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stubbychaos · 4 years

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Something I Can Never Have

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4

Chapter 5 of Saviin’ika

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: After days pass without you seeing your blue Mandalorian, you force yourself to make a promise that will ultimately strip you of your happiness, though you find it hard to stay true to your word. In the process, you also meet an unlikely companion that will teach you that not everything on Nevarro is ugly.

Rating: M for darker themes pertaining to abuse, animal neglect/fur trading, unresolved sexual tension.

Word Count: 10,000 (at least there’s finally plot lol)

Warnings: This chapter definitely starts off very dark and has descriptions of intense injuries. There’s pretty graphic descriptions of manipulation and abuse (I tried to keep all actual descriptions of the father actually abusing saviin’ika very non-detailed, but still, please read with caution if such topics make you upset and DM me if you want a safe summary of the chapter <3). There’s also a brief mention of animal neglect, but again, nothing descriptive at all!

A/N will be at end of the chapter!

“You know everything I do is for your own good, right? To make you stronger?”

You force yourself to nod when a crooked finger presses cruelly against the small gash at your hairline and you find yourself desperately missing the much softer touch of your Mandalorian; a few droplets of blood trickle past your brow and into the soft divot of your eyelid.

“Then why do you never learn?”

“I... I don’t know,” You whisper weakly, your body limp and weak against the uncomfortable cot, “I am sorry.”

“I only hurt you because I care about you--because I want you to be better. Do you understand that? If you just did your fucking job and listened to what I say, I wouldn’t have to hurt you all the time,” Your father informs you, though you’re certain he’s trying to rationalize his own actions so he can sleep at night, rather than actually comforting you, “I don’t want you wasting your time on someone who doesn’t care about you, not when you’re needed here and nowhere else. How long has it been since you’ve seen him? Two or three weeks?”

Your chest aches at his cruel words.

Sixteen days.

It’s been sixteen days since you’ve seen him and you’re certain it’s your own fault he stopped showing up without a word as to why.

After your companion had taken you to see the waterfalls, your father had been utterly infuriated upon seeing you with the Beskar-clad warrior, lengthening your shifts from easier twelve hour days to shifts that nearly lasted twenty hours. After finally emerging from the infirmary nearly twenty hours after he’d taken you to watch the sunrise, you had been absolutely heartbroken to find that your blue Mandalorian had not been waiting for you in the wee hours of the morning. After nearly half an hour of standing around, you had shrugged it off and slowly made your way home; you honestly wouldn’t expect anyone to wait for you that long and figured you would see him at some point later.

But then he’s not there the next day when you get off at a somewhat reasonable time--or the night after that.

Thinking that perhaps an emergency had arose in his tribe, you find yourself waiting against his usual spot the following nights when you are finally released from your agonizingly long shifts.

Still, he does not show up and while your faith in the Mandalorian is slightly shaken, it is not completely broken and hope still flickers in your chest like a tiny spark.

“It has been however many fucking days and you think he’s going to come back for an incompetent girl? He’s probably already forgotten about you. Why did the Maker curse me by having you as my last living blood?”

Your eyelids slip shut at the same time a tear trickles along the bridge of your nose and lands somewhere on the stiff cot that you physically cannot lift yourself from; you think you’ve heard him utter those words more times than he’s ever said ‘I love you’ or, ‘I’m proud of you’. You try to think of the last time he’s said something kind or encouraging to you, but your mind is foggy and the room around you is spinning wildly, breaths leaving your lungs in erratic little patterns that you have no control over.

You can’t even remember the last time he attempted a small smile in your direction, let alone a reassuring sentiment.

You’re certain that at least one of your ribs is fractured or broken and you vaguely remember patching up your blue Mandalorian upon your initial meeting, though that moment seems so far away and out of reach. You swear you can still feel how scalding his skin had been underneath your skilled hands and how the muscles in his abdomen had contracted and tensed upon feeling you rubbing that salve against sore ribs.

Your dry throat constricts and you force a sob away when you remember that night he had carried you home and tenderly treated your wounds while you were in and out of sleep, going so far to even take out your braids and massage your tender scalp.

You ponder what he would say or think upon seeing your current state--curled up on your own medical cot, bruised and battered and unable to work. Even if he found you to be pitiful, you’re certain he would manage to make you feel better and you hate that the ache in your chest is worse than the one in your bruised ribs.

“Look at me when I speak to you,” He furiously demands and you reluctantly crack your eyelids open, your head aching from the fluorescent lighting that assaults your sensitive eyes; you think you must be concussed, “You’re wasting your time with the Mandalorian, you know that deep down, don’t you? Do you even realize what they would do to a weak woman like yourself? His people are known to be ruthless and unforgiving towards outsiders. He’s going to turn his back on you or take advantage of--”

You tune him out after that.

Partially because you don’t wish to listen to the lies that he spits like venom and also because the ringing in your ears makes it hard to hear much of anything; you don’t want to hear what kind of torture he believes that the Mandalorians would ever inflict upon people like you when you know it to be false. It actually upsets you to the point of nausea--that another man who has hurt you so badly could attempt to convince you that the only man who’s ever shown you kindness and that you are absolutely infatuated with was against you--that he only wishes to harm you in the cruelest way possible.

Your Mandalorian--cruel?

Impossible.

You think you know your selfless, caring Mandalorian better than you know the back of your own hand and the horrific assumptions your father implies causes a terrible ache to form in the pit of your stomach--a disgusting feeling that makes you want to retaliate, though you force yourself to calm down. You truly do not want to intensify his anger; not when your ribs are aching something awful and the pounding in the back of your skull throbs more achingly the more he spews insults.

Ignoring the anger that quells deep in the pit of your belly, you let your eyes slip shut again and think of blue Beskar instead, or how lovely you think his visor looks in the moonlight, despite not being able to see what he truly looks like underneath his helmet. Though he threatened the life of the very man who hurt you so badly that you currently can’t even move, you think him to have the kindest soul you’ve ever known and you pray that he isn’t too upset when you see him again.

If you see him again.

As your father continues to remind you that you don't deserve the little happy moments that the Mandalorian has gifted you with in such a short amount of time, you try to ignore the fact your companion lied to you. You’re almost certain that it’s not his fault--that something complicated must have developed within his beloved tribe and though you worry for him, you also can’t help but to let your father’s venomous words manipulate your mind into briefly thinking that he’s completely abandoned you.

Usually your injuries are easy to hide with the long sleeves of your dress or longer leggings, but you can feel the contusion that's currently forming around your eye, as well as the blood that's starting to dry and grow crusty at your hairline. You’re only slightly grateful he hasn’t been there for you the past few days, knowing he would absolutely loathe to see what’s become of you and how messy and tangled your usually soft mane has become--

How you haven’t even bothered to decorate your messy braids with vibrant flowers because you no longer feel joy upon wearing them.

You think the skin that's visible must resemble your Mandalorian's dark blue armor and you find the irony of the realization sick and cruel; it’s unfair because you’ve always thought his scuffed up armor to be beautiful, but there’s nothing beautiful about your current state.

If you possessed even a fraction of the Mandalorian’s strength, you would not be in this painful position and you wished you were somewhere so far away where your father's violent nature was nothing more than a distant, faded memory. You think of the planet your Mando had described to you just weeks ago--Felucia--and vibrant flora that towers over the heavy-infantry warrior; you wonder if he had been making the story up to cheer you up, though you know him to be an honest man.

“Maybe one day I will have the chance to take you there, mesh’la.”

The mere thought of traveling among the stars with the warrior is enough to subdue the pain that’s coursing through your bruised body and your lips barely stretch into a tiny smile; you know it’s something that will most likely come to fruition, but perhaps if you get lucky, it will come to you in the form of a lovely dream one night.

“Clean yourself and get up,” Your father grunts upon realizing that you’ve been ignoring his deprecating speech, “You have a long shift today.”

“My head though,” You grimace when his fingers curl into fists, tears burning something fierce in your eyes at the thought of simply moving, let alone working a full shift in your current state, “I--I think I’m concussed.”

“If you have the energy to complain, then you have the energy to work,” He hisses and you let out a pained yelp when he roughly grabs your elbow and yanks you into a sitting position; the room spins around you and bile rises in your esophagus, “You should be thanking me for not breaking anything important, like your hands or legs. You gonna thank me? Or you gonna keep being an ungrateful bitch all the time?”

You clench your jaw and swallow the lump in your throat, feeling absolutely pathetic as you speak through your teeth, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” He spats and you cringe when you smell the alcohol and spice on his breath, “I will not have you disrespecting me when I’ve done so much for you. You’re going to stop seeing the Mandalorian if he shows back up again, okay? I don’t need him filling your head with such foolish fantasies and thoughts, especially when he’s distracting you from your job so much.”

“Father, please,” You beg, no longer caring about sounding so feeble because nothing leaves you feeling more bereft of all hope than the thought of not seeing your kindhearted Mandalorian if he chooses to ever come back “I promise I’ll be better and I’ll stop talking back all the time! Please, don’t make me do this. I’ll be a better daughter if you just--”

“If I just what?” He scoffs, sounding disgusted and you think his next words are probably the most heart-shattering words he’s ever uttered, “There is nothing I could do--nothing you could do--to ever make you be a better daughter.”

Tears trickle down your bruised cheeks as you force yourself not to sob, “Please don’t take him away from me.”

“Your Mandalorian has already given up on you, yet you try to defend him? If he truly cared, he would have been here for you days ago. Your cowardly warrior does not care for you like I do,” Your tears don’t affect him--they never have--and he almost seems amused as he wraps his dirty fingers around your wrist, squeezing until you cry out from the pain, “Don’t make me break your hands, little one,” He warns and you ponder how someone could be so cruel as to rob you of two of the only things that bring you the most joy, “They may bring in a lot of credits for me, but I would not be sad about breaking one or two fingers.”

It hurts to breathe, let alone cry, and you somehow manage to subdue your tears, though you have not felt such devastation in years. The pain in your ribs and the back of your skull is nothing more than a flicker of a thought as you contemplate what it is he wants you to give up. The anger you felt earlier upon hearing him talk so horrifically about your Mandalorian is nothing to the flames that currently dance wildly in your belly, making you feel absolutely feral and resentful towards your only living family.

“Don’t worry,” He coos when you sniffle and struggle to force your sobs away, “It wouldn’t be enough to keep you from doing your job, just enough to get the point across.”

Your body shakes with breathless, silent sobs that cause your ribs burn and throb in absolute agony, though you think your father’s words hurt far worse.

“No, mesh’la,” You remember your companion’s response upon hearing how you insisted that your father was family and didn’t deserve to be harmed, “He is a monster that deserves to feel shame for what he’s done to his own blood.”

“You really are a monster,” You speak the realization out loud, as if all the past abuse hadn’t been a clear indicator of that, “How could you be so cruel to your own daughter?”

He scoffs and finally releases your wrist from his painful grip, “I don’t have a daughter, just an incompetent nurse who can’t properly do her job because she’s too busy daydreaming about a future she’ll never have. Forget the Mandalorian and focus on your job, or else I’ll really make things far more miserable for the two of you and make sure you never help another fucking patient for the rest of your life.”

“You may be able to do this to me, but he would not let you lay a hand on him.”

“I can hurt him in other ways,” The cruel man reassures you, something dark and ruthless glimmering in his dark eyes; you wonder how a man can be filled with so much hatred and disgust towards their only blood, “If he cares for you as much as you think he does, then I think he wouldn’t be too happy if you suddenly disappeared, if he thought you ran away. Shit, perhaps he just wouldn’t care at all.”

You’re certain it’s a threat against your life, but the way he says it so nonchalantly fills you with utter resentment towards him and your chest heaves. You think back to when the infirmary had been robbed a couple months ago and how the bandit threatening your life had held a blaster to your forehead, but that seems like nothing compared to your father’s violent promise. Though you haven’t seen your Mandalorian in over two weeks and there’s a chance that he’s already tired himself of you, the thought of him showing up one night to simply find out that you ‘ran away’--well, you’re certain he wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of your father’s mouth.

He wouldn’t, right?

...Right?

You’re not sure what thought is worse, your Mandalorian feeling betrayed at the thought you would simply take off without a word or his reaction upon finding your lifeless body wherever your father would dump it, should he be the one to discover it.

“He would kill you,” You weakly inform him, though you feel that you have already lost this fight, “He already wants to.”

“I have connections too, little one,” He refutes easily and you know he’s only telling the truth by the way he smirks, “Ones much more powerful than a coward who chooses to live a life hidden in the shadows.”

Your fingers loosely curl into a fist at the insult, but you remain silent when you see his own hands form into much tighter fists.

“Forget him,” The cruel man repeats in a hushed growl and you refuse to meet his angry glare, “Or else you will both regret it.”

The words hurt more than his fists and you loathe that your voice cracks when you speak in a broken whisper, “Yes father.”

“Now, get up and get to work--you look like a damn mess.”

You weakly nod and tiredly wipe a hand down your face as your father leaves your office with the slam of a door, making you flinch at the aggressive action. You wince upon feeling the new bruises splayed across your skin and carefully slide off the medical cot, gripping the metal railing with stiff fingers and pressing your other hand to your aching ribs. Wearily, you make your way to the mirror that sits on your desk and squeeze your eyes shut upon seeing purple and blue bruises covering nearly half of your face, along with your neck and jaw.

You think you look just as bad as you feel.

After washing your hands and retrieving your suture kit, you slowly sink into your chair and begin the painful process of cleaning and stitching the gash at your hairline. The pain that comes with the horrific sensation of a long, hooked needle piercing your skin and tugging bloodied skin back together is pretty intense, it’s nothing compared to the agony that threatens to rip you apart when it dawns on you that your father truly expects you to forget the Mandalorian, as though he’s some sort of toy that you’ve outgrown.

“Why me?” You question nobody in particular, or perhaps the Maker that has cruelly elected you to such a painful life, “Stars... why me?”

Even though your vision blurs with tears and the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is damn near incapacitating, you continue to stitch and treat your own wounds, and you grow bitter upon realizing you’re your own patient. This is not what you envisioned when your mother decided to teach you everything she knew, hoping that someday you would have the same skills she possessed, though she was far more of a talented nurse than you could ever hope to be.

You don’t remember much of your mother, nor her soft voice and kindhearted touch, but as you finish tending to your wounds and force yourself to forget the blue Mandalorian that never truly leaves your mind, you focus on the patients that slowly trickle in and out of the infirmary for the next twenty hours or so. You’re far too injured to be working and even though your vision is doubled and speckled by black dots, you force yourself to focus and do your job. Only a few mention your new wounds, but when you insist that you were simply mugged the night before, they promptly drop the subject and you continue with your day as best as you’re physically able to.

As you find yourself thinking of your Mandalorian’s deep baritone and how he would hold you like it was pure instinct, you realize now what the warrior truly meant when he spoke of you feeling homesick for a home you had never even known.

You think the warmth and safety of the blue Mandalorian’s arms are the closest you’ll ever know to having a home and it is the only think that gets you through the most painful shift of your life.

When your shift ends eighteen hours later, black spots dot your vision and you can barely breathe with the intense, agonizing pain in your side.

You only make it a few buildings past the infirmary, nearly passing the dirty cantina you’ve known a few of your scummy regulars to frequent when you hear it.

It starts off as a high-pitched whine that eventually dissolves into pained whimpers that wrack your heart and pique your undying curiosity.

Despite the exhaustion that bleeds into every single one of your senses, the painfully heart wrenching noises of a creature beckoning for you to help it overpowers any other rational thought that your concussed mind can possibly conjure.

You know how absolutely dangerous the village is at this hour, but something about the hopeless whimpers combined with the fluorescent red eyes that seem to reflect underneath the moonlight absolutely haunts you. Though it’s difficult to make out anything in the dark, you’re very much aware of how desperate the strange creature sounds like it’s being tortured and despite the traumatizing events of the day you’ve just experienced, your natural instincts have you making your way to the helpless animal.

As you get closer, it reluctantly emerges from the safety of the dark corner it has been hiding in and you gasp out loud at the strange, yet astonishing sight in front of you.

The ethereal moonlight seems to reflect off of the creature’s gorgeous crystalline coat and you press the back of your hand to your mouth when you realize the poor animal is tied up to a kriffing dumpster on the outside of a disgusting cantina.

How could anyone tether something so absolutely beautiful to something so dirty?

You nearly sob and your heart aches something fierce as you cautiously make your way over to the whimpering creature, it’s bright crimson eyes seeming to glow in the darkness of the night and you hesitate when it lets out a shrill noise as it moves in a way that must cause intense pain.

The tiny cub shakes its beautiful coat and you startle a little when you hear the soft clinking of crystals jangling against one another, its coat seeming to be clad with some sort of stunning, reflective mineral. You’ve never seen something so ghostly or intangible and you raise your brows when the creature politely sits on its hind legs and stares up at you, its front paw lifted off the ground and you realize it must be injured if it refuses to support any weight on the wounded appendage.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” You coo, utterly entranced, but determined to help what seems to be such an innocent, beautiful creature; despite the horrific pain in your own ribs, you slowly sink to your knees and hold a soft hand out for the cute cub to sniff, “I only want to help you.”

The cub tilts its head to the side and you nearly giggle at how big its ears seem compared to its little head; the peaks of the crystalline ears look dangerously sharp and you remind yourself that this is a feral animal that could easily deal some serious damage upon feeling threatened. Keeping that in mind, you slowly reach into the pouch at your hip where you think you still have some sort of sustenance left over from your meek lunch.

Clumsily, the beautiful creature hobbles forward and eagerly accepts the piece of jerky you’re offering. For the first time since parting ways with your Mandalorian sixteen days ago, you find yourself grinning when the fox-like creature makes a hacking noise, as if it expects some sort of luxurious cuisine, rather than dried out meat.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” You murmur, earning a curious tilt of the head from the clearly neglected animal, and your grin melts into a sad frown as you move to untie the thick rope that’s wrapped like a vice around its neck; it flinches severely and you think you understand its fear all too well, “It’s okay, I’m going to get you back to the infirmary and fix up that leg. I only wish to help, I promise.”

Something about the soft determination laced in your quiet voice must resonate with the creature, because it’s soulful, crimson eyes blink slowly up at youas it plops down and heaves a tired sigh. Using the vibroblade the blue Mandalorian had given you over a month ago, you carefully cut through the thick rope and your heart breaks when you realize the pale flesh underneath is absolutely rubbed raw and slightly bloody.

“Shh, it’s okay,” You coo when it lets out a little whine as you inspect the extent of its injuries, though they seem fairly minor, “I’m going to take care of you, I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You smile sympathetically and lean forward to carefully pick up the cub, marveling at how tiny the creature is and loathing that you can feel its ribs, even underneath its rocky coat. Slowly, you rise with the strange animal cradled cozily in your arms and ignore the pain in your ribs as you gently scratch its rocky chin. You’re met with the pleasant sound of a happy little shriek and you can’t stop yourself from giggling, not even noticing the sound of shuffling from behind you, nor the soft click of a weapon pointed in your direction.

“Drop the vulptex right now.”

You turn around so fast that you nearly knock yourself off balance, gasping when you realize the source of the voice belongs to a Trandoshan that towers over you by more than a foot; you tremble at how terrifying the reptilian species is. He’s pointing a rusty blaster right between your brows and you think that this day can’t possibly get any worse, what with your injuries, your father’s haunting words, and your Mandalorian’s continuous absence.

As if it senses your fear and sadness, along with the severity of the situation, the creature in your arms--the vulptex--whines a little and tucks its wet snout against the crook of your neck.

“Drop the mutt,” The Trandoshan hisses, his Basic a little choppy and slurred as he staggers closer until the cold barrel of his weapon is pressed firmly against your forehead; you’re shocked that you manage to not tear up from fear alone as you stare into his emotionless yellow eyes.

“I would not surrender this abused creature so easily--not when your intentions are cruel,” You whisper, grunting a little when he shoves the blaster against you and urges you backwards into the stone wall, the back of your already aching skull colliding against the unforgiving surface, “Why would you own such a beautiful animal, only to harm it?”

“You think I actually care about the damn noisy thing?” He scoffs, eyes darting down to the shaking creature that you hold so protectively to your chest, “Her coat right now could easily earn me over two thousand credits; I don’t give a shit if she’s hurt or not, I only care about the pretty reward she will bring me.”

You glare fiercely at him, hating that your eyes fill with tears simply from the thought of the precious creature being bred and born for no other purpose than the cruel intentions of a sick man. Unconsciously, you hold the vulptex tighter against you, hating the little squeaks and whimpers she lets out, as though she’s aware of the torture she will endure if she ends up in the hands of this monster.

“Hand it over and I won’t hurt you,” He steps closer until his scaly body is pressed against yours and it all feels wrong and gross and you force your mind to go anywhere else than the wall of a dirty cantina, “Though I don’t think I would mind seeing you with more bruises, little one--seems like I’m not the first one you’ve manage to piss off today.”

For the umpteenth time that day, anger swells like a grave wound in the pit of your stomach and you hate that it only makes your tears burn hotter in your eyes, leaving a trail of scorching fire down your cheek. You cringe when the Trandoshan reaches forward to grab your bruised face and you’re hasty and panicked as you speak up before he can do anymore damage to your already wounded skin.

“Put the blaster down and I’ll give her back, I swear!”

