#but drawing armor makes me feel dead inside so

[eirelis]

wake me up inside

#feh #fe13 #chrom #grima #fell exalt #fire emblem heroes #fe awakening #fire emblem #my art #i considered using a more serious caption lol #but drawing armor makes me feel dead inside so #also if you saw me delete the last post #no you didn't #i didn't realize tumblr got rid of the old post editor and it was screwing up the thumbnails on my theme #all fixed now though #illust

[wordsinhaled]

the opposite of blindness

“A man moves through time. It means nothing except that, like a harpoon, once thrown he will arrive.” 

— Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red 

i. peirázō (to test, tempt)

hob gadling dreams of a leaden sky, and the dark-watered sea stretched out under it, and in the sea a siren.

the siren-figure floats on his back, wraithlike, just beneath the surface. hob can barely make him out and yet he is all hob can see: eyes deep and black as the cosmos dotted with stars, wild hair drifting in the current like so many tendrils of seaweed, a phosphorescent constellation spreading between his palms. 

desire is sudden in hob, and visceral. oh, to pick his way down the cliffside and give himself over to the waves. oh, to know the strength of those pale arms, the suffocating kiss from that sardonic mouth. to drown and drown, as he surely would. 

“who are you?” hob shouts into the moonless night.

he hears “you know who i am” carried to him on the crash of the surf against the promontory, whispered to him in gull-shrieks and in the gusting gale. 

hob does not think he knows.  

he wakes with brackish tears drying on his cheeks, and at the edges of his consciousness he feels a revelation, but it slips away before he can grasp it.

ii. pothéō (to long, yearn)

hob is lost in a twilit dream-forest. 

the dense, moldering leaf litter muffles his footfalls and obscures the paths he has already walked. how long has he wandered here, buffeted by an ill wind, imagining malevolent faces in the shadows of the trees? 

in the next moment, hob stumbles upon a clearing, sun-drenched and warm, and in the clearing is a hut. hob peers at the smoke that curls lazily up from the chimney; at the black-cloaked man who sits on the stoop, whittling a raven from a small block of cedar. 

he seems to absorb some of the sunlight into himself, as though clothed in an absence of reality, and refracts the rest into tiny rainbows that dance about his person like day-lit fireflies. when he puts down his craft to push back the hood of his cloak, hob is surprised to see the man is younger than he appeared, and pallid as marble, and there are twin points of starlight glimmering in his eyes. 

“i’ve seen you before,” hob says to him, on the verge of realization. “where have i seen you?” but the man dignifies hob’s question only by rising on soundless bare feet to disappear inside the hut, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“join me if you wish,” he calls, and hob feels overfull with longing. 

with the feeling comes an odd presentiment: hob sees, abruptly, how days will pass as seconds within the hut. how he will have his fill of wine and sweetmeats and blessed cool water. how this radiant stranger will draw him down to lie tangled together on the rush mats spread before the hearth. how hob might never leave, even as the nights grow long, even as wind and rain and time ravage the world beyond this place. he sees, and knows he could spend many lifetimes here, happily.

hob turns and goes the way he arrived, nostrils full of the scent of wildflowers and woodsmoke.

when he wakes, a carving of a raven rests on the pillow next to his head. hob cannot remember what he learned in his dream, but his heart aches for a fortnight nonetheless.

iii. titrṓskō (to wound)

this night, hob dreams of a war, great and terrible. 

it is an amalgam of all the battles he has ever fought, some that came before his time, and more yet to be fought in unwritten futures. people from all the eras of the world kill and die and mourn their dead around him, in a gruesome jumble of chariots and tanks and spears and gunfire and lasers—all the myriad ways humanity has invented to destroy itself. 

hob is bone-tired, blood-drenched. he is carrying a sword. 

he wades through an ocean of the fallen to reach the silhouette that beckons from the crest of the next hill, shrouded in smoke and fire. 

the man wears a hoplite’s armor, his helm’s burnished lustre now dulled with soot and dust. the image of a crow blazoned on his shield seems to shift its wings, almost alive—a trick played by the acrid smog. the pinpricks of light in his eyes gleam white as death-shrouds.

hob lays his xiphos at the man’s feet. watches him pick it up, heft it solemnly in his elegant hands.

“you again,” hob says. “what is it you’re trying to tell me?”

“one day, this pain will be useful to you,” says the man, in a voice that quakes the earth.  

then he runs hob through with his own blade. 

iv. elpízō (to hope) 

hob crosses a bustling square on market day. 

he finds the rickety table and two empty chairs languishing outside a defunct tavern. across the weathered boards shuttering one tavern window, someone has etched the reminder of a memory: 

hic fiumus cari duo nos sine fine sodales. we two dear men, friends forever, were here. 

hob sits; the chair is comfortable. he waits. in this dream, hob’s soul feels formed in the shape of patience.

bright noon sun bakes the cobblestones and heats the air, turning it thick with the smell of briny olives, ripe fruit, fresh fish. impossible to dwell on death’s coppery tang or grief’s grim weight, here. he knows a kind of immediacy, as he lets the din of the crowd knit him whole. 

a man claims the chair opposite him, noiseless, stately-postured. his robes are black as pitch and hemmed in flame; within his eyes he holds an entire glowing universe. 

