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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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A FRESH START [22]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: panic attack, trauma reaction, mentions of injuries, nonsexual nudity

Word Count: 5,935

Updates every Thursday

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i was forced to shorten the taglist for the sake of my sanity. tumblr won't let me post with more than certain number. I think that's why I've had the hardest time with this shit. I made it a first come, first served so if your username got dropped I am so so so sorry but that's why.]

#22: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

"i find my place in between your arms, in between your tender kisses and soft whispers of 'it will be alright', in between the warmth of your embrace, and the scent of your neck, and the fierceness of your touch, i find my place lost inside your soul." -Hearts and Empires

Din was immensely proud of your skills as a physician. However, if you didn’t get your ass out of the damn medic tent he was going to throw you over his shoulder and carry you home forcibly. More than anything, you needed rest. He wasn’t able to convince you to stop working and because the medical aid had yet to arrive no one else sided with him on these matters. Karga had the nerve to tell him to calm down. Din had nearly wrung the High Magistrate’s neck.

He watched as you flittered around the medical tent aiding those who were injured alongside Aayla. Grogu had refused to leave your side, and that didn’t seem to bother you at all. Right now, as if you weren’t exhausted and barely standing, you had a sling wrapped around your chest which held Grogu against your back. Din could see the little boy resting his head against your back while rubbing your shoulder with his small hand. The sight warmed his heart and Din would be tempted to snap a picture to save if it weren’t for the state of your being. Your scrubs were still stained with blood and you had yet to clean your own wounds. It was stressing Din out to watch you working so hard when you were still in the state you were in.

While turning to see someone else, Din noticed you wavering on your feet. That was enough. He pushed forward and pressed through the injured crowd straight to you. “Hey.” You turned to meet his gaze. “It’s time to go home. You’re barely able to stand.”

“I can’t⏤”

“Ner kar’ta.” Din said firmly.

You sighed. “Alright. Fine.” Your shoulders sagged. “I guess I am a little tired.” Din shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips. Your small smile turned sheepish and Din dreaded whatever it was you were going to say next. “I need to make sure Nima has cleared the tarmac though so the medical team can park.”

“What?”

“We need to get⏤”

Din reached his gloved hands out to cup your face. At the contact, the rest of your words fell away. He leaned forward and spoke firmly. “We’re going home. You need to rest. Somebody⏤ Anybody else can do the rest of the work here.” He let his thumb trace your cheekbone. Din wished he could feel your skin against his. “Have you managed all the emergency cases?”

“I mean, yeah, but⏤”

“Then it’s time to take care of yourself.” Din finished.

Your lips pressed together and gave him a small nod. Din let out a breath of relief. Without wasting another moment, Din slipped his hand into yours and began to drag you away before someone could distract you with a new job. Just having your hand in his was a comfort he couldn’t even begin to describe. During his travels, he imagined what his reunion with you would look like often. Never did he imagine karking pirates would be involved, but this feeling in his chest he had anticipated. He knew being back by your side would feel like coming home. In fact, he may have underestimated how strongly the reunion would make him feel⏤ which was quite the feat considering how badly he craved it.

Din stepped into the shared home and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“Frog. Frog.” Grogu chirped. He turned in time to see you untangling the boy from the sling to set on the ground. Grogu bounded further into the room probably to look for his stuffed toy.

Din focused back on you and his heart ached at the exhaustion painted on your face. Not wasting another moment, Din ripped off his gloves, tossing them aside, and reached out to cup your face. You let out a shuddering breath when his skin came in contact with his and Din felt that last tinge of stress leave his body. You were safe. It felt more real like this.

“Are you still allowed to take this off to kiss me?” You asked. Din couldn’t tell if your quiet voice came from a meekness or just the weariness of your last 24 hours.

“Yes.” Din chuckled. “We just need to be more careful.”

Technically speaking, it would be best if he didn’t take his helmet off anymore. Having you close your eyes was not the most ideal of plans. Accidents could happen, and more than anything it was just a loophole in his Creed. However, Din would give up vital organs before he gave up the gift and honor that was kissing you.

You closed your eyes and Din lifted one of his hands so he could lightly trace your bruised and dirty features. He hummed, “You’re injured and tired. We should take care of that first.”

“Literally nothing is more important to me right now than this.” You replied.

Din hardly needed further convincing. Removing his hands from your face had been painful⏤ even knowing that it was only for a moment so he could take his helmet off. Without the barrier between you and him, your injuries looked worse. The dark coloring of the bruising and the red of the blood was so much more prominent. Din could see bags under your eyes he hadn’t noticed before. With a quiet sigh, Din cupped your face once more.

“Ni ceta.” Din mumbled soft apologies. He leaned in to press his lips first against your left eyelid then your right. He continued to pepper soft kisses across your cheek until they found your lips. Din would be a liar if he said he hadn’t spent every single night while gone imagining what your lips would feel like on his return. And, just as with the reunion, his mental image did not do the moment justice. Din had pictured passion and heat, a battle between one another to devour the other first, but this kiss was not that.

This kiss was soft, tender, and patient.

Three things that Din never got to call his own, living a life of battle in armor of Beskar.

Your lower lip was slotted between both of his and as he gave it a gentle tug you released a shaky sigh. The sound struck him like a hot iron and Din couldn’t help but breathe you in. He pulled you closer so your body was flush with his, let the tip of his tongue trace the shape of your lip, as he deepened the kiss. Din allowed desperation to seep into his very touch. It couldn’t be helped. Din was desperate. He was desperate to feel your very alive heartbeat under his touch. He was desperate for the warmth you exuded. He was desperate to show you how thankful he was for your safety. He was desperate for you to know how proud he was of you. He was desperate for you to know how sorry he was for not being here.

Din was desperate, and it was all for you.

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta.” Din spoke directly against your lips. Nothing short of the Maker would tear him away from you. Your own hands lifted and when he felt your fingers rake against his scalp, tug on his hair, Din’s repeated apology fell out in a groan. Din dragged his lips along your jawline, taking the time to leave a kiss on every inch. Eventually, his lips found your neck and he left kisses over the darkened bruise there. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You replied in a hoarse whimper.

Din disagreed entirely. He should’ve been here. He never should have left your side. You flinched when his lips touched a spot more tender than the rest. It was barely noticeable. In fact, he wouldn’t have realized you flinched at all if it wasn’t for your body being pressed so tightly to his. It was enough to remind him that you still needed care and rest. Din pressed one last kiss against your lips⏤ innocent and loving. When he pulled back you let out a whine of complaints. Din reached down to grasp his helmet and pulled it back on.

He leaned forward to rest the beskar against your forehead and at the touch your eyes opened once more. More than anything, Din wanted to see the color of your eyes unhindered by his visor. Even with the helmet on he found your eyes mesmerizing but the visor always muted colors. It seemed fitting if he thought about it. Even with the loophole of taking his helmet off, with your eyes closed a part of you stayed hidden to him. Just as he was hidden to you.

“Let me take a look at your wounds.”

“No.” You said and Din furrowed his brow. As if reading his displeasure at the response, you shook your head and clarified. “I meant, not now. I want to take a shower first. I need to.”

Din found it hard to argue against that. You wouldn’t be able to fully relax until the day was washed from your skin. He nodded and walked you further into the house. He kept one hand on your lower back, and Din loved that you kept pace with him. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know where the bathroom was, but the action made it feel like you were just as desperate as he was to stay in the other’s presence.

Grogu waddled out of the hall, dragging his stuffed frog behind him, just as the two of them reached the mouth of the hallway. He held his hands up, chirping out a request to be held, and Din knelt down to scoop the boy up before you could. Grogu blew a raspberry at him. “No buir. Need Ma.”

“I know, ad’ika.” Din replied. “But Ma has to take a shower.”

Grogu grumbled in protest, but when you reached out to lovingly pet the boy’s head Grogu was marginally appeased. As you drifted to the bathroom, Din gathered a fresh towel for you and he also grabbed one of his shirts for you to change into. A decision made solely to relieve the itch in his brain that needed to see you safe in his bed wearing his clothes, but you accepted both items with a tired smile.

When the door shut and he heard the water kick on, Din blew out a breath of relief. He glanced down at Grogu who was still staring at the bathroom door. “It’s good to be home, isn’t it ad’ika?”

“Home with Ma.” Grogu nodded in agreement.

“Right.” Din chuckled. “We’re home with Ma.”

The hot water pelted your back and left your skin radiating heat. You had washed your hair, begun to wash your body, but midway through you dropped the bottle of soap. As you knelt down to pick it up, you suddenly had a flash of kneeling beside Wynn’s dead body. It sucked the air straight from your lungs and knocked you to your ass. Now you sat under the unrelenting stream of water with your legs curled up to your chest⏤ gasping in distress. Any air you did manage to fill your lungs with was uncomfortable and brought no relief. It felt like you were suffocating.

A choked sob left your lips as you buried your face in your arms as they rested atop your knees. No matter how much you tried to turn your tired mind off, it continued to ruminate on the decisions you made. If you hadn’t forced Wynn to leave, would she still be alive? She wanted to wait for help. You felt trapped in this memory. A loop of telling Wynn she needed to run followed by watching the life leave her eyes right in front of you. You could still feel the warmth of her hot blood while holding her wound⏤ still feel the snapping of her ribs during the course of your desperate CPR. All useless. You didn’t save her. You sent her to her death.

The sensation of having a towel thrown over your shoulders was startling. Your head snapped up to see Din knelt beside you. The shower head was off, Din’s gray pajama shirt plastered to his body on the side from water, and just behind him you could see the bathroom door hanging off it’s hinges.

“Ner kar’ta.” Din’s voice was rough. “Please talk to me.”

“Din?” You gasped. He had the large towel wrapped entirely around your body covering every inch of you. “What⏤ I don’t understand⏤”

“I heard something fall. I called out for you, over and over, but you didn’t respond.” Din replied. His voice took a sheepish tone. “I⏤I broke through the door.” He let his arms run over the towel covering your arms, giving them a squeeze. “Found you like this. Even when I turned the water off you still didn’t…”

It was the sight of your reflection in his visor and helmet that seemed to push you over your edge. Tears welled in your eyes and once the first ragged sob left your lips it was followed quickly by a string of others. Despite the fact that you were sitting on a tiled floor soaked with puddles, Din sat down right beside you and cautiously pulled you into his arms. You tucked yourself against his chest, and he fully enveloped you with his arms while resting his head on top of yours.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Din murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. Your sobs only interrupted by the sound of your lungs gasping for air. Din tightened his arms around you, a feat you didn’t know was possible, and you found comfort in his solid form. Din was here. Din made everything better. You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there, but eventually Din mumbled softly, “We need to get you dressed. You’ll be cold soon.” You didn’t tell him that you’d never feel cold in his hold. “Need to treat your wounds too.”

Din helped you stand. He cautiously led you out of the shower, arm around your torso, and he stopped you in front of the bathroom counter. “I’m going to get the first aid kit from the kitchen. Are you going to be alright?”

You nodded. Din paused, as if hesitant, before returning the nod and moving toward the door. He mumbled a curse under his breath, you could hear it, and then he grabbed the large chunks of the door that had broken off when he rammed it to set aside where nobody would trip over them. While he was out, you grabbed his shirt and tugged it on⏤ using the damp towel to try and pat dry the dripping ends of your hair. Din returned, his visor scanning your body, before he settled beside you again.

With a focused intensity, Din applied a bit of bacta to the wound at your hairline and then rubbed some of it into the bruise around your neck as well. In the midst of his work, you whispered, “Wynn is dead.” Din’s fingers paused in their motion, surprise reading in his frame, but he was quick to return his movements and stance back to baseline. “She’s dead and I didn’t tell anybody. I forgot to tell someone.” Tears returned to your eyes. “I just left her in the street, Din. I left her like she meant nothing.”

“Hey.” Din said firmly. “This was during the firefight, was it not?” You nodded in confirmation. “You had no choice, ner kar’ta. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I think it was.” Your words fell out a pained whisper.

Din’s hands lifted to cradle your face and you leaned into his touch. It felt like he wanted to say something, but he paused. Instead, Din tangled his hand with yours and pulled you out of the bathroom. He didn’t ask, didn’t even hesitate, to pull you into his room. The moment you entered you heard Grogu’s familiar snores and it was such a comforting sound to hear after weeks sleeping in silence that you nearly cried. Din pulled back the covers and helped you slide in.

Rather than follow you into bed, he took a step back and the look on your face must have been obvious enough that he reached out to caress your face. “I’m coming back. I need to change clothes.”

Your eyes focused on the large wet stains from where you had been curled up into him. Din crossed the room and your eyes widened and bit when he began to pull his shirt off. His movements were confident and it warmed your heart that he was comfortable enough with you to reveal himself like this. Your eyes trailed over the expanse of his muscular back⏤ admiring the rugged lines of his broad shoulders and the various scars that littered his skin. Din pulled a new shirt on and you expected him to come back. Instead, Din began to pull off his sweatpants. Slowly, you sat up, pulling the sheets closer to you, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trace the shape of his lower half. You were blatantly ogling this man in his boxer briefs as he tugged on a new pair of sweats. Before turning back around, you saw him pick up his vambrace, pressing a few buttons, before setting it down once more.

Din turned around, tying the strings at his waistband, and he chuckled. His voice came out as teasing and light hearted. Clearly trying to put you at ease. “Are you checking me out, ner kar’ta?”

“I missed you so much.” You replied. Too tired, physically and emotionally, to tease back the way that you wanted to. Instead, the truth tumbled out of your lips.

He came back around to the bed and slipped under the sheets. As Din’s arm wrapped around your waist, you let him pull you back into laying down. You shifted so your head rested on his chest and Din began to drag his knuckles up and down your spine. “I missed you too. Being away from you was unbearable for Grogu and I both.” Din hummed. “He tried to stay up for you, but passed out. Grogu didn’t sleep well last night. I think my anxiety kept him up.” Your hand was resting on his side⏤ fingers dragging up and down his ribs. You mumbled into his chest. Din’s hand, the one rubbing your back, trailed up to rake through your hair. “I want to talk.”

“About?” You mumbled.

“Ner kar’ta.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Din…”

“You don’t have to talk to me, you don’t have to tell me anything, but…” Din sighed, “I’d like to know. I want to help.” He massaged the back of your neck right where it met your skull and all your tension sat. A soft sigh left your body as you relaxed in his arms. “I sent Karga a message about Wynn. They’re going to find her. Put her to rest.” You buried your face down into his chest knowing your tears would dampen his new shirt all over again. “I just want to help.”

After a few moments of peaceful silence where you listened to Grogu’s snores and Din’s heartbeat, you turned so your face wasn’t pressed into his chest and you could speak. Hesitantly, you began to tell him what happened⏤ starting with the bombs that fell on Nevarro and ending with Paz leading you out of the burning city as you carried Elodie. The entire time Din didn’t speak. He’d mumble an acknowledgement or hum here and there, but he made no comment.

When you finished, Din finally spoke up, “Tell me why you said what you did. You said what happened to Wynn was your fault.”

“She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay hidden and wait for help.” You closed your eyes tightly as the memory of Wynn’s lifeless eyes assaulted you once more. “If I had listened to her she might be alive. Help did come. I⏤I should have been more patient.”

“Ner kar’ta, you made that decision based on the limited information you had. You didn’t know I was coming and bringing help. Where the three of you were hidden wasn’t safe. If one of the pirates did discover you, you’d be pinned down in a hole.” Din spoke with a firmness that left no room for argument. “In that moment, you made the best decision you could. You made the right decision.” He used the arm not around you to grasp your chin and tilt your head up so you were facing his visor. “Listen to me, ner kar’ta. That was not your fault. You did not take Wynn’s life, she gave it to save Elodie. Wynn is a hero. Don’t take that from her by shouldering needless blame.”

There was something about the way Din spoke that resonated with you. His words calmed the turmoil in your soul. Din could repeat the same sentiment that anyone else would speak, but when it came from his lips it soothed your wounds like a salve. He couldn’t heal everything, there was self reflection only you could puzzle through, but he was a hand to hold as you waded through the worst of it.

“Din…” You started. Before you finished your sentence, it occurred to you that the words you wanted to say were significant. You wanted to tell Din you loved him. That’s what you felt right now. It was overwhelming. It was all encompassing.

Din still had his hand at your chin and he let his large hand shift from your chin to your jaw. He held the side of your face and let his thumb trace patterns in your skin. “Yes, ner kar’ta?”

Saying those words felt like quite the leap. You were confident in the way you felt about him and how he felt about you, but there was a part of you that couldn’t quite push the words out. You were too mentally wiped out to process those thoughts right now. Not knowing how else to express how grateful you were for this man, you turned your face so you could press a kiss to the palm of his hand.

Din let out a content sigh and he shifted his body so you could rest more comfortably against him. He hummed and you heard the rumble of it in his chest. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He went back to soothingly dragging his fingers up and down your spine. “I’ll always be here.”

You let your eyes close and took a slow breath as Din’s warmth and the comforting smell of him lulled you into the best sleep you’ve gotten since Din and Grogu left.

Nevarro was in pieces. Rubble decorated the streets and buildings were in shambles. Despite how terrible it looked, Din couldn’t help but be proud of the citizens of the city he looked after. They were strong. Nevarro was already healing only days after the attack. Din walked down the street with Grogu in his arms. The boy was squirming, wanting to get down, but with the rubble and debris Din didn’t want him wandering around. As he walked down the street, every once in a while a person would pause to thank him for bringing help⏤ bringing the Mandalorians. Din would nod in response, but it would shoot a pang of guilt through his chest. He didn’t deserve thanks. He had left them after all.

Din’s steps slowed as he began to pass the school house. Outside of the building, a memorial had been set up for Wynn. Candles, flowers, and cards covered the front steps and Din found himself letting out a sigh. The school teacher was a hero. Din meant that seriously when he spoke to you. It hadn’t been your fault, absolutely not, and both you and Wynn were the reason Elodie was alive and well. Her and her parents were currently off world. The little girl needed more intensive care than could be provided here, but last Din heard the child was doing very well.

“Miss?” Grogu mumbled. Din recognized the title Grogu would call his teacher.

“Yes, ad’ika.” Din confirmed. Grogu’s ears wilted as he stared at the memorial. Din rubbed Grogu’s back and began to walk again with the goal to reach the clinic. You had left home early to go to work. You’d be there for any emergencies, per the norm, but you were also using today to see many of the people who were injured the day of for follow up. To ensure everyone was healing as they should. Din was of the opinion that you needed more rest, if not physical then mental, but trying to convince you of that was a near impossibility.

When Din reached the corner, Bo Katan pushed off a wall to join his pace. Her helmet was tucked under her arm. The Armorer had announced that the Mandalorians needed to come together rather than fall apart. It was a sentiment he could understand. Mayfeld had asked him about the helmet situation. Mandalorians coming together was a good idea, Din agreed, but coming to coincide with one another didn’t change the Creed he had dedicated himself to.

“Once this place gets cleaned up, I can see it being a nice place to live. To settle.” Bo hummed. Din nodded once, and she glanced his way. “I’m glad your partner is safe.”

“Thank you.” Din replied sincerely.

“There is something I’d like to speak to you about.”

“I figured.” He said. “Does this have anything to do with retaking Mandalore?”

Bo chuckled, “Good guess.”

“What about it?”

“Well,” Bo kept by his side, “Is there anything I can say that will convince you to come with me to reclaim my fleet from Axe Woves?”

Din didn’t pause even a beat when he answered. “No. There isn’t.”

Bo sighed in annoyance and Din briefly felt guilt at the waves of frustration wafting off of Bo’s tense frame. Half of him felt like it was his duty to help in any way to restore Mandalore, but the other half could not even begin to fathom leaving you again. It occurred to Din that this might be selfish of him. His people needed him, right? He locked his jaw at the thought.

“Your help would make this all go smoother, I think. We make a good team.” Bo said.

Din chuckled, “Did that hurt you to admit?”

“It did.” Bo smirked. “Which is why you should take it seriously.”

Din paused when the clinic came into view. He turned to face Bo and shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. Retaking Mandalore is a noble endeavor. One I would be honored to help in.” He paused. “But my family is here. I got lucky during that attack. I... I almost lost her.”

“I understand that.” Bo replied. “I know the weight of what I’m asking you, Djarin. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.”

Din glanced back to the clinic and did a double take when he saw you coming out. A smile began to form on his features, but it fell when he watched Paz walk out behind her with Ragnar by his side. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You were wearing your white coat, a look Din truly loved on you, and Paz was chatting with you about something. Something that made you laugh in response. Since when was Paz funny?

“Didn’t know you were the jealous kind, Djarin.” Bo chuckled.

Din snapped a glare at her. “I’m not jealous.”

“It’s all over your face.”

“I’m wearing a helmet.”