He makes a strange hissing noise and grips your bruised cheeks harder, making you cry out in pain, “This is not a negotiation, little one. Just hand over the fucking mutt and I might let you leave in one piece.”

Though your voice shakes, you somehow steel your nerves and stand your ground, “I will give you your animal once you put down the blaster. How do I know you won’t just shoot me dead as soon as I hand her over?” You question, realizing that the confusion in your voice must affect him severely and when you speak up again, your voice is filled with fury.

“Put. It. Down.”

“Only because your anger is amusing.”

The Trandoshan clicks his tongue angrily at you and lets out the most vicious growl you’ve ever heard, though you must be convincing enough because he finally eases his body off of your much smaller one. Your heart pounds frantically in your chest as you watch him bend down a little to holster the unforgiving weapon and you remember what your Mandalorian had once told you in regards to defending yourself against enemies larger than you.

Without really thinking of the consequences, you promptly bring your knee up into the enormous Trandoshan’s groin, cringing at the loud yelp the man lets out and you further the damage by swinging your calf upwards when he nearly collapses, your ankle colliding with what you’re sure is his most sensitive appendage.

The fox-like creature in your arms whines and squeaks profusely as you take advantage of the situation by sprinting to the end of the alleyway where you know you can make a quick escape into the infirmary that’s just a few buildings away from your current location.

Your feet move before your mind even registers your actions and all that you know is that your cruel attacker is bent down at the waist, nearly on his knees and crying out in pain as you quickly sprint as fast as your aching legs will allow you to. Pain is radiating throughout your entire body, but you ignore it as you focus your entire being on getting out of a dangerous situation in one piece.

You think you’re safe and in the clear when a massive arm wraps tightly around your waist and tugs you close to them, causing you to cry out in pain and desperation as you angrily kick your legs about. In a furious rage, you shriek and thrash against the impossibly tight grasp your new attacker has on you and it fills you with utter fury; it’s the third time today that someone’s hurt you and something about the realization fills you with resentment and grief.

Barely registering the familiar baritone that attempts to calm you in a softer, exasperated tone, you thrash wildly against the arm that holds you to an unyielding chest. It’s familiar, but you’re certain that your mind is playing cruel tricks on you and you are not willing to give in so easily to your captor.

“Let me go!” You shriek, absolutely blinded by fear and terror to register that the one holding you to his chest is your only other companion--the only man you’ve ever trusted. His arm is wrapped around the worst of your bruising and you feel as though you're being crushed so heavily by the weight of your own consequences, more so than his armor.

"Shh, It's me," The familiar voice shushes you and you feel shame that you didn't recognize it earlier, that you didn’t even realize it was Beskar digging into your broken body, "I've got you--you're safe. Please don’t… don’t cry, mesh’la. Shit, please don’t cry--it’s just me."

‘It’s just me.’

He says it like you haven’t been waiting for him every night for weeks and you nearly sob at how unconcerned he sounds when you spent so much time terrified that he had simply abandoned you or had gotten gravely injured.

Before you can even think about weakly asking him why he didn't show up all those nights ago, another voice--a much angrier one--echoes from down the sidewalk. You're not sure whether your shakiness is from fear or adrenaline, but the warrior doesn't lessen his grip and holds your back tightly to his Beskar-clad chest. You’re grateful when he removes his arm from around your tender ribs, deciding that just above your chest seems like a better option and if you weren’t so shaken up, you’d blush upon feeling his fingers gently squeeze your shoulder in a comforting way.

"You fucking little--"

Immediately, your attacker’s angry tone dies down as he realizes that someone new has entered the altercation, immediately spotting the irritated Mandalorian that’s holding you and the ethereal creature securely with one arm, his other stretched past your head as he steadily aims a long blaster in the Trandoshan's direction. Though the intimidating criminal stands just as tall as the blue heavy-infantry warrior, you're certain that he's not nearly as broad or as intimidating.

Definitely not as skilled in his drunken stupor.

Your attacker's eyes widen just a fraction upon realizing who's currently holding you and your breath catches in your throat when he refuses to lower his blaster--would he really be so foolish to challenge someone who was trained from childhood to be a skilled warrior? You feel the Mandalorian fist the material of your dress that covers your shoulder and if you weren't so focused on the tense situation, you would have complained about the burning pain that shoots through your side at how closely he holds you to him to his Beskar chest. Swiftly and not unkindly in the slightest, the warrior gently urges you behind him and you’re quick to let out a deep exhale that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in since he initially grabbed you.

"I don't want any trouble, Mando," The Trandoshan's voice drops, as though he can sense the anger rolling off of your Mandalorian's Beskar, "I just want the vulptex back--the girl is a thief and I want my reward."

“Thief, huh?” The blue warrior cocks his head to the side, like he's amused by the thought of you committing any sort of crime, "Seems to me like you're the thief. Vulptices only reside on Crait and are protected by law, even in the Outer Rim. I’m sure you already know that though."

“Since when do Mandalorians have morals?”

Your Mandalorian doesn’t say anything in response and you think that his silence is far more fearful than whatever else he could have said in retaliation. His leather-clad hand slowly reaches behind him and your cheeks burn something painfully fierce when you realize he’s reaching out for you, as though he’s worried that you’ve somehow vanished or that your visible injuries are because of the Trandoshan.

Despite the promise you made to your father earlier, you’re unable to resist the urge to reach out for him as well. As your fingers intertwine with his and you give them a gentle squeeze, your father’s words haunt you and tears fill your eyes when you remember you’re going to have to break off the tender relationship you’ve somehow formed with him in such a short amount of time. You thought that nothing would hurt worse than convincing your father that you would simply focus on work, rather than your Mandalorian, but now that he’s actually there and holding your hand like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held?

You’re absolutely terrified that your heart is going to break into hundreds of piercing shards and somehow hurt him, even with the protection of his precious Beskar armor.

Upon realizing that the heavy-infantry Mandalorian isn’t going to relent, your attacker seems to falter and finally lowers his blaster upon hearing the warrior’s next words.

“I’m sure a fur-trader like yourself would have a pretty big bounty on their head,” A squeeze of your own hand fills you with warmth and reassurance as he argues with the cruel man that holds such ill intentions for such a beautiful creature, "I would not mind handing you over to a bounty hunter and seeing how much I could make off of someone like yourself."

“You really don’t want to do this, Mando,” The Trandoshan hisses and you realize that he’s trying to convince your Mandalorian to hand you and your newest companion over, “They’re not worth it--I promise.”

Thick fingers curl tightly around yours and you hate that your heart skips a little when you realize he’s silently reassuring you that you are worth all this trouble, a notion that’s difficult for you to truly believe after the past few weeks. You want to be upset with him for disappearing without a word, but you’re certain that he must have a reasonable explanation and fear churns in the pit of your belly when you remind yourself of the promise you’d made to your father earlier.

“I think he wouldn’t be too happy if you suddenly disappeared, if he thought you ran away…”

Tears burn painfully in your eyes as the Trandoshan relents with a furious growl, sending you one last glare as he angrily makes his way back into the cantina. The Mandalorian stands deathly still as he continues to stare at the spot where your attacker had previously occupied and you think that he must be collecting his thoughts before he speaks out loud. You’re certain that this isn’t how he expected your reunion to go--you pissing off a Trandoshan that rivals his own strength and having to yank you out of a bad situation--but as he slowly turns to regard you and the creature you cradle so closely to your chest, you think he’s not angry with you.

“Seems like you’ve had quite the day, saviin’ika,” He observes with a cocked helmet, his hand slowly moving to the underside of your jaw so he can tilt your head back to get a better view of your newest injuries; judging by the tension laced in his baritone, along with the way his chest heaves, you must appear as awful as you feel, “Not a good one, at that.”

The weight of his grave words fill your eyes with tears and you squeeze your eyes shut when the cold leather covering his calloused thumb ghosts along the apple of your bruised cheek; it brings you back to when he carried you to your hut and tended to your wounds. Somehow, his touch seems far gentler right now than it had that night, despite him wearing his gloves and it only makes you want to cry harder for the tender warrior.

“Y-You weren’t...” You force yourself not to sob, as you feel you’ve cried far too much for one day, “Where did you go? I-I waited, just like I promised. I know it was so late the first day, but after that I kept waiting and y-you never showed up and I thought you--”

Your voice cracks and you think from the way he slumps forward a little he must feel the pain that’s so prevalent in your broken words; he raises his hands in a pleading gesture as your tears burst like a kriffing dam. You’re certain it’s just the events of the day, combined with being concussed and absolutely exhausted that’’s making you so emotional, but you don’t care anymore and let it all out.

“I… I am sorry I have not been here for you,” He sounds ashamed as he leans down to tenderly press his Beskar-clad forehead against your bare one, taking great care to not bump into your stitches, “There were problems in the tribe that needed to be taken care of. I did not intend for it to last this long.”

You hesitate to open your eyes and peer up at him, though when you do, you find that the sight of his scuffed up helmet and visor bring you more comfort than what you’ve felt since his absence, “Are your people okay? I could help if someone is injured or--”

“No, mesh’la,” He still sounds pained as his fingers graze the edges of the bandage that covers the stitches at your hairline, “Everyone is okay, but thank you for your concern. It was just a dangerous mission that our bounty hunter needed help with and some negotiating with the tribe that I needed to be there for. I did not want to be away from you for this long--it was not my intentions--but I know that one day soon you will understand. Please don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“No, I just... there is nothing to forgive. Your tribe should always come first,” You shake your head as you viciously wipe the tears from your cheeks, “It’s been a long day and I’m just being... I’m just tired--I’m exhausted and hurt.”

“Then let me take care of you, little nurse.”

“You… you should not be here; you should be with your own people,” You force out in a tiny whisper, though he does not seem afraid by your words in the slightest, “This is--what we have..” You hate that your expression crumbles and your voice breaks, because he immediately tilts his helmet, as though he already sees right through your lies, “It is wrong.”

He scoffs and you’re barely aware of the way he gently curls his fingers around your hip, pushing you up against the infirmary you had somehow made it to in your hysteria. Judging by the way he shakes his helmet at you and easily backs you up until you're pressed to the brick wall of the broken down place you work at, you think he must not believe your words at all. You feel as though you do not have the strength to explain what is going on as he cockily rests a forearm right next to your cheek against the brick wall of the infirmary that he’s successfully trapped you against.

“This is wrong, mesh’la?” He questions softly--desperately--and you think your heart might combust at how gentle his modulated baritone is, “Is it so wrong that I couldn’t stop thinking of your eyes and smile every night I was away from you? Is it wrong that I dream of how soft your hair feels when I take off my gloves or that I only wish to hold you when I am alone in my bed at night? Would you really be so cruel to me after I traveled so long just to see your pretty face?"

“Was it not cruel of you to be away for so long without me knowing why? I thought you might have...” Your gaze lowers to his cuirass in embarrassment and shame, “I thought you were injured or that maybe you just didn’t... you didn’t want me anymore.”

He tenses, back straightening as he makes a strange choking noise, “I always want you--I always will. It pained me to not be able to see you in person, but you were in my dreams whenever I actually managed to get sleep. Do you really not want this anymore? Did I hurt you that badly?” He suddenly sounds fearful and your heart absolutely aches in your chest, “I would get on my knees and ask for forgiveness if that is what you wished for.”

“I would not allow your big ego to take that big of a hit,” You jokingly whisper--a poor attempt to lighten the situation, though it stops him right before he can fall to his knees, “This is--it’s just something that cannot go on any longer.”

“You are making no sense to me, mesh’la.”

You release a small sigh when his fingers drift up to the remnants of dried blood that have crusted into your roots, “I am not a cruel woman, Mandalorian, I am tired and I would not let you feel the same pain I have felt,” You whisper the last part as he gently nudges his forehead against yours, “I would not wish it upon anyone, especially you.”

“You think your father could hurt me?” The Mandalorian’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles into your hip as he tilts his helmet, forehead still pressed to yours and you force your expression not to crumble when you remember your father’s words from earlier, “He wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on me--he wouldn’t be able to even think about it before I’d have him in ashes at your feet.”

“Must you make everything so difficult?” You inquire lips trembling because he does not realize the true extent of the kind of pain your father it able to inflict on the fearless warrior without even laying a finger on him, “You should leave. P-Please, you do not understand what he is--what he can do to you.”

“What did he say to you? Please tell me he did not get inside that pretty head of yours,” He taps the underside of your chin and urges you to peer up at his visor and you fear that he’ll see the despair and agony burning something fierce in your shimmering eyes, “Is that really what you wish for, mesh’la? You gonna break my heart like this?”

“You know what I wish for, yet it is something I can never have, Mandalorian.”

“Don’t do this to me, to us,” He sounds just as devastated as you feel and it only complicates the situation more than you could ever hope to anticipate as he continues to speak in the same tone, “Don’t take this away from me--not when it’s the only good thing we’ve both had in so long and I... please let me help you.”

He sounds so despondent and the graveness of it causes your heart to ache terribly as you shake your head frantically, tears streaming down your cheeks and into the leather covering his fingers.

“Let me take you away from here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and rest the back of your head against the wall he has you trapped to; all confidence you had in your attempts to break things off with the Mandalorian dissipates the very moment you feel the cool leather of his thumb kiss the corner of your mouth. He cocks his helmet to the side when you turn your head further against his hand and slowly let your eyelids slip shut when your lips meet the palm of his black glove; you long for the warmth of his rough skin instead.

You simultaneously loathe and love that he has this effect on you--that he holds your heart so protectively in his palm--and you know you're playing a dangerous game as your free hand comes up to press against his much bigger one. You trap the cold leather close to your face and don’t care when you force him to apply the tiniest pressure to the blue and purple bruises covering half of your face.

You’re barely aware of the way he raises his fingers, so he causes you no pain.

He lets out a deep, dreamy sigh when you press a firm kiss to his palm and all thoughts pertaining to the promise you’d previously made to your father disappear as he tenderly strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“I have to tend to her wounds, Mandalorian,” You murmur when the vulptex cub lets out an irritated whine and you feel emptier when he reluctantly pulls his hand away from your face, though he keeps your hand trapped firmly in his.

“Then I will tend to yours after, mesh’la.”

“They really aren’t that bad,” You insist, though the ache in your ribs and the throbbing in the back of your skull reminds you otherwise, “They look a lot worse than they feel.”

“You are a terrible liar,” He sighs again and gently squeezes your hand as you lead him into the infirmary, taking great caution to lock the entrance behind you, “I can tell by the way you are breathing that your ribs are injured. Let me--just, please let me take care of you."

You should tell him to leave, your father's threat lingering in the back of your mind, but the temptation of your Mandalorian's bare touch outweighs any rational thought you might have had. So, you relent with hardly any fuss, giving the stubborn man a small nod as you tiredly guide him into your office and turn on the lights.

"I do not want you to see my body like this," You warn him as you tenderly lay the wounded creature in the center of your medical cot, "I am ashamed of my bruises and scars."

You barely glance at the warrior as he lazily removes his heavy cannon, as well as the jetpack that's attached to the huge weapon. He freezes upon hearing your meek words and shakes his helmet as you begin to disinfect your tiny patient’s minor wounds, earning you soft squeaks and whines in the process.

"That shame belongs to him, mesh'la," Your Mandalorian reassures you in a firm tone that makes you think he's upset, "Never feel ashamed for the cruelty of others, especially when you did nothing to deserve any of this. As for the scars, there is nothing embarrassing about the stories that tell your survival."

“Do you have many?” You question, not able to meet his emotionless visor, though something about how terse he sounds makes you think he’s not as stoic as he always tries to appear to be, “I know when I stitched you up a couple of months ago you, I just didn’t see many scars.”

“The armor doesn’t always hold up,” He quietly admits and you finally turn your head to peer up at the dents in his helmet; dread pumps through your veins when you realize the scars on his Beskar must have been a result of a powerful blaster shot and you wonder if the bare skin beneath is scarred as well, “I have many scars as well. Some I’ve gotten from fights I’m not so proud of, but they are still a part of me and tell the story of who I am today.”

You contemplate his words carefully, observing all the scuffs and dents in his dull blue armor before collecting your thoughts, “I am not a warrior like you and I did not get these scars from fighting in battles. There is no honor behind my story--behind learning how to take beatings and keeping my mouth shut so I won’t be hurt worse. This is not a battle, it’s just learning to live with it.”

You turn away from him when you fear that you won’t be able to hold your composure any longer, tensing a little when the Mandalorian speaks in a low, deeper baritone, “Maybe it is not a battle you’re fighting, but that doesn’t make you any less of a warrior, mesh’la. You’re far braver than anyone in this damn village and I’ll keep telling you that until you finally believe it.”

“And what if I never believe it? What will you do then?”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until the day I die.”

You smile sadly and not knowing how to respond, you simply fall into a thoughtful silence as you check the cub for any broken bones or wounds that might not be visible; after confirming nothing is broken, you spin around in your chair to face the Mandalorian. He’s leaning against your desk, wood creaking underneath the weight of his body as he stares right back at you with his bare hands resting on his hips. Just the way he stands when he’s in a relaxed environment screams confidence and power and you think it to be amazing that someone can consistently exude that kind of energy, even to someone like you--someone who’s seen him grow shy and even sometimes vulnerable.

“Would you please hand me the antibacterial cream?” You politely ask as you situate yourself in the most comfortable position that your bruised ribs will allow you to sit, offering him a tiny smile when he nods and turns around to reach up to the top shelf bolted to the wall, “Thank you.”

“Sure,” He hums as he makes his way over to you in two wide strides, seeming to be unbothered by you ordering him around, “All this trouble over a vulptex that looks like a little runt?”

“All creatures matter the same to me, Mandalorian,” You gratefully accept the little jar he holds out for you to take and you scoop out the white cream on two fingers, “No matter how big or small they are, they all deserve basic medical attention.”

“You’re something else, saviin’ika,” He informs you, sounding amused as he holds a hand out for the cub to sniff, though the ethereal creature merely turns its nose away and blinks slowly at you; the Mandalorian shakes his helmet with a grunt and turns his attention to you as he leans against the back of your chair.

“Do you know much of this species?”

The Mandalorian hums as he lazily wraps his fingers around the top of the backrest of your chair, seeming entirely comfortable to be this close to you, “I know they’re native to the planet of Crait, but other than that, I don’t know much else outside of the fur trade and them being smuggled and slaughtered for their crystal coats.”

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and you hate that tears immediately burn your eyes as you stare at the precious little creature and her soulful crimson eyes, “S-Slaughtered?”

“It is best not to think about it, little nurse, especially when your heart is so soft compared to everyone else’s,” He sighs and he must be mentally kicking himself in the back of his scuffed up blue helmet for exposing you to such terrible news, “You did a good thing--saving this little runt. Her fate would have been… unfavorable, to say the least.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as he gently thumbs your braids that lack their usual vibrant flowers; they had all fallen out upon the beating you’d taken earlier and it felt so wrong to be without them, “Do you think her family--her mother--?”

“I don’t know,” He answers honestly, dutifully stroking the unruly baby hairs away from your forehead as you continue to wonder what kind of trauma this beautiful creature must have gone through, “Like I said, it is best to not think about it.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop thinking about what that man would have done to this poor animal,” You confess in a meek whisper as he smooths a calloused hand over your braids in a comforting manner, “How can people be so…?”

Your question hangs heavily in the air like a dark gray cloud and the Mandalorian makes a small noise in response, wordlessly answering that he doesn’t know why people are capable of acting so cruelly to those who don’t deserve it.

“That Trandoshan… did he do anything to you? I could go back and--”

“Always so ready to fight,” You smile sadly, watching as the cub slowly falls asleep underneath your tender hands and the soothing sensation that your homemade cream bestows upon its burning wounds, “He did not hurt me. If anything, I hurt him.”

You continue when he makes a questioning hum from the back of his throat, “I kind of uh, kicked him between his legs… twice?”

You blush fiercely when he makes a choked sound and reaches out to gently squeeze your nape, he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh when he speaks, “You kicked a man in the balls? A Trandoshan?”

“I was left with no other choice and did what I needed to.”

“You are much braver than you believe,” You think you hear a twinge of admiration in his cool baritone and shake your head a little at the sentiment, refusing to believe his words “I mean it. Not many with no fighting experience would have the courage to take on someone so much bigger to protect something so little, especially when you’re already hurt. You should feel proud.”

“Th-Thank you,” You whisper, shuddering when his hand slowly travels down your neck and settles on the space between your shoulder blades, rubbing the tension away from your aching muscle; your fingers fumble with the roll of gauze as you slowly finish wrapping it around the cub’s raw neck, “You are… you’re distracting me from my work, Mandalorian.”

“I would prefer to distract you in other ways, mesh’la,” That slight cockiness is back in his modulated voice and when you try so desperately to think of some sort of witty comeback, you find that your mind is full of thoughts of what other distractions he could possibly mean. His hand slowly trails up your back and around the slope of your shoulder, eventually stopping at the base of your throat and urging your head backwards so the back of your skull is gently pressed against his armored-clad abdomen and you’re peering up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. He barely uses any pressure to control you and it’s then that you realize it’s not dominance he seeks, but more so your trust in him, and knowing that he would never harm you with ill intent.

“I have a patient to treat.”

“So do I.”

“I’m still upset with you.”