“well met, rovertus,” he says, smiling. 

that name—known and unknown, worn and unworn, his and not his—jostles hob, nudges at something long-asleep in his spirit. he sees, suddenly, the long path ahead and behind, all the life-lengths spent and not-spent with this stranger who is no stranger at all. surely they have walked already arm in arm through endless fields of aconites; even now they make love on a wave-scourged beach; and will they not someday rally and perish side by side on a thousand battlefields, only to rise again?

“well met,” hob says, “my love, my life, oneiros.” 

“i bring you the favor of the gods,” oneiros tells him. “they would grant you a gift. a few threads of their raiment, if you will but wear it.” 

it is hob’s turn to smile, wistful. “you always do speak in riddles.” 

“drink with me, should you accept,” says starry-eyed oneiros, soft, “and your dearest wish shall be yours.” two vessels that were not there before rest on the little table between them, brimming with golden mead.

“my only wish is simple,” hob says.

he drinks down to the dregs, and wakes, and lives—the taste of honey ever on his tongue.

———

notes: 

i have STARED AT THIS TOO LONG so i’m calling it finished. i really thought dream and hob deserved to be mythologized a little bit so... mythology-inspired dreamling fic! *yells incoherently* this all started because i was thinking about morpheus in greco-roman mythology, appearing to kings and heroes in dreams... and then... it just got away from me and became a shameless excuse to mash a ton of tropes from myth together at once, to be emotionally compromised by anne carson, and to probably misuse ancient greek a fair bit (i only took one classics course in college which was enough for it to be Formative To My Personality but not helpful in this case for ancient greek or latin lmao, classics side of tumblr please go easy on me)

morpheus’ line in part iii paraphrases “Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you” from ovid’s metamorphoses 

the graffiti in part iv is part of some graffiti discovered in a thermopolium in pompeii. 

Hic fiumus cari duo nos sine fine sodales nomina si [quaeris Caius et Aulus erant] [CIL 04 8162] (“We two dear men, friends forever, were here. If you want to know our names, they are Gaius and Aulus”)

*title also from Autobiography of Red, talking about the moment of falling in love— “...there it was one of those moments that is the opposite of blindness. The world poured back and forth between their eyes once or twice.”

#the sandman #dreamling #mythology inspired dreamling

[soundprooft-visualz]

Humans are Space Orcs: Leopard Squad

The night was as quiet as it was still in the Great Dismal Swamp. The chirping of various hundreds of bugs brought the insectoid xenolife some semblance of comfort, being reminded of the sound of their sleeping young and mates back on their home planets. As a hive mind, the individual didn't have such feelings, but the Matriarch felt the yearn for her people to be reunited again. She had grown tired of the conquest of this overtrodden ball of dirt. Hundreds, no thousands of battalions had fallen in the conquest, and hundreds more to disease and wildlife. The company of dozens of bugs let out a collective simultaneous buzz, their equivalent of a wistful sigh, silencing the rest of the wildlife around them. The silence persisted longer than they expected it to. Seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes dragged as the forest around them went dead quiet. The prey instinct kicked in and the bugs went onto high alert, drawing their weapons and looking for the predator that was lurking in the shadows.

Belyan held a finger to his lips, active camouflage making them nearly invisible as they loaded the battery into the side of a plasma rifle, the barrel glowing white hot seconds later as their helmet picked up movement signatures ahead. They pointed behind themselves without a word and then ahead of them. Eight humans crept through the forest in the dead of night, like shadows over the roots beneath the darkness of the new moon. Leopard Squad was on the hunt, and each one of them knew just what was on the line. This company was looking for an old survival bunker the Collective had just heard of themselves. It could've had food, weapons, survivors, hell, maybe even clean water. It was enough for Earth's last special forces unit to come out of hiding to secure it.

Quanta's visor zoomed out when she saw Belyan's finger pointed at her. That was the signal, it was go time. A few dozen feet to the side and several hundred feet back, she stood up, the reactor of her power armor letting out a high pitched whine before it melted away to a low drone. The bugs immediately tuned into the noise as the panels of her armor shifted into place. She let out a low chuckle and raised her arm, pressing a button on the elbow and hoping her squadmates had her earplugs in.

An old MP3 file of Ezekiel's Horn blared from the speakers of her armor, the sound of the end of the world blasting so loud it kicked the dirt around her up into a dust cloud as she picked up her weapons, lightning arcing through the dust as the barrels spun up.