“Yet somehow I still know it is.”

Din grunted in mild annoyance. He wasn’t jealous. Per say. It was just like with Vanth. Din was confident enough in his relationship with you, even as undefined as it currently was, that he wasn’t worried about someone sweeping you away. Din just had a bad habit of accidentally letting his possessive nature show and there was something about seeing his brother flirt with you that stirred him into wanting to fight.

Both you and Paz glanced down at Ragnar who must have been speaking and you set a hand on the boy’s shoulder with a smile.

“Hm. They’d make a cute family.” Bo teased.

“Stop.” Din snapped.

He was caught off guard when Grogu jumped out of his arms. Him and Bo quickly followed after the boy who was in a mad rush toward you. Din watched as his son shoved past Ragnar, making the boy stumble enough that Din had a feeling the Force was involved, before leaping into your arms.

“Oh, hey, baby.” You cooed.

“Ma. My Ma.” Grogu cuddled into your arms while shooting Ragnar a glare.

Bo glanced at Din. “Aw. Like father, like son.”

Din wished he could take his helmet off just so Bo could see the full weight of the glare he currently wore. He continued forward until your eyes shot to him and the bright smile that filled your features just from spotting him.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked.

“Just checking in on you.” Din replied. Bo cleared her throat and Din sighed before nodding his head toward the woman standing beside him. “This is Bo Katan Kryze. Bo, this is Soran.”

You held your hand out to shake Bo’s hand and the red headed woman returned the greeting. Paz let one of his large hands settle on your shoulder and Din felt himself bristle at the motion. His older brother chuckled. “No need to worry. Wero’ika is doing more than fine.”

“Yeah, Paz brought me a late breakfast.” You chirped.

Yeah, okay, Din was going to murder him.

“Oh, hang on,” You glanced over your shoulder, “I see a problem patient walking in. I’m not gonna subject Aayla to that.”

Din nodded once and you shot Bo and Paz a smile, squeezing Ragnar’s shoulder as well despite Grogu’s complaints, and then you turned to leave. As soon as you were inside the clinic, Din turned to Paz with a grunt. “Wero’ika? What the kriff is that?”

“A nickname, Djarin.”

“Mir’sheb.” Din snarled and Paz laughed in response. Ragnar tugged on his father’s arm before pointing off to the side. Paz nodded, telling him to be cautious, before the boy ran off to play with a group of kids down the street.

Bo chuckled. “I didn’t realize this was the beginning of a love triangle. Interesting.”

“It isn’t.” Din said.

Paz tilted his head and crossed his arms. “I’m unaware of Soran being in possession of a token of intention.”

“I’m working on it.” Din said through clenched teeth.

“Perhaps, I’ll work on it faster.”

Din knew Paz was just trying to get under his skin. Part of his frustration was the fact that it was working. His hands drifted to rest on his hips as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Paz was smug. Din had known him long enough to recognize the set of his shoulders.

“I’m⏤” Din began then cleared his throat. “I’m giving her time.”

“You’re wasting her time.” Paz argued with a chuckle. “Wero’ika⏤”

“Don’t call her that like you know her.” Din cut in. “A lot just happened. I’m not going to rush her into anything.”

He glanced from Paz to Bo then back to Paz. Din gave the man a gruff good-bye before pushing past the two of them to head into the clinic. He greeted Miriam at the front desk. Before he could cross the threshold into the main room, the young woman caught his attention and let him know that you were down the hall instead. Din furrowed his brow in confusion, but walked down to find you sitting in the break room snipping the sutures off a patient’s wound.

“Marshal.” The patient greeted with a nod that Din returned.

Grogu was playing with a latex glove on the counter while you worked. You shot him a smile before focusing back on your work. Din settled beside his son, leaning against the counter, and just admired you with a sense of calm. He wondered if Paz was right. Not a line he’d ever say out loud, but Din wondered if he was just finding another excuse to hide behind. He wasn’t sure what he was so afraid of. You’ve made your interest in him very clear, the two of you shared a bond like he’d never experienced before, but still he hesitated.

“Alright, it looks good. No need to restrict yourself, but if it starts bothering you again just let me know.” You smiled. The patient thanked you, gave him a final good-bye, then left. You wandered over to where he stood with Grogu and began to wash your hands in the sink. “Hey, so your brother seems cool.”

Din grunted. “Who Paz?”

“Yeah.” You turned the faucet off and grabbed a few paper towels. “I thought he might not like me because I yelled at him during the battle.” Din’s eyes widened. He’d have to ask about that. “But instead I think I accidentally earned his respect? Also, what does ‘wero’ika’ mean?”

Din chuckled. “Little Problem.”

Your jaw fell open. “He’s been calling me a little problem this entire time?” Din nodded. “Son of a bitch. I’m gonna need you to teach me something amusing and mildly rude to call him in return.”

“Oh, I can think of some names for him.” Din replied. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something, but don’t feel any pressure with this, alright?” You quirked an eyebrow at him. Your eyes briefly glanced at Grogu and you shot your hand out to snatch the latex glove from Grogu’s mouth and wagged a finger at him. “I left to redeem myself. To restore my Creed with the plans to…” Din shifted awkwardly. “To court you.” The corner of your lips curled up. “I know a lot has happened recently, so again there is no pressure here, but I wanted to…make my intentions known.”

You reached out and wrapped your hand above his elbow, between his armor plates, and gave it a small squeeze. “Din, I appreciate your patience and concern, but I⏤ I want this. I want you.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “So, just tell me how we do this. How does Mandalorian courting work? Do I sign on the dotted line or…?”

Din laughed, in part due to relief, “No. Nothing like that. I have…” He reached to the back of his belt to unhook the blade and sheath that was once his. Din brought it around to hold out to you and you stared at the blade curiously. “In Mandalorian custom, a token of intention is given to the person being courted and to accept it means accepting those advances.” Din cleared his throat again. Maker, his mouth was dry. “Tokens are usually a weapon with the person’s signet on it.”

He pulled the blade out of the sheath enough that you were able to see the mudhorn etched into the blade’s side. Din tucked the blade back into the sheath and gave you a small nod. With a bright smile, you took the blade from his hands and he felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest watching you run your finger against the mudhorn.

You held the blade against your chest and nodded. “I accept, Mandalorian.”

Grogu began to clap his hands together and you broke out into laughter that relaxed every single bone and muscle in his body. The only regret Din had was not doing this at home where he could pull his helmet off and kiss you.

mando'a translations:

ni ceta: sorry wero'ika: little problem ner kar'ta: my heart mir'sheb: smartass

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @modiddys-blog @harriedandharassed @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #a fresh start #female reader #domestic bliss!din djarin

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thequietmanno1 · 8 months

Text

Thelreads, MHA 278, Replies Part 1

1) "And just as Gigantomachia is trying to crash the party, Mt. Lady there showing why she’s a bad bitch. Thing are about to turn bad if she caves in, so, get ready for Chapter 278: Disaster walker”- Title could mean anything from “walking disaster” to “disaster follows where he walks”, and honestly, Machia seems to fit both of those descriptions, even more than Tomura. For one, he doesn’t have any of Tomura’s current handicaps with his powers being sealed, unfortunately for the heroes.

2) “BAD NEWS INDEED, MINETA HASN’T BEEN K.I.A. DURING THE SKIRMISHES

Also Machia is coming this way

…

HOLY FUCK MACHIA IS COMINGT HISWAY”- Well, if Machia’s heading towards Mineta’s current position, this could be good news in a very heavy disguise. Like, a twilight-level disguise.

3)“Also fuck you Tommy Wiseau, Shigaraki is your boss and god, forget Heinz Doofersmith, he’s gonna be arrested anyway, even more now that he doesn’t even has the nuclear dissuader that was Machia by his side.”- Dunno if this has been shown before, but a bonus page revealed that Dabi was the one specifically to forcibly drag along Skeptic on their current jaunt, with something in mind he’s been thinking about for a while…

4) “Oh yeah, I think that Machia is indeed the juggernaut of our story, nothing can stop him once he gets moving

And I think Mt. lady is gonna find that out the hard way”- Arguably Izuku could…if it was an Izuku operating at 100% full Cowling again, or at least have a few more years to train his upper % higher. Sadly, giving the hero time to train up for the big fight is an old trope that All For One was well aware of and determined to prevent, so unless somebody’s got a hyperbolic time chamber lying around….

5) “Are you telling me there’s not a single crowd-control hero here that can stop him? Where’s midnight, she could be useful here I suppose. I think. Would machia even be affected by her quirk?”- Given that Momo falls back on using massive quantities of drugs when Midnight’s direct approach fails, it can be assumed that Machia, needing to breathe and everything, does still have a working biological system that can be affected by chemical compounds like anybody else’s… and if it’s impossible for the heroes to damage him externally without a continental missile or equivalent superhero on All Might’s level, they they’ll have to go for weakening him internally. Of course, there’s also the factor to consider with how large he is, whether or not the drugs would even be able to slow him down much even if they do affect him. Like, do we need to make him swallow a tanker of the stuff to make him woozy?

6) “FUCK YOU GETEN, WE ARE DEBATING A SERIOUS TOPIC HERE, STOP INTERRUPTING SHIT”- Genten doesn’t want debates to slow down the march of Liberation today.

7) “OH THANK YOU CEMENTOSS, HE WAS SO RUDE INTERRUPTING US, PLEASE PUT HIM IN HIS PLACE

ALSO, IS THAT A VEIN ON YOUR TEMPLE JESUS FUCK”- Moving that much concrete mass that fluidly must be putting one hell of a strain on him, not to mention how ineffective it is at holding down Genten so long as Re-Destro’s smashing up the place and breaking any restraints Cementos creates, thus further forcing him to exert himself to temporarily corral the other forces running around as best he can until Edge shot scores a win.

8) “Huh, is that Tokoyami emerging from the ground with Dark Shadow?”- Nope, it’s the other edgy dark-themed hero, who is ironically engaging a foe that comes off as a discount Dark Shadow on a rampage. Like, I wonder how a protected brawl between them would pan out, if they were underground and Re-Destro still had his legs. Tokoymi would fold in a single hit, but he can attack from a distance with a strong dark Shadow, and Re-destro’s stress ability must have a limit to how long he can remain in that stressed-up state before he exhausts his power supply. It’s impossible to remain stressed 24/7, no matter how bad your job is.

9) “Ah, nevermind, it was just the stressful hulk

Well, I suppose that now that Machia is on the move there’s no longer an option of waiting around, it’s either kill or be killed, and I have a feeling he is not intending to go gentle into that good night.”- Machia already evacuated the important members of their top brass, so all that’s left for him to do is try to rally the ground forces and catch up with his head-long dash before it’s too late to participate at Tomura’s fight…for whichever side is still standing by the end.

10) “Yeah, The End walks the earth, the true Calamity of our age, but he is not completed yet

And as long as this fight keeps going, he won’t be able to return to his slumber and finish the process. Not that it is as simple as that, since the Doc is on his way to be executed, but even so”- Shit’s bad, but it’s not completely fucked. This summation will be in place for several chapters. Can you guess when it’ll stop being relevant?

11) “Oh don’t worry dude, he still is just as terrifying and lethal as you expect him to be, I think you should rush there and give him a big ‘ol hug, he missed you so much (: “- Well, apparently, they expected him to be a god upon the Earth who could re-shape the planet’s surface with a gesture. A stupidly-terrifying power-level difference, but then again, they really didn’t want another All Might appearing to mess up their goals, so the best way to avert that is making it just impossible to fight Tomura, let alone beat him.

12) “BUT YEET GOES MT LADY

THROWN LIKE AN EMPTY CAN OF POP

ALAS, THAT WAS TO BE EXPECTED

TIS WAS INEVITABLE, I DARE SAY”- It should be pointed out, Mt lady doesn’t have shoes on. The inability to create growth-capable metals to transform with her means that her hero outfit is basically a size-stretching fabric, allowing it to be easily torn or damaged in a fight. For that reason, Mt Lady needed to place a car onto her foot when busting open the backup hideout at Kamino to protect herself.

Consequently, her attempts to slow down Machica and the trees breaking underneath her feet are giving her a massive case of splinters with every mile he pushes her back – you can see her soles bleeding and impaled from the damage. She doesn’t just tackle his leg at the end out of desperation, she’s also genuinely having trouble standing up anymore

13) “Time for this Giant to know the scent of the Night”- Not if Dabi has anything to say about it. He’s got an express ride straight to the big fight scene, and he’s clever enough to predict any upsets the heroes can throw in his way…not to mention sadistically gleeful at the chance to thwart their best efforts.

14) “that looks like a troll face jesus fuck “- Somewhat ironically, now that Dabi’s actually starting to emote more and open up, it turns out he’s got a personality not unlike a spite-driven troll, not only wanting to tear others down, but make them feel bad for doing so. He wasn’t just keeping his head down to lure the heroes in closer for his blast, he was doing it to give them false hope before he snuffed that out. Similarly, he strung Hawks along with his double-agent act until he got what he wanted, and then made sure to rub it in Hawks’ face that he murdered a man who deserved a second chance right before trying to kill him, just for the sake of hurting him more.

15) “OH NO NOT THE MARBLES! QUICK MIDNIGHT, EVASIVE MANEUVERS! “- Sadly, Midnight can’t manoeuvre mid-air, and without Kamui being able to help her swing about with his branches, she can’t dodge getting hit with such large chunks of rubble when they suddenly appear out of nowhere.

16) “Dammit Midnight, that maneuver sucked

And don’t you fucking roll your eyes at him young man, who you think he is, endeavor?”- Dabi’s so anti-team player, he’s annoyed whenever somebody picks up his slack and aids his side, because it shows him being incompetent and not as capable of doing it all alone like he prefers. The fact that that’s true doesn’t matter, he still doesn’t like help.

@thelreads

#my hero academia #bnha #chapter replies #thelreads #mha288

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alanshee-keeper-of-realms · 1 year

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My name is Alanshee Valera,

I've made mistakes I've made choices but I've changed sometimes not in the best way and honestly I feel misjudged right now,

I'm seeing a therapist and she answered a lot and there is going to be a astronomical amount of baggage needing to be unpacked with me, if you see me elsewhere leave me alone please during this time because your baggage may be amongst that.

This is why when things come back up, I don't know how to handle it emotionally this is me saying I am sorry, but I don't feel emotion and that has caused hurt sprinkling I don't know how to communicate properly and you got yourself a shitstorm

From birth I have had a stressful household and if you look at modern sciences on how bad that is for somebody, even in the womb affected by the cortisol levels of the mother, I learned at a young age to detach myself emotionally and this leads to problems my therapist is currently working on me to reattach emotions and reorganize my memories and emotions of each of these memories so I can actually feel them,

This is what led into the fight over these last couple of days, me genuinely not understanding why nobody was getting where I was coming from and utter confusion over the reaction of others.

If you don't know me personally, and they can lie about this if they want, but my truth is, I can't remember what I did two years ago. I'm like an amnesiac patient. How can one get better when they can't even remember what they did?

All I can remember is that Monday and the emotions of hurt pain and agony, especially when I look at the art and photos, each of them that I love and still do because somebody drew them of my beloved creations,

And at the time it was out of appreciation for my own creations, at least that's what I thought.

That same creator has now done what they have done and just added more baggage on top that I will now have to sort out with my therapist as I don't know how to make this situation out and I guess that's why I don't know when to stop,

I don't know that I can choose I don't know how to be human because from my young age I learned to again disconnect myself emotionally from any stressful situation and I'm not talking five six years old I'm talking one to two years old, all of my life

I've been like this so for now this page is abandoned I do know one emotion I am feeling right now and that is fear that is genuine fear because of Diioodles post I think they were looking for me to cry no I'm just afraid for my family my little sister my mother my father who did not ask to be dragged into this,

Even if you think that you didn't people are cruel and they've been dragged in before so yeah I feel genuine fear because I've seen what people of this fandom do to people they don't like, call me a pro shipper when I am a neutral and I will stand by the fact

Labels are stupid and lead to more fights Democrat Republican, anti-pro shipper what is the difference? All I see are two groups fighting. So why are we forcibly labeling people I didn't understand that at time I will admit,

When they said don't call us that, I immediately apologized again, the emotional aspect of disconnection. I don't think of the factor of the fights. All I know is that they were seemingly open to listening to darker subjects,

they need to look at themselves and realize that with me they had no boundaries and that led to both of us ending up hurt, because I was blindly fumbling around not knowing where their boundaries were and they didn't know where their boundaries were

For all of them,

All I knew at my core is I need to defend myself immediately because I have people attacking me that maybe she can't change because nobody took the time to realize that there's something blocking that change, like I said I'm in therapy now have been for a couple weeks we are still in the very very early stages,

It's just today that my therapist realized that we need to work on not only me recognizing my emotions but also digging into my traumas and trying to correct them put them where they need to be and help me actually carefully connect to them because my brain has them disconnected.

I'm sorry for the pain I caused but I would like acknowledgment in the future of the pain you have caused Diisdoodles like I said both of us hurt each other especially now that you have me afraid for the safety of my family, one thing I actually constantly care for because if anything happens to them I'm done.

And I'm sorry if this doesn't come across right again, communication problem this is just how fucked up I am, I don't know how to communicate how I'm feeling what are the core aspects of being Human, I only know the pain the hurt and the agony I feel

Whether or not you genuinely believe me this is my truth

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rynne311 · 3 years

Text

Pot & Kettle

Request: So! Could you possibly do a request with JasonxReader where reader has been working like crazy, and nonstop. And Jason isn’t happy that she’s been nonstop, and Jason notices how tired the reader looks and forces her to take a break and sleep? That sounds cute haha

Requested by: Anon

Word Count: 972

Everything about you ached, from the dull pain that never seemed to go away in your feet to the headache that never really seemed to get better. You tried to hide your discomfort, but that was more of a lie you told yourself so you wouldn't have to admit how exhausted and beat down you were and how incredibly obvious it was.

Even going inside after work felt daunting. Yes, home was still your safehaven to relax and ignore the outside world, but being home brough its own responsibilities you didn't want to deal with. So instead of going inside to begin to decide on what to make for dinner or to go through the bills still sitting on the table, you stood in the hallway outside your apartment door with your eyes closed and your forehead leaning against the doorframe. It was a futile effort to make time stop, made abundantly clear when you were interrupted by a very confused looking delivery man handing you a bag of food and asking for $28.75. You fished two twenties out of your wallet to give the delivery guy before waving him off and heading inside. At least now you didn't have to worry about dinner.

"That was supposed to be a surprise," Jason said, hurrying over to take the bag of food from your hands, allowing you to put your keys and work bag down.

"It still was," you assured him with a soft smile. "I really didn't feel like cooking tonight."

As Jason brought the food into the kitchen and started to unload dinner, you toed off your shoes, wiggling your toes in relief. You let that feeling wash over you before you bent down and lifted your laptop out of your bag.

"You are not seriously still working right now," Jason chided you. "You've been working doubles all week, and I'm not even sure when you last had a day off. You're running yourself ragged and need to take some time to actually relax and take care of yourself."

"Well aren't you just the pot calling the kettle black," you retorted, finally looking up from the computer. Just as Jason opened his mouth to argue, you continued, "I may be overworked, but you don't get to lie to me that you aren't overworking yourself too. In the last four nights alone you've bled on the couch, on the shower curtain, on the bathroom rug, on the duvet cover, on my pillow, and on my pajamas, while I was wearing them and asleep."

"In my defense, I thought I had stitched that wound up better and I didn't know I was going to bleed through the bandage," he argued. When it came to making sure you were taking care of yourself, he never liked to be on defense. "But point taken, we both need to take a break before we kill ourselves."

You had a feeling that had been too easy. Jason never really offered to sideline himself without somebody else really forcing it upon him. You stared him down, pulling your lips into a thin line as you thought through just how to prod the truth out of him.

"Fine, you win," he broke down. Even this felt too easy, but you weren't going to fight it yet. "Bruce has me on patrol lockdown for the next week because apparently my recent injuries make me a liability, and since you need a vacation, I thought…"

"Well at least I'm the better option to being put into a forcible house arrest," you deadpanned. You knew what you were doing, and you hated that you were letting your sour mood twist his words. "Or am I just considered a babysitter?"

"That came out wrong," Jason sputtered, desperately trying to backpedal. You started to feel a little bad watching him crumble. The man won't flinch when he's outnumbered and outgunned, but a glare from you stops him in his tracks.

"Yeah, I'd say it did," you agreed, softening your approach. "But yes, I get your point. Just let me send this email right now saying I need to take my personal days through the end of the week and that I will be unreachable until I come back next week."

In the years that you'd known him, you'd never seen him so excited to have to take time off of patrol. You tried to commit that look to memory for the next time he was gone far too long on a mission with Roy and you needed something to make you smile.