He releases the gentle, barely-there grip on your throat at your weak words and you exhale a long, deep sigh as you finish wrapping up the vulptex’s sprained paw with a small splint and a tight layer of gauze to keep the bones from shifting. Grabbing the thin pillow from the top of the medical cot, you slowly rise from your chair, fully aware of your Mandalorian’s attention on you as you place the pillow in a safe corner of the room before retrieving a small, metal dish that you would typically use to discard debris into upon treating injured patients. Instead, you fill it with water before placing some dried meat into a smaller dish, just in case your newest companion becomes hungry at some point throughout the night.

Once you settle the healing creature near its water and food bowls, you hesitantly turn to the Mandalorian that now occupies your chair, legs splayed wide, as though he doesn’t give a damn about how much space he takes up in your little office. As you approach him after making sure the cub is sound asleep and comfortable in her cozy corner, you find that you don't mind his hulking stature in the slightest and place a gentle hand on the spot between his pauldron and the lip of his helmet.

“Mesh’la,” He greets you in a quiet huff as you slowly lower yourself onto the cot with a pained expression etched upon your features; his hand moves to your thigh and carefully tugs you closer to him, “Your wounds?"

"I've done all that I can already," You inform him weakly, putting up no fight when he gently guides you into a laying position on your side by placing a firm hand on your shoulder, "I don't have anything for fractured ribs."

"I do," He begins to pull a familiar jar from the pouch at his hip and you shake your head a little upon realizing it's the bacta salve you gave him two months ago, "Please, let me take care of you the same way you take care of everyone else."

“I’m not used to--”You swallow the lump in your throat and eventually nod your consent, melting into the stiff cot when he gently wraps his fingers around your bare calf and you speak in a weak whisper, "Okay, just please be careful, the bruising is--it's pretty bad."

"I would never--" His chest heaves and his head tilts as his visor lands on your face, "I'll always be gentle with you, mesh'la."

You nod and fully relax against the mattress, peering at his scuffed up helmet as his fingers curl into the hem of your dress; you think his hesitation is endearing because most men would not have the same reaction, "It is okay, I'm wearing shorts."

"How unfortunate."

So much for hesitation.

Your face grows so hot that you feel it spread to your earlobes and you shake your head at the man who's determined to be your own nurse. You think it’s ironic that you’re in the same position he had once been in during your initial meeting and you now understand why he had become so tense upon touching his warm skin. He’s barely touched you and your heart is beating harder than a war drum before battle; you briefly wonder if this is what he had in mind when he inquired about treating your wounds and you think he must enjoy watching you squirm a little.

Yet, you know his intentions are pure and he only wishes to help you.

"Do you flirt this way with everyone?"

"No," He sounds utterly amused by your exasperation and shy disposition, "Just pretty nurses who go around picking fights with Trandoshans."

You scoff at that, fully aware of what kind of game he’s playing with you, “It seems as though you are the nurse and I am your patient now, though.”

“I... uh, yes, it does seem that way, mesh’la.”

You roll your eyes at him, though a small smile threatens to break your stoic features, "It is not professional to flirt with your patients, Mandalorian."

He huffs a little, risking a cursory glance at your face before carefully sliding your dress up your thighs and stomach so he can get a good look at your ribs. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his calloused knuckles graze the outside of your bare thigh and you force your mind out of the gutter, reminding yourself that he’s doing this to tend to your wounds.

"Oh, saviin'ika," You hear him sigh gravely as he lightly drapes your dress just underneath your bust, exposing your severely bruised skin to him, "He… he did all of this to you? Wh-Why? Maker--how could anyone--?"

You flinch a little when he cautiously lays a warm hand near the darkest of the bruises and he’s astoundingly quick to yank his hand away, as though you’re the one that’s caused him such pain and you shake your head a little. You reach out to grab his warm hand in your colder one and guide it back to your bruised skin, longing to feel any sort of tender touch after the rough, violent week you’ve had.

"He caught me daydreaming instead of working. I should have--"

"Don't you dare blame yourself for this," He breathes, a twinge of devastation clear as day in his crackly voice, "Nobody deserves this kind of torture except for him and him only. I wish you would--" He sounds like he's in even more pain than you and your heart shatters upon realizing you've unintentionally reduced him to such a state, "I wish you would let me kill him for you. I could even make it fast so you wouldn't think me to be as cruel as him. Please, mesh--"

"I want to continue to be a nurse, Mandalorian," You weakly remind him, remembering your father’s threat as your own nurse glides a cautious thumb along your tender skin, remaining diligent in not applying any pressure, “I could not keep helping others if you killed him--the infirmary would close down and I would be left without a job.”

The Mandalorian shakes his head and you watch as his rough fingers collect a generous scoop out of the jar that looks just as filled as the night he’d carried you home and tended to your wounds then. You wonder if it’s simply an instinct for him to take care of others and you give him an encouraging smile when he begins to rub the warm gel against the worst of your bruises with far more tenderness than you’ve ever experienced. You can tell he’s utterly afraid of causing you further pain and you watch as he keeps his visor trained on his massive hand that’s currently soothing your wounds.

“What if you could though? What if there was a way you could continue to help others and not have to fear him?”

You force yourself not to ponder his words too much, knowing such wistful thinking will only end in more pain.

“I would think it to be a fairytale,” You finally murmur, eyes slipping shut as he continues to slowly and carefully soothe your bruises with a ghost of a touch; the bacta salve is pleasantly numbing and you’re suddenly grateful for the unexpected medical attention, “And I have never believed in fairytales, Mandalorian.”

He simply hums and doesn’t say anything else as he finishes rubbing the numbing salve against your tender skin; though the dull ache still lingers, you’re certain the pain will be minimal come morning. You think he’s finished when he kindly fixes your gray dress so the hem is settled against just above your knees once again, but then he’s standing up and you barely lift your head when you hear water running from the small sink that’s adjacent from where you lay. The Mandalorian seems like a man on a mission as he keeps his back to you and goes through a few drawers and cupboards before finding what it is he’s searching for.

You make a small questioning hum as he makes his way over to a little sink that you'd normally wash your hands in, "What are you doing?"

He barely turns his head to you as he harshly wrings out a soaking rag in the sink, "I am cleaning you up. You have blood in your hair."

"You don't--" Your heart swells at the gesture; you hadn't really had much time earlier to thoroughly clean yourself up and had felt the dried up blood crusted into your hairline all day, "Th-Thank you. That's really sweet of you."

He merely grunts as he shuts off the water and makes his way back to the cot you currently occupy and you blink in surprise when he gently slides a hand underneath your head and urges you to sit up just a little. It takes you a second to realize what he's doing and you carefully lean up on an elbow so he can carefully shift himself behind you on the cot and your face grows warm at the thought of him yearning to be so close to you.

As he settles behind you and moves you up into more of a seated position between his splayed thighs, carefully wrapping his thick fingers around your biceps to pull you up further against his chest, you completely forget your father's foreboding threat. Now, you're focused solely on the way he curls himself around you to get a better look at the dried blood matted to your scalp.

"Nurses don't typically treat their patients like this, Mandalorian."

He lets out another grunt and firmly keeps his hand cupped to the underside of your jaw so he can tilt your head backwards, “I just wanted to be close to you after not seeing you for so long. Besides, I don’t hear you complaining at all, mesh’la,” He lowers his helmet a little as he gently dabs at the small section of matted, crusty hair, “Are you going to tell me the real reason why you tried to get me to leave you tonight?”

Your eyelids slip shut as he soothingly rubs your jaw with his thumb and you wish he wasn’t wearing his cuirass so you could melt against him easier, “This is dangerous for both of us."

The scratchy material of the cloth tugs at your skin a little, but it's nowhere near painful as he continues to dutifully clean the blood from your scalp, "What did he say to you?"

Tiredly, you rest your hands on top of his armor-clad thighs and lean further against his chest as you force yourself to lie to the only man you’ve ever admired, “Only the truth--that I need to stop getting distracted so much. I-I have a job to do.”

“That does not mean you shouldn’t be allowed to be happy,” He breathes and you keep your eyes closed when he moves to tend to the bruises; you don’t have the heart to tell him that your happiness would end with your demise, “You can still help people and... and be with me.”

Your brows furrow and your chest heaves as he affectionately rubs the soothing salve against your cheek before dutifully moving to the black and blue skin around your eye. You think of earlier when he spoke of your strength and scars and how you insisted you were no warrior, but as the Mandalorian drops his helmet until the chin of it is resting on your shoulder, you realize you are at war with yourself.

How could you possibly deny this man anything?

Even when the bacta is absorbed into your pleasantly numbed skin, he keeps caressing your cheeks, nose, and lips and you slowly turn your head until your nose bumps against his visor; if he weren’t so close to you, his next words would have been inaudible.

“I wish I could kiss you right now, mesh’la.”

His thumb barely parts your lips and you feel his other hand come up to feel the frenzied pulse at the hollow of your throat, seeming all too content to touch you anywhere you’d allow him to. You feel utterly warm and helpless when his thumb gently pulls at your bottom lip and a desperate noise somehow passes through his modulator.

“The things I would do for you,” He groans upon feeling the warm saliva on the inside of your lip, “The things you do to me...”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you speak, your words a weak promise that he doesn’t realize to be true in that moment, his mind only focused on the way your tongue barely grazes the rough pad of his thumb to register the weight of your statement.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Mandalorian.”

Saviin’ika= Little Violet

Mesh’la= Beautiful

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst (as always, please let me know if I missed anyone!!)

Author’s note: SO I literally say it every single chapter, but you guys are absolutely amazing and I’m so grateful for all the sweet words and support y’all have given me. When I started writing the first chapter, I only intended on it being 3-5 chapters at the most, but I literally adore these two lovebirds and now I’m over here planning out a whole ass novel for them lmao.

Also if I take a long time to reply to your kind replies/reblogs/asks, please forgive me!! My dumb self gets so overwhelmed in such a good way and I never know how to respond :( I definitely see every like, every reply and reblog and ask you guys send me and I adore all of you <3

#paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla x reader #mandalorian x reader #Paz vizsla x you #paz vizla x you #idk if it's vizla or vizsla anymore so im using both to be safe lmao #mandalorian fanfic #my writing #LORD THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO MUCH OUT OF ME #AT FIRST HE WASNT EVEN GONNA BE IN IT AND THEN I JUST COULDNT STOP MYSELF #AGHHH

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rfamess · 4 years

Text

This cured my boredom for a little bit. Was making a few new music playlists and thought.. hmm. I wonder what kind of music the RFA listens to? So, I made this. For no reason at all.

What Kind of Music the RFA + V/Saeran Listen To:

Saeyoung/707:

- (I always see people writing that he’d listen to all star or other cringe meme songs because that’s what seems to be his entire personality, but I like to think he has more substance than that and listens to songs that don’t have to do with memes.)

- He definitely listens to rap/hip-hop.

- Can you not imagine him driving down the road in his cars, windows down, music blasting?

- He listens to his music uber loud in his headphones while working.

- His favorite artist is probably Tyler the creator, i mean, how could you not love him.

- Listens to Mac Miller when he’s sad :(

PLAYLIST:

Who Dat Boy - Tyler the Creator

Stutter - Freddie Dredd

Evil Fantasy - Freddie Dredd

Sweatpants - Childish Gambino

Bounce - Logic

Dead Wrong - Notorious B.I.G.

Movement - Oliver Tree

Stick to Your Guns - Watsky

Both - Gucci Mane

No Sleep Till Brooklyn - Beastie Boys

Can I Kick It - A Tribe Called Quest

No Limit - G Easy

Circles - Mac Miller

Broke Bitch - TMG (lol)

Bonfire - Childish Gambino

I THINK - Tyler the Creator

Good News - Mac Miller

I - Kendrick Lamar

FACE - Brockhampton

King Kunta - Kendrick Lamar

Lovely Things Suite: Knots - Watsky

Zen:

- (Similar to Saeyoung, I don’t believe Zens entire personality revolves around musicals, he probably doesn’t listen to them that often imo.)

- I like to think he’s a... well rounded individual when it comes to music

- Listens to anything and everything.

- I could see him listening to the same music as Seven, but is also very into 70s-90s rock like the Red Hot Chili Peppers and the like.

- He runs listening to all of his music on shuffle and doesn’t have a specific playlist so there’s never a certain vibe to it— it really is all over the place.

- In addition to Seven’s playlist, here’s Zen’s

PLAYLIST:

Funny Face - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Santeria - Sublime

Badfish - Sublime

The Luck You Got - The High Strung

Dedicated to the One I Love - The Mamas and the Papas

Heart of Glass - Blondie

Come as You Are - Nirvana

Brown Eyed Girl - Van Morrison

Machu Picchu - The Strokes

Dirty Harry - Gorillaz

Love of Your Life - Red Hot Chili Peppers

The Adults Are Talking - The Strokes

Bailee - The Licks

Where is my Mind - Pixies

Hurt Like Mine - The Black Keys

Gap - The Kooks

Give it Away - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand

Hoops - The Rubens

Conquest - The White Stripes

Ten Cent Pistol - The Black Keys

Yoosung:

- Yoosung likes more upbeat music, maybe more new age/alternative pop

- Listens to music every time he tries to study, but usually get distracted by it and starts to sing along instead of actually doing his work

- Is probably trying to branch out of his style, Seven and Zen try to convince him to listen to their favorite genres

- The three of them always argue about who has the best taste in music lol

- He’s constantly wondering if his music is “manly” enough (it’s okay yoosung it’s just music)

- If this dude gets drunk and hears any of this music he goes absolutely wild and dances all over the place

PLAYLIST:

Bambi - Hippocampus

Turn - the Wombats

Paris - Magic Man

Chronic Sunshine - Cosmo Pike

Death of a Bachelor - Panic! At the Disco

Silvertongue - Young the Giant

Brazil - Declan McKenna

Unbelievers - Vampire Weekend

Baseball - Hippocampus

Australia - The Shins

Prune, You Talk Funny - Gus Dapperton

Honeypie - JAWNY

Alien Boy - Oliver Tree

Satellite - Guster

So Young - Portugal. The Man

Blinding Lights - The Weeknd

Circles - Post Malone

Unbearably White - Vampire Weekend

Tiny Umbrella - Coast Modern

Way it Goes - Hippocampus

Electric Feel - MGMT

Jumin:

- this guy has 2 modes and that’s it: classical bitch or music that has words

- He appreciates the fine art of classical music and listens to it when he has work to get done or when he’s trying to relax.

- If he’s in a good mood he’ll put on a playlist that includes “music with actual lyrics!”

- It’s a dad playlist. Billy Joel, Billy Joel, Billy Joel, Elton John, The Beatles, Billy Joel.

- He likes Billy Joel. Jumin has a dad personality you can’t convince me otherwise lol

- He tried to branch out but can get very picky in his interests. “I don’t like this guitar riff— change it”

- Either way his 2 modes are apparent in his playlists

PLAYLIST:

Dreams - Fleetwood Mac

California Dreamin’ - The Mamas and the Papas

Don’t Ask Me Why - Billy Joel

Starman - David Bowie

Miss You - The Rolling Stones

Dancing in the Moonlight - King Harvest

Come and Get Your Love - Redbone

It’s Too Late - Carole King

Movin’ Out - Billy Joel

A Horse With No Name - America

I Want to Hold Your Hand - The Beatles

Honky Cat - Elton John

Vienna - Billy Joel

The Stranger - Billy Joel

Waltz in A Minor - Chopin

Hungarian Dance No. 5 in G Minor - Brahms

Waltz No. 7 in C Sharp Minor, Op. 64, No. 2 - Chopin

Souvenir de Paganini - Chopin

Solfeggietto in C Minor - Bach

Prelude in B Minor, Op. 32, No. 10 - Rachmaninoff

IV. Allegro Molto From Quartet - Yo-Yo Ma

La Fille Aux Cheveux de Lin - Debussy

Porz Goret - Yann Tiersen

Carnival of the Animals: VII. Aquarium - Camille Saint-Saëns

Carnival of the Animals: XIII. The Swan - Camille Saint-Saëns

Jaehee:

- We all know her obsession with Musicals (specifically zens)

- Other than this she listens to...well honestly I don’t know

- Her music doubles as something she can get hyped up with and something she can listen to to relax.

- She loves to dance, so a lot of her songs and just songs that she’ll never be able to refuse to move her feet to!

- She likes the old classics and then she likes Doja Cat. Lizzo? Queen.

- She’s a barb let’s be real please. you can never convince me that she’s not

PLAYLIST:

Adore You - Harry Styles

She - Harry Styles

Call Me - Blondie

Starships - Nicki Minaj

Hey Mickey - Toni Basil

Juice - Lizzo

Say So - Doja Cat

Voulez-Vous - ABBA

Waterloo - ABBA

Cuz I Love You - Lizzo

Killing Me Softly With His Song - Roberta Flack (LOL the memories associated with this song after Killing Stalking..... hahahaha BUT ITS STILL A GREAT SONG!)

Only - Nicki Minaj

Boss Bitch - Doja Cat

Go Your Own Way - Fleetwood Mac

Beez in the Trap - Nicki Minaj

Woman - Harry Styles

9 to 5 - Dolly Parton

Blame it on the Boogie - Michael Jackson

One Way or Another - Blondie

Tia Tamera - Doja Cat

Truth Hurts - Lizzo

- indie boy indie boy indie boy indie boy

- Cmon just look at him he’s an indie boy

- If you’ve ever met a film student that gatekeeps music, they have the same exact taste but V won’t say shit to make you feel stupid. It’s just music bruv

- If you’ve ever been to an indie concert you know the fuckin dance you know what I’m talking about. he does that.

- Rolls a joint, pops the music off and he paints, does photography, whatever. Either way he straight vibes every single time the tunes come on.

- Low key thinks he has the best music taste. that’s just how dem indie kids roll let’s be real here.

- For some reason knows everything about every type of music. will spew facts about artists and songs at random

PLAYLIST:

Shuggie - Foxygen

Necessary Evil - Unknown Mortal Orchestra

Homage - Mild High Club

Another One - Mac DeMarco

Plants - Crumb

What Once Was - Her’s

Heart and My Car - Summer Salt

Cottage Roads - The Walters

Moonlight on the River - Mac DeMarco

Work This Time - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

Like Yesterday - Paul Cherry

Call it Fate, Call it Karma - The Strokes

Knowhere - Nick DeLaurentis

Escargot Blues - Guantánamo Bay Surf Club

A Side / B Side - Tipling Rock

Dark Red - Steve Lacy

That I Miss You - Vansire

Top Tier Love - Lonely Benson

Driving to Hawaii - Summer Salt

Taking Up Space - Mustard Service

She’s the Only One - King Guru

Saeran:

- emo boy emo boy emo boy

- We all know it

- As much as I’d love to say he listens to heavy death metal, there’s a part of my mind saying NO he’s not like that.

- Well he is, but he’s got more than a few single interest

- Probably listens to Nirvana, Cage the Elephant, anything similar

- Is always trying to listen to new music

- Kind of sick of Seven blasting his music all the time and listens to the opposite of hip hop whenever possible

- Honestly enjoys all types of music, but sticks to his favorites

PLAYLIST:

- All Apologies - Nirvana

- Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene - Hozier

- Soma - The Strokes

- Black Madonna - Cage the Elephant

- Hysteria - Muse

- Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High - Arctic Monkeys

- I Got Mine - The Black Keys

- Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

- Under the Bridge - Red Hot Chili Peppers

- Back Against the Wall - Cage the Elephant

- Creep - Radiohead

- Heart Shaped Box - Nirvana

- Demon Days - Gorillaz

- Bulls on Parade - Rage Against The Machine

- Matador - The Buttertones

- Holiday - Green Day

- RIP - The Licks

- London Calling - The Clash

- Loser - Beck

- What I Got - Sublime

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xxbyimm · 3 years

Note

25 oc questions: 🌟🌙❄️🔥🌻💎👀 and I know who you wanna talk about 😆

Lol, you do???? I have no idea...

Thank you so much for asking me these questions, my dear sister from another mister! <3 I really enjoyed answering these. 🔥

🌟 When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

Enya Blueheart always turns to her husband Thorin first. If something or someone is letting her down, she will needs his reassurance and support. Since a large part of their love language is physical touch, they’re often found hugging, kissing (among others things.. LOL). Within his arms, she feels safe and at home. Snuggling up with him in front of the fireplace is one of her favorite things in the world.

Secondly, Enya’s tiny pet dragon Dracarys never fails to make her laugh, because of he’s too stupid to be even alive to be honest. His cuteness has saved his tiny ass more than once!

When Thorin or Dracarys aren’t available, I can see Enya seeking comfort with Dís. Because Enya is about the same age as her sister-in-law’s sons, Dís is very protective of her.

🌙 If your OC could have one wish come true what would it be and why? Would there be consequences to this wish or would they regret it once they get what they want? What would they give in return for this wish to come true?

Hmmm… Quest Enya has one wish in mind, but that one will get granted fairly easily and she has no regrets. At all… ;D

I think Queen Enya desperately longs for some private time with her king. And with this I don’t mean quality time in their private quarters, but more like an equivalent of a holiday we humans have. She wants to go on an adventure with him, explore Middle Earth and have long, passioned make out sessions without having to worry which member of the court is playing peeping Tom. The consequence of this wish would be that the kingdom has to survive without its’ king and queen for a few weeks, but I think they’ll survive…

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

Losing Thorin. As we’ll see in the upcoming chapters of Enya’s journey, losing Thorin will devastate her. There’s no cheering up from that. At that point, En just wants to crawl into a hole and die.

