hammered home when taverns are the only venue that will currently take him. Nonetheless, he perseveres on, learning what works and what doesn’t. He gets better, has a few more cheers, but still people boo.

He tries to think of what he can do better. What he can adjust and perfect to assure more success. He has made changes to how he performs, but perhaps it is his subject matter he should be updating.

He has… no idea how to even begin to do that. But, he figures, inspiration will hit at precisely the right time it must.

+++

Bards don’t much believe in Destiny. It isn’t like Destiny wronged Bards in some way, it is more like Destiny ignores them and none of them have time to worry over it.

There weren’t many “Destinies” that took place with a bunch of spies.

“Destiny is a powerful mistress,” Anatol had said once, momentarily distracted from his class lecture when he’d been distracted by questions. “But… she may only garner power if we give it to her. What happens, happens. Do not put weight to it and you will live well.”

Anatol had always been a very straightforward man. Not rough, but he didn’t mince words, either.

Still, despite most Bards not putting much thought in Destiny and what she wanted, Jaskier found he quite liked the romantic element of it all. He’d written a few poems and songs about fate and Destiny before, but even he didn’t think it had much sway over his very life.

And then Geralt of Rivia had entered his life and he wasn’t so sure anymore.

+++

Bards had no reason to gather information on Witchers. Witchers had no human enemies for Bards to sell that information to, and Witchers had no major affiliations with anyone that might make them a target.

Also, they never showed up at parties, which could make things difficult for most Bards.

But, with Jaskier struggling to find new material for his songs, and still with that incessant itch to go out into the world and experience as much of it as he could, he had decided Geralt of Rivia was an exception.

It wasn’t like Jaskier wanted information on Witchers or Geralt specifically to hurt them. He mostly wanted information on monsters and the hunts themselves. He thought that was very reasonable!

But, clearly, Geralt did not share the same idea. He clearly didn’t want Jaskier following him around, that much was obvious. Jaskier wasn’t blind or stupid, he knew when he wasn’t wanted. But, he was also a very, VERY stubborn man.

He offered to be Geralt’s barker, even, to hopefully sweeten the deal. Better his name and reputation through these new songs.

Still Geralt wanted nothing to do with him.

So, Jaskier being such a very, very stubborn man, had followed the Witcher anyway.

The man in the tavern had claimed they were being terrorized by a devil of sorts and Jaskier was frightened, but mostly intrigued to see what such a monstrous beast must look like. Except Geralt claimed devils didn’t exist and suddenly was getting nailed in the head by a tiny cannonball.

A sylvan, Jaskier will later find out. The people are being threatened by a sylvan with a slingshot. Talk about anticlimactic. How was Jaskier meant to write a glorious ballad from that?

The Bard just narrowly dodges a tiny cannonball aimed at his own head. He had been being a bit more boisterous and louder than was necessary, but he thinks that the projectile was completely unnecessary, and he swiftly answers in kind.

A throwing knife is removed from its hiding place and let loose in one swift move, knocking the slingshot out of the sylvan’s hands where he hides in the bushes. The muffled, angry cursing Jaskier hears only makes him smile. Served the bastard right.

It doesn’t look like Geralt noticed Jaskier’s incredibly helpful move, however, as he prowls around the plants, looking for the best place to pull the sylvan from his hiding spot. “Get back, minstrel,” Geralt orders sharply, not looking back at him, and Jaskier pouts but does as he’s told.

“Very well, very well, but if anything happens—”

The sylvan charges at that moment, running at Geralt with a furious cry, and Jaskier instinctively pulls out another throwing knife. He need not worry, however, as Geralt swiftly pins his attacker down with only a minor tussle.

Jaskier watches at a distance as Geralt angrily interrogates the goat-man, but not before some… interesting banter. He tries not to outwardly cringe at what Geralt must assume is witty insults.

A dick with balls? Really?