As you closed your laptop, he took it from you to be placed out of sight until you actually needed it again. You felt a little bad when you saw him wince from where one of his stitches must have started to pull again, but even that didn't seem to bother him too much.

“So, my dear kettle, what would you like to do first?” He asked, pulling your feet onto his lap and beginning to knead from the calves down.

It wasn't instant, it never was, but as he kneaded the knots and aches, the weight of the stress slowly began to lift off of you. You let your eyes fall shut and your head roll back as you hummed in appreciation.

"Literally nothing," you finally answered. "My dear pot, let's just eat, put on a movie, and pass out. When we wake up in the morning without an alarm we can figure out what's next."

"You read my mind."

The growing excitement in his voice told you he was really the pot to your kettle. The world and all of its headaches will still be there in a week and all of its headaches, but for now you both could pretend there was nothing but the two of you.

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toiletwipes · 3 years

Text

hoppípolla; part one

college!dream x afab reader but they pronouns

nervous college student you, smoked weed with dream one night and you couldn't ever forget it. starting a crush you knew would be the death of you. and at the moment, you had a terrible way of dealing with things. and things just kept happening, one thing after another.

a little author's note: i'm splitting it into parts because i like the attention and also because it feels right

2.37k words

----

he literally couldn't get any hotter.

you sit at a mini-bar, crossing your leg over the other, sipping at your sprite. there was he was, in all of his fucking glory, was dream. your classmate in your english course and the one person at this party who you knew, for an absolute fact, smoked weed. and although he wasn't smoking right now, the beer in his hand said that he probably wasn't going to be, tonight.

oh you knew, this was a college dorm party, and people tried all sorts of party drugs, and weed was the tip of the iceberg. no, you knew that.

but no one was also that hot.

well.

maybe they were but they just weren't dream, not a stoner, not someone who had damn good genetics, and someone who knew how to roll a joint perfectly. not to mention, his best friend sapnap? also your best friend.

he's the one who introduced you two, despite having shared english for the past year. and he's the one who brought you and dream to the party.

(yeah, you sat in the back, pulling at the cords of your hoodie, watching the sides of his face move with quiet notions, talking to sapnap as he drove and playing soft music to match the rain.)

thinking even more, you wanted to just get up and go outside, just the urge to smoke something and anything, something to fill your lungs as your mind numbs just even the tiniest bit.

you sigh, taking one more sip of your drink before leaving it at the mini-bar, slipping your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and sliding out a cigarette out of its carton. taking a step outside, you sigh in relief seeing the dry porch. several others sat in a circle, passing around a beer and two decent blunts. sometimes sharing a kiss, sometimes the smoke between their lips.

what you would give to do that with dream, you bemoaned silently, as you lit your own cigarette, inhaling the bitter nicotine as you enjoyed the patters of the rain.

wiping your hand down on a bench, and seeing as it wasn't as wet as you thought it would be, you take a seat and take another long drag.

"so, what did he say?"

a girl with a bright green mullet and the sides of her head dyed pink, and several piercings in an non-existent eyebrow, she stares at you expectantly. as if you had an answer.

"don't know. haven't really talked to him." you shrug, trying not to think about any of your past conversations with him. all dull, all about school, all about homework. there would be no reason for him to agree to anything dealing with you in any romantic sense. or sexually, if you even dared.

"you know what that means right?" you look at her with a pinched expression. "it means you start talking to him, then ask him to blow your back out, or whatever it is you want" you almost choke on the smoke coming out of you but you mostly laugh it off.

"yeah like he'd want to talk to me," you muse, finding the stranger oddly comforting as she came over to sit next to you.

"well you don't know that, do you?" you had to give her that. you didn't know. but it wouldn't take a genius to guess the right answer. "does he smoke?" she asks, turning to you and feeling like there's nothing really stopping you from becoming besties, you pass your cigarette to her.

"i know he smokes weed but nothing else as far as i'm aware." you lean forward onto your knees, pressing your chin into your palms. "but honestly, i don't know him that much to begin with, so like, what's the point?"

the mullet hands it back to you after a pondering puff, and when you take a drag, she answers. "well, the way i see it, you can ask him out or you hookup tonight, or try to move on if you're serious about him." she pats your knees, moving to stand as she stretched. "but really, i hope it goes well, and if you need anything," she flicks out a card and watches you take it with disregarding eyes, "give me a call." and without as so much another word, she's leaving in a Beetle with her circle of friends.

glancing at it, it's a card to the floral shop but with a name on it. pocketing it and then snuffing out the bud, you leave it dead on the porch, hoping to find sapnap and beg him to take you home.

you appreciated the nice girl for the conversation and maybe the start of a healthy friendship, but even just being with someone other than dream made your heart twist in your chest.

you didn't have time to search for your best friend as he clung to dream, who was dragging his ass close to the door, where you stood now.

and when you finally appeared in his vision, you see relief and a smile sink into his face. you don't know why but you push down a smile as he approaches you with long strides. but what happens next is downright hilarious.

"we have to go right now, sap just puked all over minx and she's this close to blowing this house up," his nose wrinkles with his smile, you notice, but you nod without much thought.

"need me to drive?" you offer, though, you hates nothing more than exactly that.

"please, i've had a few beers and i don't want to risk driving tipsy," he says and you want to just cry.

you nod as you hold your hand up for the keys, and upon them being dropped in the center, you swallow down the dryest, biggest lump in your throat.

hearing several honks behind you, you don't even move above the speed limit in the neighborhood, which was five. it was fucking raining and you happened to have the biggest crush in existence on the person sitting in the passenger seat.

"i know you're driving right now, but have you heard of this song?"

the first ten seconds are tense, piano notes building up to a release after the next twenty with a guitar and drums in the back.

you recognized it easily, finding it comforting. you smile as you glance behind your shoulder and flick your turn signal on. "it's called hoppípolla, isn't it? from that one movie with the cursed girl?" he laughs and your heart clenches, wanting to hear it more.

"yeah, i just wanted to see if you'd recognize it, i've shown it to like, ten people and only a few knew it." you knew it was silly to be proud to know it but you couldn't help it. you felt easy, easy to ply with.

"yeah, well, i do have an eccentric movie taste," you smile as you turn onto the next street over, finding sapnap's house immediately. originally his parents, but they were gone for a small vacation while it was the summer.

putting the car in park, you let out a breath, just happy to be done with driving for the moment. "you okay?" you jump in your seat, finding dream already out of the car with sapnap in his arms.

the man in question babbled with incoherent words, but you paid him no mind.

"um, yeah, i uh, i just- just hate driving," you grimace as you pull yourself out of the car, getting hit with the constant pelting rain.

he frowns, of all things, walking to the porch as you beat him there already, unlocking the door.

he lays sapnap down on the couch as you make your way to the kitchen, helping yourself to the gourmet chocolate cake left there by his parents' anniversary.

tasting as sweet as you thought it would be, but somehow so fucking bitter at the same time. maybe it's the way you want to cry but how lame would that be? found in your best friend's house crying as you ate their cake?

not cool.

wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, you pick yourself up and sit on the counter, desperate to change how your feeling. your skirt riding up your thighs, almost hiding in your oversized hoodie, not that you noticed.

and as if he could read your fucking mind, he walks in as he's ruffling his head of hair, as if he just got out of the shower. catching you on the counter, you had half a mind to stop eating cake and get down but you just didn't care at this point.

"want some?" you offered, sliding the platter of cake towards him while you tried to hide the fact that your face was blotchy and your nose couldn't stop sniffling. you hated the way pity looked in people. but when you turned to give dream a spoon, you saw nothing but a man with flushed cheeks and darting eyes. "are- are you good, dream?" you ask, almost disbelieving that this man is anything but flustered.

"you just, uh, well. i- i don't know how to say this but." he covers his mouth and face with one hand as he points to your lap. raising an eyebrow, you turn your head down to see the little, cyan bow on the front of your grey panties.

"oh fuck-" you dropped your fork as you yanked your skirt down and hopped from the counter, barely meeting his shoulders as you went to move away from him.

tears dropped from your eyes faster as you went to leave, when dream's arm shoots out to stop you, grabbing you by the arm as he protests you leaving.

"okay, it's bad but you can stay, um, let's just finish the cake and go to bed." you really didn't want to, dream seeing your underwear while you ate cake was forcibly checked off your bucket list.

turning around, you wanted to shrink and then be crushed like a bug underneath dream's shoe, but you settled for picking up your spoon and shoveling a bit of cake in your mouth until you couldn't think about anything else.

you flashed your crush, and he asked you to stay to eat cake. cake, of all things, you mourned.

wished somebody eat you out, you weep in your head, and come to your horror, dream starts choking on cake, coughing loudly as he punched his chest.

"i have a feeling i said something out loud." you feel humiliated as you just let the fork fall from your fingers, walking out of the kitchen, not hearing the man disagree and then as you're about to just pull your shoes on and leave, dream comes out of the kitchen and puts his hands on your shoulders.

"listen, uhh, i don't want to freak you out, but a few weeks ago, when- when we went to that party with george, he may or may not have said that you had, uh, that you have a crush on me and- is- is that right?" his words fell out of his mouth faster than he could trip over his feet. "do you like me like that?"

you wanted to melt into the ground.

"can i just go?" you whimpered out, turning your head as you tried to pull his hands off your shoulder.

"please answer the question," he begs, moving his hands from your shoulders to your cheeks, cradling it as he got closer. "because i cannot stop thinking about you, and every time we're alone, you always leave as soon as possible but then you looked so hot on the counter-" he breaks off, moaning under your stare as you listen with wide eyes.

"please say you feel the same," he begged pulling your face close to his as you gripped his arms.

"and what would you do if i did?" you whispered, eyes closing as you tried to hold onto your beating heart. his breath fanned over your lips, and all you could think about was him, him, him.

"anything you'd let me do," he says and you let out a broken moan when your two lips met, slotting against each other as if they were always meant for this. he moves his hands from your face to your shoulders and down as he moved to your waist. you grabbed a handful of his hair, the other holding the side of his face, and he moves his mouth from yours and licks a stripe down your chin to your neck.

"do you remember the day we first met," he murmured against your skin as you panted. "you were shivering while we waited for the professor, and you asked if you could borrow my jacket." it does ring a bell but you're not thinking too hard when he starts biting into your neck.

"and when you keep showing up, wearing my jacket, and that pretty, short skirt," he reaches up with one hand to hold onto your neck as he sucks a hickey right into your skin, painting as much as he could with such a pliable canvas as your skin.

"the things you do to me," he lets out a moan so broken, you wondered how he could be this affected by you and you not noticing for so long.

"we have all night, we can-" you let out a whine as he sucks hard into that sweet spot, "we can try to do it, everything, everything you and i want."

reaching down, he slipped his hands underneath your ass, picking you up with ease as he moved towards the guest bedroom. "i hope you're not planning on walking anywhere tomorrow," he pants in your ear, leaning you against the door as he uses the one hand to open it. kicking it behind him, he lays you on the bed, pushing up his hoodie to mouth kisses onto your stomach.

"as long as you'll have me," you spoke with need, your voice breaking just as much as his. and he nods hard, before he moves back over you to kiss your lips.

"you ready?"

#dream x reader #dream x you #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken smut #dream fic #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken x you #dreamwastaken x y/n #also woo hot mama #this felt good to write #especially after having idea after idea #and not being able to finish any of them right away #anyways #part two will probably be uploaded today or tomorrow #so be on the lookout

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7-wonders · 2 years

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This is my last one I promise, but how about “Giving an OC who has never celebrated halloween a chance to be a kid” from list 4 with mad love!michael, since he deserves that 🥺 Also I love your writing and I love Halloween, so I’m so excited you decided to do this!

I combined two asks in this one!

Prompts: "Giving and OC who has never celebrated Halloween a chance to be a kid", "How do you feel about handing out candy tonight with me?"

Find out what 7-wonderween is here

It really shouldn’t come as a shock to you that Michael hadn’t experienced any sort of a normal holiday before he met (and forcibly married) you. Yet, for some reason, him actually saying that he had never celebrated holidays when you had forgotten who you were talking to and asked when he stopped trick-or-treating was surprising to you. You grew up in a world of costume contests, Thanksgiving parades, yuletide greetings, and homemade Valentine’s Day cards. Who wouldn’t have experienced that? Your Antichrist husband, of course.

You had dropped the subject when he first reminded you that he hadn’t had a normal childhood, but it still stuck with you in the next couple of days. How terrible of an upbringing does one have to have where they grow up in a world without holiday traditions? Apparently, the type of terrible upbringing that Michael had. You’re no stranger to his life story, but you really would have thought that Constance Langdon, in her quest for raising Michael as a normal boy, would have dressed him up in a costume for at least one year.

This can’t stand. Michael deserves holidays, but especially Halloween. If there’s one person that would enjoy the spookiness and costumes, horror movies and candy, it’s him. So, with a half-baked plan in your head, you set out on a mission to find as many Halloween decorations as you can.

Michael comes home to find you standing on a chair, trying to attach a fabric bat to the wall. It’s certainly one of the more normal things to happen in this home, but he’s still confused on what you’re doing. He shuts the door loudly, not wanting to frighten you and send you falling off the chair. Looking over your shoulder, you grin when you see him standing before you.

“Hi, love!” You scramble off the chair to greet him.

“Hi. What are you doing?”

“Well, Halloween is next week, and I figured I’d decorate! Is that okay?”

“It’s your house too, and you’re more than welcome to decorate as you see fit, but…people decorate for Halloween?” He looks over what you’ve done already. “With fake cobwebs?”

You nod. “Most people do some form of decorating! It’s fun, and it helps to get into the holiday spirit.”

You can see the wheels turning in his head as he mulls over this new information, always the analytical one. Finally, he says, “I like the bats.”

“I do, too. They’re kinda cute.” You look over your handiwork. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

“That depends, because I get the feeling you’re going to ask me to do something with you.”

“There’s a haunted house that just opened up, and I was thinking that we could maybe go together.”

His brow furrows in confusion. Oh boy, showing him the fun traditions of Halloween is going to be way more difficult than you expected. “Like, somebody with a house that’s haunted is letting people go through it?”

You laugh. Maybe you’re the one with powers, since you knew exactly what he was going to say. “No. People set up a scene full of scary things and dress up as monsters and jump out to scare you.”

Michael’s face lights up slightly, and you know you’ve got his attention. “People willingly go to be scared?”

“Yes!”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go to a haunted house.”

Your plan has been to slowly introduce Michael to Halloween traditions and let him go at his own pace. At the haunted house the next night, you were more than happy to just let him look around. His wide-eyed expression as he heard the screams from inside the haunted house that had been set up was endearing. After your adorably sweet Antichrist decided that this fear was definitely something he wanted to be a part of, he was the one dragging you to the entrance of the attraction.

It’s a pretty typical haunted house that leads participants through a graveyard, a mad scientist’s lab, an abandoned cellblock, and a spooky forest. Michael doesn’t even flinch as ghosts and goblins and masked serial killers jump out at all of you. Instead, he calmly takes everything in, staring coolly at a guy wielding a chainsaw in front of his face. You, on the other hand, are not immune to jumpscares. You scream more times than you would like to admit, which is when Michael discovers his favorite part of haunted houses: getting to hold you as you cling tightly onto him.

You make it to freedom after a skinwalker/wendigo-looking creature chases you out of the haunted house. While you’re breathing heavily from the adrenaline, Michael is entirely nonplussed, instead chuckling at you as you try to look like that didn’t scare you.

“We should do that again,” he remarks.

“You liked it, huh?”

“I liked watching you be scared by people in costumes.” You throw up a middle finger in his direction, deciding that the next Halloween activity you do will be decidedly non-scary.

You end up doing all of the traditional Halloween festivities with Michael: you carve pumpkins (an unexpected perk being that you don’t have to touch any of the pumpkin guts because Michael can just make them disappear) and insist on displaying Michael’s lopsided jack-o-lantern grin in the window; surprisingly, he’s not a very big fan of classic horror movies like Halloween and Evil Dead, but he does like Hocus Pocus; he even attends a couple of your friends’ Halloween parties, even though he majorly lets you down by refusing to dress up as a devil (he begrudgingly lets you match him to your costume by putting a pair of matching fang veneers on him and letting him go all-out with his fancy Victorian clothes–honestly, he’s really hot as a vampire).

When the day itself actually arrives, you’re prepared. While two adults trick-or-treating would be a little weird, you still want Michael to have the experience of Halloween night. Your house is in a gated community that’s open to the public on Halloween night, and, with all of the money in the world at your disposal, you’re ready to be the house that younger you targeted every year: oh yeah, you’re giving out full-size candy bars. You have your fangs back in by the time that Michael is back from his trip to Kineros, the rapidly-darkening sky signaling the beginning of Halloween night.

“Oh, do you have a party you’re going to tonight?” He hadn’t expected to see you once again dressed up on your costume.

“No, it’s Halloween night and there’s going to be trick-or-treaters running around soon!”

This stirs up a long-forgotten memory for Michael. When he was young, and his grandmother would turn off all of the lights in the house and refuse to let him go outside. He would sneak to the window though, year after year, and watch as children in a variety of costumes ran from house to house, their buckets and pillowcases becoming heavy with candy.

“Michael?” you call, blowing the memory from his mind. “How do you feel about handing out candy tonight with me?”

“Really?” His voice comes out so softly, and you can see a flicker of the child that was denied so much. “We’re allowed to do that?”

“Of course we are! We’ll turn the front light on, that way the kids know we have candy, and then we’ll hand it out when they ring the doorbell.”

“Do we have candy for them?”

You nod. “I went out and bought some earlier. You don’t have to put a costume on. I just like dressing up on Halloween.”

In the end, Michael does reappear with fangs in his mouth moments before the doorbell rings. He’s almost as eager as the kids on the other side of the door are, standing next to you and holding the bowl of candy. You coo at the costumes of this group, seeing a fairy, a Power Ranger, Captain America, and a pirate. Michael awkwardly holds out the bowl, grinning when he hears the little squeals of excitement upon seeing the full-size candy bars. They thank both of you before making their way back to their parents, who you wave at politely before closing the door.

“Well?” You turn to Michael. “What do you think?”

“That was amazing,” Michael says in awe. “They were so happy, and all we were doing was giving them candy! I loved it.”

You smile at the wonder on his face. “I’m glad you did, because we still have a couple more hours of this.”

The doorbell rings again as if you prompted it, and this time Michael knows what to do when he opens up the door and begins to tell the kids how great they all look. You’re content to stand back and watch, happy that you’re able to give him this opportunity to experience Halloween in the way that he deserves.

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #mad love musings

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maievdenoir · 2 years

Text

Secret Santa fic!

This story is Christmas Secret Santa gift for Autumn at @autumnleaves1991-blog . Thanks @ohnopoe who organized this whole thing.

Merry Christmas my dear Autumn. Your stories give me hours of entertainment during last year and I love them so much. I was honoured to be your Secret Santa. Hope you like this story. I fall in love with this story and I´m sure that I´m gonna write another part.

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 2k

‼️Warnings: mentions of drug use, addiction, rehab, self-deprecating thoughts, suicidal thoughts, mention of death, mention of alcohol (hope it’s all)‼️

You were volunteering in this rehab about two years now. It looked pleasant in CV and it gave you a feeling that you doing something that is not a complete waste of time. It essentially improves your creativity, listening to those life stories. Your writing slowly becoming more realistic.

Some people attend these local meetings regularly for couple months, some of them even years. But every now and then there is somebody new. Somebody who arrived once or twice and then jump it addiction again. It's depressing, but you can see on those who willingly stay that program really helps.

You really wish this program would help him. You do not recall his name but he hops in and out regularly even longer than you are there. He always comes with his supporting friend who tried to flirt with you once, but you politely tell him to stop. Sometimes you dearly wish to know his name. He was handsome, but he was not the guaranteed hottie. His ball cap was always on, and his head has been always tilted down so nobody can properly see his face. He looks like he has no motivation to get better but his friend care of him so he is trying to repeatedly get him back. Sometimes it takes weeks, sometimes months.

Christmas time is magical. It looked like a miracle when he shoved up third week in a row. This week the session was modest Christmas party and the guy showed up without his friend. He wasn’t talkative, just sit there and drinks non-alcoholic punch and you was a little bit proud of him that he showed up.

When one of the sponsors starts talking you sit next to him and start listening. After couple of minutes you looked at him. He was studying an empty paper cup.

“Find something interesting in there?” You asked him.

“Huh?” He looked up at you.

“Just that maybe it helps if you listen to him a little.” You don’t want to sound like you forcibly trying lecturing him or something but you kind of thought it will help if he talked with somebody here. To give him the feeling of support of the group and the centre.

“You think?”

“I know it’s hard, but look at you. Third week in a row? You never kept it that long before!” You tried to sound cheerful, but he probably just thinks you pity him.