🔥 If your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones?

UM, YES! We’re talking about a bloody fire-witch here! Enya is notorious for her temper tantrums, in which she sometimes loses control over her powers (a.k.a. setting the bed on fire). She despises arrogant people, females who dare to even look at her husband (Dolvira and Elmilynn are honorable mentions) and gender inequality.

Calming this sassy lady down isn’t easy, especially when she has turned into a literal fireball. But somehow (I’m not sure how he does it), Thorin manages. He listens to what she has to say or simply distracts her from the topic that’s enraging her.

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI (or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

Oh yass!! If you don’t mind, I took a snippet from the remastered Enya’s Unexpected Journey series I’m currently writing!

‘Ouch!’

She landed on something hard and unrelenting. Next thing she knew, the world was literally spinning on its axis and she was lying under a gruffy, very angry man with long, dark manes and a beard. The fight was over before it even had begun and Enya found herself being pinned firmly on the ground, a sharp blade pushing against her throat. She hissed in pain as her assailant’s deep blue eyes flashed over her, scanning the level of danger from his current foe.

Even to someone as inexperienced in combat as she was, it was clear that the man was overpowering her in both strength as deadliness. Resistance was futile. Enya stopped writhing under his tight grip and the can containing her only way to defend herself, rolled onto the ground.

‘Honestly, my dear.’ Her mind huffed. ‘Are you even trying to escape or what?’

For a moment, they were taking each other in and emerald eyes burned into their pale blue counterparts. Aside from those gorgeous eyes that looked straight into the depths of her soul, the man possessed a characteristic nose and a carefully kept -though no less majestic- beard. His mouth was set in a grim line. A strand of his unruly, dark hair brushed over her face. His scent, a mix between tobacco, musk and worn leather, was both soothing and intoxicating.

Good gracious. He was hot…

💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

I don’t think that other than pets, Enya doesn’t really collects anything. She loves animals and once Dracarys bonded with her there was no going back. Thorin often jokes that Erebor is a kingdom, not a farmhouse… xD

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who)

This is a snippet from a chapter I have yet to write!! Lady Dís meets Enya!

A slender female clad in black appeared behind her trusted informant Daniel. Dís, who wasn’t used to Dan bringing companions with him- especially not ones covering their face with a hood-, arched a brow. Dan caught her gaze and grunted something incomprehensible, making the princess of Durin smile. The poor ranger just couldn’t help himself, could he? He always had to play the hero.

‘I don’t remember asking you to bring me anything other than information, Dan.’ She spoke. ‘Who’s this?’

The female lowered her hood and a wave of chestnut brown locks fell over her shoulders. She had pretty, delicate features and though the lack of any apparent facial hair (not even a slight sideburn) was a bit disappointing, the fiery, determined gaze in her pale blue eyes made up for it. But there was something else. A small flicker in her gaze betrayed there was much recent hurt and heartbreak lurking beyond the surface. Whoever the girl was, she had been through much.

‘I’m sorry for intruding your home like this, lady Dís.’ The girl said, her light and melodic voice sounding polite but yet quite certain. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘None taken.’ Dís replied. ‘What’s your name?’

‘My name is Enya Blueheart and I’m the last royal descendant of the firebeard clan.’

Ah, a dwarrowdam. Of royal ancestry no less! Dís neared her new acquaintance with curiosity. ‘You’re most welcome here, miss Blueheart.’ She said. ‘May I offer you something to drink and a place to rest? You look rather tired.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Enya murmured as she let the princess of Durin guide her towards the long dining table near the fire.

‘My my.’ Dís muttered as her fingers accidently dug into Enya’s ribcage. ‘You are too thin for my liking. If I may inquire… Who broke you?’

@criminaly-supernatural, do you approve of this Dís and Enya scene? ;D

#enya blueheart #thorin oakenshield #thorin x enya #thorin x oc #25 OC questions #sister from another mister #i love enya more than life #ugh

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teacup-tai · 3 years

Text

Top Five of 2020

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

My lovely @the-starryknight thanks for the tag! I’ll tag a few people, but you probably already did it: @ruinsplume @kasjophe @gallifrey1sburning @quicksilvermaid @prolix- @dazedandinked

Right. This year was insane, I got stuck first half of the year in Ireland with only 2 friends close by, all my family in Brazil or Spain while I was writing my bloody master thesis (that is what I’m proudest of this year, but it’s not published yet, so won’t go in this list). I managed a lot of hard emotions in solitude, by myself, while reading drarry fics to keep afloat (great coping mechanism, actually!). And after handing my thesis and moving to Spain, I was feeling deeply empty. So I went back to fic-writing, after 2 or 3 years of not even looking at my old fics.

It all started when I saw the posts for prompt claiming on the @hd-hurtfest blog. To think how that post changed everything in my life is just bizarre. So I am very thankful! It has been a huge pleasure to go back to fic-writing and to re-embrace the HP fandom, mainly the drarry squad! To get to know so many lovely people and I’m forever grateful for that.

Here is my Top Five:

hear me (with your whole body): (Drarry, E, 9k) this is the fic I wrote for the hd-hurtfest 2020. I saw @quicksilvermaid’s prompt and I shivered. It lured me so much I had the whole plot in my head as soon as I finished sending the claim. It was so hard to write it. Because the topic is very sensitive: open relationships, sexual mismatch, bad communication skills. I brought most of my bad experiences in all these sensitive topics as if I was purging it from my body while writing ‘hear me’. It was a very raw process of looking into my own still bleeding wounds, but very cathartic. And it was hard because it was my very first drarry (I love drarry and I normally only read drarry, but I’ve never felt confident enough to write it), so I was very nervous. And in bloody English xD LOL but I’m bloody proud of it. I wanted to write something real without making a show of blaming one of the parts, at the same time I wanted to use and unreliable POV (Harry’s) and to bring forth all those very uncomfortable realities of jealousy, insecurity of one’s sexuality etc. in a way people could relate to. I’ve never imagined the response to this fic would be so nice, and many of the comments drove me to deep reflection. I’m specially happy about this fic because after writing ‘hear me’ something cracked open inside of me, in my own personal-romantic life and also in writing. Like a small miracle. And then, I couldn’t stop writing anymore.

Rebel Rebel: (Sirius/Remus. E, 5k) heh, Wolfstar is my OTP *-* So writing this tiny fic with ‘there was no war’ prompt for the sirius black fest was a bloody delight. The feeling of exploring their youth, in the early 80s and the whole atmosphere of that time was exhilarating! Bowie’s concerts, HIV+ and Aids, queer community and old school crushes. Giving them a future and professions was fun as fuck. But the best part was making Sirius Black fuck around, wild and free, you know. Because he bloody well deserved it. I love the writing style I explored there, very influenced by Caio Fernando Abreu, one of my favourite Brazilian writers and it was just great great fun!

Dragons Don’t Know Paradise: (Drarry + Wolfstar, E, 40k+ WIP) I need to post 3 more chapters along this next few days. I’m adding Dragons here because NEVER. IN. MY. LIFE I thought this story would come out of my head into the pages, and I’m so bloody happy, so bloody proud of myself. I cannot believe how much I’ve written in a month, about a plot that had some path in my head but never a shape, and how this all blossomed inside of me and how it’s coming out just brilliantly. I know I’ll think back at some point and think this and that are not great. But I think this fic is one of my best works, it deals with the queer community, with depression and acceptance, with HIV+ folk, and deep emotions. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of writing. And here it is, and writing it made me manage the fact that I wouldn’t be able to spend this xmas with my family, so I spent this last month with this characters and feeling the opposite of lonely. And to be able to write Harry having a family, you know, being raised by Remus and Sirius is just marvellous. I’m over the moon with wolfstar being great gaydads :D

Scorching: (Pansmione, E, 1.5k) first time I translated a Portuguese fic of mine to English. It was fun to do it, as it’s purely smutty smut and well, I love pansmione and it makes me greedy to go back to writing about this ship. I like how it turned out, but it’s not beta-ed so maybe it’s not great. But damn, I really like this Pansy. ^^

The Old Ways: (Voldemort/Walburga, M, 3k). So, I have a whole word document full of snippets on the Black family. As the Black family is my huge guilty pleasure (that’s why Tainara Black has been my pen name since 2005). I don’t like to think Walburga was only a mad pureblood bigoted woman, I like to think of her as being strongly magical and very sure of herself. Someone three-dimensional with knowledge of Dark magic of the old ways and a deep insanity that comes with legacy of pureness, but also with financial influence and management of old wizarding land. I realised Walburga is only 1 year older than Voldie, she is closest to his age than her husband or brother (if we follow the Balck Family Genealogical Tree), and this sparked a whole idea inside of me. So this fic is a character study of Walburga when Sirius is only 10 and Voldemort is organising a war, and I honestly think is one of my best fics (even though it wasn’t beta-ed). I loved writing about this powerful witch, that got stuck in keeping her bloodline alive, that gave up on great deeds of power and freedom to become a pureblood mother and wife. But it’s the fic no one reads, so I’m adding a bit of it here in hopes it may interest someone:

He climbs the last step of the noisy, rusty, winding stair, his eyes mapping the place in silent wonder. The rooftop is sombre. Rough grey cement floor and dead flower beds in a far corner, big dark clay pots with dead branches and dry bushes scattered around; the only living thing is an imposing carnivorous plant, it’s toothed lips opening and closing sharply around bugs and other insects.

She is right there, in the centre of the chaotic rooftop garden and he thinks the house is in shambles, and so is she. The moon is reflecting its cold brightness over her as if it were a stage light. He takes a second to contemplate her stance. He has never seen her like this before. It is such an incongruous sight it almost feels like he’s intruding. Is not a feeling he’s used to.

She’s perched in a high frail copper chair, her ankles crossed lightly, with pale bare feet against the dirty coarse floor, one white arm falling languidly from the armrest, her elegant fingers holding a thin long smoking pipe. Rings of smoke rising into the night sky. The back of her skull resting on the back of the chair, he can’t see her face from this angle, but he’s stunned by the imagery.

She looks almost mythical; with her long black mane messy and loose, barely touching the ground. He can’t remember when was the last time he’s seen her hair down, but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t that long, nor were there silver strikes colouring it in a mix of salt and pepper.

“How long do you plan to stare?” her voice is as rusty as the whole house and he scoffs.

keep reading

#my writing #my fics #tainara black #top five 2020

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itsmydreamlifethings · 4 years

Photo

Protective Henry after Female Reader gets injured!

Request: Henry with Injured reader plus Size Kink! Requested by @ssslesbian Thank you! Hope you like it! (PLUS ya’ll...I write a lot , so lengthy post ahead LOL)

Warnings: Mostly Fluff but also size kink and mild smut. Oh, and cursing. No reposts anywhere but reblogs here are fine. Disclaimer: I don't know anything about horses and I’ve never been riding (sadly). So any discrepancies with horses, please forgive me. Also, it’s my very first size kink writing so please go easy on me. Photo Cred: GQ

It’s obvious you Henry have had eyes only for one another, it’s just that you haven’t had the right moment to really make a move. He’s working hard on the set of The Witcher and you are one of the team members working on the scripts. On a day off from shooting you are both still on site. He is mostly working with horses and fight training, and you’ve agreed to help some of the props crew.

One of the crew members has been flirting with you since you got this gig. He asks you to see the horses with him, begging you to take a break. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s take a moment and go hang out at the stable.”

You look uncertain. You love animals but you never had any experience with horses. “I don’t know...we shouldn’t just go without permission...”

“Oh, stop. Live a little.” He gives you a wink and grabs you by the elbow, leading you over to the stable. As you reach it, you notice Henry. He is training in the paddock across the stable, breaking in one of the horses. He is very knowledgable and athletic, and you’ve seen him work with horses a lot recently. He is magnificent with them. Patient, soothing, and in charge. As you walk by the paddock, Henry notices you..and the guy. His eyes linger on you and by the way he casts a glance at the prop guy, you can already tell he is a bit bothered. You can’t help but smirk to yourself. If he’s jealous, he might have a real thing for you after all. Inside the stable Jonah, the crew member, leads you to one of the black stallions.

“He’s gorgeous,” you say, a gleam in your eyes. This close to the majestic animal, you get a sense of why people think horses are spiritual beings. With a long black mane, and glossy black frame, the horse in the stall seems to make a connection with you.

“Yeah, I’m gonna try to ride him later,” Jonah says, both hands on his hips.

“Oh, you have experience riding?” you wonder. You never saw him with any of the horses on set, but looks could be deceiving.

“Well, not much,” he chuckles and then elbows you playfully. “But I can try to sneak in a ride. Wanna join me?”

You laugh, “No way. I never went horseback riding.” You didn’t say it to be polite, but there was no way in hell you’d let Jonah be your trainer on such a huge animal. In fact, you wondered if he really did have any riding experience at all or if he’s trying to show off.

“Ok, what about some drinks then?” he adds, a sneaky smile on his face.

You really wished you didn’t get into this situation, but you have to be honest with him. He’d been trying to hit on you for months, and coming to the stable with him might have led him on. You are not interested in Jonah at all. Not only is he not your type, but you get butterflies for Henry these days and him only.

Speaking of the handsome devil, he appears at the far end of the stable, leading his horseback.

“Sorry, Jonah, I can’t.” You give him an apologetic look.

Jonah’s jaw twitches as he didn’t expect to be shut down. He looks down and his face reddens. Suddenly he kicks the ground, sending a stray driving nail across the stable and clanking against a stall. Startled, the horse you had pat a moment ago, rears and kicks, the loud clanking having sent a sense of alarm through him. The stall door rattles and his hoof scrapes against your left cheek as he rears.

You yelp in pain and fall back. You cradle your face in your hand, knowing that a nasty bruise and even cut may be forming on your cheek already.

“What the fuck was that?” Henry’s thundering voice explodes around you. You look up and see Henry shove Jonah aside, after giving him a threatening look. Rushing to your side, he grabs your face in his big hands.

“Y/N, you ok?” He examines your face as if the most important and valuable thing in the world may have been damaged.

“Yeah, I am okay, I think,” you whisper, although you can’t ignore the smear of blood coming off your fingers.

“You got to get this cleaned up,” Henry says.

“I can take her,” Jonah chimes in. Wrong move. Henry whips around and gives him a menacing stare.

“You’re not going anywhere near her...or the horses. You could have seriously injured her.” You can’t help but notice how tiny you look next to him, and as he grows angrier, his entire frame seems to grow even more.

Henry grabs your hand and leads you out of the stable and over to the medical trailer.

Once inside, it’s just the two of you. He orders you to sit on the bed, while he grabs the medical kit.

“What a fucking idiot,” he murmurs to himself.

“It was an accident,” you try to be rational.

“Because of his temper. A vein twitches in his neck as he comes over with rubbing alcohol, gauze, and a bandage. He stands directly over you and as you’re sitting there, looking up at him like a little kid, you realize how huge Henry is. Not only in height compares to your five foot three frame, but just how broad his shoulders are, how wide his chest stretches under his chest, and how his biceps bulge under his white long sleeve shirt. You wonder if also his...

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you blink fast, almost afraid he can read your thoughts.

“You ok?” he asks, brows furrowed. You nod and he begins disinfecting the cut on your face, You wince, the sting sharp and intense.

“I’m sorry,” he coos, his voice a low whisper. Then his hand drops to your chin and his fingers caress your jaw. He looks at you as if you’re about to scold his bold behavior, but in reality, you want more of his touch. He must sense that and see that in your lust-filled eyes and he brings both hands on your face, cupping it.

“Are you into Jonah?” he asks.

You snort. “You’re kidding right?” His face remains deadly serious. You shake your head. “No, I don’t like him. There is someone else I like instead.”

He smirks, a cute dimple forming on his cheek. You feel like dying, he is too beautiful to behold. Then he lowers himself and kisses you.

The kiss is slow and gentle at first, but soon you entangle your want and needs, letting your tongues explore one another. Before you know it, he is lowered onto the bed next to you and you are climbing on his lap.

Fuck, he is huge. He is like a bear and you are a defenseless little bunny trapped in his massive limbs. You giggle at the thought and he pulls back from kissing. He gives you a confused smile.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’re so big and I feel like...” you smirk and lower your eyes, feeling dumb.

“Like what?” he coaxes, his breath caressing your cheek.

“Like a little forest animal with a big prey.” The words leave your mouth and you’re sure you are a thousand shades of red. He’s going to think you’re an idiot and childish.

He laughs and pulls you close to him, his barrel of chest pressings against yours. “Hmm,” he murmurs, tugging your lower lip with his teeth before letting his tongue flick it. “I won’t eat you up...yet.”

Dear Lord, help me!

You begin an intense make-out session in the medical trailer and you hope no one will barge in on you. You can only imagine the gossip, but then again, Henry is so worth it. He cups his hands under your behind, gripping you tight and bringing your hips deeper onto his lap. That’s when you feel the hardened organ...no, that can’t possibly be...that cannot be his size...

Henry is HUGE! You moan and gasp, wondering if what you felt is real. You imagined him naked, and it, a million times, but never thought it would turn out to be true.

As he settles you deeper and deeper on his lap, you are already soaking wet. You can’t help but imagine Henry inside you and how it would feel stretching you and filling you.

The make-out session ends after a few intense minutes. Outside the trailer, the rest of the crew members and the medical team who had been at lunch starts conversing, hinting that they are coming back to the trailer.

Reluctantly, you separate, but not without a long, passionate kiss.

“Uhm...you may need to adjust that...” you point out to Henry, your eyes glancing at his groin. The bulge stretches on his lap, so thick that you know everyone is going to notice.

He laughs looking down. “Thanks for this! And I’ve been so kind to help you with medical attention,” he teases.

“Well, maybe later I can help with your not-so-little medical problem,” you say, grabbing his erection and stroking your hand against his pants lightly. “You know, just to repay the favor.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #smut #fluff #henry

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winged-fool · 3 years

Note

We deserve some good Flint in season 4 as a treat. S3 has tiny sprinkles of what he's been doing and then in the Finale (that will have a cliff-hanger. Obviously) Flint drives up to the whole pod squad with sunglasses on.

"Get in losers. We gotta take down the stupid thing you brought here."

I was 100% down to hate Flint forever BUT THEN YOU MADE ME LOVE THE GUY INSTEAD. He may be evil but he saw Malex and did something about it. Was it for his own gain? Yes but he still did something.

Hahaha omg okay what if that's exactly what happened though? It would be even funnier if Flint wasn't even mentioned at all throughout the season and then he showed up like that. Obviously, I'd be super angry most of the season but I'd forgive them if they did that lol

Listen!! I can talk about why Flint isn't straight up evil and a super compelling character. I'd love for him to have a redemption arc but like I hear people's complaints that it wouldn't work because of the way he nearly murdered Charlie in cold blood. So okay maybe an anti-hero! Everyone loves a good anti-hero and the potential for it would be SO GOOD.

Like here's a man that was obviously connected with his Native heritage based on what Alex said about weaving on the rez but then lost that connection when their mom left and was forced (like the other Manes!) to suppress his Native half and was conditioned into a white slanted look towards other people based on the way he called the aliens invaders (a very white supremacist way to view refugees...).

And! There have been so many good crumbs about how he still has his humanity despite what Jesse did to him. ("It was Alex, dad, what was I supposed to do?" Alex: "What made you want to be like him? Flint: "What makes you think I had a choice?"). The character gold for Flint is simply unmatched.

And KIOWA is an exemplary actor. They are just sleeping on him and what he could be doing to prop up the story. He has so much potential and unlike Tyler and Tanner, Kiowa has confirmed Native ancestry and he is a HUGE advocate for Indigenous People's rights. He just brings so much to the table and it make me sad/angry the way he's just cast aside.

Anyway! I don't think you wanted me to do a character analysis on Flint Manes but you got one anyway lol

#female-overlord-3 #my asks #long post #kiowa gordon #flint manes #rnm #i have a lot of flint feels okay

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el-gilliath · 4 years

Text

I Will Survive

Well damn, who would've thought something like this could happen at 4am (Norwegian time). So beware of any spelling errors, please and thank you.

As always, dedicated to my lovely @lsobelevans. I’m sorry it took me so damn long lol

BE AWARE of violence in this chapter. None graphic, but you do see aftermath

Ao3

He hasn’t stopped thinking about the kiss. Of Cowboy’s lips on his. Of his hands on his skin. Of the gorgeous hazel of his eyes. Of the face he can’t remember.

He realized quickly that Influence is probably the reason he can’t remember, it seems like something that is within her abilities. A part of him is glad, he doesn’t want to remember Cowboy’s face until he knows his name, and he does remember the feel of his gorgeous curls between his fingers. It felt good to run his hands through them, it’ll feel good when he gets to do it again.

After getting Cowboy out of the hands of the Russians, the bond, the connection, between them felt more profound. Kissing him made it even more so. Alex can feel it, in a way, the connection underneath his skin.