He, unfortunately, does not notice the shadowy figure moving off to the side before a sharp pain erupts on the back of his head and the world goes black.

+++

Jaskier wakes up before Geralt does, the both of them sitting on the ground, back-to-back, with their hands bound together. They appear to be in a room built out of stone. Either that or a cave, but it seems a bit more charming than just a cave.

Ah, the story was getting more interesting! Jaskier would have to be more excited about that once he stopped being terrified for his life.

What had even happened?

Jaskier tried to get a look around, eyes frantically searching out a clue as to the current predicament. He spots his lute sitting atop a table on the other side of the room, along with Geralt’s swords. Beside them is Geralt’s belt of… potions? Jaskier doesn’t know what he keeps on there. Along with… a lot of knives. Just, a pile of knives. All likely taken off Jaskier’s person.

Oops. Maybe shouldn’t have thrown that first one at the sylvan. Tipped them off to the rest…

There isn’t much else to notice in the room, unfortunately, so Jaskier begins shifting around, feeling out his bonds. They are too tight to wriggle out of, but he could always break his thumb if absolutely necessary and slip out. It was a last-ditch effort, but Bards were taught plenty of ways to escape captivity, along with plenty of healing techniques for afterwards.

The thumb trick is Jaskier’s least favorite, however, because it leaves him unable to play his lute for a few days of recovery.

It doesn’t look to be necessary, however, as he realizes their captors didn’t take all of his knives. His rings are still in place and he easily clicks the side of one to snap out a tiny blade and begin sawing at the ropes.

When Geralt stirs, then awakens, Jaskier is about halfway through the ropes.

“Ah, lovely, you’re awake,” Jaskier hums in fake pleasantness, leaning back to nudge Geralt’s head when it sways too much. He can feel the Witcher’s hair smack the back of his head when he shakes his head out, clearing it.

“Where…?” Geralt begins, but doesn’t finish, likely realizing Jaskier can’t surely know where they are.

“No clue,” Jaskier answers anyway, “I am working on getting these ropes off of us, however, but if you have some Witchering magic you could use to speed things up, this would be the time to do that.”

“This is the time that they kill us!” Geralt snaps viciously, yanking at the binds and growling furiously when nothing happens. “How are YOU supposed to get these off?” Geralt demands after a few more attempts, sounding furious.

“Ah, quite simple, really,” Jaskier chirps, masking his fear with cheer, and taps Geralt’s fingers carefully with the small blade on his ring. Geralt makes a noise that sounds like it could be surprise but is mostly confused. “My mother was always very invested in my safety, you see,” he shrugs, then goes back to sawing the ropes.

It wasn’t a lie… His mother had always been a worry wart, and technically the ring was from her. The modifications, however…

He doesn’t get much more time to work on their escape, unfortunately, because right then an elf, of all things, comes charging in. They both get kicked quite a few times, Jaskier being reminded of just how much he hated fights, and his precious lute is shattered.

Dreadful adventure. Really. Worst in the world…

Jaskier tries not to cry at the sight of his ruined instrument.

It certainly doesn’t get better when Filavandrel arrives and lays out, in no uncertain terms, the mistreatment that has been set upon his people. It makes Jaskier’s muscles go loose in shock, his eyes haunted as he listens.

He’d thought…

Well, he’d thought a lot of things, but he was here to learn truths of the world, wasn’t he? And what a way to start his journey.

Jaskier remains mostly quiet as Filavandrel and Geralt speak. He knows when it is crucial for him to stay quiet, and now is one of those times. It takes a lot not to say anything, however, when Geralt starts talking about his resolution in being killed. Thankfully, that doesn’t play out. But it’s a close call that leaves a pit in Jaskier’s stomach.

They’re freed, actually freed, by the elves, Filavandrel himself taking his knife to their binds. He releases the Witcher first, of course, then pauses as he sees Jaskier’s wrists. “It would appear we did not take all of your weapons,” the elven king says sardonically, then snaps off the remainder of the ropes on Jaskier’s wrists.