“That I was not here does not necessarily mean I was not clean. Besides, how do you know? Are you keep tracking me or something? Following me around?” He was rude, and you wanted to hit his stupidly handsome face so much.

“Well ok, this was not a good idea. I'm sorry, I tried to cheer you up a little but you are not interested. I understand. Can we just pretend that I didn’t say anything?” His facial expression changed. He probably realised that his prejudice was stronger than his rational side and that you indeed have good intentions.

“No, I'm sorry. People here just tiptoeing around me all the time because I relapsed so many times. It’s shame and I know it…” He was ashamed of his reaction to you. He nearly forgets how to talk to people. He avoids them all the time, rarely have conversation besides boys.

“It´s no shame, it happens. You need to find something to keep fighting for. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, because it’s not. But life worth it!” You were so optimistic. You shine with positive energy, and he felt like a cactus next to the sunflower.

“Oh yeah? And what concrete is worth it? The shitty job? Abandoned apartment? Friends, that go out with you on Friday night just because they feel sorry for you?” He felt empty. You do not know him. He felt like a burden to everybody. Especially his kid. That poor little girl used to be better without him. He loves her more than his life. That’s why he let his ex-wife and little Josie live their life. They don’t deserve to worry about his busted ass.

“Sunrise worth it! Morning breeze worth it! Life is worth it! Love worth it! Stargazing is worth it! Ah and cold beer on the beach definitely worth it!” He smiled on that last one. “That is the start of the list of things you will not be able to ever experience if you overdose and die.”

He can try to scare you away, but you are stubborn as a mule. “I´m still struggling with motivation. I don’t want to be my friends’ burden.” He admitted. He didn’t know why he was telling you this but you – to a stranger – a girl he has been ogling every time he decides to give life another go.

“I´m sure you are not a burden; they love you. Especially that flirty guy you came here with!”

“Santiago? Oh, for the last three years I’m occupying his spare room and he needed to take care of my nearly overdose ass too many times. Maybe it will be better if I died. It will be easier for everybody.”

“You would be missed!” You unconsciously grab his calloused hand. His heart skips a beat; he nearly forgets he owns one. Last couple of years his life depends only on getting money on coke or at least cigarettes and beer Santiago sponsored him and giving him a job in his mechanic store.

“Who would miss me? You, kind stranger?”

“I always waited for you to come back” This one sentence gives him a better feeling than his beloved coke in a long time. He thought, that for a second world become brighter.

“Aren’t you caring for a stranger too much?” He leans back in his chair and worry look, hoping he didn’t really scare you away.

“It’s that really a bad thing?” Your smile was so hopeful, he even wishes that in another life you two would meet under lucky star of better circumstances in a coffee shop. He would not be a junkie and you would like to go on date with him. But that’s not happening. He would never be enough for somebody like you. Not with all his baggage – struggling even with basic life.

“Spare your heart for somebody who is worth it saving.”

“Oh, you are worth saving. Believe me...” You waited for his name.

“Francisco… Frankie – My name is Frankie” He introduced himself.

“Nice to finally meet you Frankie!” you rolled his name on your tongue and realised how good it feels finally, after all that time, know his name.

“Is it?” He asked with a small modest smile on his face.

“For me is.”

“You are so nice; do you know that? Too nice to some ex-military coke addict who only deserves slap his stupid face.” Maybe he wanted to give a life one last try. At least he wants to give these sessions another try.

“That might be true, but Kindness is punk.”

The beep signalised there is the end of the meeting. You both just stand up. He looks at you and you smiled at him. “Are you coming next week?”

“I hope…” He answered.

#ohnopoess21 #secret santa fic #frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x reader

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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Hi! Just wanted to know what you think Charles' route will be alll about, and how would the Ikevamp lore continue from there? Do you think we'll get an Act 3 or more suitors? I absolutely love reading your interesting insights and hearty theories! They're food for my simping soul ♡(> ਊ <)♡ please forgive my fangirling..

Hihi!!! You’re much too sweet, thank you!!! 💛💛💛 you’re always free to simp and fangirl here, haha~

I'm happy to answer as best I can, though honestly I'm not 100% sure given the main story routes all range--both in terms of topic and larger narrative impact. My guess is that it will likely be about Charles' history as somebody who took part in the French revolution, namely his role as an executioner. In line with that, I would address two lines; one from Mozart, one from Dazai.

Mozart in relation to Charles says "I remember that name..." and Dazai says that "He is a young man with many secrets." I think they both speak to a larger consideration with Charles, which is that he is both a famous historical figure but also one that trails so much blood behind him? This is a man who killed people for a living (and in droves), despite being a medical doctor. There is going to be an inevitable mental dissonance that comes with that dichotomy. His life aspiration was to help and heal people, and instead he was called to murder them indiscriminately (and often for reasons that were openly unjust). Much of his energy and disposition feels like a kind of mask; it's intended to disguise what's truly lurking beneath the surface. When people are convinced they're unsightly or monstrous, they can very often overcompensate with buoyant behavior and positivity. Dazai’s main story really felt like it was hammering this concept home, considering Charles’ insistent cheer directed at MC (yet showing Dazai and Faust a great deal of darkness.)

Interesting too, now that I think about it, because there is a kind of foil mechanism that comes with making Charles the antagonist of Dazai’s route. I didn’t realize it until now, but they both hide their secrets--and the true nature of some of their uglier feelings--with a kind of forcible levity. The difference here lies in the state of their baseline energy, the form by which it is expressed. Dazai is one to joke around and make light of (often serious) things, but he does it to a point of absurdity and mild outrage. He has a kind of desire to be chased out the way I understand him (because being chased out means he can leave and avoid the pressure of being real). If he’s not seeking to be chased out, he wants the person to smile/laugh at his blunders. He’s a mood-maker just as his description entails, and as such his goal is always the regulate/influence the emotional tone of a group in a positive way.

Charles, by contrast, avoids transparency by bouncing around and pretending like nothing really gets to him. He’s forthright and bold, but his desire to have fun belies the reality of who he is and who his master is. The impatience, the burning envy that dwells within remains to be seen--and only makes an appearance in flashes. It begs the question as to what it is he’s trying to avoid moving at that speed, as his increasing velocity means a lowered scrutiny and self-awareness (one that limits him just as much as it enables him to keep going). Furthermore, he has some notion of regulating the mood of the group in that he’s often the one who lowers tension between Vlad and Faust with his upbeat attitude. However, I would argue that it isn’t nearly as powerful as Dazai’s fixation with it; when Charles is upset or wants something, he will not hesitate to put his personal needs first (or demand them, even). Dazai does not seem to have this same audacity generally.

There's also the question of what Charles is hiding, other than the obvious historical information we have. I get the feeling something is lurking behind his desperation to believe in the future Vlad wants to create. Maybe it's some desperate wish to atone for what he's done. Maybe he raised that guillotine under some kind of misguided belief that he was restoring the world to order. We believe outlandish things to survive sometimes, and I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case for Charles. I’d like to see just what it is that makes him tick.

That being said, that doesn't always free us from the truth of what we've done. Sooner or later we're forced to confront and come to terms with it. Dazai's main story (for a short time) forced him to face that gaping maw of trauma, and it was very clear he was not in the slightest bit prepared or able to cope. So there is the question of--if MC confronts him with that--what he will do in response.

I also wouldn't be surprised if he's among the bolder suitors, seeking her affection and body with more insistence than the boys of the mansion. It remains to be seen, but given the impression I've received from him and the rest of the trio...(a note of caution to people uncomfy with that).

I'm interested to see where Charles will go, in that I'm not really sure if he'll skew to the yandere side or the lowkey wants to help people side. He has every potential to become increasingly demanding of MC’s time and attention, trying to monopolize her as much as possible. Burying himself further in denial, never questioning his master. But he also has a kind of hearty maturity at his core that might result from his life experiences, where he acknowledges what he's done and just tries to do the best he can moving forward.

If the latter happens, there is the very real question of what happens with his relationship with Vlad--which is part of the reason I have my doubts about this possibility. In the infamous (and paraphrased) words of Mulaney(? I think it was) "if this is gonna happen Vlad is gonna need to become suddenly cool with a lot of things very fast" LMAO. I don't really see Vlad ceding his control over Charles' mind easily, and I don't see him satisfied with a future of Charles' autonomy. But then, who knows? I may very well be proven wrong

I'm also curious about Charles’ pronounced interest in Comte, this kind of hope for reconciliation. There's a very real chance that could be a focal point, in that Charles wants there to be mingling between the two houses. There are also a lot of problems with this sort of theory in that it would likely require A LOT of development/time to bridge that gap if it was ever bridged, and I don't think Comte would accept anything less than Vlad agreeing to cease and desist his assault on humanity. This potentiality might be more probable for an Act 3 story progression, now that I think about it.

As for Act 3, I'm really not sure who will or won't get one. The only storyline that has been left openly/grossly unfinished is Comte's to my knowledge, largely because of the agreement they made? In all the other routes, there isn't much of a whisper about her turning into a vampire. (Vlad turns her at the end of his route I’ve heard, and as for Faust I don’t know--but I haven’t seen any signs that he would demand it of her so far.) Comte hesitates--but he has every intention of doing it when they feel the time is right. So there's the question of when or how that will happen. In a bday story? In an event story? Act 3? Dunno

I also wonder about how pureblood society and vampire hunters might come into play, but given they exist on the periphery of the game I don’t know if it’s as safe a bet as Comte vs. Vlad continuing their ideological battle.

As for the suitors in general, there is always the potential of antagonist intervention in Act 3? Maybe they heckle their happy ending or throw the relationship into some kind of turmoil, though I'm not sure exactly how that will work since most of the routes end on a pretty resolved note? There's also the reality of all the rivals being murdered in cold blood after their duels. So like ???? Really depends on the direction Cybird wants to take. Expand on the relationship, create new issues/threats--or make Act 3 a more large scale story progression.

There’s also the possibility that the story is expanded by hinging on the timespace complications. If Vlad saw a desolate future, what does that mean for everyone? Will that come to pass--and if so, when? Will he be supported or stopped? What will that entail? Maybe Vlad sees that the desolate future was the product of his own megalomania. Maybe Vlad turns out to be right and drastic action needs to be taken before it gets that far. Whatever the case, I’m interested to see what narrative avenue Cybird will choose.

As for more suitors, I really have no idea given I haven’t seen so much as a whisper of what comes after Charles. I think my best bet would be potential pureblood suitors (maybe the product of Comte/Vlad story continuations), or more roulette famous figures in line with Vlad’s machinations to thwart the suitors. If Michelangelo comes back and throws hands with Leonardo, I will veritably lose my entire mind

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp meta #ikevamp charles #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp comte #i hope this helps!#there are a lot of story threads cybird actively follows and many they abandon so #it can be pretty hard to tell what they'll choose #i will say that comte's events have been an interesting build-up #and i'm surprised because he's not really the title character of the game? I find usually napoleon/arthur/vlad tend to get more attention #but honestly comte seems to be the only act 2 character who gets a sizable amt of content alongside vlad (as compared to dazai/shakes/seb)#comte is the outlier in terms of steady narrative progression and consistent development #it makes me wonder if they intend to expand on it because of his conflict with vlad and his promise to mc--which allows for room to write #vlad is an obvious contender in that so much of his stance/presence in the game is about the future and how it will play out #his obsession brings with it the question of what it all really means and how it will be resolved in the end #they're probably the most likely contenders for act 3 given the larger tone of their events and room for development at the moment #man if it turns out some pureblood rando was messing with timespace and vlad and comte have to team up #i will literally laugh myself to death #anywho those are my thoughts! hope it was engaging <333 #and sorry if my simping got in the way (I try not to be biased HAHA)#💛💛💛💛💛💛#rambles #not incorrect quotes

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herotome · 3 years

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what would the LIs do if they and MC switched bodies?

Warden: Uhhhhhh

Warden, once he fully wakes up and realizes this is NOT the banana skin-peeling dream, feels very vulnerable and and uncomfortable being in someone else's body. Starts checking himself over by patting himself down and immediately stops because AERGH what is he doing touching the MC?! Inappropriate. He spends like a solid minute shaming himself for an honest mistake before venturing out and.... just wandering around for a while.... trying to see where he is, and hoping to ask someone for help. But even if he runs into someone he will be VERY confused and incoherent, starting and stopping and unsure how to put the situation into words.

Eventually he'll realize he ought to go find the MC and see if she's okay, but she's way more likely to find him bumbling around very sad and confused. He gives her a relieved hug on sight ("MC! D:") and then is immediately uncomfortable and weirded out by his own body and the thought of MC being in there. ("MC...... <8|") Ends up getting distracted staring at MC/his own body, trying in vain to accept the situation but wholly unable to wrap his mind around it. If it's late in the day he will insist he needs to go to work and will still try to do Warden Things like stopping bank robberies and running after purse snatchers (without ever touching himself, nope, never again), so not only will the MC have to do all the work trying to switch them back, the MC has to chase her own damn body down too.... If they're dating they will need to go to couple's therapy after this for sure

Griffin: Why the fuck does my body feel okay--

Griffin honestly thinks he died in his sleep and hardcore panics about it, trying to figure out which version of the after life he's dealing with (heaven? hell?! reincarnation?!?! groundhog day?!?!?! or worst of all, something completely unknown and unpredictable that's impossible to prepare for--)

Catching sight the MC's face in the mirror is actually underwhelming. (You know, compared to BEING DEAD and having to figure out where/when/why/what you are). But it's not an unwelcome sight, because "Okay. Okay, this is probably solvable." Griffin just goes full logical problem-solving mode and endeavors to track down the MC, who would in theory be in Griffin's body and might need help getting around. Overall will be very sympathetic and doting towards the MC while utilizing all his resources and doing everything in his power to switch them back as soon as conveniently possible. Does manage to find opportunities to hit on his own body though... Specifically, shamelessly complimentary towards traits rather exclusive to his own damn self "Wow look at that waistline *sensual tsk* washboard abs/Baby you look like royalty sitting in that wheelchair like it's a throne/Damn I look good with brown hair...." Griffin will also try to discuss some existential theories and shit "MC does this mean spirits are real what do you think, because I think it's equally probable that we swapped midichlorians"

All this being said Griffin will pretty quickly manage to contact somebody who can forcibly swap them back if necessary; very under control, 10/10 crisis management.

Mia: .... Is this just gonna be my life now

She's not... disturbed or anything. But it's definitely weird. Mia spends a long good while patting (and then slapping) her own cheeks and gawking at her own reflection. She keeps wondering if this is temporary or permanent. Good news, Mia is no longer allergic to Katie the agency cat. Bad news, MC has super strength and doesn't know how to control it.

... Oh God bad news MC has super strength and doesn't know how to control it----

Once that situation fully clicks Mia will rush out to find MC and stick to her like glue, trying to help make sure she doesn't break anything/anyone. Just FULL of comforting and appeasing words, rubbing the MC's upper arms, asking if she's okay over and over, etc etc. I imagine it gets to be rather uncomfortable for the MC, being treated like an unruly rhino, but hey it does come from a place of genuine care because Mia doesn't want you to get in trouble the way she herself has gotten into trouble. A lot of this path is just going to be "keep MC safe," Mia will deadass encircle the MC in bubble wrap if the MC consents to it (honestly it sounds fun to me, so why not?) Not very focused on switching back, just kinda sweet and worried and strange.

Dart: Seriously, this?

Of all the...... Dart wakes up frustrated and huffing over this inconvenience. He will just stand in his room and call for the MC to come to him to ascertain what the hell is going on. He will calm down and stop being grumpy once he starts breaking down the possibilities and brainstorming what could have happened, and he'll recognize that it's not MC's fault and apologize for his bad mood. ... This being said, this issue needs to be solved now, today, and Dart will be carting the MC onto his bike.... Looking a little silly (hyperseriousface MC body in the front, and a (probably) confused Dart body in the back). Speeds and gets pulled over and gets in trouble because MC's body probably doesn't have a motorcycle license... Ends up with a nasty fine and a misdemeanor on the MC's record.......

Gee Dart gets kinda messy in his haste to fix things. He's apologetic once they get pulled over, and tries to problem-solve more calmly LOL.

He'll hit up one of his informants and try to figure out where to go from there - likely the solution will include some kind of wait, so he'll be forced to spend time with an MC in his own body that's so weird -- no, it's fine, he'll get over it, he'll compartmentalize. After such a rough morning he'll sincerely try to make it up to the MC by taking her somewhere she wants to go or buying something for her, just trying to be more considerate until they figure this out.

Jade: Niceeeeeee

I'm not saying Jade will perv on the MC's body, but she will certainly make time to do some twirls in the mirror before she goes to track the MC down. Oddly matter-of-fact and calm compared to the others. She doesn't feel inconvenienced or weird, and will be down to just like... hang out until it wears off? Because it'll probably wear off on its own, right?

Jade is normally an anxious sort but she really doesn't feel like worrying about this. Secretly she's glad to be free of her telekinesis, and will cheer and clap if the MC wants to levitate off the ground and do some fun flips and whatever. "Look at you go!" If the MC wants/needs to switch back though, Jade will begrudgingly cooperative "Okaaay" and just go with the flow, letting other people take the lead. Honestly if MC wants to just keep that body forever, that's fine too..... No, no, Jade knows better, Jade knows she will need to take back the responsibility and the debts and all the weights she couldn't bear to make the MC carry. She will make sure this swap doesn't last any longer than it needs to.

#herotome ask #character ask #RO: everyone #interactive fiction #writeblr #fiction #this was a fun one thank you :D #RO: griffin #RO: warden #RO: dart #RO: mia #RO: jade

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aph-honk-kong · 3 years

Text

Sylfiden - Akt I

Alastair should be grateful that his future is secure - he has a large house, bountiful crops and will soon be married to the prettiest girl in the village. But on the morning of his wedding day, a sylph appears in his living room and dismantles every aspect of his perfectly-planned life.

[Written for day three of @aphrarepairweek2021 with the prompt “culture” - granted, this is kind of inaccurate since the source this was based on was produced by a Dane in 1836, but I guess it still kind of shows Scottish culture]

This fic was based on the Romantic ballet Sylfiden, choreographed by August Bournonville of the Royal Danish Ballet.

Here’s what Alastair should look like:

(This is Jon Axel Fransson, photographed by Per Morten Abrahamsen)

And here is the sylph, though you can always imagine them wearing something else:

(This is Ida Praetorius, also photographed by Per Morten Abrahamsen)

...

Alastair awoke to whiteness.

At first he thought it was another of Dillon’s pranks, and there was cotton over his face again, but he looked longer and found the tint before his eyes resembling fabric a little more. Had he somehow fallen asleep over Marianne’s wedding dress? No, that couldn’t be, for was it not bad luck to see the bride’s gown before the ceremony? Then Alastair looked up and saw a face.

He was as regal as he was pale, snowy cheeks dusted with the faintest pink that mirrored the shade of his lips. He was not smiling, at least not with his mouth, but his eyes — blue eyes, Alastair noticed — held laughter. And he was so close that his white-gold hair was tickling his cheek.

He jolted to his feet. The man moved backwards, too, and stopped by the living room window with his arms poised delicately. “Good morning.”

“I — ” Alastair looked him up and down again. The white he saw turned out to not be from a gown, but a thin white blouse that floated whenever he moved. “What are you doing here?”

“To visit you,” he replied. Then he turned around, and he saw on his back a pair of small, translucent wings. A sylph, he realised. A wind spirit was in his house. “I hear you are getting married today, and I wanted to wish you luck.”

“Oh.” The sylph moved away when he tried to get close; well, “moved” was hardly the right word for it. He glided across the floor, it seemed, wings fluttering softly each time he evaded Alastair’s grasp. “Thank you, er…?”

“Stellan.” The sylph leapt away once more. “That is my name.”

And a peculiar one too, Alastair was tempted to say. But he kept his mouth shut and merely watched, entranced, as Stellan drifted past the chair he had fallen asleep on. He did not seem entirely real.

“I wanted to look at you, I suppose,” he sing-songed, “before you got married. Some say that the hours before a wedding are a man’s last moments of freedom. Do you agree?”

For some reason, the question made his ears prickle with heat. Was he implying that he did not want to get married? Indignantly, Alastair opened his mouth to reply when Stellan elegantly hopped away from the chair. “I must go now. I will see you again soon.”

He stepped backwards into the fireplace, and the flames rose higher. When they faded, Stellan was gone.

Not a minute after Stellan disappeared, Dillon stamped into the room with a grin. “My, you’re already awake!” He exclaimed. “After all the planning last night I expected you to be out ‘til noon.” He lowered his voice. “Best look presentable, now. Marianne will be here to get ready soon.”

“Wait, really?” His hands flew to his head and began trying to flatten his hair, which was probably a rat’s nest after just waking up. “Goodness, I’m still in my clothes from yesterday.” Something white flashed in his vision, and he started. Had Stellan returned?