He also knows how dangerous it is, how many people who would love to use him as bait for Cowboy, should their tentative thing be known. Everyone and their mother has warned him about it, including Liz (who is very publicly dating Detective Max Evans and not Electrobuzz), Maria (who knows all the shit that happens in the vigilante world), and Kyle (that did not go over well). Even Arturo has given him the worried face and soft spanish proverbs, even though he doesn’t need them. None of them understands that being Jesse Manes’ youngest child has put him in the spotlight and kept him there for years.

No matter how much Jesse hates his son, he wouldn’t stand for anyone giving him the dishonor of taking his son. It’s the one thing he can count on more than anything when it comes to his dad, he doesn’t like dishonor. If nothing else, Alex will appreciate that about his dad, no matter how much shit he gets for it. It also means that he knows Jesse will come for him, even if it’s only for the glory of having rescued his son and not because of Alex himself.

Which is why he’s not afraid when he finds himself being dragged into a car as he leaves the Post on a Wednesday afternoon, Rosa screaming “No!” as his eyes meet hers when they take a hold of his arms and kick his legs out from under him so he can’t really resist. He just lets himself be dragged into the van, giving Rosa as much of a reassuring look as he can. He doesn’t want her to be afraid for him, even if he knows she probably will be.

He’s fairly sure he knows exactly where they’re taking him anyway.

The kidnappers throw him into the back of the way, screaming at him in broken english to sit down and shut up. They scream that if he makes any trouble they’ll kill him. Alex knows that they won’t, but he still nods, curling together like he’s frightened, like he’s cowering. He’s not, fear isn’t something he feels lightly anymore but he has to protect his leg. If they take that then he’s gonna have one hell of a harder time with everything. Thankfully the men only scowl at him behind ski-masks as they drive off. He closes his eyes, counting seconds and minutes to try to find out where they’re going, listening out for the murmuring that’s happening in the van with him.

He knows he’s right when the driver starts talking louder in russian, when they slow down after about 20minutes. They’re in the Russian compound. And he’s probably gonna meet Mr. Serkoff again, after getting the diamonds off of his hands. The diamonds he decidedly did not give his father.

He’s about to be in a bigger heap of trouble than he’s been in a while.

He’s roughly pulled from the car a few minutes after they stop, pushed ahead so quickly he barely has time to put his feet under him. His leg pulls in the wrong side of comfortable and he bites the inside of his cheek not to cry out. Instead he straightens himself, stands tall and walks into the lion's den. He ignores the pushing, he ignores the yelling. He’ll face this on his own terms, not on theirs.

He’s taken to a back office in the Diamond Storage and roughly shoved into a chair in front of a huge oak desk, where Serkoff is sitting watching his men’s rough handling with a bored look on his face. Anyone not good at reading faces wouldn’t see the underlying anger, the fury.

Alex Manes grew up with Jesse Manes. He’s seen more anger than he ever wants too.

“Mr. Manes.”

“Mr. Serkoff,” Alex replies. He makes sure his voice is calm, collected. He needs to stay strong. “I don’t think taking me right outside the Post was the smartest idea you ever had.”

“Perhaps not. But I doubt you are surprised to find yourself back here again.” The anger turns obvious, a snarl on the russians face. “You took my diamonds, Mr. Manes. And you did not deliver them to your father. He was not… pleased. And as a result, I am not pleased.”

Alex just looks at him. He hitches a brow slightly as if to say ‘get on with it’. He might not be the good little cop boy his father wants him to be, but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable. And right now he needs to be a Manes.

“He told me he never sent you to get the diamonds. That he would never.” The chilling grin is the first sign. “He told me to do whatever I wanted to you. He would rather find your corpse, than to find you alive.”

It breaks his heart, just a little, to hear that. But he also knows it’s not true.

“If you hadn’t taken me very publicly that would be true. But you did. My father might hate me, Mr. Serkoff, but he won’t stand for slights on his honor.” Alex’s top lip curls upwards in a parody of a smile. “Taking his son like that? His disabled son which the public thinks he loves? You can’t imagine the outrage.”

Something flickers in the burly Russians eyes. Almost like compassion. Almost like understanding. It disappears fast behind the mask of indifference.

“Give me my diamonds.”

“I don’t have them.”

Serkoff visibly bites his tongue, hard, most likely to stop himself from speaking too early. Alex understands him better than he wants to at that moment.

“Exactly how much does my father have on you, Mr. Serkoff,” Alex asks. The snort in response wasn’t what he expected.

“Your father has nothing on me, Mr. Manes. I deal with him because I want to, not because I have to.” Well shit. “And if you do not have my diamonds, I have no need of you.”

The knowledge that he means exactly what he’s saying churns inside Alex’s stomach. He has nothing to stop this, unless he gives up the diamonds. The problem is that he’s not lying, he doesn’t have them. But he does know where they are.

He also knows that giving them up would be the end.

“What if I could make you a deal?” Alex asks. Giving up the diamonds would be the end, but he can give him something different, something that might be worth more.

“And what kind of a deal would that be?”

“In exchange for me walking out of here, I could give you information. Information my dad probably doesn't want you to have.”

“And how would that benefit me?”

“When I take him down, I’ll keep your name out of it.” Alex takes a deep breath. “And in the end you’ll have your diamonds back.”

Serkoff looks at him in a way Alex is intimately familiar with, having grown up in the Manes household, like he’s a bug he wants to squash. But there’s also interest, a curiosity that Alex can’t help but feel hopeful about. If he can convince this burly russian that he can give him valuable information he might have a chance. It also means that his rig at the Pony will be brushing off the dust in a way he promised he wouldn’t do any more.

“Your offer is interesting,” Serkoff replies. “But you stole my diamonds, Mr. Manes. For that I cannot just let you leave.”

It’s the last thing he remembers as he’s hit in the head with a gun.

———

Pain. Harsh spoken russian words. The glint of a knife. Pain.

------

He wakes up, doesn’t know how much later, alone in a room. He’s on a bed, prosthetic still on. His head is pounding, his stomach is on fire, his hands filled with tiny cuts. It hurts, but he knew this was a possibility. It’s not like he hasn’t suffered worse before.

“Mr. Manes.”

He jumps, his heart hammering in his chest. His spatial awareness comes rushing back, recognizing the fact that the door’s been opened and that Serkoff is now in the room with him. He’s thankfully standing by the door, making no moves to come closer. It makes Alex’s heart settle a litte.

“Mr. Serkoff. Done beating me up?”

“Yes,” the russian replies, simple as that. Maybe it is. “Now tell me about the information you can give me.”

Alex swallows. “Will you let me go if I do?”

“I will. I could not let you go without some retaliation. My own people would think me weak if I did, but now I can. If you give me the information. From what my sources tell me, the youngest Manes is a very good hacker.” Serkoff grimaces. “I was also told hacking was how you lost your leg.”

“Yeah. It was. Doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.”

“On the contrary Mr. Manes, for you to have lost your leg you must have been very good, for someone to want to hurt you that much.”

“My dad is the reason I lost my leg, Mr. Serkoff.” Alex sighs, worn and tired. “Maybe now you understand why I want to stop him.”

Serkoff doesn’t say anything, but Alex recognizes the look in his eyes. It’s the look of someone who does understand, it makes the look in his eyes earlier make all the more sense. He knows exactly what Alex is talking about, probably better than Alex thinks he does.

“And you will keep me and my men out of it.”

“I will. I can’t keep the russian mob out of it completely, but I’ll try.”

“And I will get my diamonds?” Serkoff asks, and Alex just nods. His body is starting to shut down, in pain and aching. Talking is starting to become too much. “Good. I will get you a scapegoat, someone who should be taken down with your father. Now rest, your friend will be here soon.”

Alex opens his mouth to ask who said friend is, but he doesn’t have the chance before Serkoff nods sternly and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Alex to his own thoughts. Alone, deep in the diamond storage with the russian mob. A friend coming soon.

He really hopes Cowboy or Influence didn’t get themselves involved.

Still he lays back down and rests. He probably doesn’t have to fight his way out but he still wants to get some strength back. Even if that strength is skin deep, allowing himself to rest so he can walk out on his own is enough. Serkoff and his men are not someone you want to appear weak in front of. Especially if he’s going to have somewhat of a working relationship with them.

He doesn’t know how much time passes as he rests, lost in his own thoughts of where he needs to move his rig (he can’t keep it at the Pony just in case someone traces it back to him), how he’s going to keep Arturo from finding out (he already knows how mad Arturo would be, after how frightened he was the last time) and who’s coming to get him (he’s going to kill whoever it is for walking voluntarily into the compound).

Which is why he startles (spatial awareness, come on) when the door bangs open.

“Hermano, you better be alive on that bed so that I can kill you myself.”

He huffs a laugh, of course it’s Rosa. A spitfire latina would be the only one crazy enough to come get him in the middle of the russian mob and threaten murder.

“I’m fine, Rosa. Just resting,” he answers, smiling in amusement as her glowering only increases. He’s still thankful for the way she stalks over and throws herself down on him, hugging him tightly.

“I was so scared when they took you,” she whispers as he hugs her back, mindful of his aches. “I even called Maria and you know I prefer when she comes to me.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” he whispers back. Even though they both know that Rosa’s burgeoning interest in Maria means they’ve called upon each other half a dozen times (if not more) since the night at the Pony. Though he’s pretty sure Rosa actually prefers it when Maria does come to her. And when she doesn’t have to call her to find someone else.

“You better. I’m in Maria’s debt now, I don’t like being in anyone's debt.”

“I know. But you can get a date out of it?”

“Vato, don’t you even-

“Okay! Okay” Alex interrupts her with a laugh that turns into a cough. “Thanks for coming.”

“When the Russian mob calls and tells you to come to their secret base to pick up your best friend, who they just kidnapped you kinda go,” Rosa answers, grumbling into his chest. Alex just holds her tighter, squeezing her in his version of a thanks. Something he knows she understands, none of them are big on talking about their feelings in high strung environments. “Speaking of the Russian mob…”

“Yeah, no, I’m not telling you here. Later, okay?

“Si,” Rosa replies. “But you better tell me.”

“I will. But we need to get going.”

Rosa nods and gets up, pulling Alex with her. Standing is painful, but he can put pressure on the prosthetic without problems, meaning Serkoss left it well enough alone. It helps him move out of his own power. He's grateful for that much at least.

They walk out of the compound easily after that. All the Russian men are gone, vanished from their vicinity. Alex knows, he uses all the tricks in his books to look for them, as they move out to where Rosa’s car is parked. He looks back one more time before he gets in, and catches Serkoff watching them. He nods, a gesture of respect Alex didn’t expect. Still, he nods back and gets into the car.

“Where too?”

He looks over at Rosa. “The Pony. I have some business to take care of.”

He’s never felt more relaxed putting his back to the bad man than he does when they drive out of the parking lot and set course for the Pony.

The car ride is quiet, something Alex is grateful for. It gives him a chance to rest some more, leaning back into the comfy seat of Rosa’s car and closing his eyes. He breathes deeply and evenly as he listens to Rosa’s ever present grumblings about traffic.

He nods off, just a little, waking again as he hears Rosa call Maria and tell them they’re coming. Good, he doesn’t need the hassle of scared Super’s today.

Which proves to be his famous last thought as they walk into the Pony and Cowboy is there. Frantic with worry. Alex watches him with a surprised look as he walks back and forth over the Pony floor, rambling to himself with his mask on, but hat off, not listening to a word Maria says. Maria meets his gaze with an exasperated look on her face, tilting her head slightly to where Influence, Electrobuzz and Kyle are arguing loudly amongst themselves. He watches them with an artificial detachment he wills into being. He can’t afford to care. Especially now that he has a job to do.

“Cowboy.” He speaks the word clearly, a bit louder than he usually would. He needs his attention.

He’s not expecting to get the attention of everyone. Even Liz appears from the back room, cursing up a storm when she sees his bruised face. And Liz cursing starts the rest of them, besides Maria who just watches him and Kyle who walks over to Alex and silently asks permission to check him out. Alex looks at him and Kyle backs away, knowing that it’ll have to wait. Their friendship might not be all good, but their communication still works perfectly.

“Stop!” Maria yells. Miraculously it works. “This is my bar, and this is Alex’s safe space. Let him fucking breathe.”

“DeLuca-”

“No,” Maria interrupts, sending a vicious look Cowboy’s way. Alex can’t help that a tiny particle of him appreciates the way she makes him flinch. “Alex, please let Kyle take you in the back and make sure you’re okay. Please.”

Alex watches her, the way they listen to her speak even as they shoot him glances and he’s so proud. So proud of her and the woman she’s become since her mother died, since she took over the Pony and started protecting the people that might need it the most and the least at the same time. Maria DeLuca is a savior, though he really hopes that one day she will let someone Rosa save her right back. No one deserves it more than her.

He nods at her, shooting Kyle a look as well before he walks towards the backroom. He can feel Cowboy watching him as he moves but he’ll worry about that later. Right now he needs to focus on something else.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” Kyle asks as he closes the door. Alex just shoots him a look. “I mean worse than anywhere else.”

“No.”

“How about your stomach?”

“No.”

“Your leg?”

“No.”

“Damnit, Alex!” Kyle yells, startling both of them. “Just… Just please answer me properly.”

Alex runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply as he does. Time to treat Kyle like a doctor, and not an enemy. “My leg is fine, they didn’t touch it. Stomach is sore but seems fine. My head is killing me and my face is probably starting to get a real nice shiner. I’m fine, Kyle.”

“Only you would be kidnapped and beat up and say you’re fine,” Kyle mutters angrily and Alex can’t help but huff out a laugh. He has a point.

“You want me to apologize instead?”

“No. I just want you to stay safe.” Kyles gives him a look. “Within the range of safe at least.”

Alex rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer. Kyle knows him well enough to know that the Manes range of safety isn’t the same as everyone else's. Kyle snorts in derision at the eye roll but doesn’t say anything else either, preferring to finish looking Alex over in silence. Alex finds himself grateful for the familiarity and that they don’t need to talk. He might not have completely forgiven Kyle yet, but Kyle knowing what he needs and when to shut up helps. Maybe more than he thought it would, since it was Kyle opening his mouth that destroyed them the first time.

“Thank, Kyle,” he says, as Kyle moves back with a satisfied nod some minutes later.

“Any time,” Kyle replies as he packs away the nicely stocked first aid kit Maria has in the back room. “Want me to send in Cowboy?”

“No. I need to talk to Maria first.”

Kyle gives him a look of slight surprise, but nods before he goes through the door to the front of the pub. Alex waits until Maria joins him a minute later.

“You okay?” She asks, walking over to him and gently cupping his face in her hands. Her eyes are alight with worry, her frame tense in a way she usually isn’t.

“I’m fine, Maria. That was a necessary meeting.”

“Meeting? Alex, they kidnapped you!”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But now I have an ally against my father.”

“Is that what this is about, your dad?” Maria asks.

“No. It’s about keeping them safe,” he answers, nodding towards the front of the bar. “Kyle, Liz, Rosa. Cowboy, your siblings. You.”

Maria huffs. “My secret siblings out there can take care of themselves, as can Cowboy, the rest of them and me. I’ve been the unofficial Super bar for years Alex, the police can’t take me down for shit.”

“They can if my rig is here. Especially if it’s in use.”

He sees it happen the second it dawns on her, the second she understands just why he’s calling it a meeting.

“You can’t do that. The last time you hacked you lost your leg,” she says with frightening calm. “If you do and your father finds out again you’ll lose your life!”

“I will. But this time I have the Russian mob at my back.”

She just stares at him, eyes wide and wild with indignation and a fair bit of the classical ‘are you crazy’ look. But there’s no question, she knows that he’s serious. She also knows she can’t talk him out of it, like she couldn’t the last time.

“You better be careful,” she says through clenched teeth when she finally does speak, marching over and laying a hard kiss on his forehead before she walks out without a word. Probably best, so neither of them starts to cry. Matia saw him at his worst after he lost his leg, he knows she has a right to be scared but he’ll be more careful this time. He has to be.

“Alex?” Cowboy asks as he walks through the door. He looks worried, scared even. “Can I come on?”

“Yeah, come in,” Alex replies. Cowboy comes in slowly. His hat and mask is on, but Alex doesn’t mind. He never minds, especially now that he has to do what he does.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. “The Russians are pretty pissed, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

“Is this because-“

“No. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

Cowboy clearly doesn’t believe him, if the way he purses his lips is any indication. “Sure, I get stuck in their compound, you go in and use your name, and not two weeks later you get kidnapped and beaten up!”

“That was because-“

“And now you want to work with them? And hack for them when you lost your leg because of it the first time? How can you be so st-“

“Hey!” Alex interrupts. “You do not get to call me stupid, Cowboy. I got into trouble because of my dad, not because of you. It's my choice, not yours.”

He watches Cowboy bite his tongue, clenching his fists tightly in obvious annoyance. But he doesn’t say anything, breathing deeply for a few minutes before he relaxes his fists, his jaw following. Alex understands how he feels, he does, but Cowboy isn’t his keeper of any kind. He makes his own decisions.

“You don’t get to decide when you run around New York as a vigilante, protecting people left and right with no regards to yourself. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

He doesn’t expect Cowboy to kiss him. He just walks over, takes Alex’s face in his hands and kisses him. It’s sloppy, this side of too hard and feral, just a little bit painful to Alex’s bruised face. It’s perfect.

“Shit, I’m sorry. You’re hurt,” Cowboy says, pulling away.

Alex shakes his head, keeping him in place. “It’s perfect, please don't stop.”

Cowboy seems sceptical, but Alex doesn’t care. He pulls him back in, though he softens the kiss so it won’t hurt. Instead of hard it’s soft, instead of hurried it’s languid, instead of feral it’s tender. Painful turns way to heat, lazily curling up his spine and settling everywhere from his neck to his stomach. He sighs softly into the kiss, pulling Cowboy infinitely closer.

“Alex. As much as I love having your lips on mine, you’re hurt,” Cowboy says as he pulls back again. “And we both know Maria will kill us if we do anything in this backroom.”

Alex groans. “You pick now to be sensible?”

“I pick now to be scared of your best friend. I’m just… breaking. Not saying no.”

Alex sighs, nodding because he knows Cowboy is right. He also does have to remember that he doesn’t actually know who Cowboy is, yet.

“I need help, moving my rig back home. Will you help me?”

Cowboy gives him a long, hard look. It feels soul searching in many ways, but Alex endures it. For him. He’s admittedly surprised when Cowboy nods, but grateful.

———

He find another piece of paper hidden under his keyboard the next day, with the letter A.

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #fic:vigilante au #cowboy - michael guerin #hints of maria/rosa

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atamascolily · 3 years

Text

Tyrant’s Test. Okay, we’re almost done here.

We open with Chewie on Kashyyyk having family time! I may re-read that section because I want to do a Kashyyyk thing later and there’s not that much detail in the TTT. Right now, I’m interested in Luke stuff.

. It’s impossible to work when the Current is in chaos. And it’s intensely uncomfortable to remain connected when the Current is carrying so much pain.

This is interesting - so the Fallanassi live the way they do by necessity as much as choice - they cannot function without peace and quiet.

We start to see more of Akanah’s perspective and realize she’s manipulating Luke to keep him with her. At least Luke is aware of it?

But that threat was also nakedly manipulative, and his reflexive resentment allowed him both to see the emotional blackmail and to resist it.

It was not that he gave no credence to the threat. Akanah’s conduct on Atzerri had made clear that she was perfectly capable of striking out on her own when her interests so dictated. But he had no compromise or concession to offer her. The old, familiar demon of Duty had reentered his consciousness during the conversation with the shipwright, and he could do nothing else until he either answered to his conscience or silenced it.

There was no point in seeking a rapprochement with Akanah until Luke knew his own mind—until he knew if he could allow himself to continue the journey.

Again, DUALITY. fuck. “my way or the highway” - LITERALLY.

For the question gnawing at Luke was not whether Leia wanted his help, but whether she needed it. If his presence might mean the difference between triumph and defeat, then he would go to her—as she had come to him in his darkest moment, aboard the clone Emperor’s flagship.

Leia had pulled him back from the precipice of the dark power, and joined her power to his to defeat Palpatine. If she had not been willing to sacrifice herself and the child inside her in confronting the reborn Emperor, Luke would never have broken the grip of the dark side—and the history of the intervening years would have been written with the pen of tyranny. He could not have done it alone.

But having seen not only the great strength in her heart but also the Jedi power she could summon, Luke was all the more loath to volunteer himself as a rescuer. He knew that Leia had within her extraordinary resources of will and power—resources she had of late become reluctant to draw upon. Luke thought that he was much of the reason, with both his example and his presence creating disincentives. It was important that she find that strength again.

It seemed to Luke that Leia had neglected, even abandoned, her own training, and that her training of the children had become unbalanced, with the disciplines of warrior and weapon excised as if they were dispensable. Luke had not spoken of it with her, but from what he had seen, it was almost as though Leia hoped to delay, training the children as Jedi clerics rather than as Jedi Knights—as if the path before her, the path he had followed, promised to take her somewhere she did not want to go.

It was her choice to make. Her destiny was no more clear to him than it was to her. But whatever that destiny was, it seemed that she was fighting it rather than following it.

And it was certain she would learn nothing from an errant Knight’s well-intentioned but unnecessary rescue—if she would even allow it to happen. Knowing her streak of aristocratic, self-reliant pride, Luke was not at all confident he could count on her to ask for help, even if she needed it—not after the fight they had had the night he left Coruscant.