“My mother was always very invested in my safety,” he says to the room as a whole, rubbing his wrists as he stands and flicking the blade in his ring back into hiding. The elves all give him unimpressed glares while Geralt ignores him, going to fetch his gear instead.

Jaskier clears his throat and hops after the Witcher quickly, beginning to pick up knife after knife from the pile on the table, assessing them then slipping them back into their hiding places.

Geralt has long finished being ready to go, swords and gear back on his person, and he and the elves all stand in silence, watching as Jaskier keeps picking up blade after blade, the weapons disappearing swiftly on his person, and he only looks up after he’s almost done. He glances around at all of the stares, flushing in embarrassment.

“What? My mother—”

“Was very invested in your safety,” Geralt interrupts, arms crossed and irritable-looking. Jaskier only offers him a sheepish grin, then finishes hiding the last of his knives.

+++

With a new lute, gifted to him from the elves, Jaskier composes his greatest hit, “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher.” Geralt won’t stop glaring at him, but Jaskier doesn’t much care. It isn’t ready for a performance by the time they get back to the tavern and Geralt is paid his coin, but Jaskier knows it will be a hit when he is finished.

The morning after they return, just before the sun has fully risen, Jaskier finds Geralt saddling up Roach, clearly getting ready to leave.

“So!” Jaskier says cheerfully as he steps towards him, his lute on his back and a bag on his shoulder. He’d left the bag in the tavern before, too rushed to catch up with Geralt to go up and get it, but he has no intention of forgetting it again. “Where to next?”

He’s looking at Geralt’s back and he sees the man’s shoulder sag with a deep, unhappy sigh. The Witcher takes a few seconds to probably question his life choices before he says, without looking back, “There is no next. Not for you.”

“Oh, come now, Geralt! You can’t possibly expect me to just back down now? After just one adventure? I’ve only had a taste, a singular glimpse, at the greatness that is Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf!” Jaskier is grinning, not deterred at all, even when Geralt finally turns around and glares darkly at him.

“There is no greatness, minstrel,” Geralt gruffs and Jaskier thinks this is the most he’s heard him talk to the Bard before.

“I beg to differ,” Jaskier shrugs. In just one mission Jaskier had seen a side to Geralt of Rivia he doubted anyone else ever had. The man was gruff and intense, sure, but… “You are a good man, Geralt,” Jaskier says, his face and tone taking on a more serious feeling, and the other man watches him with a blank expression.

In all honesty, Jaskier is worried. In a way he probably shouldn’t be for a man he’s only just met.

Geralt is far too flippant about people’s general disdain towards Witchers. He acts like it doesn’t matter, doesn’t affect him, but there’s no way that can be true. No one can go through life completely unaffected by constant cruelty. No one. Not even a supposedly emotionless Witcher.

Especially a supposedly emotionless Witcher, who punches supposedly harmless minstrels when they so much as utter the word “Butcher.”

Geralt isn’t immune, and Jaskier knows it, but he hadn’t grown worried until their return trip from the elves.

He’d made a flippant comment, complimenting Geralt’s reverse psychology while dealing with the elves. Geralt’s “go ahead and kill me” schtick had seemed so convincing! Jaskier had been impressed by his acting capabilities and thought it necessary to let Geralt know that.

Except Geralt wasn’t responding to the compliments. He wasn’t looking at Jaskier at all.

Jaskier’s heart had very quickly jumped into his throat.

He still wanted information. He still wanted material for his songs. He still was in this for completely selfish reasons.

But now there was an extra layer. He’d offered to be the Witcher’s barker because he’d hoped it would win the man’s favor. He’d intended to write a song or two for him, it was no skin off his bones, and it would hopefully win him fame and fortune.

The boost to Geralt’s reputation would have just been a nice extra. Jaskier would have claimed it was all on purpose, then moved on to bigger and better things.