“You alright there?”

“Just thought I saw something,” Alastair said tiredly. “Did you see a sylph last night? I swore one came to visit me when I first awoke.”

Dillon stared at him as though he had grown another head. “Have you been drinking already?”

“No?”

“Of course I haven’t seen a sylph!” With a bark of laughter, he clapped Alastair on the back. “And neither should you. It’s probably just cold feet. Have some breakfast and warm yourself up, and you ought to be alright.”

He glanced at the window once more. Nothing. “Yes,” he settled, “I was probably just a bit delirious.”

His cottage door opened again and in flowed distant giggles. Breaking away from her mother, Marianne swept into the living room and into his arms. “Good morning, dear.”

“Good morning.” Alastair kissed her forehead. She smelled like heather. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well.” Marianne rested her head against his chest, smiling contentedly. “Dreamt of you all night long.”

He leant down, ready to kiss her, when a shadow moved near the fireplace. He broke away and ran towards it, ignoring his bride-to-be’s indignant huff, and bent down. Had Stellan returned to offer more blessings? Would he wish him luck again with his soft, sweet voice? Alastair searched the figure, ready to look into blue eyes —

They were green.

“What the Hell are you doing here?”

Dressed slightly less odiously, scowling as usual, Arthur glared back at him. “Ah, it’s the inattentive groom. Are you leaving lovely Marianne for me?”

Dillon snorted behind him.

“I am not, and I find it insulting that you would even think I would,” he replied furiously. “And you are not attending my wedding. I don’t need somebody to perform magic tricks.”

Arthur scowled even deeper in response. He was constantly trying to convince the village that he was, in fact, a witch with the ability to do magic, but everyone had come to the conclusion that he was probably a raving fool who had been exiled from England for some reason, hence his name. “I wouldn’t disrespect my craft, if I were you.”

“It isn’t disrespectful if it’s true.” Alastair rolled his eyes. “As if you can really cast spells. Will you leave, please?”

Now he looked positively murderous. “Don’t you dare talk to — ”

Marianne reached the fireplace before Arthur could finish his sentence. “Why don’t you predict our fortunes?” She asked with a pacifying smile. “If your predictions are good enough, we’ll let you stay.“

Arthur stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “All right. Gather your ladies.”

The first of Marianne’s friends came forward, and the witch took her hand roughly. After peering at her palm for a moment, he proclaimed, “you will find love soon.”

“You will lose something dear to you,” he informed another.

The third fortune he whispered in the girl’s ear, and when she turned away she had tears in her eyes. Arthur watched her leave with a smug smile forming.

“Hey!” A little boy Alastair recognised as Dillon’s nephew ran forward. “Look at mine next!”

He had barely touched the boy’s hand when Dillon reached them, scooping him cleanly off his feet and carrying him away. “Don’t you talk to him, Peter! You will take part in none of this nonsense!”

Marianne went to Arthur next. He took one look at her palm, and his smile grew. “There is love in your future.”

She stretched her other hand to hold Alastair’s, and he leant down to kiss her once more. “I already know that.”

“But!” And now he looked positively gleeful. “That love will have nought to do with your dear fiancé. He will leave you for someone else!”

He frowned. “That isn’t true, and you know it.”

“Say, look at my palm.” Dillon strode forward, having deposited Peter as far away from Arthur as possible. He winked at Alastair. “Maybe I’ll turn into a frog tomorrow.”

Arthur took one look at his hand and gave a short laugh. “You will find love very soon, too,” he cackled. “In fact, you will marry lovely Marianne!”

Irritation flickered deep within him, only growing as Dillon stared at Marianne in shock, pink creeping across his cheeks. “I will what?”

“You will not fall for Marianne, that’s what you’ll do.” Alastair pulled her into his arms, glowering first at Arthur then at Dillon. “I’m the one getting married to her.”

“Or so it is now,” Arthur mused. “Who knows what will happen at the end of today?”

The tiny sparks of annoyance turned into mild anger and he left Marianne’s side, leaning down to grab Arthur by the arm. “You are going to get out,” he retorted, voice growing in volume, “and you are going to stay out. First for slandering me by implying that I am — that I am attracted to men, and more so for accusing my best friend of stealing my bride!” He ignored his yelp of pain, dragged him out of the living room, opened the door and quite literally threw him out of the house.

He slammed the door before he could get back in, and stamped back into the living room. “Well then.” He announced, trying to sound cheerful, “shall we continue preparing?”

…

Once Marianne had left to get dressed and her bridesmaids had finished preparing, Alastair was once again left alone. He stared at his wedding suit, which he had yet to change into, and sighed. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of his life, the day he had been poised for since childhood, and that wretched witch had to try and ruin it.

The whole village had known that he and Marianne would be wed for practically a decade. She was one of his closest, dearest friends, and he couldn’t imagine himself getting married to anyone else. Alastair ran his thumb over his engagement ring. This was his duty, and he would stick to it, no matter what Arthur’s idiotic palm-reading had predicted.

The window creaked open.

Feather-light, Stellan hopped from his perch on the windowsill onto the floor. He was smiling now, if one could call that tiny curve of his lips a smile. “Nervous?”

“A little bit.”

“I hope you considered my question.”

He sighed; why were these strange magical fellows so determined to aggravate him on his wedding day? “I find it rather insulting that you think I’m being forcibly chained to Marianne.”

Soft eyelashes fluttered. Stellan leapt again; he seemed incapable of staying in one place for long. “That was not what I meant. I simply want you to consider this question: are you getting married because you truly love the lady, or because you feel obligated to?”

“Are you accusing me of not loving her?”

His eyes flashed; his wings fluttered. Something about him, ethereal and soft, made Alastair feel warm. “No, not at all. I can see that Marianne is very dear to you, as a friend. But is she really somebody you wish to be wed to?”

“Y-Yes,” he said instinctively.

Stellan raised an eyebrow. “Can you imagine yourself kissing her in the years to come? Waking up every morning next to her? Raising children with her? With her?”

With her?

And suddenly Alastair was six years old again, playing family with Dillon. “I’m going to marry you when we grow up,” he’d declared. “I’ll put a ring on your finger and we’ll have lots of children!”

He had not understood why his mother had run to shush him, informing him with a tight smile that he ought to marry a lady instead.

Then he was fourteen, learning to dance for a festival. His friend had laughed, watching him blunder, and grabbed his hands to place them in the right positions. His skin had tingled, and his heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with his performance.

And then he was nineteen, running to the market to sell the week’s produce when he bowled into somebody — a newcomer to the village, supposedly an Englishman. He’d looked into grass-green eyes and pouting lips and pushed him away with a shout, but his gaze burned into him forevermore.

“No!” Alastair said aloud, a strange heat pricking at his eyes. “That is not the man I am anymore. This marriage is proof of that.”

Stellan was quiet for a while, and he saw a tear roll down his cheek.

His heart sank. “Why are you crying?”

He breathed out shakily; a delicate white hand moved to wipe the tear away. “I am reminded, once again, how little freedom humans have,” he whispered. “How can you live knowing that you cannot truly be yourself?”

“I am myself,” Alastair insisted. “I know who I want to be, and it is not —” He could not even say that word — “Not whatever you think I am.”

Those lovely blue eyes glimmered, as though there were more tears to shed. Stellan blinked hard, approaching a chair and scooping up a scarf that was resting upon it. “Will you be truly happy hiding who you are for the rest of your life?” He unfolded the scarf and draped it over himself, blue tartan over ghostly pale tulle. Alastair realised that it was Marianne’s scarf, which made it a strange sight indeed — here was a beautiful, knowing man who had fluttered his way into his life just this morning dressed in his betrothed’s clothing.

“Today’s marriage is my duty.” He could not tear his eyes away from Stellan, who was pacing around the room, snuggling into the scarf. “I have known this would happen for many years now.”

Those beguiling eyes caught him then; triumph shimmered in them. “So it is something you must do, but not something you want to do.”

“Why do you care?” Alastair questioned brusquely. “It is not as though you are jealous of Marianne, and would marry her instead.”

Stellan glided towards him once more. His cheeks were slightly more flushed now, making him look more like an actual human being rather than a fleeting spirit. “Because, as the winds blow past the fields you work in, I have watched you. Day in, day out, you live as dictated.” Stellan’s blush deepened more so, and he pursed his lips. “And I came to grow fond of you.” He gently twisted the scarf. “Very fond.

“How could I bear to see somebody I am fond of so caged in?”

Suddenly, Alastair’s ears felt rather warm. So that was why Stellan was so against all of this. “So you have that sort of feeling for me. What makes you so sure that I am like you?”

Stellan neared Alastair, though he dodged playfully when he reached out to try and touch him. “Because,” he said, voice much lighter now, “I saw your face when you first laid eyes on me. I doubt you have ever looked at Marianne that way. At the very least, I have never seen you do so.”

His breath caught. “Did I really look… lovestruck, or something-or-other?”

“Yes, you did.”

Now the heat had spread from his ears to his entire face, and Alastair prayed that his cheeks were not as red as his hair. “I don’t think I meant it.” Then Stellan neared, and he leant forward to try and catch him once more, suddenly wondering what his touch felt like.

The door creaked open, and from the doorway came, “Alastair?”

The shock cut through the rest of his battling thoughts, and he ran towards Stellan. “You have to go.”

He tugged the scarf off himself, glancing at the door. “What is happening?”

“They cannot see you!” Alastair nudged him to the window. “Go now, please, I will meet you again soon.”

Dillon burst into the room, seeing Stellan in all his beauty by the window, and froze.

Before he could stop him, he rushed out of the room, and Alastair whirled to Stellan. “Please. I don’t know what they will do to you, I don’t want you to get hurt — ”

“There!”

He spun to see Dillon back in the room, alongside Marianne and her mother. “I saw him there, with a man in white.”

“Don’t be silly now.” Marianne sailed to the window. “All I see is my scarf. I think you’re just taking Arthur’s fortunes a bit too seriously.”

Alastair’s shoulders sagged in relief, realising that Stellan had flown away just in time. “I do hope you do not actually believe that lunatic’s words.”

Marianne’s mother laughed. “I think he’s just jealous that his best friend got the loveliest girl in the village.”

“Mother!” She laughed, high and sweet, though it did not warm Alastair’s heart the way he thought it would. “Dillon will find a wife of his own soon, I just know it. There is no need to fight over me.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Dillon said gruffly.

Marianne wrapped her scarf around her neck and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Come on, now. Let Alastair get changed. Go outside and wait for everyone else to show up.”

Bride-to-be and mother-in-law watched him like a hawk as he changed into his wedding suit, then led him outside where the many wedding guests were assembled. Standing aside was a cluster of bards, bagpipes at the ready. Dillon came up to him, all shock and envy from before gone, and grabbed his shoulder. “It’s your last hour as an unmarried man. We ought to celebrate!”

The bards began their playing, Marianne pulled him into the crowd and he began to dance.

It was freeing, for a while, to lose himself in the wild blur of limbs and laughter and simply move without thinking. Alastair had danced this way before, and it would never stop being exciting to him. He laughed, hooking an arm around Marianne’s waist and spinning her ‘round. Little Peter danced in front of him and nearly tripped over his uncle’s shoes.

They danced, carefree and jolly, and Alastair nearly felt ready for the wedding. But then he saw white again.

Once more he released her, searching the crowd of people for the one man he knew would stand out. He saw nothing. She took hold of him again, and they continued dancing.

The next time he slipped away, it was a pair of gossamer wings he saw. Stellan glanced back at him, cheeks pink once more as he sailed elegantly past the partygoers. Unthinking, Alastair reached a hand out, a part of him perhaps hoping to touch his soft hair, but Marianne grabbed his wrist and he was tugged back.

Throughout the song they played their silent, musical game of cat-and-mouse. Stellan wove in between the dancers, somehow evading notice, while Alastair tried to catch glimpses of him without arousing any more suspicion. Occasionally, when he got bored of spinning and gliding, Stellan flapped his wings a few times to make his jumps higher. His slender arms stretched out in front of him, flowing like a scarf in the wind. In his white clothes, dancing something entirely different, Alastair had never seen someone so graceful.

When the dancing ended, and Stellan had vanished once more, he was given the ring that would adorn Marianne’s fingers during the ceremony and left alone once more. Alastair ran his fingers over the bronze band, watching it glint in the faint sunlight. Less than an hour later, he would slip this ring on her fourth finger, and she would do the same to him, and that would be it. They would be bound to each other for as long as they lived, and what was left of his nameless, forbidden love would be stamped out for good. But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For his desire to finally be suppressed? In that case, the rings would be less like rings and more like shackles.

Dillon and Marianne’s mother were keeping an eye on him from his spot by the hedges, though they didn’t know he could see them. With his parents no longer with him and her father gone too, her mother was the one who had held fast to the arranged marriage. She wanted security for her daughter, and how better to achieve that than marrying a young, well-off farmer? Alastair clenched his fist around the ring, Stellan’s words were really getting to him.

A white-clothed figure was lingering behind a tree, peering out at him.

Speak of the devil.

Stellan poked his head out, looking so sweet and curious that Alastair nearly laughed. He had woven himself a circlet of white heather, as though fancying himself the one to marry him. He nodded at his hand and tilted his head.

Oh. Alastair pinched the ring between his thumb and index finger and lifted it up. The sylph raised an eyebrow and pointed at his ring finger in question.

He nodded.

Quicker than he had ever seen him before, Stellan leapt out from behind his tree towards him, wings spurring him forward so he was nearly a blur. He grabbed the ring, admired it for a moment, then swiftly fled before he could catch him. “Hey!”

He slipped the ring on his own finger, glanced back at him and smiled teasingly. Hopping lithely onto his garden fence, he perched on top of it for a moment, winked, then tumbled off and made his escape. Alastair could hear someone yelling at him from behind, but did not turn back. Before he could stop himself, he raced after Stellan into the forest beyond.

#aph scotnor #aph scotland #aph norway #aphrarepairweek2021 #aph fanfiction #my writing

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oscar-lettjohanssonloveme · 3 years

Text

I dont know whats real anymore (Delia x reader)

warnings: talking about death

You have to take these pills, Y / N .." Cordelia said firmly, holding out the two pills.

She watched the tears well up in your eyes and how you moved as far away from her as you could on the bed. You sat frightened in the corner of the bed, knees wrapped around your chest and your arms around your shoulders.

"Please Cordelia .. I can't .." you whispered.

"Honey, you're sick ... and if you don't take these pills you won't get well ...", her voice softened.

"The doctors said that too .." you whimpered softly and pushed me further into the corner.

The doctors? Cordelia frowned. Four days ago you showed up at the academy in the middle of the night. Your clothes soaked from the rain and tears made their way on your face. You didn't need to be a doctor to predict your cold in advance.

You haven't said much about yourself since you've been here. She knew your name and that you ran away from home. What she also knew was why you had come to the academy; you could talk to the dead and because you could no longer help yourself, you came to her.

"I don't know which doctors you're talking about .." Cordelia began and sat down on the bed. "These two pills only ensure that your fever is lowered and you can sleep ... nothing more .."

"I don't believe you .." you whispered, your eyes glittering. She got up, grabbed the wrapping of the pills, and tossed them into your lap before she sat down again.

"Please .. subsided on your own .." she said and bit her lip.

With trembling hands you examined the packaging and found that Cordelia was right. Without a word, you held out your hand to her and she let the two pills fall into the palm of your hand. She watched with satisfaction as you washed the pills down with a glass of water.

"Thanks Y / N..I just want to help you ..", she said and got up. "You should sleep now and let me know when you wake up .."

As she started to leave, your hand grabbed her wrist. She spun around and looked into your pleading eyes.

"Please don't go .." you whispered. "If you go, they talk to me .."

By they you meant the dead in this house.

Cordelia squeezed your hand gently and gave you a warm smile before she sat in the chair in the other corner of the room. You turned away from her because you were uncomfortable sleeping in front of her, but even with your body against the wall you could feel her gaze on your back and although it made you feel uncomfortable, it was still better than to be yelled by the ghosts of this house. Even now they were standing in this room and whispering things to you. Bad things. But it was much easier to ignore the dead in the presence of someone who couldn't hear them.

Cordelia sat cross-legged in the chair, her head in her hands, and watched your breathing slow down and become a steady rhythm.

After a few minutes, when she assumed you were asleep, she got up and let out a sigh. You had been here for just four days and she could safely say that no one had been this complicated in a long time. The problem was, that she couldn't figure you out and she didn't want to talk to you until you were really healthy.

-----------------------------

Weeks passed. You got well and started moving around the academy and taking classes. Everyone was nice to you, but you knew that most of them just found you weird for talking to people, that they couldn't see. It was not uncommon to see you arguing with someone who didn't exist to them and of course the other witches thought it was strange. Cordelia had tried to talk to you several times, but you always avoided her and she couldn't explain why.

It was Saturday afternoon and most of the girls weren't home. Cordelia was walking down the corridors of the academy as she often did when she heard your screams.

"Leave me alone .." you screamed.

Alarmed, Cordelia ran to your room and threw the door open.

You stood in the middle of the room with both hands wrapped around a knife and held it trembling in front of you.

"Y / N ..", Cordelia began slowly and entered the room. "Take the knife down .."

"I dont know what's real anymore ..", you sobbed and held the knife to your throat.

"Please Y / N." Cordelia's voice was low as she kept walking towards you. "Look at me, I'm real .." She wanted to grab your hand, but you back away.

"They're yelling at me, Cordelia ... they want me to kill .."

"Who should you kill Y / N?", She was almost in front of you.

"You!" You screamed.

Cordelia stopped. She was confused. "Me?" You nodded. "Yes ... all the others too.. I'm scared ... "

She was standing in front of you and had her hands around your wrists as she led your hand with the knife away from your neck. "I'm so sorry .." you uttered and started to cry. Cordelia, who had taken the knife from your hand, tossed the blade away and wrapped her arms around you.

"You don't have to apologize honey .." she whispered against your ear "Everything will be fine..". Her left hand wandered through your hair while her right pressed you against her.

"I just want to be normal .." you sobbed into her chest.

The next 5 minutes remained like this, you cried yourself in her arms while she whispered the sweet things in your ear.

When your crying subsided, she pulled back to study your face.

"I think we should finally talk .." she said softly and sat down on your bed.

You nodded slowly and sat down next to her. "So .. what brought you here?"

"Uhm .. I think it all started when my grandma died .." you started playing nervously with your fingers. "My parents told me, she was dead, but she was right behind them. At first I thought it was supposed to be funny, but then I realized that they were serious ... well and when I told them I could still see her and then talked to her, my parents took me to a doctor. But the doctor just said it was my own way of dealing with her death. It was weird to be at her funeral, even though she was still alive to me .. "you laughed nervously.

"One night two complete strangers were standing in my room, claiming to be the deceased owner of our house, then I realized that something was wrong. It got worse because there were more and more dead people talking to me and it became difficult to distinguish who was really alive and who was dead. At some point I could no longer hide it from my parents and they took me again to a doctor, who diagnosed me with schizophrenia. From then on my life became pure hell. I forgot how many nights I had to spend in clinics, but I remember every moment when doctors chained me to the bed and forcibly injected medicine into me. Then I was only allowed to leave the house under supervision and all objects were removed from my room, that I could hurt myself with. It was all bad, but worst of all were my parents. They no longer saw me, their daughter, they just saw this disease and the monster doctors made me ... and I tried so hard to improve, but it was impossible to ignore them, the dead ... and then one day I found this academy at Internet and somehow I felt like it was the only place, where I wouldn't be considered sick .."

When you were done you carefully looked up at Cordelia. She was lost in thought and was staring intently into your eyes, as if this enabled her to look into your head.

"Cordelia, I-" you started, but she cut you off.

"What do they say to you, the dead?"

"Um different things .. most of them want me to kill somebody .. they want their revenge. It's like I'm their bridge from the dead to the world of the living .. They yell at me and promise to leave me alone if I kill for them ... Then there is something else, when I was locked in my room after I was released from the clinic, sometimes they told me death was my salvation and how free I would be if I were one of them..Sometimes I am myself not sure if they told me that or if I did .. "you said. She didn't answer and just kept staring into your eyes.

After a while she cleared her throat and sat up straight. "I want to be honest with you..I can't make it stop or make them leave you alone..but I can teach you how to ignore them and how to gain control over them .."

You nodded quickly. "There's just one more thing .." you started. "It is incredibly difficult to sleep when dead people scream at you with their plans for revenge ...". You smiled at her crookedly.

"How long haven't you slept?" She frowned. Only now did she notice your dark circles.

"Couple of days .." you mumbled. "Since I stopped taking sleeping pills, I wanted to ask if I-"

"No Y / N." She said firmly. "I'll see what I can do, maybe there is some spell that can help and until then come to me if you can't sleep .."