No, those around her, the others who loved her, would urge Luke to return to her side, no matter what the circumstances. And Leia herself would insist that he stay away, no matter what the circumstances. It was essential that Luke make his own assessment of the situation, that the decision be his alone. And it was better that Luke stay out of sight and out of reach until the decision was made.

Hey, a Dark Empire acknowledgment! And also, again, duality: either/or. Either Leia saves herself or Luke saves her. There’s no middle ground, no compromise, not alternatives. Sigh.

As always, there were hundreds of blind messages—love letters and propositions, requests for personal favors, questions from amateur and would-be Jedi, the occasional diatribe from an Imperialist stubbornly resisting the idea that his world had changed.

Luke almost never looked at any of it. The novelty value of blatant proposals had long ago faded, and the one-two punch of praise and begging had worn thin even faster—it was as uncomfortable as being surrounded by a crowd in which everyone wanted to touch him.

So let me get this straight: Luke is constantly being bombarded with e-mail requests, yet he’s unaware that women want Jedi babies? UNREAL.

The young woman looked up at him with eyes widened by surprise. Her tattooed forehead and cheeks marked her as a follower of the Duality, a popular and benign Tarrack cult founded on the twin principles of joy and service.

Oh, wow, DUALITY AGAIN.

“My goodness,” Manes said, his steps slowing as he reached the main level and saw Luke clearly. “My goodness. This is an honor.” As an afterthought, he gathered himself for a salute. “Forgive me, sir—I don’t know your proper rank—”

“I no longer hold one,” said Luke, leaning over one of the data stations.

“Oh—I see. Then I’ll confess that I’ve never met a Jedi. Nothing unusual there, I guess—I don’t know anyone who has. Is there a proper form of address—”

“You can call me Luke.”

LOL.

The event had given both such inexplicable pleasure that he hated to take those memories away from them, but he had no choice. He had already blocked the machine records of his visit from being written to the logs. Compressing a nerve here, a blood vessel there, Luke brought on a moment of unconscious paralysis, and in that moment swept the memories from their minds.

Luke is very cavalier about mucking with peoples’ minds, I’m just going to say. Why not just mind-trick them directly?? Seems like that would be less invasive that cutting off blood vessels.

By the way, this is how we learn Luke and Akanah Did It:

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Have you ever had sex in hyperspace?”

This time she could not contain her bubbling laugh of bemusement. “Yes,” she said, and melted away into the night.

*shakes head*

“Where the Current touches self-awareness, there is a tiny ripple—as when you sense a presence with the Force. The metaphor is more different than the means.”

“But I can’t feel anything here—nothing more than the energy of the ecosystems on the fourth and fifth planets,” Luke said. “Nothing of consciousness—nothing of will.”

“It is not consciousness or will that matters—it is the profound essence of being, nothing more,” she said. “I can perceive the crew just as you would perceive a handful of sand I scattered on the far side of a pool. From a distance, sometimes you can see only the effect, not the cause.” She smiled. “But you must be very still to see even that, for you are also of the Current, surrounded by the ripples of your being.”

Yeah, okay, so the water metaphor is spot-on.

“Best for everyone if they never see us at all,” he said as he charted the course.

“Done,” Akanah said, looking on from behind Luke’s flight couch.

Luke looked up at her quizzically. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Eh—don’t you have to know who it is you’re trying to hide from?”

“Why?” she asked.

“So you have a focus. So you know whose thoughts you’re trying to deflect. It’s done with precision, not brute force.”

“That’s coercive,” she said. “And invasive. You reach into another mind and bind its thoughts, or place your own there.”

“Well—yes,” Luke said. “But the use of that power is constrained. The purpose must be important enough to justify the deed and the consequences.”

“It seems the Jedi are always finding reasons to justify their violence,” she said. “I wish you would try as hard to find ways to avoid it.”

“Violence? What violence?” Luke protested. “More often than not, all that’s required is to induce a moment’s inattention, or reinforce a suspicion. No harm is involved. A sworn Jedi would never—oh, make someone walk off a cliff thinking there was a bridge there.”

Akanah shook her head in earnest disagreement. “You, who’re immune to your own tricks—who are you to judge the harm done? You do this in secret, to lead a suggestible mind, or compel an opposed one. Do you think that those you’ve coerced see the morality of it the same as you do? Besides,” she sniffed, “it’s inefficient.”

“What?”

“Inefficient,” she repeated. “It requires your constant attention and involvement.”

“If you know an alternative, I’m your eager student.”

“What about the way you concealed your hermitage?”

Luke frowned. “That’s different. I created it from elemental substances to have that quality—to blend in with the coastline as though it were part of it.”

“It was a powerful bit of work,” she said. “When I saw it, I knew you had the gift of the Fallanassi. But you didn’t go far enough and apply the principle to its ultimate conclusion.”

“Which is—”

“To make it not merely resemble its surroundings, but merge with them,” Akanah said. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. She let the breath out slowly as she lowered her chin to her chest—and then she was not there.

“I’ll be a—” Luke reached for her where she had been standing, but his hand grabbed only air. “Cute trick,” he said, taking a step toward the refresher, away from the forward deck. “Handy for breaking into libraries, escaping arranged marriages—where are you?”

“Here,” she said from behind him. He turned to find her silting sideways in the right-hand seat, wearing a small proud smile. “Did I touch your mind?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not that I could notice.”

Akanah nodded. “A long time ago, one of the Circle discovered that when she achieved a particularly profound Meditation of Immersion, she would disappear from the view of others. Much later, we learned how to take an object in with us and leave it there.”

“Where do you go when you disappear?”

“Where do you go when you dream? It’s impossible to say. What does an answer from that context mean in this one?”

“Well—is it difficult?”

She shrugged. “Once mastered, it’s no more difficult or mysterious than concealing a cup of water by pouring it in the sea.” Then she smiled. “But achieving mastery is much like trying to remove that cup of water afterward.”

“And you’ve merged this ship?”

“Yes. Some time ago, while I was in meditation.”

“Will the engines still work?”

“Did the floors of your hermitage hold you, and the roof keep out the rain?”

Luke wrinkled up his face. “So we’re completely undetectable now?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing is absolute. But we’re safe from eyes, and from the machines that are like eyes.

gotta say, Luke totally deserves being dragged so hard here, given his behavior in these books.

“If I have to pick between your being an illusion and your being real, Akanah, I think I have reason enough to know that you’re real.”

OH COME ON WHY THIS COYNESS ABOUT THE SEX, LUKE??? Are you never even going to talk about it directly???

Oh, and Luke deduces that the Fallnassi are around him, and he can’t see them, which is clever. Not all of them are human - interesting. Luke convinces them to abandon their vows and help the NR against the Yevetha.

Leia goes to see Mon Mothma, which is kinda nice. They watch birds and it’s nice for Mon to be a mentor figure to Leia.

Leia turned and looked back at her mentor. “But I still don’t know how to choose between the other two.”

“I think you do,” said Mon Mothma. “What you don’t know is how to live with the choice. And there I can be of no help to you. That secret escaped you when the clarity left you.”

“When did that happen?” Leia asked, returning to sit on the edge of the stool at Mon Mothma’s feet. “I didn’t see it go—did you? Never before in my life have I struggled with decisions, or with accepting their consequences. It’s been so strange, watching myself from the inside, wondering why this woman was speaking for me.”

“Your clarity came from your certainty that our cause was just and our purpose worthy,” Mon Mothma said. “But there is little certainty of that kind to be had in a place like the Senate, in a city like Imperial City. Certainty is eaten away by the thousand and one compromises that are the currency of democracy. Causes fall victim to the building of consensus. Accountability becomes so diffused that it vanishes, and agreement becomes so rare that it startles.”

OH NO, there’s the duality again. Luke and Leia are mirrors of each other - see Luke’s ideas about isolation vs. civilization earlier. Sigh.

#star wars #eu fuckery #the black fleet crisis

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dogcopter · 4 years

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Rose Ghost Theory (Comprehensive)

This is the wrapped up version of various Rose theories. You don't have to believe me. Just getting it all out there before Future ends next month. We'll see what happens. I think it's gonna be an awesome plot twist if this is all true.

TL;DR Rose gave up her physical form, but her soul has been astral projecting and watching over Steven, primarily in the body of Lion and others along the way. This is also why he sees visions of her memories.** There may be more to this than I've identified, but this part is nearly certain. Show gets exponentially more emotional upon rewatch when you see her everywhere.

Meta It all comes back to Rose. This is going to be the last, most recent worst decision that when he learns the truth will send him over the edge of his crisis of avoiding his feelings about her. (And send the fandom over the edge too, lol.) Because her absence shaped his whole life and she was there all along and could have been there. He will be rightfully angry, but I also think she will be able to help him, and like with all of her bad choices maybe he will understand why she did so even if he doesn't forgive her. It will also be her character development opportunity, to finally change.

Whose body will Rose Quartz inhabit

She is most of the magical NPCs that aid Steven in his journey. She is Lion, the Tiny Floating Whale and realistic Rose in Rose's Room, Dream Dogcopter, Baby Melon and the melon dogs, the source of Steven's Pink Diamond visions, Pink Steven, "Shy Rose" and probably Cactus Steven too.

Abilities in use

All these powers are established by Steven, Rose is using them as well.

Steven has gone into dreams like Kiki's, where he changed the dream imagery. In Steven's Dream, after Steven wants to learn more about Pink Diamond, he sees her fallen palanquin in his dream and is crying. This was Rose communicating to him.

He spoke to Lapis while she was fused. In Jungle Moon, Stevonnie has a Pink Diamond memory dream that shows them the passcode to Yellow's moon base so they can call Lars. Rose again.

He took over the bodies of Lars and Watermelon Steven. Rose uses Lion's body and the melons with the same ability. Note: Lion himself is just a normal lion who Rose revived, his backstory remains intact. But most of the time when we see him around Steven it's Rose in disguise using his body.

Steven astral projecting in Reunited Steven enters an astral projection dimension where the others can't see him. They can hear him if he touches them. Rose may be present at times when not pictured.

Appearances

Rose's Room The Tiny Floating Whale has Rose's voice actor. Steven has never heard his mother's voice. He hears it later in the VHS tape but not at this time.

Storm in the Room In that scene when a more realistic Rose speaks to Steven, she refuses to listen to what he says unlike the room and reassures him instead. This is Rose stepping in to change the vision because Steven is spiraling.

Dream Dogcopter In Lion 3: Straight to Video, Dogcopter tells Steven to hold his breath before Steven wakes up in Lion's mane. In Chille Tid, Dogcopter shows Steven where to go while dreaming to find the real Lapis (inside of Malachite) after he exhausts himself looking for Malachite and has a nightmare about her.

Watermelons

Baby Melon winks at Steven and runs back after being stolen by Onion. When the melons fight each other, Baby Melon hits Steven and sacrifices himself. The other melons are enraged at that action. The melons don't tolerate a threat to Steven, so why would an ordinary one hit him even in this situation?

Melon Dog 1 brings Steven to offer himself (the watermelon he's possessing. F) as a sacrifice to show him where Malachite is during the arc where the Gems are looking for Malachite, much like Dogcopter led Steven to mindscape Lapis. She also knows what the Cluster is.

Melon Dog 2 tries to distract Steven from getting off the island when he's trapped in Pink Diamond's cell on Homeworld and astral projecting home for help. She tries to entertain him with escapism.

Lion I have a whole tag for this and analysis of all of Lion’s appearances if you need more info on this. Condensed version: Lion shows Steven the mane when he wants to know more about his mom, and shows him the landfill when he wants to know more about the truth of why he was born. He knows an unusual number of secrets for the pet of Rose Quartz, a notoriously secretive and impulsive gem who left Greg and the Gems without instruction or any plan to raise Steven and kept secrets even from Pearl, who knew her secret identity. He appears to know more about Pearl and the Diamonds than he should. He ditches Spinel at the Sadie Killer concert after glaring at her all day.

Can't Go Back When Steven and Lion go to the moon to find Lapis, Lapis and Steven talk about her feelings of watching everyone from afar and being lonely. She's afraid to return

Steven: So why didn't you just come back? Lapis: I want to. But I just can't. Not after the way I left. What would Peridot say? What if the Diamonds show up? What if something bad happens? Steven: Well, what if something good happens?

but Steven reassures her it could work out.

Lapis: Maybe I'm tired of running away. Maybe I'd rather be with everyone and be in danger than be safe and alone. Steven: They'd be glad to have you back. Lapis: I don't know. If I went back now, there's no way things could go back to how they were. Steven: Yeah, but that's alright. Things would just be different.

Steven then has a dream explaining how Pink Diamond tried to convince the other Diamonds to leave Earth alone and was refused. He also sees Pearl with her sword, prompting him to talk to Pearl. This finally reveals Rose's secret of being Pink Diamond to him. (Lion brought him to Pink Diamond's ship when he showed Steven the landfill and Nora VHS a full season earlier.)

Diamond Days & Change Your Mind

Steven has stress dreams about Pink Diamond's memories. I think in this case it's possible Rose is with him "in spirit" and being home is triggering flashbacks. When Steven goes back to her bedroom he dreams about playing with Volleyball before Pink hurt her or lost her. When in the cell she used to be trapped in, Steven wakes up in a memory of being punished there. In the case of other visions I think they were typically intentional from her, given the plot relevance, but these might be unintentional nightmares. Unfortunately, Steven is stuck with them too.

She's Gone

(People tend to hate this idea and refuse to entertain it, but I believe) Pink Steven was also Rose. When his gem was removed she reformed in it, choosing Steven's appearance because the gem belongs to him now. She was focused on getting the gem back to Steven to save him and had rage at White. Her protecting Steven despite seemingly afraid of White and telling White Diamond directly that Pink Diamond is GONE is major character development for her. Steven is not two independent bodies if split up, he is himself, a human boy who has a gem.

Shy Rose Finally, the Rose who looks just like Rose Quartz in Rose Buds. She's actually Rose. She acts like Lion and she picks up on Steven's distress more than any other character has so far - it's because she knows him best and has seen/heard the most build up of things affecting his mental health in Future.

People hate this idea too. Idk what to say. It's true. If I'm right then Rose Quartz blatantly came back in episode 4 wearing her own face and we as the audience collectively missed it. If I’m wrong I have a fanfiction AU idea to tell you about next month.

Cactus Steven - in this case I also like Cactus Steven as his own cactus, bc the mirror metaphor works so well, but given all the other examples I have my suspicions about him. If she *is* the cactus too then: Cactus Steven is happy to be an ear for Steven to listen to, but concerned for him when he's upset. Cactus Steven tries to talk to him and tries to get him to talk to the gems.

TL;DR long text picture of Rose Quartz character arc speculation below. You can skip this theory wise as it's just guessing at the story.

One possible version of this story: During the war on Earth, Rose had already planned to give up her physical form. She somehow specifically designed the Rose Quartz gem that she now inhabits to have similar features to the fantasy Rose that Pearl originally created. (For one thing none of the other RQs shown have curly hair) With Pearl's help, she faked Pink Diamond's shattering and assumed her new identity with a permanent reformation.

After things died down without Pink Diamond and the Diamonds left Earth alone, she would switch to the new gemstone and live as a Rose Quartz with Pearl, giving up her power forever and leaving behind her abusive family to become a new person. As we all know, things went very differently.

Eventually (her origins with Garnet and Pearl as shown) Rose meets Amethyst, an unusually “blank slate” gem who learns and grows who’s also similar to herself in many ways. Then, Greg Universe, who *wants* to know the real her behind the persona, and who also tells her that being in love is torture. (Pearl is in love with her.) She becomes fascinated with humans, especially the way they change and grow, and decides to have a child. The events of SU occur. Rose doesn't tell Steven she's here because she thinks everyone's better off without her and she only makes things worse, and the evidence of things getting better and her bad choices and mistakes being revealed seems to support that. When he tries to get Lion to play the role Steven wants, she refuses, because that's what went wrong last time. Just like she stopped raging after hurting Volleyball.

Now that Steven's actions have led to peace among Gems and the other Rose Quartzes were unbubbled, Rose had the opportunity to finally take her own physical form. Having given up her physical form in the meantime and needed a new one, she will now have her own body to return to. Now she knows how badly Steven is messed up about her, kind of like the Gems coming to terms with how he's grown up in Snow Day. Now that she's hurt Steven she's going to change her behavior again, like after hurting Volleyball, and after hurting Pearl, and finally just tell the truth at the end of Steven Universe Future.

This resolves the question of Steven's Rose stuff entirely. Steven isn't Rose, he's himself. He's not receiving her memories from some weird magic repressed gem data, it was because she was using astral projection powers both intentionally and unintentionally. His gem doesn't have its own consciousness that splits in two, he's both human and gem.

The big twist is that they *can* both exist, and *anyone* can change, including god damn motherfucking Rose Quartz. Like everyone else in the show, after seeing her through everyone else's eyes, in the end she's just a person - a flawed, weird individual who has made mistakes and hurt others. Steven doesn't have to forgive her or even like her, but they can finally know each other as themselves, the core theme of the show. It's a hopeful ending to a hopeful show that ties off both character arcs. Thanks for reading, love you, can't wait to see the finale.

#steven universe #rose quartz #su theory #steven universe theory #su meta #rose is lion 2020 #rosedemption 2020 #steven corrupts bc his mom is alive and thats even more fucked up than the mom baggage he already has piled sky high on his plate.

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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Okay, I knew Alistair the Dream-Keeper wasn’t the first time I’d written the idea of magically weaponized dreams, so I went hunting through old email accounts and found a whole fucking manuscript I wrote like, twelve years ago and totally forgot about. WHOOPS. (This happens with me more often than you’d think actually possible). I’m only a third of the way through my re-read of it, but it holds up surprisingly well IMO, I’m pretty pleased. I can actually do something with this, I think.

Course, it was apparently written back during my whole “every thing must be hetero otherwise there will be no publishing” period, before the beginning of my personal Age of LOL Nah, Fuck That, Everything Must Be Gay. So, first things first, Jez definitely needs a girlfriend, and also a different name. I can’t believe I named her Jez, like, wow, I was really trying to get YA Bingo, wasn’t I? In my defense, this was when I was twenty-three. Also, this first chapter here has a character named Scott and this was before Teen Wolf even premiered, so apparently I just like the name Scott? Huh. Did not know.

BURNING DAYLIGHT

Jez O’Neill knows she has three years, two months, and sixteen days to live.

She’s had visions for as long as she can remember. She knows they’re never wrong. And when the boy her visions say will someday kill her comes into her life, she knows to stay far away.

But somehow he gets close anyways. Because Nathan is perfect. He’s handsome, he’s charming, he’s utterly, unbearably sweet. And when he learns of Jez’s visions, he promises to cheat Death for her. An interest in New Age turns into an obsession with the occult, and that leads to tiny cracks in the walls of the world, where strange and untrustworthy spirits wait to barter with anyone desperate enough to try.

Magic, however, always comes with a price. The higher the reward you seek, the more you can expect to pay, and the spell Nathan thinks will change their destiny instead puts them on a collision course with Fate. It changes him, twists him in mind and soul, transforming the boy Jez loves into the madman who will someday take her life.

With only three years left until the day she now knows she can’t avoid, Jez discovers she and Nathan share the same zipcode again as he sows death and destruction in the streets of LA. But rather than flee for another city, Jez pits herself against the monster she once loved, the monster she helped create, determined to make sure no one else gets caught in the crossfire of their attempt to cheat their fates.

Call it redemption if you want. Jez calls it Tuesday.

Chapter 1

Dreams are doorways if you have the right key.

That’s why I’ve wasted a perfectly good Sunday night perched on the edge of Scott Kinley’s desk. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and I’m sure I look like a gargoyle in the pitch dark of the two o’clock hour, but every chair in his bedroom is covered in dirty teenage boy laundry. I’ll stick with my perch, thanks.

I kick my legs out and arch my spine, stretching my arms over my head with fingers laced together. Cramped and aching muscles voice their protest. Something cracks in my neck when I roll my head back. Meanwhile, Scott Kinley snores contentedly in his sleep in the bed across the room. I shoot him a glare that’s best described as withering.

Spears of pale moonlight slip through the slatted blinds covering the window above his bed. They stab the length of his body, highlighting a strong jawline and tousled blond hair, not to mention a chest and set of abs that frankly, I just find obnoxious on a fellow teenager. It’s L.A. in early September – code for unbearably hot – and he’s sleeping with the bare minimum of sheets, a loose span of cotton that’s only covering him up to his waist. I’d enjoy the cheap thrill more if it didn’t make me feel like such a perv.

After all, I’m a total stranger who broke into his house and has spent the last four hours going through his things and watching him sleep. It’s kinda hard to feel good about that. In my defense, I’m only here to save his life from a creepy magical serial killer. Course, I have strong doubts that would hold up in a court of law should he wake up and have me arrested for breaking and entering. But I still feel it’s worth mentioning.

A yawn and a glance at his alarm clock confirm that it’s 2:07 am and I have no life. I lean back on the desk and rifle through his homework some more as I go back to invading his privacy. My only defense here is I’m really bored.