Now, though… Now Jaskier’s bleeding heart was demanding he do more. Demanding he not be only selfish.

Geralt really was a good man and he deserved more than the distrustful glares he got from everyone he ran across. He deserved to have people know all his good deeds, even if they had to be a tiny bit altered to be more thematically appropriate for a minstrel’s song.

“You won’t need to worry,” Jaskier continues, cheerfully, as he approaches Geralt when the man doesn’t respond. “I may be rubbish in a fight, but I can pull my weight on the road.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums and it sounds very suspicious.

“Yes, really,” Jaskier huffs then sets down his bag. It is filled with clothes and perfumes and oils, which he pushes aside as he pulls out a folded-up device. Geralt eyes it, still suspicious but edging on curious, and with a flick of Jaskier’s wrist the device snaps out and takes the rigged shape of a recurve bow.

Geralt’s brows have risen, watching as Jaskier next pulls out a modest, leather quiver with a few arrows rolling around in it. He holds up both – bow and quiver – and beams at Geralt proudly. “I can catch food, no problem,” he announces and Geralt’s brows lower, then one arches upwards.

“You? Preparing food?”

“Well… catch, definitely,” Jaskier mumbles, arms lowering and the quiver bumping against his leg. Geralt gives him a bland look. “What? Skinning them is disgusting!” He knew his limits. Was that so bad?

“Why do you have a bow in your bag, minstrel?” Geralt questions, sounding exhausted and resigned. He likely was beginning to realize he wouldn’t be losing Jaskier so easily.

“Because—”

“If you say it’s because of some protective mother I will drag you back into that tavern and leave you there,” Geralt snaps and Jaskier stiffens, eyes widening, before he clears his throat and glances down at the bow.

He couldn’t very well say he was a trained spy and assassin, now could he? He highly doubted the man who hardly trusted a minstrel would ever trust a Bard. Luckily, though, a good Bard always had plenty of stories at their disposal.

“I had to hunt for my family when I was younger,” Jaskier eventually sighs, glancing away like he’s wrapped up in a memory. “I caught, my father skinned, my mother cooked.”

“And the knives?”

Jaskier looks back at him, head tilting. “Now that one IS my mother,” he smiles, half-joking, and Geralt keeps staring at him. When the silence stretches on for too long Jaskier sighs dramatically. “Glare as much as you like. You aren’t getting rid of me. Your adventures are the best muse I’ve ever had!”

Geralt keeps staring for a long while, weighing his options, weighing Jaskier’s usefulness, weighing a lot in his head. Jaskier attempts to wait without squirming, but he still ends up tapping his fingers over his bow’s grip.

“You will do as I say,” Geralt suddenly says, making Jaskier straighten up. His voice is gruff with authority and warning. “If I say run, you run. If I say stay, you stay. If I say shut up, you shut up.”

Jaskier doesn’t think he’s going to be all that successful with those orders, but he can give it a shot. “Alright,” he nods, a smile pulling at his lips. Geralt narrows his golden eyes at him in disbelief, but Jaskier doesn’t let it deter him.

“Should we stop for breakfast first, though? You certainly got out of there quickly,” Jaskier continues, jabbing a finger back at the tavern and inn, but Geralt is already turning away and pulling himself up onto Roach.

The man grunts, noncommittal, and Jaskier pouts as he hefts his bag back onto his shoulder. He flicks the bow, clicking at a hidden button, and it folds back into itself so that Jaskier can hang it on his belt, the quiver hanging beside it.

Good fashioned Bard gadgets. It was amazing the doodads and contraptions the Society of Foxes had been able to get for Jaskier, and he treated his bow with such delicate care because of it. Even if it was dreadfully dull in design…

He follows after the Witcher as the man begins moving, chattering away about nothing, and giddily looking forward to his next adventure.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #bitcher #Dragon Age Bards #BAMF Jaskier #fanfic #my writing #hope you all enjoy!

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