When she got up from your bed, you got up too.

"Thanks Cordelia .." you said and meant it.

"I haven't done anything yet. I'm just sorry, that we didn't talk to each other earlier ...", she said and bent down to reach for your knife. "And as long as the situation doesn't improve, such items have no business in your room, understand?" She asked sharply.

You nodded quickly.

"Good ..", she smiled again. "I'll go now and see what I can do to help you .."

----------------------------------

Again some time passed, Cordelia began to teach you privately because you couldn't get along with most of the other girls and you didn't feel like telling the others about your past. For that you got very close to Cordelia and started to trust her completely. Your ghost problem was also progressing, it got easier to ignore the dead. Because you had not left the academy since your arrival, you now knew which of the people were still alive here and which were not. In addition, Cordelia had made a list for you at the beginning with all the names of the other witches and at first it really helped you to find your way around who was dead and who wasn't, but now you don't need the list anymore. But the list was still hanging over your bed, simply because you liked the thought of Cordelia did it for you.

As beautiful as it was, there was still a problem: as much as you could ignore it during the day, the way the dead screamed for you, it was all the more difficult at night. Still yelling in your face, they were standing in the corner of your room and staring at you. Even though you stopped talking to them, they still wouldn't leave you alone, because they knew it was robbing you of sleep. Cordelia had said you could come to her if you couldn't sleep, but somehow the thought felt weird and you didn't want to burden her any more.

That's why you looked for another way to find sleep: sleeping pills. It wasn't particularly difficult, you knew where Cordelia kept the pills and it was not uncommon for one of the other witches to take a pill when she couldn't sleep.

You usually got the pills while the others were in class, but you couldn't today, because Cordelia had rescheduled your class until the morning, so you snuck through the academy after everyone went to bed. Only to find that the pills were gone. You let out a frustrated sigh.

"Are you looking for something, Honey?"

Cordelia's warm voice behind you made you whirl around. She stood behind you, only dressed in a dressing gown, her perfectly manicured fingers holding the sleeping pills in her hand.

"Cordelia ..", you mumbled and wanted to come up with some explanation, but she got before you.

"How long have you been taking this?", Her voice was emotionless.

"Few weeks ..." you muttered, looking away from her.

"A few of weeks ??" she uttered aloud.

"I'm sor-" you started, but she interrupted you.

"You always say, that you are sorry .." she hissed and grabbed your hand. "Come with me .. I don't feel like waking up the other girls with my screams ..."

Without a word she pulled you through the corridors of the academy to her room.

"Sit down .." she growled softly after closing the door. She pointed to her bed and you sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Didn't I make it clear that you shouldn't take these pills?" She paced up and down her room.

"yes .." you answered quietly.

"I didn't hear you ..", she stopped and glared at you.

"Shit .. yeah damn .." you yelled at her while your eyes filled with tears.

"Hopefully you are aware, that if you are addicted to these pills now, I will have to take you to a doctor ..", her voice was soft and dangerous. At her words your eyes widened. "No..Delia please don't .." you pleaded.

"Don't call me like that .. It's your own fault ..". Cordelia put her hands on her hips and chewed her lower lip.

"I know .." you said.

"Oh you know? ..Argh Y / N.." She ran through her blonde curls. "It is my top priority to make sure that my girls are okay and that means for you that you follow my rules .."

You nodded guiltily.

She stared down at you. You didn't have to look into her face to be aware of the flames that burned in her eyes.

"Is that your pajamas?" She finally asked.

"What?" You let out confused and lift your head.

"Whether these are your pajamas .." she said impatiently.

"Uhm..yes?"

"Perfect .." she muttered

"I don't quite understand-" you said, still confused, and watched her pull the curtains over the window.

"You sleep here today, you idiot .."

You stared at her in amazement. Were you serious?

"You really don't have to-"

"You think, I would do this for you? ", she laughed. "Do you think it would be nice for me to send you to your room, knowing that you couldn't sleep for the rest of the night? "

You didn't answer and watched her go to the other side of the bed. "In your first week here when you were sick, you wanted me to stay with you until you fell asleep, because then they would leave you alone .." she said, pulling off her coat to reveal a nightgown bring to. You still didn't know what she was getting at.

"And because I don't feel like watching you fall asleep, because I'm also tired, that should work too .." she finished, lifted the covers and climbed into the bed.

You were still sitting lost on the edge of the bed.

"Honey, you shouldn't watch me sleeping, you should sleep yourself, so move your pretty little ass now into my bed ...", she said with closed eyes.

You blushed at her words, but did what she said and lay down next to her under the sheet before she turned off the light.

Now you both lay stiffly next to each other in the dark and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry that I was just so angry ..." Cordelia began, her voice finally back to normal. "It's just ..-", she paused and looked for the right words. "Why didn't you come to me? I thought you trust me .." Her voice was full of regret and disappointment, and when you heard her that way, you couldn't help but feel bad.

"It's not that I don't trust you .." you whispered.

"But?" She asked before sitting up and leaning over you. The blond curls tickled your face.

"You've done so much for me and I'm really grateful for it, but I didn't mean to worry you any more than I already do .. I know I shouldn't say that, but you shouldn't waste your affection on me, Delia .. ". If it had been light, Cordelia would have seen the tears running down your face. Why were you just so emotional?

"God Y / N, you're so stupid .." she sighed, before leaning down and gently pressing her lips to yours.

To say you were surprised would have been an understatement and to say you didn't want it would be a lie.

It just seemed so impossible.

She was like an angel of God with broken wings, but so beautiful. And you were just that little heap of misery that knocked on her door in the pouring rain.

"Was that just something to get me to sleep?" You smiled softly as she pulled back.

"No .." she laughed and pushed your hair back from your face. "Definitely not.."

From then on, things finally got better. You would still hear the pleading cries of the dead, but Cordelia would always be there to ground you.

love of my life google translate

#cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #american horror story #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 3 years

Text

Okay, so here’s the thing: I’ve read a lot of TSS fanfiction in my time. I’ve also had a lot of panic attacks in my time. So, in the interest of my own sanity and to save all my fellow anxious folks from Cringing Real Bad, I want to correct a few of the mistakes I see non-anxious writers making when depicting Virgil, or any other side, in a state of panic/anxiety.

1. apparently a lot of people seem to think its sweet or caring if multiple characters touch, soothe, or speak to a panicking person at once? And generally, like, no. Depending on the person, touch and/or verbal affirmations can be really important in being brought down from an attack, but if there’s multiple people talking over each other or- god forbid- putting their hands on the anxious person at once, that’s about the Opposite of grounding. it’s stressful.

2. Panicking people do not want to be hugged from behind. Generally speaking, they do not want their limbs forcibly restrained unless its absolutely necessary for their safety. stooooop depicting characters literally pulling the panicked character into an embrace and holding them down.

3. breathing exercises don’t always work. sometimes you just have to wait it out.

4. panicked people sometimes don’t want to be touched in any capacity, and sometimes they want a lot of touch, and sometimes they just want a hand to hold for grounding purposes. it depends on the person and the situation.

5. if somebody’s having an anxiety attack, they might want to be completely alone; they might not be able to trust the people they usually would, because it’s obviously! a special circumstance!!!

6. we often get, like, angry, before the panic attack starts. we might lash out defensively in fear. stop shying away from anxious characters being mean when they’re scared! don’t woobify anxiety and make it seem like us needing to be protected from our Big Scary Thoughts >_< by some patient and caring mentally abled person, okay?

7. maybe don’t depict character’s having anxiety attacks the same way every time? this is more of a suggestion, but... it’s not all crying and curling up in a corner and trembling. Sometimes it’s just a really bad bout of dissociation, or a burst of really overwhelming anger. they can be different.

tl;dr: don’t use anxiety attacks as an excuse for a character to be coddled and cooed over by their romantic interest(s), because it really isn’t realistic to how unpleasant of an experience attacks can be. also, don’t depict all anxiety attacks or anxious characters the same way every single time, please

this is all from my perspective as someone with anxiety, and of course other people with the condition would experience it differently. i made this post just to air some of my own frustrations with things i’ve read in fanfictions (and if you’ve ever happened to write with any of the tropes i frowned upon above, like, no hard feelings man, so long as you’re a little more aware of this stuff going forward!)

if any other anxious people- specific to the tss fandom or otherwise!- wanna add on to this, that would be really lovely!

#tss #kind of.#fandom critical #writing advice

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forthemorefortunate · 3 years

Text

Live Like Animals

Nessian Modern AU

Merry Chris- er, happy New Year to my secret snowflake! @ncssian 💕😅

I hope you like the fic! I’ll be honest, when I filled out the application for the secret snowflake, I said I could make a fic believing that it was very unlikely somebody would ask for one 🥴🤔 But lemme say, I LOVED writing this, which is definitely something I didn’t expect. More than that, I’ve never been much of a Nesta or Nessian fan, but actually thinking through their characters and interactions for this fic gave me a whole new perspective on and appreciation for them (even if I’m not the best at writing their characters, aha), so thank you!

A few quick things about the fic:

(Ik I already told you this, but for anybody else reading this aha) This is my first fic! So please take it easy on me 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Okay so this part is kind of weird, but there’s kind of a corresponding playlist 😅 Each part is named after a song. You can play the songs while reading or not, I know for me personally (*cough* my ADHD ass) it’s hard to listen to music and read at the same time. The title is also the name of a song! Except that one is more random, haha (I couldn’t think of a title, so I shuffled my entire library and chose the first song as the title, and it kinda worked so I went with it)

One more quick thing – thanks to @moussescientist @ko0mbayamylord @blxckbeak @chanberry @mikitheswiftie @potatoburp @dead-on-the-inside666 @queenoffortunes and two anons for answering a question, and a HUGE thanks to Skye, @oneoutofamillionbooklovers for all your help and for roleplaying the parts I got stuck on with me ❤️

Part 1: Distant Early Warning (Rush)

Nesta pulled the dress over her head, letting it slide into place over her body. Screw this, she thought for the millionth time, yet she continued to get herself ready, turning to glance at her reflection when she was finished. She raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly at the woman looking back through the mirror. The woman Nesta spied had on a satin slip dress, darkest blue. She wore no jewelry save for the small silver studs in her ears, and her hair was pulled into a neat-yet-simple updo.

Why Nesta even agreed to go to this party she didn’t know. There was nothing different about it, just another college booze fest. The music would be too loud, the air too heavy, the guys too grabby, and the company too... clubby. Feyre insisted that she would fit right into her friend group – her clique – but Nesta wasn’t sure she wanted that. She padded over to the door of her apartment. No, Nesta was quite certain that “fitting in” with Feyre’s newfound friends was something she didn’t care for at all.

Nesta’s phone buzzed on her kitchen counter as she slipped on a pair of black heels, and she picked up to Feyre’s forcibly perky voice. “Hey! We just pulled up, you coming?”

“No.” Response blunt, tone dry. The line was silent for a long moment, and Nesta held in a sigh. “Did I give you the impression that I was interested in coming?”

“Nesta, I’m not in the mood for fucking around,” Feyre said, perkiness mysteriously faded now. “It’s just one party! I promise you’ll have fun.” Bullshit.

“Since when have I ever-”

“And everyone else really wants you to come, too!” Feyre cut her off, “Rhys is excited to meet you!”

Rhys. Feyre’s boyfriend. Nesta groaned inwardly, truly dreading any interaction with the rugby star. Feyre had immediately caught the eye of the local heartthrob, and the two began a serious relationship shortly after meeting. And with one came the others. In high school they would have been labeled “popular.” They were quite possibly the closest group of friends at the college, almost all of them having known each other since childhood. And Feyre had slipped right in among them. Nesta had warned Feyre against making the tight pack of fourth-years her main group of friends, and she had her own opinions about a freshman dating a senior, but Feyre didn’t make a habit of following Nesta’s advice. Rather, she seemed to think she could give Nesta – a third-year – much more valuable guidance. Domineering bitch.

“I don’t give a shit about your friends, Feyre. I’m only coming because of our deal,” Nesta said. Feyre had been pestering her all semester, spewing crap about how Nesta and Feyre should spend more time together. Nesta should get out more. Nesta should tag along with Feyre’s friend group. Nesta should have some fun.

More bullshit.

As second semester began, Feyre had proposed a deal: Nesta would go to one party with Feyre and her buddies, and if she honestly didn’t enjoy it, Feyre would stop asking her to join them.

“I’m on my way. Let’s just get it over with,” Nesta grumbled, and with that, she hung up the phone and opened the apartment door.

Part 2: Can You Afford to Be An Individual? (Nothing but Thieves

Nesta looked around the group of fourth-years–plus Feyre–arranged in front of her. Introductions were unnecessary; you couldn’t attend this school without knowing who they were. Her eyes fell first upon Rhys, his arm around Feyre’s waist. His chin lifted slightly as she made eye contact. Rhys: double major in history and foreign policy. President of the astrology club. Captain of the rugby team, possibly one of the best players the school had ever seen. He was the group leader, though nobody said it aloud. Nesta knew him well. Perhaps she only knew his type well, or her own perception of his type, but that didn’t keep her from holding his gaze a few moments longer than would be comfortable. Then she turned her scrutiny on his sidekicks, so she called them, Cassian and Azriel. The former wore jeans and a baggy black jacket over his rugby uniform in the school colors: black and red. The latter wore black pants with a dark blue button-down shirt untucked.

Cassian smirked as her eyes met his. “Glad you decided to make an appearance,” he drawled. She narrowed her eyes at him, and his smile widened in response. Cocky bastard. Azriel, double majoring in political science and criminology, simply nodded at her in greeting.

After the sidekicks came Rhys’s cousin Mor, an architecture major with a minor in design. She was entirely too peppy in a way that left Nesta exhausted, but Nesta wouldn’t give her satisfaction by scoffing at her cocked hip and half-grin, ostensibly projecting confidence. She held Mor’s stare, matching her asserted confidence with a cool security in her own assets. The half-smile twisted, just slightly, and Nesta moved on to the short girl farthest to the right: Amren.

Amren scared people. As in, people were genuinely freaked out by her. Aside from a few cultish tendencies, her occasional propensity for violence and/or verbal outbursts, and her sharp expression, though, Nesta couldn’t tell why. Amren majored in gemology and minored in linguistics, and was the only one in the group other than Feyre to have not known the others since they were little. In fact, she was studying here from abroad, though nobody actually knew where she was from. Unlike Mor, Amren presented a confidence that Nesta could believe in and respect. Nesta maintained her chilled posture, but let the bite in her expression retreat.

As for Feyre’s introducing Nesta, that was unnecessary as well. They all knew her; most upperclassmen did. Or rather they knew of her, by the name of heinous bitch. If she were being honest with herself, she didn’t mind the nickname.

“Okay,” Feyre started, her voice expectant as she tilted her chin to look at Rhys’s face, “Let’s head in?” Feyre, Rhys, and Nesta had met up with the rest of the group in the parking lot before they entered the party. Fashionably late, Feyre had told her on the drive in Rhys’s tesla. Rhys taught me that the key to maintaining his public image is in making grand entrances. God, Nesta wanted to laugh at Rhys’s influence over her.

As they entered the building holding the party Nesta immediately stiffened, and had to close her eyes for a moment against the harsh blue and purple lights cast by PAR cans. All senses at once were smacked by the presence of weed. The floor was vibrating, and speakers blasted near-deafening music so that all Nesta could really hear was thunder. Jesus Christ, I hate parties, she thought. A mass of sweaty bodies shifted and bounced through the too-heavy air ahead of her, some only silhouettes in the murky haze, through which Nesta saw red solo cups littering every possible surface. Suddenly she noticed Feyre standing next to her, fidgeting with her clutch and looking over expectantly. Nesta shot her a withering look that said, “This is not what we agreed to.” Feyre had the nerve to look guilty.

“Okay before you say anything,” Feyre began, “I know that look, and... I know this is a bit bigger than we talked about-”

“A bit?! This is a rager, Feyre. Do I look like I rage?”

“Okay no, but I promise Rhys and I have a plan.” Oh my God.

Nesta gave her another glare and plucked a cup off a nearby table. Sniffing it, she sighed and took a big swig. “Please, my dearest sister, do tell.”

“We’re going with a buddy system.”

Nesta coughed. “A buddy system – are you fucking kidding me?” She spied Rhys and his dickhead friends in the corner of her eye. “Wow, are arts and crafts before or after beer pong?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, calling a fresh wave of frustration to roll over Nesta. “Can you shut it with the attitude, Nesta? I already apologized for the crowd of people – it kind of got out of hand. Rhys told me before we left but I didn’t want to scare you out of coming.” She gave Nesta a pleading look.

“Tch, whatever. Who’s my buddy? I assume you’ll be with Rhys?”

Feyre beamed at her. “You’re paired up with Cassian!”

“Cassian.” Great. Alpha dickhead.

“Don’t be like that. He knows his way around these things and he’ll keep you from accidentally overdosing or blacking out.”

“Who said that wasn’t my intention?”

Feyre scrunched her face up. “Either way, you can’t deny that he’s bigger and taller than half the creepy guys here. He’ll keep unwanted attention away.”

Nesta watched as Rhys, lead hulking rugby bro dickhead, caught sight of her sister and eyed her with what might have been lust or love – Nesta couldn’t decide. Cassian, approaching from Rhys’s side, cut Nesta a slow, purposeful look down and back up to her face. She felt an annoying tingle down her spine as the crowds parted for them. This was going to be a long night.

Part 3: Inhaler (Foals)

They had been at the party for less than ten minutes and Nesta already wanted to leave. Drink in hand, she aimlessly wandered around the outskirts of the crowd, hoping to find a place to sit farther from the lights that drowned out any rational thought that flashed through her brain. Cassian trailed a few steps behind.

“So, what do you do for fun?”

She twisted around to glare at him. “Why are you talking to me?”

Cassian puffed out a laugh and spread his arms wide, responding, “If you don’t recall, we’re kind of stuck together, darling.”

Right. Nesta rolled her eyes. “How could I forget?” Cassian left the question hanging, still following her, so she forged on. “I like to read. A concept that’s probably foreign to you.” She dodged a young couple parting from the fray to make out against the wall, and paused to reorient herself.

“You might be surprised.” Nesta groaned inwardly and arched a brow. “Oh I have no doubt.”

“None at all?”

“What. Are you on volume seven of Captain Underpants?”

“Volume eight, actually.”

Nesta stopped. She was pissed. Pissed at this party, pissed at Feyre for lying about how big it was, pissed that she was stuck with rugby bro sidekick, pissed that the purple lights suddenly seemed a lot brighter, the music a lot louder, her thoughts a lot fuzzier. “Look, Cassian. I only came here as a favor to my sister. We’re not friends.” He started to cut her off, but she continued, turning so that they fully faced each other, “You don’t have to stay, I can take care of myself.”

He leaned in close, the laughter in his tone suddenly gone. “Listen, princess. You’ve had two beers and you’re already tipsy. I get it, we’re not friends. But there are at least four guys looking at you like they want to take you against the nearest surface and I’m the only man within a thirty-foot radius that has any self-control. There’s no way I’m leaving.” He held her gaze firmly.

“So that’s it – I’m just supposed to trust you? My knight in shining armor, here to protect my virtue? That ship sailed a long time ago.” Fuck it. “I wouldn’t mind taking you for a ride though,” Nesta said, flashing a smirk at the end.

Cassian’s lips twisted into a half-grin, but she could see annoyance rising up in his eyes. “Nesta, you don’t wanna play with me.”

“Brute.” Nesta turned and started walking away again.

“Bitch.” He followed.

Nesta scoffed. “How original.”

“Not all of us are English Lit majors.”

Somehow Nesta tripped on her own foot at that moment, staggering sideways into Cassian’s path. He lunged forward, arms going around her waist to hoist her upright. Her lip curled and she spit out, “And not all of us are rugby stars,” and shoved her way out of his arms.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Cassian asked, incredulous.

“Cassian, I’m sure there are plenty of girls here that would love your attention. But I’m not one of them.” She turned around to face him, walking backwards, and almost tripped again. “So go on and play with someone else. I don’t care. Just leave me alone.” With that, Nesta thrust herself into the fray, pushing her way through the mass of shouting people, making the crowd a barrier between herself and Cassian.

Part 4: Emergency (Nothing but Thieves)

After five minutes of random college students bumping into her from every direction, her head pounding and thoughts muddled, Nesta realized she didn’t know which direction the exit was in. Fuck. She was disoriented and exasperated, her frustration now showing in her usually unshakable expression. She couldn’t even tell which direction the light was coming from. How many beers had she drunk? Two? Three? She wasn’t usually a drinker, and it hit her then that she hadn’t eaten for hours before the party started. Stupid, she thought. This was why she didn’t do parties.