His handwriting’s slightly more legible than your average garden-variety chicken scratch, but I’m still not one hundred percent his name’s Scott Kinley. The Scott part is clear, but the ‘I’ in what I think is Kinley could be a really jacked up ‘o’ I guess. Whatever. It’s a pre-calculus assignment, and the last yearbook on his bookshelf is from his sophomore year, so I’m guessing he’s a junior like me. Or like I would be, if I still bothered going to school. Hmm. Eleventh grade and already in precalc? Someone’s a smarty-pants. Interesting.

A row of trophies and a couple of team photos declare him a water polo jock, and not too shabby of one according to this MVP title. Explains the abs. I roll my eyes around the rest of the room. Small TV so old it has a VCR player built into it. An even older Sega Genesis console is hooked up to it, so either Scott’s big on nostalgia or his family’s not big on luxuries. There’s a couple of movie posters tacked to the wall, but the puddle of light leaking across the floor doesn’t reach far enough for me to make out any details. Then a freestanding bookcase, a good five shelves high, filled with actual books. Above it is a college pennant with a bear on it – I think that’s Cal Berkeley, right? Possible destination, I’m guessing….

God. And he was in bed by ten. Smart, good-looking, athletic and ambitious. Did his parents just win the baby lottery, or if I go down the hall will I find the altar they used to bargain with the Devil?

Not that it matters. I stretch my legs out again and dip my toes into the pool of moonbeams, watching them spill across my feet when I wiggle. It’s only been six months since my last boyfriend went all dark side on me and turned into a spell-wielding slaughterhouse. I’m kind of not dating right now.

So it’s only natural my visions would lead me to the most eligible teen bachelor in Los Angeles – I cast another quick look around the desk for the requisite ‘me and my girlfriend’ photo – nope, most eligible teen bachelor in Los Angeles. Ugh. It’s like announcing your diet and inheriting a pastry shop the next day. I feel a sudden urge to grab one of his dirty shirts off the floor just to make sure his one human flaw is real and not an illusion.

Wow. I can’t believe I just thought that. Apparently sleep deprivation makes me weird. Besides, there’s no way that smell could be imaginary.

I throw another withering glare in Scott’s direction. It’s his fault I’m a weird, sleep-deprived pervert in his stinky bedroom. My baleful stare bakes the air above his bed. It bends and twists like a summer heat wave on asphalt. Wait. That’s not right.

I shake my head, peering through the fog that shrouds my tired mind. Somewhere in my snooping I failed to notice Scott’s happy snores had turned into frantic whimpers. He’s writhing on his bed; sweat beads all over his restless body, glistening like fragile pearls in the faint light. The room is abruptly a sauna. Heat climbs the walls and steam mists the glass of the picture frames.

“Shit,” I whisper, and I’m in motion, leaping off the desk into a crouch. I dip my hand into my hoodie and whip out my knife, steel slicing moonbeams to ribbons as the blade springs free. A low keening shreds the silence, hoarse spectral shouts as faces flicker through the knife, reflected in the steel. I cross the room in three steps. Scott cries out. His fingers scratch at the air like crooked claws.

Somewhere a door opens, and something steps through. Between the space of one second and the next, a heavy silhouette takes shape on this side of the dream.

I slam into the figure with all my weight, blade aimed for the midsection where I’m hoping vital organs will be. The knife sinks in too easily. The sandman-born beastie is still in that transitive state where its dream wrought form has yet to shift all the way down the spectrum to vulnerable flesh. Then my knife catches and scrapes against bone. The nightmare screams as it sinks its roots into our reality and feels pain for the first time.

It’s tougher to pull the blade free, but I’m stronger than any normal seventeen year old girl has a right to be. More specifically, as long as I’m wielding that knife I’m as strong as all the monsters it’s killed combined. And I’ve racked up a decent body count. Blood and bile sprays in slow motion, a cresting wave of black tar. A few drops land on my arm. There’s a hissing sound and I feel like I’m on fire. I grit my teeth and swing again. It dodges and I miss. We both regroup, and I get my first good look at it.

Damn. Mr. Perfect Teen USA has one hell of a fucked up subconscious. I’m just saying.

The nightmare swallows what dim light comes near it, refusing to be illuminated. It’s thick, ridged with protrusions of bone and slick scales that shimmer with their own dark radiance. A trunk-like torso gives way to stocky legs. At certain angles they seem to merge into a single column similar to a snake. It has four arms, except for when it has six – and then two and then twelve and then they’re not arms at all, but tentacles. The head is a gaping chasm of teeth and forked tongue surrounded by a lion’s mane of mottled skin. It’s dizzying and hard to look at. Confusing and chaotic. The only constant is its ugliness.

I charge at it, because I’m just that dumb. Hey, only the good die young.

It dips to the side, cobra-quick, and its tail snaps out like the crack of a whip. I take the hit square in my ribs and I’m lifted off my feet, flying back across the room. My breath flees from my lungs, my head slams back into a wall. I bite my tongue and taste copper.

“Rude,” I gasp.

Scrambling up to snatch my knife from where I dropped it mid-flight, I steal strength from its macabre magic. Even still, regaining my feet takes effort and time I don’t have to spare. The nightmare’s turned its attention back to Scott. He’s finally awake and sitting up his bed. Pale, frightened, and totally out of his league. Considering we were dealing with his worst nightmare in every literal sense of the word, I cut him some slack. I’m a good person.

I roll forward and rake my cursed blade along the creature’s side on my way. It rears and screams again. Dimly I hear footsteps and distant shouting.

“What the hell is that thing?” Scott asks, eyes locked on the beastie like a man entranced. Oh good, he can talk. I was starting to wonder. I duck around the nightmare and stick myself in between it and him.

“Don’t ask me. It’s your childhood trauma,” I say, hefting my knife and gauging distance. “Now shut up, don’t die, and for god’s sake put on some pants.”

I lunge and bury my knife in the thing’s throat. I’m liking my odds less and less when it still finds the strength to knock my grip loose and drop me on my ass. More blood drips down on me, igniting nerve endings everywhere it touches my skin. Let’s recap. I have spunk, pizzazz, seven spells and a cursed knife on my side. It has burning blood, a build like a freight train, and claws and fangs that seem to multiply every time I look at it. It leans forward and roars its hostility right in my face.

Also, it has halitosis.

A swipe of its many tentacle-arms knocks me back and to the side again. I land on the floor, staring up at the bookshelf. It’s tricky reading the titles from my upside-down vantage point, but I hazily make out the collected works of one H.P. Lovecraft. That explains a lot.

“You know, there are worse things in the world than being a cliché,” I complain, glowering over my shoulder at Scott. He has the decency to look ashamed, over where he’s huddled on the other side of the desk. Course, I’m sure he has no idea what he’s ashamed of, but my tone conveys the point rather well, I think. “Seriously. The dumb jock thing. Just give it a try.”

Mano a mano isn’t working out too well for me so I switch tactics. I toss a quick ‘Hail Mary’ skyward, kick off my shoes and chant the most powerful – and dangerous – of my seven spells. It’s a nasty little sucker I bartered for in the second sphere, the Circle of Fire. I rattle off short, harsh syllables that climb reluctantly from the base of my throat, guttural utterances that were never meant to be made by a human voice. I dip my fingers in moonlight and etch glowing hieroglyphics in the air – they hang there for a moment, sharply luminescent in the seconds before they fade to black.

Staccato snaps and pops ring out. The alarm clock short circuits. Streetlights flicker and die. Every electronic in a fifty meter radius develops a sudden terminal illness and the air feels flooded. Thick and heavy with static as thousands of wayward electrical impulses conduct themselves through the atmosphere to me. I dig my toes into the heavy carpet and feel the hair on my head stand on end. Then I’m running, my nervous system supercharged with too much speed and power to contain long. I duck past the nightmare’s swinging arms – it might as well be lumbering at tortoise speed – and plant a single palm flat on its back.

My touch hits it like a thunderbolt, lightning barreling down the synapses in my arm and ripping into it with hurricane fury. It squeals and goes airborne, crashing into the desk and reducing it to kindling. Scott falls back, mouth open, and smoke wisps up from the creature’s motionless body.

For a second, I dare to hope it’s dead. It would be really awesome for me if it were. That was my most powerful offensive spell and using it comes with a one in ten chance of killing the spellcaster. So, you know. I’d really like to not have to use it again, please.

The nightmare heaves itself to its feet-tail, sending spears of desk turned firewood flying about the room. Some of the shrapnel heads my way and I cover my eyes. Splinters gouge at my palms. I peek past my fingers, and in a blur of motion the creature crosses the room and throws itself through the window. It rips through the blinds and shards of glass fountain into the hot summer night. The darkness outside swallows it whole.

“I hate you,” I casually inform the universe.

I pick past debris and make for the window. Or what’s left of it anyways. The house is on a hill, high enough elevation that glass from the window is still showering to the ground below. Chiming, delicate drops of crystal rain. City lights gleam from one horizon to the next. A pitch-black shadow makes its way across distant rooftops, dark even against the darkness, like a spreading oil stain spilling towards the downtown metropolis. Lovely.

“What the hell is going on?” Scott finally finds his voice again, but I have no time to soothe his shattered nerves or offer an introductory course on Things That Go Bump in the Night 101. I run my hands through my frizzy, static-damaged hair.

“That was disgusting, you need therapy, and the pants thing was not a suggestion,” I inform him, bending to retrieve my knife. Scott flushes and grabs the sheet off the bed. He doesn’t even try and peek at my ass. A piece of the Scott Kinley puzzle clicks into place, and I feel a tiny bit better.

“Hey, quick question. Are you gay?”

His jaw drops, but he recovers fairly quickly. “What – how did you – I mean, why?”

I shrug. “No reason. Just won a bet with myself is all.”

Hey, it’s the little things in life. I turn back to the window and track the nightmare’s course. Picking a rooftop a few buildings ahead of it, I prick my thumb and whisper a spell from the seventh sphere, the Celestial Circle. I sketch bloody sigils in the moonbeams cascading through the open window. They turn pale and faint and I grab their remnants like door handles. The silver light parts, a gauzy curtain opening on a window to a distant rooftop far below.

I cast a sigh at the bewildered boy behind me and step through. It’s probably for the best. Like I said, I’m kinda not dating right now anyways.

The curtain falls shut behind me and I resume my hunt.

#Burning Daylight #kalen writes things sometimes

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pilvimarja · 5 years

Text

Endgame Spoilery thoughts

I've seen Avengers Endgame and I'm nowhere near coherent or emotionally stable, but I'm gonna jump right into spoilers under the cut. This is gonna be mostly about the Thor and Loki stuff, because they're the ones I care about the most.

So. Okay. First of all, how did they manage to keep Thor's physical transformation a secret for so long?? Because the stuff you see in the trailers and other promotional material are all from scenes that happen in the first 20 minutes! Judging by the audible gasps in the audience, people were genuinely surprised as hell.

I'm guessing they took the complaints about Thor's short hair seriously, because Thor has never had more hair lol. Like, he's proper Viking levels of hairy with his long, bushy depression beard (which gets beautiful braids when he dons his armor) and thick mane of hair. And yeah, he's gained some weight. Actually, he's gained *a lot* of weight. And if you know me, you know I’m into this burly Big Lebowski!Thor. Totally, totally dig it. Peak Thor for me. (Though I'm not a fan of some people finding his weight gain a source of humor and the Russos probably intending it as such ugh). And I'm glad he didn't just magically drop the weight between scenes! He keeps his belly throughout the movie! I have a feeling this is a hugely unpopular opinion, but eh, I'll be here in my corner, thirsting after Big Thor. You’re all welcome to join me, though :D

I'm a little torn over the New Asgard stuff (lol I was expecting big, impressive buildings and it's just a tiny fishing village on the coast of Norway, which I kind of dig, actually?) and how Thor is avoiding his responsibilities and letting Valkyrie do all the leading. Because on the one hand, I want to see him do a good job and be a good leader, kinda like how I wrote him in my fic where he creates a new home for his people and brings Loki back to life. But on the other hand, it's totally understandable that he's hit rock bottom after everything he's been through. Like, can you blame him? He’s pretty #relatable, because I, too, have anxiety, want to wear comfy cardigans, drink my sorrows away, eat and play video games while I avoid all the shit in my life. I do suspect a lot of people are gonna hate this version of Thor, but me? I kinda wanna write fic about him :D

Thor got some of the biggest laughs from my audience, so the jokes clearly landed for a lot of people, but there's a lot of deep sadness in his character here, and I suspect most of the credit for that goes to Chris rather than the script. I can't believe how often I went from laughing to being close to tears with Thor.

When it comes to Loki, I can't help but wonder why the Russos wanted to keep his part to bare minimum in these two movies. They offed him in the first 10 minutes of IW in the most idiotic turn of events (and yeah, Loki really was that dumb??) and they barely gave Hiddleston any lines in Endgame even though this is the end of an era and he was such a big part of the first two phases of the MCU. The Avengers go through so much effort to re-visit the Battle of New York and they shut his mouth with the gag almost immediately.

There was also a huge missed opportunity for Thor to interact with his LIVING brother during the time travel shenanigans, but the Russos just insert Thor into some old TDW footage to have him sneak past Loki's cell. Idk. Is it because they think it would mess with the cosmos if TDW era Loki sees future Thor? Seems dumb tbh, when Thor got to interact with Frigga who clearly knew her son was from the future. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t trust TDW era Loki not to fuck shit up if he catches wind of what’s going on, but I just refuse to believe that Thor wouldn't even *look at* Loki after Ragnarok and the opening of IW, so screw you for that, Russos.

And RIP Loki's character development, redemption arc and mental and emotional healing, I guess. Because the Loki who lived through TDW and Ragnarok is gone for good. What we have instead is 2012 era Loki slipping away with the Tesseract, so I don't know, at least he's out there, alive. And I'm guessing this is the Loki we'll see in the tv show, because he's totally gonna abuse the hell out of that Tesseract, isn’t he?

On the one hand, I've always loved fics where Thor or Loki meets with a past version of their brother. Like, I'm already imagining Avengers era Loki coming face to face with Endgame Thor! But on the other hand, Thor and Loki are in such different places now, because Thor has been through so much loss and yes, one version of his brother is alive again, but 2012 era Loki is mentally in a really bad place and all the mending they did to their relationship has been wiped away. Though I guess that Endgame era Thor might be better equipped to understand Avengers era Loki.

Thor leaving Valkyrie in charge of New Asgard to go off with the Guardians is gonna piss off a lot of people who wanted Thor's arc to conclude with him sitting on a throne, but eh, I don't mind it tbh. I ain't got no problem with Asgard having a queen (though I think they’d be better off if they dumped the entire concept of monarchy) and I like that this sets up potential future appearances/solo movies for Thor, because I feel that his arc just isn't complete by the end of the movie the way Tony and Steve's are. And it's been pretty clear throughout the movies that Thor wants to be a good man and help people, but sitting on the throne of Asgard isn't the best way for him to do those things. I think it's Frigga who says it that this isn't about what Thor was meant to be, this is about embracing who he *is* and doing his best at it. And I guess that's what Thor will attempt to do now that he's back on his feet.

Oh god I loved seeing Frigga again! I also hope that she's alive now that Thor and Rocket took the Aether out of Jane before Frigga had a chance to die protecting her. Lmao at them inserting deleted TDW footage to get Natalie Portman into the movie, though.

But yeah, it's gonna take me a while to get a proper handle of all the time travel shit. Because so many things have a domino effect and the Avengers tampered with the past a lot. What happens if Frigga never dies? Where is Loki now that he managed to slip away with the Tesseract in 2012? Did he ever even exists in the timeline we saw in TDW and Ragnarok?

Anyway, I did like Endgame much more than Infinity War. I think it has the highest highs and the lowest lows (for some people) and I got some of that OG Avengers Feeling in my chest that I haven’t felt since 2012. I laughed, I cried and I smiled so much that my jaw hurt. I do think general fandom is gonna have a blast with this movie while creative fandom probably tears their hair off, either because they're disappointed or because they don't know what to do with what canon has done to their favorite characters and ships.

Me? Eh, canon and fandom/fanon have always been pretty separate entities in my head and heart. I think I'm feeling inspired to maybe write fic again, but I suspect the fandom is gonna be so full of hatred for this movie that I'll probably keep my distance, because I find that the negativity in fandom (even if some of the criticism is well-deserved and very understandable) kills my inspiration and desire to participate much more effectively than my disappointment in canon.

#avengers endgame #endgame spoilers #thor #loki

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bentenharuki · 4 years

Photo

I edited the stocky horrifying midget out of this to preserve its immaculate quality.

In this horrifying Dwarf Carousel which is gonna be this terrible last arc (look out for everyone meeting the pathetic midget along his way to steal an - impossible in reality - place in Tokyo 2020 Jap team and puke with me if you do have an actual clue about REAL volley ) notorious money hungry Furudate keeps giving small bits of decency (but just to grab more money actually) trying to not eradicate ANY of his buyers away.

I don’t care about any of that, HQ is dead since quite a long ago to me but I cannot avoid to sigh facing such perfection when I got presented with this illustration (and Furudate KNOWS how to draw, I cannot deny it) so I had to edit it to add to my collection.

I laugh my lungs off when I get to notice the simpletons are all awing at the midget new tanky body (or his tan): LOL. Poisonous Dwarf still barely 1,70 and when you are that short but with more muscle you actually get UGLIER because you seem even shorter... Instead that larger why couldn’t he GROW UP? That could have helped him being a normal player at least, but no... let’s feed the simpletons with the Tale of the Magic Dwarf Upgrading Powers!

Hinata never was good looking but making him stuffier is like... I dunno... have you ever seen a bulldog? Not exactly the image of beauty right? That’s what a short redhead with a burnt out skin and “more muscles” would actually look like in real life. I bet NONE of his enthusiastic “lovers” would actually look twice at him in real life if they would cross such an unfortunate physique around.

And the simpletons DARE to compare that sad excuse for a person with Lord of Volley’s gorgeous features?

Lord Kags, who’s got amazing wide shoulders, abundance of muscles distributed on at least a body of 1,92 (but he will be taller, for sure: Tsukishima had to grow a bit more again in two years and Kags is his same height than him at the age of 18, meaning e could grow for a year and half more), blue eyes and an impeccable face, THAT guy... you dare to compare THAT with the Annoying Shrimp, whose excessively wide smiles seem the opening of a garbage trashbin?

How hilarious of you, simpletons!

You mean... people falsely complaining about Lord Kags’ hair are aware that a mop of unruly orange hair are all but cute on a shortie shrimp who’s overpumped up?

Lord Kags hair are a perfect dark and silky mane. The quintessential characteristic of male beauty in Asia (and not only). Did he cut his fringe in his last year as a high schooler?? SURE: he had TO PLAY for real a setter position and in real life sportsmen gotta SEE you know, hair grow back but sportsmen do not think of “looks” when they try to find their unproblematic hairdo. They think of what would be more efficacious for their performance. Cut the fringe was practical, and still Baby Volley Lord was gorgeous (with that face, he would be even with NO hair). But Lord Kags’ hair is just too perfect and it grows like it would on any handsome man, so here you go: from here it seems that he has now an undercut and parted sides: STILL GORGEOUS because with that face ANY hair of such perfect color and shape would work fine.

Keep thinking how Shortie Curse has bulked up, or how a dwarf could seem attractive: in real life NONE of that would catch a sight by no passerby. But that is part of the “character”, given how in real life such an individual could also NEVER EVER go playing pro volley (let alone get considered for a National Team) not even in Tonga, because shorties in modern male volley (today more than ever actually) have ZERO chance to exist on a court.

ZERO.

But be tranquil, simpletons: Furudate is gonna feed you with your fav tale, so that you can keep making him richer, and you can keep thinking that Poison Orange is a “realistic” MC and even that he is “cute”. Whatever you like, until you keep paying for your tales, Furudate will not let you down regardless of decency towards the great sport of volleyball.

Reality will hit you harder on your way out though, even if I’d like to see all of you getting EXACTLY an arrogant, fake, useless and ugly midget as your cheered companion for a while. As a counterbalance, it would be delightfully hilarious, honestly, because 110% none of you in real life would be happy of that “pairing”.

Anyway... Lord Kageyama still the prodigy baby who, like Messi or Kobe Bryant or Rafa Nadal (and some other) got to play immediately in a pro league right after high school and got to their National Team straight after. Because in real life, in real sport, those born with THAT something more, with the REQUESTED peak physique for the sport chosen, and with the utmost effort and dedication WILL ALWAYS BE SUPERIOR to the rest. ALWAYS and FOREVER. If you simpletons cannot see the truth, it’s because you are petty pathetic losers who hold a grudge against people born with a special talent and who love to see them fail out of envy and being envious is not a good look on anyone. Remember that those with a superior talent may fall once, but they will always and indefinitely get back up to still stay superior to the rest no matter what. You can’t beat those kind of superior talents regularly, because simply... they are BETTER in general, and out of aleatoric circumstances, their superiority cannot be erased, cannot be counter-acted, cannot be denied.

FACT.

End of my tiny rant. I had a 30 minutes of free times in between lab and lectures so... I got to fill it I guess ;)

#mine #haikyuu!!#the lord #kageyama tobio #the annoying orange #hinata shouyou #furudate haruichi #my edit

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writingwitchly · 5 years

Text

A matter of… toe?

Can I ask for a oneshot with Sirius with the convo: B: You got a new lip balm? A: Yeah. It smells like strawberries too! Want to smell? B: Sure! *walks closer to kiss her/him* A: *just as B is few inches away* *pulls out the balm in front, making it cover B's nose* Please!! Love you😘 ~ @miss-nerd0905

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Word count: 4,1k

AU: Where the biggest concern sare late Xmas shopping and love. So no war, but still wizards.

A/N: I will not rant about my writing bc it’s Xmas… Vase Darling, I hope you like it!! I wanted this to be vv Christmassy for you!! tbh, I didn’t fully stick to the prompt (this might be veryyy different from what you expected), but the lip balm’s there lol. Have a jolly holiday!

***

Like every December 23rd, you type Lily’s number on the phone, and hum a jolly tune as the dial tone echoes in your ear.

Ever since you’ve moved on your own in London, going late Christmas shopping with your best friend has become a tradition. Together, you go from shop to shop, searching even the most unknown and hidden ones, to get the most perfect gifts for your friends. And, modestly, you nail every single one, to the point where everyone in your circle of Christmas guests call you the “jingle bell rocking team.”

You let your eyes wander on the gray sky outside through the window, and make a mental note of bringing your scarf along, right as a click announces that someone has picked up the call.

“Hello?”

You were going to scream at your friend in excitement to hurry up, but something in the voice that answered makes it… not hers. It’s deep and raucous.

“Lily?”

A crack, then a pause. Some air faintly blows in the mike, and you perceive that the phone must be moving.

“Y/N?” Now, you do recognize Lily’s voice. Although it still sounds off. And nasal.

“Lily!”

“Y/N…” A cough echoes in the background, so the owner of the other voice must still be in proximity.

“Um… Are you okay?” You risk the stupid question, dreading the obvious answer.

“Well,” She tries to laugh, but her lungs seem to resist the act. “Not really. I… James managed to pass me his flu, this year. But don’t worry, I’ll wear some additional coat and we’ll still go, I’ll be there in-”

Her boyfriend protests in the back, but is stopped by another wave of coughing.

An “oh” escapes your throat, longer than you wanted it. “It wouldn’t be wise to go shopping, if you’re in that state, Lils.” For a moment, she seems to hesitate, so you add, “We want to have you guys whole and in perfect shape for the Christmas Eve party.”

You hope your regret isn’t too evident in your tone.

“James wants to make it alive until then, he’s planned a little fly dressed all in red and whi-”

The raucous voice resounds in the background, clearly irritated, and Lily laughs again, “Seems like I’ve ruined the surprise. Don’t tell anyone,” She giggles again. “Um- Sorry to leave you alone on that.”

“Uh?” Imagining James flying, dressed as Santa Claus, has made you forget anything else for a couple of seconds. “Oh, you mean the shopping. Don’t worry,” You’re not sure the last two words sounded very convincing, but you still continue, “I’ll ask someone else to come. Maybe Dorcas.”

“Er- Her and Mary have choir rehearsal for the fundraising,” Lily reminds you.

The sky outside seems to become a little darker.

“Shoot. Remus then.”

“You know that today-”

“He works until late. And Marlene’s at her family’s until tomorrow.” You bite your lip, “Peter?”

“Is it grocery shopping you plan to do?”

Peter and his love for Christmas sweets… He’d stop you at every corner to get a new type of candy.

“Kingsley?”

But you erase that possibility on your own: he isn’t one to walk the whole day around looking for funny socks or the perfect make up set.

You sight in exasperation. This is why it’s always Lily and you who take care of the holiday shopping.

Half as a joke, half out of desperation, you suggest, “Dumbledore?”

There is a loud snort -- which sounded more like a snore -- surely from James, and then Lily mutters something that you can’t hear.

“Lily?”

Shuffling in the background.

“I- James says- He says that you should probably ask Sirius to come.”

“Sirius?” you repeat, not convinced to have heard right. You hope you haven’t.

You’re not 100% sure, but you heard James repeat his mate’s name at the same time as you, and in the exact same surprised tone.

After a second, the man’s laughter is muffled by Lily’s hand on the mike. She tells him something, and he answers back between two sneezes, but you can’t understand anything except for ‘-toe.’

“Toe?”

Lily’s voice comes back, “What?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, this time convinced that you have heard wrong. “So, you guys say, Sirius?”

No, no, no.

“Well, yeah. Usually, he can’t go because he takes care of James’ seasonal flu, but now I can do that…”

“Mmmm…”

“Call him, Y/N, he’s your last hope. I’ll manage to take care of my boyfriend and resist the urge to hex him.”

“Are you sure that Sirius is the right guy to give advice on Muggle shopping?”

And that I won’t make a fool of myself around him?

“I- Uh…” Lily stutters, and pauses a second to hear what James has to say. “Well, if you say so, Potter.” She focuses back on you, “James is positive about it, Y/N,” Which one? The shopping thing, or the fool thing? You’d like to be sure about the latter. “And- I left some soup on the stove, so- we don’t want the house burning down, do we. Gotta go!”

Is it you, or does her voice sound much healthier than before? “Wait, Lily-!”

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

Before she hangs up, James’ voice reaches you, but very confusedly.

Again, did he say toe?

***

Getting Sirius to come shopping with you was easier than you thought. A call, and he apparated on the front step before you had a chance to put your boots on. Even keeping your composure in his presence is revealing itself quite easy, despite the fact that you’re alone with him for the first occasion in a very long time.

The tough stuff is making him follow you through Muggle London without losing him in the crowd.

“What about that?” you ask, eyeing a novel with a bright blue cover. It reads ‘In Love With an Idiot’, and Lily would absolutely wheeze only at the title. “Do you think that James would be offe- Sirius?” You shoot a glance behind your shoulder, only to discover that the man has disappeared again. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

Struggling to hold the multiple packs under your arms, you move to the side of the pedestrian street, and climb on a bench, under the glare of an old lady. Feeling dizzy because of the bright passing scarves and hats, you lose one good minute in finding the mane of black locks that towers above the surrounding passerbys.

Completely obvious of the world around him, the boy’s observing the vitrine of a toy shop, whose sign’s colorful light reflects on his recently shaved cheeks.

“Sirius!” Your cry of frustration scares the glaring old lady away, but at least it’s successful in making your friend come back to reality.

Smirking, Sirius makes his way back to you, pushing people aside with the dozens of bags he carries, and attracting himself many dark looks.

“Afraid I’d leave you, Y/N?”

“No,” you sigh, wondering at what age Sirius has stopped growing up mentally, “Afraid to lose half of the gifts. What were you looking at?”

“Crazy how the Muggles manage to make things move without magic. There was a small train riding on its own!” His grin widens, and you have to tilt your head up to have a good sight of his childish expression.

Godric, he’s so tall. And so handsome.

Shut up, Y/N.

“But it looked quite unrealistic,” he continues, unaware of your internal dialogue, “There was no smoke.”

“It’s normal,” you say, “It works with batteries, a clever way of producing energy without-”

But Sirius craning his neck in direction of another shop stops you mid-sentence. It won’t be long until he goes off your sight again.

Merlin, he’s worse than Peter.

“No, Black, no such thing again. We’re almost done, I don’t plan on spending the night here.”

To prevent him from going away again, and prevent the lost of the dozen of bags he carries, you link an arm with his. And immediately feel your cheeks lighting up.

Thankfully, he looks away. And you badly hope it’s not because he saw you blushing.

“Nice weather,” he mutters, right as you say, “It’s freezing cold.”

Had it happened earlier, you would have laughed and argued, but now a strange tension seems to have fallen on the two of you.

“So er- those… baggeries,” he says hesitantly. “Do Muggles use them only for tiny trains or-”

You smile shyly, relieved by his clumsy attempt at building a conversation, but suddenly find yourself unable to explain anything about bagge- batteries. So you just correct his pronunciation and laugh the question away.

Something in the way Sirius looks and behaves has changed since your Hogwarts years. He is much more mature, and much less of a troublemaker. He hasn’t lost his mischievous sparkle, of course -- not even after death will he --, but he uses it more consciously.

The last time you two have been alone together before today was… three years and a half ago?

During the graduation party, you had found yourself sitting alongside the dance floor, immersed in nostalgic flashes of your school years, when Sirius had come to ask you for a dance. He saw it as only another moment of fun, but something clicked in your head when he grabbed you by the waist.

You saw memories of how you had started liking him in first year, how his sarcastic remarks were actually something you looked forward to get angry at everyday, how his lousy humor and deep sense of loyalty were his most attracting traits, how his hair falling on his eyes made you daydream.

You also saw the fact that you were about to step in the adults’ world, and maybe part ways.

So, drunk in melancholy and honeywine, you were about to tell him what you had hid for seven years in a row.

But, right at that moment, a group of girls passed by, eyeing him shamelessly and giggling like three-years-olds. It was already hard to swallow the fact that you were infatuated with the most popular guy in a range of ten kilometers, but when he asked you, in the middle of the song, if you’d mind if he invited one of them to dance, you lost your breath.

“Of course not,” you answered, surprising yourself at how easy the lie had come out of your mouth.

He had paused, looked at you for a second, and left you alone in the middle of the room to join the group of girls.

At that moment, lost in your feelings, you had seen through his: you were nothing more than a friend to him.

Some heavy darkness had engulfed you, and that had been the last time you’d accepted to be alone with him. Until today.

You have spent three years muffling your heart’s complaints under tons of good will, in the name of your friendship, and in respect for his opinion.

Caught in the worry of not being able to buy your friends their gifts, you did not think twice about it, earlier, but now…

It seems dangerous to walk next to him.

Around you, the street is getting busier of other people who, like you, have opted for a last-minute gift-search. Fake Santas shake their bells, making teens giggle, and women with babies look in adoration at them. A couple of parents hold their children by the hand, dragging them toward a house shop, while the kids clearly feel like stopping in front of a cozy bar. There is a Frank Sinatra song playing somewhere near the place at the end of the way, and the crispy notes of his deep voice fill every corner of the jolly atmosphere.

A draught of winter air caresses your face, making you shiver.

“About time to go, don’t you think?” you suggests, tightening the scarf around your neck.

“Well- De we have everything we need?” Sirius hesitates, so you start recounting the bags,

“We’ve got Marlene’s sweater, Alice’s scented candles, Kingsley’s sock set-”

“A complete,” Sirius interrupts you “collection of Queen’s best hits for James - that sucker better repay me later, this costed like one of my eyes - a maxi sized pot of skittles for Dumbledore, a horrible pair of socks for Frank, and some catnip for Minnie. Remus’-”

“Catnip?” you raise an eyebrow. “Oh please, don’t tell me you’ve-”

“No, I haven’t left the tea behind, we have that too. I just thought it’d be nice to add some catnip,” he finishes, with a big grin stamped across his face, and you roll your eyes.

“I checked everything on the list that Lily and I have made, so we have everything. I think we can stop.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius asks, and you think you discern some deception in his words. Is it really possible that-

But your running imagination must be tricking you.

“Quite sure, I-” You slap a hand on your forehead, attracting a curious look from a seven-years-old passing by. “I was forgetting, as always!” you claim, “We’re not done yet.”

Sirius eyes you, and you see a reflection of the little boy’s expression on his face. And maybe a brighter twinkle in his stare.

“We were forgetting about our own gifts,” you explain, to which he breaks into a snort.

“What’s the plan, then? We choose our gift, and we’ll act as if it’s a surprise on Eve’s dinner?” he asks.

You shake your head. “You choose something for me, I’ll pick something for you. No right to show the other, so-” You realize what you’re going to say, and regret it a bit. “So- It’s better if we part ways now, anyway. I have- I have to meet Mary and Dorcas for a trip to the library,” you say, raising your stare from the floor to look at him straight in the eyes.

Sirius’ lips purse in a thin line, and he nods in understanding.

You slow your pace down, and come to a halt. After a second of uncomfortable pause, you unlink your arm from his, and, for a moment, you face each other, unsure of how to say goodbye.

“See you tomorrow, then,” Sirius half-heartedly says.

“Yeah,” you respond.

The crazy thought of a hug crosses your mind, but you turn on your heels before giving in to the temptation.

You’re already a good fifteen meters away, when his voice flies to you, “It was a nice shopping session, Y/N! Thank you!”

You swing around, and smile before the crowd swallows him.

***

“You tricked me.”

Zipping her golden top, Lily doesn’t deign you of a look. “I don’t see what you’re talking about, darling.”

“Spare me your terrible lying capacity, Lily. Just- Let’s set aside the fact that you’ve broken our tradition, and that I felt treasoned, but-” You run a hand on your face, looking for proper words to make you sound less lame than what you are. “You know that it’s hard for me to be in the same room as him, and you made it more awkward by setting this up.”

“I didn’t s-”

“Oh come on!” you cry, frustrated. “He was ready when I called! And you do sound like you healed very quickly.”

The decorations on the walls and the snow falling outside make Lily and James’ living room look like a gigantic snowball.

“I- Ok, I’m not as sick as I was yesterday morning, but… I th-”

“You have no right to play the matchmaker, Lily... You know very well how much I struggled to make the pain go away!”

“The both of your are so much more mature recently.”

“So? I can’t make him fancy me, if he doesn’t want to! No matter if he gets as mature as Remus.”

“You’re so stubborn, Y/N! If you don’t try, you’ll never get anything!”

From the doorframe, James chuckles, “Take me as an example: I managed to date my fierce redhead after seven years of-”

“James!” you both scream, and the man raises his hands in defence, going back to drinking his medicinal tea. He can barely stand up, wrapped in the tons of coverts that are supposed to protect his fragile health from yet another cold, but he wouldn’t miss your discussion if he got paid for it: you get better than his favorite telenovellas, when you’re in that mood.

“If you ever tell him any of this-” you look at him, menacing.

With his mouth full of the infusion, James mimics somebody promising, and then walks out of the room, in look of a more peaceful environment. He does that every time he senses the storm going toward him.

“All I want is you to be happy, Y/N. I swear you need to be blind not to notice that Sirius likes you.”

“I’m- Please, don’t make it harder, Lily. I appreciate your encouragements, but I worked hard on making these feelings disappear, and-”

“We both know you still like him, Y/N. How many times will I have to tell you.” She rolls her eyes. “I am going to get you two together before this New Year, or I’ll rename myself Gertrudis. And you can’t change my mind.”

With nothing to answer to that, you sigh, only waiting for the moment when you’ll get to call your best friend Gertrudis.

***

“Nothing better than a sweet gathering with friends for Christmas,” Remus says as he pops the bottle of honeywine open. Behind him, the fire cracks in the chimney.

From across the living room, Frank, his arm around Alice’s shoulders, laughs, “You say that every year, Rems.”

Kingsley comes in the scarred boy’s defence, “It’s worth repeating, Longbottom. Anyway, I’d rather hear Remus say it a thousand more times than to have to listen to James’ drunk jokes at the end of the meal.”

The mentioned boy fakes a pout, and Sirius, who’s lying on the floor at his feet, plays with a red cap, that will be useless this year: Flying Santa Potter Show has been moved to next year, because of ‘health issues’, to Peter’s great regret.

“I wonder how you’re still sneezing enough to make that whole building fall down, James, while Lily’s wearing a mini skirt.” The bitterness in your voice can only be understood by James, and by his girlfriend. “From how she sounded on the phone yesterday, she was about to die.”

At those words, Lily gets out of the kitchen, followed by Dorcas, and shoots you a smile, “Onion soup does miracles on me,” she winks, and turns toward the man spread on the carpet, “Sirius, please be a sweetheart, and give Y/N a hand to bring the rest of the starters on the table.”

And here we go again.

Noticing your annoyed groan, Marlene slightly smiles.

“I hope the floor’s clean,” she murmurs to Lily, “Because I have that feeling that we’ll have to pick the starters up from the tiles. What did you do to piss her off?”

“Just wait,” the redhead whispers back, “And you’ll see.”

***

In the background, Celestina Warbeck threatens to drown you all in a cauldron full of hot love.

Sirius is handing you some plastic plates, on which you lay tiny canapes. The only reason that prevents you from dropping them on the floor in vengeance is their very appetizing look. And the fact that you’ve spent hours dressing them.

The soft buzzing of conversation coming from the living room warms your heart: having friends like yours is the highlight of your life. Ruining the mood by confronting romantical feelings to just friendship would be… awfully wrong.

“Any plans for New Year’s Eve, Y/N?”

“Uh?”

Sirius smiles at you from the other side of the table, a plate full of mini croissants in each hand. “Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve?”

You tilt your head. “Just- our usual gathering. Why?”

The man shrugs. “Maybe you wanted to do something different, I don’t know.” And he grins again. “You tell me, if you want some change, okay?”

“Sure.”

Perplex because of his strange request, you come back in the core room of the party a little distracted, sensing that something is weird.

You scan your friends’ faces, but don’t notice anything out of place, so give up your strange presentment.

***

Soon, it’s time to unwrap.

As everyone discovers their gifts -- and shares drunk jokes, much to Kingsley’s dismay -- you step in a corner, holding a pink package in the palm of your hand. The ribbon itself is bigger than the box.

“What is it?” Sirius’ sudden presence behind your back makes you start.

“What do you mean, what is it?” From the corner of your eye, you notice Lily staring at you, and then whispering something in James’ ear. “Didn’t you buy it?”

The man scratches his neck. “I’m not the best at choosing Muggle gifts, let along for a girl. So I asked the salesgirl to give me the cutest item she had and-” He points to the half-unwrapped box in your hands. “I’m about to discover what it is at the same time as you.”

His breath on your neck makes your fingers tremble, but you rip the remnants of colorful paper off the present, and reveal a-

“Lip balm?” you ask, surprised.

Sirius only nods, with half a smile. “Looks like it.”

Carefully, you extract the round container from the wrapping, grinning at how cute it is, indeed. You delicately brush a finger on the surface, and press it to your lips.

“Mmm… It smells like strawberries!”

“Really?” Sirius casually steps closer to you.

“Uh- Want to smell?” you ask, trying to remain composed.

“Sure!”

You were about to pass him the container. You were about to.

But, under your unbelieving stare, Sirius leans forward, until he’s only inches apart from your mouth, and closes his eyes.

A little lamp lights up in your head: that something that was wrong when you exited the kitchen, James’ repeated mention of a ‘toe’ during yesterday’s call… Right above your head, you see it.

It happens all so fast, that you can barely register your own movements.

***

“You what?”

Lily, shivering in her skirt, is gaping at you. She ran after you as soon as you left the apartment in a hurry, and managed to catch you right as you were exiting the building.

“I panicked” You cry, still shocked yourself, and starting to feel like the dumbest person ever, ever, ever.

Your best friend blinks very slowly. “You- Are you doing this to make me lose the bet? Because that’s the only explanation I will accept, Y/N!”

The scene repeats itself endlessly in your mind as the snowflakes sprinkle your hair. Sirius, centimeters away from your lips. The balm suddenly put in front of him, covering his nose. His surprised look. Your run away.

“I don’t know, I-”

“You don’t know?” Her eyes clearly say ‘I’m about to kill you if you don’t give me a good reason for leaving the perfect romantical scene out of the blue’.

“Listen! If I wasn’t sure that he now thinks I’m the most idiotic fool in this world, I’d run back upstairs and kiss him right where I left him!” you scream.

You hope that none of the neighbors had planned to go to bed early.

“Glad you would-” A voice comes from an open window, three floors above. A pair of large glasses is looking down at you, surrounded by all your friend’s faces.

“James! Fucking get inside, don’t make your flu even worse!” shouts Lily.

“- because,” her boyfriend ignores her, “I doubt he’d be happy to have ran down the stairs for nothing!”

Right as he finishes his sentence, the building’s door opens, and lets out a very confused Sirius. Quickly, Lily disappears inside.

The world stops spinning, and you lose the capacity to breathe. Your knees threaten to give up under the weight of the tension that installs itself on your shoulders.

Merlin, if I could die right on the spot.

“I’m sorry if I-” Sirius takes a step forward, but stops right away, and lowers his head. “It was stupid of me, I’m very sorry.”

Seemingly unable to distinguish between what happens in your head, and what you’re actually doing in this moment, you walk toward him.

“What do you mean, you’re sorry?” The temperature of your cheeks climbs up vertiginously, and it costs you an incredible effort to articulate. “I’m the one who ran away.”

And you’re standing in front of him, close enough to see the grey of his eyes reflecting the streetlamp light.

“I like you a lot, you know.” His soft whisper knocks the air out of you. “I think I’ve liked you since Hogwarts, but I was too busy being a jerk to notice it.”

Before the moment has a chance to vanish, like a dream, you reach for his lips with yours, standing on your tiptoes.

As Sirius wraps his arms around your waist and deepens the kiss, you can hear the dance of the snowflakes, chorusing with the beating of your hearts. Your breaths become the same mist, and your bodies tell the same story. The story of two young people in love.

Above your heads, a green branch has been fixed with some tape from a windowsill of the third floor, and is gently being hugged by the breeze.

“Look at those two,” Winter seems to whisper, “Finally kissing under the mistletoe.”

***

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#sirius blacksirius x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black x reader #hp fic #reader insert #marauders #***writingr #VAN. THIS IS ALSO A LIL FOR YOU... THE MISTLETOE MOST OF ALL #can y'all believe i'm even posting this mess #scheduled #kill me bc of that title

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