She was so distracted trying to figure out where the light source was, trying to get her bearings at least, that she didn’t catch sight of a brooding figure wending its way toward her until the man had a hold of her wrist and was pulling her to the side of the room, wherever that was.

“Hey! Get the fuck off me!” Nesta shouted over the crowd, but couldn’t get a response from the man until they found one of the cinder block walls.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice cruel as he tried to pull her closer. “We’re just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta ripped free of his grasp, but he backed her into a corner. He had a drink in one hand. Not good.

“Hey, hey, no need to get worked up,” he drawled, “I saw the way you were looking at me.” Looking at him? Nesta thought. This was the first she’d seen of him.

Nesta tried to step to the side, but the man followed her, his senses keener than hers in her condition. He reached out for her arm again, and Nesta shouted this time. “Don’t touch me!”

He put his hand up as if in innocence. “Come now, I’ll make it fun for you. Just have a drink.” He brought the cup toward her face, his hand now reaching behind her head, which she snatched away.

“I swear to God, can’t you bastards understand that no means no?”

“You-”

“Get the fuck away from me, creep!” She aimed a kick at his groin, but he easily dodged it.

His mouth hardened into a line, and he growled, “Just take the damn drink, bitch!”

The man shoved her into the corner, her head hitting the wall. He brought his hand up to hold her back by her shoulders as he brought the cup up toward her lips and-

“Let me go or I promise you’ll regret it.” Last resort.

He shot her a crooked grin and began to reply, but whatever response he had in mind was cut short.

A voice from behind him said, “And she never goes back on a promise, asshole.” The man was wrenched off her body by two strong hands, and pulled over to the side to give her an out, which she quickly took advantage of.

And there, dragging the man away from her, was Cassian.

The creep tried to play it cool. “Hey, Cassian, bro, what’s up, man?” he said mock-casually, “I caught your last game! great playing, dude!” His demeanor shifted completely as he turned on his bro mode.

Cassian’s jaw was set. He tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder, his stare withering. “You need to leave. Right now.”

Yet the man kept going with a smirk, “It’s all good bro, we can share.”

That was a step too far.

Cassian grabbed the man’s shirt, pulling him close. “That’s the thing – I don’t share. I don’t play nice.” Cassian thrust his face forward so they were only a couple inches apart. “You said you caught my last game, right? So you know I don’t go down without a fight. Touch her again and you’ll regret it.” With that, he shoved the guy into a table, and turned to Nesta. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Part 5: Before We Drift Away (Nothing but Thieves)

Dizzy and shaken, Nesta let Cassian guide her through the crowd to the exit. Once they were outside in the cool night air, he pulled her aside, gaze dark.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Did he force you to drink whatever was in that cup?”

“No.”

His eyes closed and relief flooded across his face. “Good. God, some people are fucked up. I don’t know what I would have done if he had drugged you, or taken you away, or...” He trailed off, leaving anything further than that unsaid.

They were silent for a minute. Nesta looked up at him, a bit of worry still etched across his features. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care so much?”

He looked over to her, something strange in his expression that Nesta couldn’t place. “I don’t know. You’re a human being, and your safety was left in my hands.” He paused and looked away. “If I’m being honest, when I saw that guy put his hands on you... I don’t know. Something flipped inside me.” At that moment he looked down to her bare shoulders, noticing that she was beginning to shiver. “You’re cold,” he said softly. “Here, take this.” He removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, even when she protested.

Nesta frowned as she gave in and pulled his jacket tightly around her, annoyed at the way her body betrayed her. “I don’t need protection. I’ve lived a long time without people to care about me.” She started walking toward the parking lot, and he followed.

“You shouldn’t have to live like that, Nesta. You’ve been pushing me away all night, but listen to me – don’t you understand? I’m not just talking to you because I’m bored. I don’t smile at you as a game, as if you’re some prize for me to win. Can’t you see by now that I’m doing literally everything I can just to stay by your side? Damn it, I asked Feyre to pair us together at the party.”

Nesta had stopped walking and was speechless for once.

Cassian stepped closer tentatively, as though she’d back away. He ran a finger over Nesta’s wrist and looked up to the sky. “Please, just don’t make me say anything else completely insane. I promise I’m not in the habit of sharing intense moments with perfect strangers.”

A rush of anger coursed through Nesta, and she shoved him back. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t talk to me like that. Despite what you must think, I’m not an idiot. I’m not naive. I am well aware that this is all a favor to my sister. Stay with my lame, antisocial sister. It might be fun, right?” She paused, any restraint she had used earlier having completely abandoned her.

“That’s not what I think at all, Nes-”

“Fuck you, Cassian.” She shoved him again, more aggressively this time.

Cassian caught her wrists and pulled her closer. “Try that again.”

Nesta glared. “Bite me,” she spit out.

“Maybe I will.”

And as though drawn to her by some gravitational force, Cassian’s mouth came crashing down onto hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, seeming to lift her off her feet. Nesta’s bare skin burned where Cassian touched her, and she pushed back against his touch to gain control. Everything, every thought was fading to nothing. Biting down on his lip drew out a low groan from Cassian, and Nesta broke free.

Cassian put his hands up as though to make a barrier between them, as though he wouldn’t be able to control himself without it.

“So much for being the only man with self-control,” Nesta said. Cassian just shook his head, earning a light snort from Nesta. “I shut everyone out--even pretty jocks like you. Don’t take it personally. It’s just easier.”

Cassian smiled his easy smile, and he reached up to touch his lips with a thumb. “You think I’m pretty?”

Nesta scoffed. “The prettiest.”

He stood there for a moment, just smiling at her, before turning back toward the parking lot. “Okay, princess, allow me to introduce you to the pinnacle of after-party activities.”

Nesta raised a brow, and Cassian let out a bark of laughter.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking about pancakes.”

She looked skeptical. “Pancakes?”

“Yes. And after the night you had, you deserve an entire plate of them.” Cassian reached out to her with his big, warm hand, and Nesta hesitated.

“Cassian-” She started warily.

“Hey – I’m not asking you to marry me, it’s just pancakes.”

Nesta waited a moment more, then took his hand. “Fine. But I’m not sharing the chocolate sauce.”

“I wouldn’t dare ask you to. Besides, you already know how I feel about sharing.”

Nesta smiled a bit. “Hey Cassian?

“Yes Nesta?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

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akillysheel · 2 years

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TENUOUS. ❜ ( 16 )

Summary: Catharsis. Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation, depictions of death and catatonia/poor mental health.

A/N: This update REALLY took it out of me - but it’s done and in spite of it all, I’m proud of it. Also, just as a personal aside: mental illness in this story is depicted the way it is because it is relevant to the plot, not because I as the author agree with all of the phrasing/approaches to it. It is not hateful - but it’s ultimately ignorant, because huros don’t know much about it yet.

"Go faster."

"There's a speed limit, Cthugha." Self-imposed, but it’s there.

Huron's streets weren't made for driving. They barely had designated roads, nevermind street signs or traffic lights. Vehicles were still very much a novel concept to everybody excluding those that worked for the emergency services. Kuro was quite sure that he could count the number of cars in Huron on just one hand - and that was exactly the way he liked it.

"We wouldn't have that problem in a jet," Cthugha grumbled, the bag in his hands crinkling as he folded his arms over his chest.

The sheriff squinted, fingers taut around the steering wheel. "Yeah well, there ain't people walkin' around in the damn sky, are there?"

He wasn't going to mention the fact that he'd never even seen a plane in person before, nevermind had the propensity-- or the money-- to own one. It felt as if that would open a whole new can of worms, one he didn't feel like being spoon-fed right now.

Cthugha sighed deeply, leaning back in his seat. “When did ya learn to drive?”

“Quite a while ago now,” Kuro mused. Sometimes, he forgot that The Crossover didn’t actually happen that long ago. A few decades ago, sure, but for people who lived centuries? That was barely a blink ago. “When I first started helpin’ out with the VTF, it took me a week t’get there by carriage. I guess they took a li’l pity on me; taught me t’drive as a sorta requisite, let me borrow one’a their cruisers fer the journey back ‘n’ forth. One cash deposit ‘n’ a paint-job ‘n’ it’s now officially a HTF car.”

“Did ya find it easy?”

“Uh…” He paused, unable to stop himself from chuckling as he recalled the first time he’d been behind the wheel. He’d crawled forwards at about two miles an hour for the length of an entire street before stalling the car. “... was alright.”

Cthugha snorted. “That’s code for ‘what the fuck is a clutch?’, huh?”

Kuro laughed-- really laughed-- before shaking his head. “Yup. I was kinda hopeless t’start with. Luckily I’m a fast learner.” He shrugged then, eyes drawn to the roof of the familiar building that he’d deposited Connor in. It was a pristine white, its fences so high that they were visible on his horizon. “Y’gotta cut me some slack though. I think I was the first huro t’drive a car. I’d say I did alright in the end.”

“You’re kinda the first huro to do a lot of things, it seems.”

“I wouldn’t… say a lotta things…” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed as he parked. “C’mon. We’ll have t’walk the rest’a the way. Path’s too narrow.”

They exited the cruiser in perfect tandem, Kuro double-checking its lock before starting in the direction of the hospital.

Clinics had always been daunting to him. They reminded him of dark times in his family history, of the various doctors his poor mother had cycled through before being locked away for good. There had been nothing scarier to him at six years old than his mother screaming hysterically in the waiting room for somebody to help her husband when he’d died a week prior. Ground to chunks, the police had said, and by God did that imagery haunt him. The only parts of Oscar Braav that were recovered were a handful of teeth, his ring finger-- with his wedding ring still attached-- and his horns.

He’d been too young to really understand the tragedy that had befallen his tiny family unit. There were only two things he’d come to know: that the promise of future siblings was forcibly cauterised before his eyes, and that his papa wasn’t coming home from work - not that night, and not ever again.

He remembered feeling like a terrible son for not grieving as openly as his mother. While she’d fallen apart over breakfast, pitcher of milk crashing to the floor as she wept and writhed on the cold tile floor, he’d been silent and outwardly unemotive. Shell-shocked, stunned to the point of selective mutism, and as such he harboured his sadness in a very private, confused sort of way-- like a zombie shambling through an empty plane in aimless search of an end to the vacancy inside.

He remembered feeling even worse when he’d stolen the ring finger from his mother’s nightstand drawer and taken it to bed with him one night. He’d meant no harm, had only wanted to feel some semblance of closeness to his missing parent, but it had ended in disaster. She’d been distraught by morning-- had trashed their house looking for it-- and when she’d realised that it was beneath her son’s pillow, she’d flown into a rage so hysterical that Kuro still recalled the abject terror that had made itself at home in his gut. He’d never been scared of his mother before, but in that moment he’d crumbled into the corner of the room and sobbed.

I just wanted papa to tuck me in, he remembered crying. I just want papa back!

“Hey. Kuro!”

“Uh--”

The main entrance stared at him blankly, his feet planted firmly at the threshold. Welcome to Merriway Hospital.

“Ya blanked out,” Cthugha said slowly, a crease forming in his brow as he stared up at him. It almost looked as if he wanted to reach out, to pat his arm in an act of solidarity, but he refrained. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” the sheriff replied, a little too quickly, his voice just a fraction too high. “‘m fine, I just-- sorry. I’m thinkin’ about this… y’know.” He lowered his voice, bending slightly to be closer to the other. In a secretive whisper: “... serial killer nonsense.”

Cthugha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “One step at a time,” he said dutifully. “That’s what ya said.”

Without waiting for a response, Cthugha breached the entryway first, more than a little surprised by the welcoming air of the main lobby. A nuthouse was a nuthouse, but this was a far cry from the clinical white hellscape that he was used to.

Curiously, he moved to the nearest window, looking out at the view. He spotted their cruiser parked on the road, followed the winding path up to the hospital with his eyes. He’d felt the incline while walking up to the main entrance, but it certainly looked steeper now that he was looking down at it. The grass on either side of the cobblestone walkway was neat and well-tended, flowerbeds in uniformed lines along the brick outline of the building.

It doesn’t smell of chemicals in here. There’re flowers in the garden. There’re couches in the fucking foyer. What is happening?

“It’s imperative that we talk t’him now,” he heard Kuro say, left ear twitching in his general direction before he thought to turn around. The receptionist looked hesitant-- a sweet-looking man with glasses perched on the edge of his nose and a daisy chain looped around his horns. Likely a gift from the locals. “Yeah, I know visitin’ hours--”

Already, the rifter was tuning the conversation out. The one thing he could tell for certain was that Kuro was becoming frustrated. He hid it well, his voice never once crawling upwards, either in volume or in thickness, but his hands were beginning to speak for him. Exasperated, flat-facing palms; irate, tightly-balled fists.

It’s making me sad to watch, he thought listlessly, before frowning. I mean-- we don’t have time for this.

“Hey.” Both men paused as Cthugha approached the counter. His eyes were stormy, though the look on his face was calm and collected. Wordlessly, he flung the bag in his hands upwards, letting it clatter onto the reception desk. One eyebrow followed the incline, though it remained quirked after the trophy struck the table. “Either ya let us in, or we’ve got one helluva fucked-up delivery for ya to make, sir.”

The horror on the receptionist’s face was instantaneous, caramel skin becoming peaky and pale. Soft brown eyes darted between the bag and the rifter warily before he stammered out a pathetic: “Wh-What’re--”

“Ya know what they are.” Imposingly, Cthugha pressed his palms flat against the desk and leaned in. The cyan in his eyes seemed to glow with an unprecedented malice. “So stop fuckin’ around ‘n’ gimme a goddamn pass.”

“... please,” Kuro added hesitantly, looking pitifully subdued. "He meant t'say please."

Cthugha squinted. Then, through his teeth: “Please.”

With a newfound clamminess to his hands, the man behind the counter fished two visitor badges from their place before scooting them across it meekly.

“Appreciate it,” Cthugha said, throwing it haphazardly around his neck before snatching the horn-bag back, stalking off.

Kuro winced, following idly in his shadow. If this was any other time, he likely would have been more vocal about his displeasure. But now, while time was of the essence? Cthugha's methods were undoubtedly more efficient than him running in diplomatic circles.

"If anyone reports yer behaviour, I didn't see a thing," Sheriff Braav mumbled, following the sharp L-turn that the hallway made.

"I govern time," Cthugha replied, his face nonplussed. "I hardly think a choice word or two from daisy-boy is gonna do much to stop me." He paused as the corridor suddenly opened up into one huge room. It was full of people dressed in white overalls, seven digit numbers printed on their backs. Some walked around aimlessly; others seemed more cognisant, interacting with people as if they'd met up in the pub for drinks. The rifter winced. "This is depressing."

"Yup. 's kinda the point," the Sheriff muttered, pushing ahead. He hadn't much of a clue on how places like these worked for he'd never been in one. Mental health was new to them, their facilities to deal with it fresh, state-of-the-art, but ultimately run through an altruistic version of trial and error. There had been times where he'd been sure he'd end up in one eventually, whether it was because of age or because of the razor's edge cutting too close for comfort one time too many. Self-consciously, Kuro pocketed his hands, his coat sleeves suddenly feeling thin and transparent. "Okay, gotta find… somebody..." His words trailed off, eyes scanning the crowd for anybody that stood out to him. Eventually, he came across a woman in blue. He'd almost missed her, though when he realised she was dressed differently, he could've kicked himself. It’s so obvious. "Her. She must work here."

Getting closer, he saw that she was entertaining a small huddle of middle-aged women, engaging in conversation, shuffling something along the table. When close enough to speak, he realised that they were board game pieces. Curiously, there was no board.

Kuro cleared his throat. "Excuse me, ma'am."

The woman turned, greeted him with a smile. "Sheriff Braav," she said politely, hands folding in front of her. Briefly, her eyes scanned over Cthugha. "And… company? Please tell me he's not for us."

"Listen here--"

"Oh no, he's uh-- he's on a placement. He's my temporary rookie," Kuro swiftly interjected, not liking the idea of Cthugha causing a scene in a building full of mentally ill people. He had no idea what any of them were going through on a personal basis - perhaps even the raise of one's voice would be enough to upset at least one person there. "We're lookin' fer Mr.Vanton. 's important." He paused to tap his visitation badge, then his own police-issued one secured to his hip. "I understand this's unprecedented but it can't wait. We received clearance from the front desk."

Sort of. If one could consider Cthugha's uncanny intimidation tactics to be 'clearance'.

'Oh, you actually lucked out, Sheriff," she answered, setting her playing piece-- a tiny silver kayag-- down on the table. "I'm the nurse that handles his one-to-one sessions."

"Oh, thank Raku." His relief was candid, hopeful even. It felt as if he hadn't had a run-in with blind fortune in a while. "Please, we need t'see him."

"May I ask what for?"

"Not here," he said, eyeing the babbling ladies she'd been playing with for one considerate moment. "...'s upsettin'. I ain't tryna imply anythin' 'bout the folks here, but 's probably better t'be safe than sorry. I ain’t wanna overstep any boundaries."

Mama could've ended up in a place like this, if she'd been born a century or three later, his brain tittered, and he shut the thought away so quickly that he felt the door he'd locked it behind rattle.

He followed the nurse gratefully, feeling every centimetre of distance between him and the masses he was sure he belonged to. He'd always been sympathetic to those that suffered sickness in the mind, for he’d been surrounded by it from an early age. His mother was a prime example of somebody driven to permanent catatonia by heartbreak. His best friend was a perfect testament to the term ‘’tortured artist’’. And he himself… well, he’d always felt as if he had some sort of screw loose, some sort of cataclysmic leak in the bottom of his soul, ridding him of all of the sunshine and hope he’d ever had the capacity for. Dark. Drained. Tired. Always tired.

“Mr.Vanton is a truly sad case,” the woman said, leading them out of the communal room and into another long hallway. Doors lined the wall, each one identical to the one before it. On each, there was a window at about head-height . “From what I’ve gathered in our sessions, he’s still haunted by the absence of his daughter. It’s been--”

“Twenty years,” Kuro interjected softly, nodding along. “I know. That’s… actually why we’re here.”

The woman paused, turning to face them with a furrowed brow. “...Sheriff, I suggest not mentioning Mia. He becomes inconsolable.”

“We found her,” he replied, reaching out and gesturing for Cthugha to hand him the bag. He was almost certain that if the people in Merriway had been more lucid, it would have been equivalent to the rifter carrying a huge sign with him that said, ‘HEY! I’M CARRYING DEAD THINGS!’. “Or, what’s left of her. Finally. We have t’return them t’him.”

“O-Oh God--” Hands flew to cover her mouth, her eyes blown wide.

“... yeah. That’s why we had t’come immediately. He should be one’a the first people t’know. Would’a been the first if he wasn’t here.”

“I… I understand.” This was a risk, of that she was sure, but if there was anything that could offer any solace to Connor, it was likely the retrieval of his daughter’s remains. He’d said it several times in their sessions: I don’t care what state she’s in. I know she’s probably dead now. I just want her home with me and her mother. “This way. Th-This way…”

She didn’t speak the rest of the way. All things considered, Kuro couldn’t say that he was particularly disappointed by that. When she next turned around, it was in front of a door, her hand resting on its knob.

“Please, be gentle with him.”

“We will,” Kuro said, his eyes finally noticing the name tag attached to her chest. “Promise y’that, Sunny.”

She bowed her head in silent thanks before stepping aside, allowing the two men to open the door and enter it. Strategically, Cthugha lurked near the entryway, arms folded over his chest. If there was ever a time to let Kuro take the reigns, it was now, while trying to console the emotionally volatile father. Consideration trumped pragmatism in this particular scenario.

“Mr.Vanton?” Kuro asked, taking a cautious step towards the desk he was slumped at. He watched the man’s shoulders go rigid, as if he’d just become aware of another presence in the room.

“Sheriff Braav…?” Connor mumbled, turning to face him. He was bleary-eyed and dazed, though looked considerably calmer than the last time they'd spoken. His eyes travelled to the skulking figure in the corner, then narrowed. "Oh. You brought him."

Cthugha smiled a thin, sardonic smile. "Hello, Connor."

"Mr.Vanton, I'm here on behalf'a yer daughter," Kuro intervened, attempting to redirect the focus away from the horrific tension in the room. "There's no easy way t'say this, so I'm just gonna have t'show you."

He watched the man's face closely for several seconds, trying to gauge whether he'd made a sensible decision or not. It wasn't as if he didn't understand the risk - but the fate of Huron was bigger than all of them combined. He'd no choice but to press on, to unveil the sad truth, as disconcerting as the timing may have been.

Without a word, he placed the plastic bag on the table, watching as Connor's head declined to stare at it. He was silent - silent for far too long, and then came the response that Kuro had been looking for.

Tears.

"Wh-What…?"

Hesitantly, Sheriff Braav pulled up the extra seat tucked beneath the desk and sat down, resting a palm on Connor's shoulder.

"These belong to Mia," he said gently. "We ran 'em through the database, they were a match t'yer family."

"Where was she…?" Connor sobbed, reaching out with shaky hands and drawing the bag to his chest. Now reunited with the father, they looked less like trophies and more like the last things left of a dead girl. "H-How--"

"We… can't disclose the details t'y'yet. They ain't public." The hand on his shoulder squeezed again, anchoring him to reality. There was only so much he could say, yet he'd never forgive himself if he didn't at least attempt to offer him some closure. "Somethin' bad's happenin' in Huron. It's been happenin' right under our noses fer at least twenty years. Mia was just one of many victims… sixteen in total."

Connor's reaction was so sudden that both Kuro and Cthugha winced, reared back in shock: he lurched to one side, vomiting violently. It was far from the first time that news the Sheriff had delivered was the catalyst for somebody losing their lunch, but there was something about the mix of retching and whimpering that felt new, unseen-- tragic in the worst way possible. Mercifully, most of his mess had landed in the nearby waste bin. When he finally stopped dry heaving, he collapsed forward onto the desk and cried, Mia's horns clasped tight in one clammy, trembling fist.

Inconsolable, Kuro's mind echoed back to him as his hand rubbed tenderly along the man's back. And yet, this feels like some sort of breakthrough.

"Thank Raku… thank Raku… thank Raku…" His words were muffled by his arm, his body shivering with anguish, yet his words tremoured with undeniable catharsis. Slowly, he picked his head up from the desk, staring at Kuro with watery eyes. "I can't believe… I almost shot you. That wasn't me-- it wasn't."

"I know," Kuro said softly, brow arching with a hint of pain as the man lunged towards him, ensnaring him in a feeble, but desperate, embrace. Suddenly, the smell of vomit didn't bother the sheriff at all, one arm winding around him comfortingly, his hand patting his back. "Why else d'y'think I sent y'here 'n' not to jail? I know."

"You have t'find whoever did this, Sheriff… you have to," Connor moaned, his face a mess of tears and sweat. "Promise me y'will… promise me."

"I will," he urged, his voice scalding hot with hate. "I swear."

He paused, his free hand diving into his pocket and retrieving a half full packet of tissues. "Here, mop yerself up. There y'go," he said as Connor released him.

"Y'just have tissues on hand…? Just like that?" Connor quizzed through a pained laugh, accepting it and beginning to wipe his face.

"Trust me, it's a requirement in my line'a work," he replied, waiting until his haphazard breathing had calmed some. "... listen. There's something I want y't'know."

Connor nodded quickly, insistently. Anything, his frantic look said. Anything you want.

"A couple things, actually. First, when we go public with the details, we'll disclose more t'y'if y'want them. 'n' second-- without disclosin' a thing, I wasn't the one who found the initial lead. Nor was I the one who found the horns first. A Vider found the lead-- a Viddish officer, workin' fer the Huron Task Force. 'n' Cthugha here crawled through the dirt on his hands 'n' knees t'investigate the place yer daughter's horns were located."

He hadn't had a chance to change clothes yet, too wrapped up in both the swift progression of the case and the impromptu restoration of the Balance to even consider it. While he'd dusted himself down as well as he could upon leaving the trophy room, the dirt was still particularly noticeable around his knees and cuffs.

"I was too big t'fit through comfortably. He offered t'go ahead 'n' scout it out. He did that without bein' asked; even though me 'n’ my associate initially tried t'talk him out of it."

By now, Cthugha was staring at him, his brow tightly knit, mouth curled tight.

What’s your end-game here, Kuro? Why’re you saying these things?

"I'm tellin' y'this because I understand yer initial distaste. He's prickly, 'n' can be real rude, 'n' he ain't care much fer protocol-- but he's good at heart. He travelled here fer Mia. Fer your daughter. I need y't'know that."

Connor's quiet was telling: he was quite positively flabbergasted by the wealth of information - and its sheer gravity.

"... is that true?" he questioned softly.

As if embarrassed, Cthugha angled his head in the opposite direction and stared hard at the far wall. He was ashamed to admit it, but he'd dreamed of moments like these; moments in which he finally received some scrap of recognition for his cosmic efforts. Now that it was happening, he felt flustered, unsure of how to respond. "... yeah. It's true. About Mia." He paused, glancing at the pair before unfolding his arms and turning to face them. "It's a long story. But it all boils down to the fact that all I wanted was to find her. I needed to. To help you."

"T'help… me?"

"Yeah." He paused again, wondering how much was productive to say. "... there're things I can't disclose either. But there're forces at work in this world. Some of them good, some of them bad. One of those bad forces latched onto your grief and I had to fix it." Hesitantly, he added: "... I don't expect anything. I don’t take money and I seldom ever take thanks. Just do me one favour."

"What…? What is it…?"

Cthugha frowned, tilting his head. "That trimmer in your basement; the one ya had modified by some shady third-party fella from Vide: let me get rid of it. It's the cause of a lot of trouble for your district."

"Modified…?" Kuro blurted, horrified.

Connor looked like a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar-- though significantly more frightened. "H--How did you…"

"It doesn't matter," Cthugha said, looking visibly more relaxed. "All I need to do is break it. Doesn't matter how. I won’t touch anything else in your home. I think it’s the least ya can do in return for almost shooting my associate. I need him for this mission I’m on, ya know."

Slowly, Connor nodded his head. "I… I had no idea. I really misjudged you."

"Well, yeah." There was a moment where he looked prideful, chest puffed up, though he deflated shortly after. "... but I suppose I didn't help. I'm sorry for insulting your furniture. And hitting you in the face. With your own gun. Really hard, actually…" He trailed off, scratching at the back of his neck in a bashful manner before offering a hand with a cheesy grin. "... bygones?"

"Bygones," Connor mumbled, shaking his hand Hesitantly. Cthugha's grip was much more firm than he anticipated it would be. "... y'really are freakishly strong."

"Haha! Ya should see me when I'm not stuck in an energy-draining timeloop!"

Both huros looked slightly terrified in that moment, for vastly different reasons.

"Well, uh…" Sheriff Braav paused to stand up, making his way to the door. "I'm gonna send fer yer nurse. She can clean y'up properly, 'n' I'll talk t'her about lettin' y'out fer a designated time t'bury Mia's horns, if y'want me to."

"No, I…" Slowly, Connor shook his head, a warm smile angled towards the floor. It was awful, the pain he felt inside from holding all that was left of his baby in a plastic bag, but he wouldn't deny the relief inside. Finally, he could tuck her in the dirt, bury her among the flowers she'd always loved so much, alongside her mother. "I want to be better first. I wanna… be in my right mind again. I wanna be able to grieve right. I should stay here, finish the program. I… it's what I want. Here, wait--" He got up, knees knocking, steps wobbly and zigzagged as he made his way over to them. "Hold onto them for me. T'make sure I get better. I'll be more motivated to get out, knowin' she's out there. 's somethin' to work towards."

Slowly, Kuro nodded, accepting the bag back. Unpredictable was one word for Connor's abrupt streak of sobriety, but he wasn't complaining. "... okay. I'll do that. I promise I'll keep 'em safe."

"Thank you, Sheriff," he mumbled through fresh tears, his gaze dipping to find the other man's eyes. "... 'n' thank you, Cthugha."

"Oh, uh--" He felt his cheeks heat up, a soft pink dusting his face. Suddenly, he felt tongue-tied, quick wit failing him. "Y-You're welcome…?"

"Heh! Didn't take you fer the sensitive type!"

"Shut up!" he barked, arms thrown out in exasperation. "I'm leaving to invade your basement now! Bye!"

He followed through on that exclamation with a little too much heart, his embarrassment palpable. Kuro couldn't help but smile-- even as the door was flung shut.

Good at heart.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #original story #fandomless oc story #novel #novel drafts #kuro #cthugha #kuro ;#cthugha ;#tenuous ;

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creativeskullcreations · 3 years

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Outside chapter 25: What Comes Next

And here it is, the final chapter. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but more on that in the next chapter. Also can anyone guess who the sequel will involve? There's a hint, though it'll be a while before I get to it.

Stacy chopped the vegetables for the upcoming stir-fry as Scout watched from the other side of the sink. Will was working on measuring out the rice, hopeful that this time it would be the right amount. Scout hoped for another rice-explosion.

Rice cooker started, Will washed his hands and headed down into the basement. Nick and Riley sat in cages along the back wall, tied up and gagged. Riley glared at him as he approached, but Nick stared into space, unmoving and unseeing. Will came up to the cage and poked the Puppet's face with a pen, and on finding no reaction took the artist out of his cage, manually closing his eyes as he went.

Will laid the body on the table, untying him an removing the gag before wrapping him up like a mummy. Wrapped up in fabric and bound with silver infused rope, he was laid gently into a velvet lined box, that was closed and locked up tight with a key and code. It was placed on top of the box that held Mortimer, right next to the one that held Daisy. Right next to the many other boxes lining the wall.

Will finished checking in with the other dolls and toys, finding no change or escape attempts. He went to leave, but stopped first to look at Riley. She was obviously tired, no longer struggling against the ropes that bound her. Instead she opted to give a death glare, which he returned with a steady stare.

"You're next, you know." He told her quietly. "Don't worry, you won't get a different treatment from the others." She just glared harder, and he went back upstairs, heading back for the kitchen.

"Nick's gone dormant." He told Stacy quietly as she cooked the vegetables and rice in a pan. She frowned and nodded, but didn't reply beyond that. Scout was on the table, messing with the forks, and neither of them wanted to bring it to her attention. As he went on to stop the Puppet from her tower building, Stacy breathed a sigh of relief.

'Three down, just one more left.' She sighed in relief as she scooped the food onto four plates. 'It's almost over, then.' She set them up on the table while Will went off to find Canon. He returned quickly, no Puppet in sight.

"Yeah she's still up there, and not coming back down. But she did yell at me to go away this time, so I think we're making progress." He said, taking a seat. Stacy dumped the food that would've been Canon's into a tupperware before taking her own seat.

Scout, true to form, had already started stuffing her face. She stopped briefly, swallowing her mouthful with some difficulty. "I don't even know why you fucking bother. If she wants to be miserable, let her be miserable. Better than having her bothering me all the time." Another scoop of rice went into her mouth. "Why are we eating this again? It's fucking gross."

"We have to have at least two nights where we eat real food." Stacy told her. "It's healthy."

"It's. Gross." Scout repeated. "Didn't you make a cake? Where is it?"

"Cake comes after dinner. Eat your rice." Will told her. And, with some grumbling, the Puppet continued to shovel the stir-fry into her mouth.

"My Dad wants me to come home for Thanksgiving." Stacy said, after a few minutes of silent eating. "I think I should probably go this time, rather than just call."

"Might be a good idea." Will agreed. "Doesn't Danny need to, uh, do something anyways?"

"That's another reason I'm going. And why Scout is coming too."

"What? Ew no I don't wanna go." She dropped down into the chair behind her. "I like this house."

"It's just for a few days. Besides, I want you to meet my brother. It's important."

"How important? Also isn't he the one who can't hear? That's weird." Scout commented, peering over the edge of the table like some sort of gremlin.

"Yes, and yes he is weird but not because he's deaf." A pause, as Stacy realized something. "So don't tell him that that's why he's weird."

The two stared at each other, long enough that Will sighed and reached over to pull the Puppet back up onto the table. "Finish your food so we can get to the cake already." He grumbled, stabbing into a larger piece of carrot. "Also has Lisa gotten back to you on that project she's working?"

"Not yet, but apparently it's been more difficult than she thought. Neither Stitch or Bonzai are cooperating, and Scout doesn't even want to know what she's working on." Stacy side-eyed her Puppet, who glared right back.

"I want no part of that crazy bitch's plans!" She insisted, and was met with two sighs.

"You don't even know what it is." Will pointed out, and got a handful of rice in the face for his trouble.

"I don't fucking care. It involves fabric, and I don't fucking trust her!" She went to grab another handful of rice, only to find her plate gone, and Stacy halfway to the sink with it and the other two plates.

"Who wants some cake?" She asked with false cheer, holding the pan and a knife up. Scout cheered, and Will just sighed, though with a small smile.

-----

Lisa sighed heavily, pulling at her hair as she stared down at her notes. Nothing seemed to be working, though not like she could even test her theories with nobody cooperating with her. Even Stitch, who had agreed to help, and been swayed into not helping by Bonzai.

Finally, she stood and swept the notes into a folder, shelving it for the time being. She had classes to plan for next year, and should probably get on that. She grabbed a fresh notebook and opened it up. 'I wonder is Stitch would be willing to come with a few days out of the week.' She thought as she started on the plans. 'She's not that creepy, and isn't as loud as the others. And kids always love a Puppet.'

A light smile crossed her face as she thought of vague scenarios and sketched in small notes on where the Puppet could fit. She wasn't sure if her supervisor would even allow it, but it was nice to fantasize. Unfortunately, her fantasies were soon broken by a loud crash from the living room.

'Oh what did those three do now?" She stood and left her study, to find the little train Mason had set up crashed into a wall. Her roommate was doubled over laughing behind a camera, while Stitch and Bonzai were arguing. She leaned against the wall, watching the scene.

"I hope you got some good shots, cause it's time to clean this up." She told them, and instantly he sobered up.

"Aw, come on Lees, they love the train. Just look!" He pointed to the two Puppets, of which Stitch was actively strangling her brother.

"It looks like they're trying to kill each other." She leaned down, scooping the Puppets into her arms. "Besides it's gonna be time for bed soon, and I don't want to trip over this again tomorrow morning."

"Ugh, fine." He pulled his phone out and snapped some pics so he could put it back together later. He then started grabbing track pieces and putting them into a nearby bin. Bonzai let out his own groan, just now noticing what was going on.

"Hey wait don't put it away!" He struggled, but couldn't break Lisa's hold on him. "I wasn't done with that! Stop!"

"Ah but my Host has spoken. You are done with it." Stitch intoned smugly, to be met with a hard glare. He was ignored as Lisa carried them to what had been a guest room, but was now set up as their room. Not much had really changed about it, save for there being more toys and some kids' books around. It was mostly a temporary place for them, that had become permanent.

"You guys really gotta clean this place up." The blonde muttered as she stepped over things to put them in the bed. Bonzai tried to escape the second he was let go, but Lisa grabbed him again and almost forcibly tucked him in beside his sister. He crossed his arms and sulked while Stitch looked far too happy to be fussed over like that.

"Glad you're enjoying this humiliation." He muttered.

"It is only humiliating if you dislike such actions." Stitch whispered back as she watched her Host put away some of their things. "Personally, I feel like this was an optimal outcome. Look at her, cleaning for us."

"Well I wasn't done playing with Mason." He grumbled, just loud enough that Lisa heard.

"What were you guys doing, anyways. I saw Mason had his camera set up." She said, coming to sit down on the bed with them.

"We were making a movie! With fun action sequences and a train chase!" Bonzai told her excitedly. "It was totally awesome!"

"He told us he would put it on the internet when he was finished." Stitch told her, and Lisa frowned briefly before covering it up.

"That sounds so cool!" She said. "I can't wait to watch the finished thing. I bet it's gonna be awesome!"

"Hell yeah it is!" Bonzai agreed, and received a small pat on the head for it. He quickly brushed her hand away while she gave Stitch an identical pat, then stood to leave. Turning the light off as she went, she made sure the door was tightly shut before heading back to the living room.

She took a deep breath. "You're going to put them on YouTube?!" She whisper-shouted with a squeak.

"Uh, yeah? I'm not gonna make a whole ass movie just to let it sit in the camera." Mason told her, putting the last of the track pieces in the box.

"You can't do that! What if somebody sees? Oh man we're gonna get in so much trouble!"

"Lisa, relax. Stacy made a whole TikTok account for Scout, and nothing's happened to them." He pointed out.

"That's Stacy though! She has, like, supernatural luck or something! We're gonna get caught and they'll be taken away!"

"Look, Lisa, it'll be fine. And besides, the movie's not done yet. There's plenty of time to see if Scout gets caught because of TikTok or not." He grinned, which faded at the hard look Lisa was giving him.

"If anything happens to anyone because you put that video on YouTube, you're dead." She told him, but he just grinned back.

"Fair enough." He said. "But don't worry so much. It'll be fine, I'm sure of it!"

-----

Sammy walked into his half-dark apartment, not bothering to turn on any other lights. His backpack fell to the floor with a heavy thump as he wandered into the kitchen for a soda from the fridge. Drink gotten, he opened it up as he wandered into the living room, sitting on the couch and lighting up a joint.

He blew out a mouthful of smoke, barely noticing as Bit appeared on the couch. She crawled over to lay her head in his lap, letting out small coughs occasionally. He stroked her hair absentmindedly, slowing down as his mind drifted with the smoke.

"You need to stop doing that." Bit mumbled, coughing again as Sammy finally passed into a weed fueled haze. She got no reply, so she sighed unhappily.

She'd been expecting something... more with Sammy once they got back. And her siblings seemed to have gotten that, even if Canon was being a weird bitch about it. But all she got was a Host that left her alone for days at a time, only to come home and smoke himself into oblivion. And then he'd leave again the very next morning.

He didn't talk or play with her like the other Hosts did with her siblings. It was almost enough to bring her to tears when she was left alone in the dark apartment. Almost. She never actually cried from it(not like she'd admit it, anyways).

She was tired of the taste and stench of the smoke, however. It made her cough, and smelled worse than anything in the Studio. She wished he could get through one day without smoking. She knew that the next time they all met up, she was going to stink.

-----

Stacy brushed her hair, sitting on the bed next to Scout, who was deep into playing an old Gameboy that had been found in a box. As soon as her hair had been tied back into a braid, she lifted the Puppet into her lap and gave her hair a few quick strokes with the brush.

"Okay, it's bedtime now. Save the game and turn it off." Stacy said, putting the brush away. She unhooked her prosthetic and set it down beside the bed, in easy reach for the next morning.

"Can't save can't pause gotta keep playing." Scout mumbled. Her Host sighed before grabbing the game and pausing it, then plugging it into the charger on the side-table. The Puppet reached for it, but was held in place as Stacy turned off the light and laid down.

"Bedtime is now, Scout. Will's already asleep." She muttered as she settled down, and Scout finally stopped fighting it. Stacy would go limp soon enough, anyways, and then Scout could go back to playing.

And, just as predicted, once Stacy was fully asleep it was easy to squirm out of her loose grasp and grab the Gameboy. She settled into the corner of the room to play, when she noticed a light go by the open door.

Too low to the ground to be anything but Canon, Scout eased through the gap between the door and door-frame. She followed her eldest sister to the kitchen, just in time to see her pull the tupperware of gross rice out of the fridge. It landed on the floor with a thump and she pulled the lid off to shove the cold leftovers into her mouth.

"You know that tastes better warm, right?" Scout asked, and Canon jumped, then hunched over her food and glared at her sister.

"Shut up and go back to your Host!" She hissed before chomping down on another mouthful of food. Hunger satisfied for now, she put the lid back on and hefted the container back into the fridge. She then closed the door, plunging the kitchen back into darkness.

"C'mon Canon, Will's worried about you. I think." Scout scratched her head. "It's honestly hard to tell with him sometimes."

"I. Don't. Care." Canon said simply, pushing past Scout in order to get back to her hiding place.

"But he's your Host!" The elder sister paused, leaving Scout feeling safe to continue. "Everyone else likes their Hosts! Did... did something happen or-"

"Just because the rest of you are happy to be pets doesn't mean I am." She stated. "They'll all get bored of you eventually, so don't drag me into your delusions." And then she vanished, leaving Scout with a rebuttal dying on her lips.

"Well, fine then! Be a bitch, see if I care!" She grumbled as she made her way back to the bedroom in the dark. She Jumped onto the bed, crawling under the blanket and up against Stacy.

"We're not fucking pets." Scout muttered. "They care about us. Stacy cares about me. I know she does." She sniffed, burying her face under the covers. "Why does she have to be such a bitch about it?"

-----

Somewhere far away, in a different, rainy city, sat a small building. Out of that building, through the boards covering the door, a tiny figure made of wood squeezed out, dragging an envelope with him. Holding it over his head, he raced to the nearby mailbox sitting at the corner. It took some work, but he was able to climb up and stuff the letter he was carrying inside.

And just in time, too, as a flash of lightning showed a stark white figure about the size of a child standing just inside the doorway. Thin strings wormed their way out through the boards, attaching themselves to the puppet's limbs. It screamed, a high-pitched, sharp sound as he was dragged back inside.

The rain continued to fall as the city slept on, completely unaware.

#outside #hello puppets #fanfiction #scout #canon #stitch #bonzai #bit #riley ruckuc #nick nack #stacy stein #will carson #lisa montgamery #mason kamiya #sammy davis

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