"That's right, you big ugly bastards, all eyes on me." Quanta cracked a crooked smiled beneath the tungsten helmet, watching the individual vitals ratings of their enemies spike simultaneously. Interesting... they're synced up. She'd have to think about that. Modular, syncronic design could increase the efficiency of her armor.

"Q, you could at least act like you feel bad. We're supposed to be professionals." Even as Belyan's voice crackled in her ear, she could hear them trying not to smile as they loaded a magazine into their plasma sniper rifle.

"Just because I have a sense of humor doesn't mean I'm not good at my job." Three shots bounced off her armor, the impenetrable wall not even flinching as she continued walking forward, thunder cracking every time she fired her weapon into the horde ahead. One got too close and almost slipped past the sensor. As she wound her hand back for a punch it fell over, bursting into flames from a plasma round in the back of the head. She heard Belyan breathe in from the lungs emptied to steady their hand as she shook her head.

"I just had the most fucked up thought."

"What's that?" Quanta loosed a salvo of rockets, stripping a passing dropship out of the sky in a burst of purple fire as the compressed potassium burned everything carbon-based inside.

"We are definitely getting discharged if we win."

"Oh, no fucking doubt. No chance I'm passing a psyche eval after this one."

(( i still have fuckin covid this is all i got

#humans are space orcs #humans are deathworlders

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Power Armor Punch Part Forty Eight

Masterlist

Teshteal: Oh- but I’m sorry. It looks as if our store does not carry that selection. *audible overdramatic sigh with a fake apologetic customer service voice* We only sell the finest of filthy dresses- what you’re looking for is too clean. Now excuse me. I have to restock our wares. *tosses the dress aside enthusiastically*

Lucille: What’s taking them so long?

Nick: Not sure. Hope they’re alright.

Gardio: *adjusts his own fedora* What are we to do if they aren’t but rescue them? After all, Linus only left a few minutes ago. Give them some time.

Jasmine: (Softly chuckles as she puts her dress back in her bag. She spots a mini safe under some rubble and picks it up, staring at it curiously. She takes out a bobby pin and a screwdriver, picking the lock easily and removes its contents that includes a ridiculous and overly done feathered ladies hat for some reason. Partly amused she holds it up to Teshteal, tilting her head to one side as the brightly colored feathers flap with the movement)

Teshteal: Oh! *claps* What a nice hat! We should keep it! *quietly to himself* I’d wear it but I have horns. *louder* I wonder how it would look on you? *bouncing excitedly on his feet*

Nick: So I hear you’ve been doing detective work-

Gardio: Free lance. I tend to roam about, rarely ever coming back to Hangman’s Alley.

Lucille: You lived in Hangman’s Alley this entire time?! And we never crossed paths until now?!

Gardio: I prefer not to stay in the Alley… *points at his face* I don’t want anyone getting sick because of my sheer existence.

Jasmine: (Shakes her head at that idea of her wearing it as she closely examines the hat. Might’ve been some sort of prewar fancy luxury brand that probably cost an arm and a leg to but which must’ve been why the owners decided to put it in a safe. Can’t understand why something like this was once so desirable, it’s completely useless now. She holds it out to Teshteal so he can take a look)

Teshteal: *takes it an examines for a moment* It hurts my eyes. *puts it on top of his fedora but doesn’t try to force it past his horns. He looks even sillier now* How do I look?

Gardio: Nick… *sighs regretfully* About what happened before the war- at Cainbridge, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t step in when the department-

Nick: Gardio, that was 200 years ago. You wouldn’t have been able to change much-

Gardio: I could have done something. The best I could do was try to look for Winter myself but then- *purses his cracked lips as he looks up at the sky* I didn’t see the point after the war. I ran. Helped people, yeah, but I couldn’t finish what you started.

Nick: *pauses for a moment as he realizes what he’s talking about* Don’t worry about it. *smirks* Lucille and I put that son of a bitch Winter six feet under. Where he belongs.

Gardio: *surprised look*

Nick: *reaches up and slaps his shoulder* That doesn’t mean I won’t thank you for trying to do right by the original Valentine. You’re a good man, Chapel. *nods* A good man.

Jasmine: (Smiling brightly on the inside but she can’t make herself react physically to Teshteal, and it weighs her down. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the bloodied book and flips to a page, taking out her pen that has cats printed on it) (Writing) “I am not suppose to react to anything at all, sorry. If I do I get mad at myself and feel like I am about to get punished.” (Points to the hat) “It looks ridiculous on its own, but you somehow can pull it off.” (Draws a smiling face by her writing)

Teshteal: *bounces forward and presses the book almost daintily down* We are not supposed to but wouldn’t you love to anyway? Who’s gonna stop you? Not me. Not the dead raiders. *looks over at a mannequin* What are you going to do, mannequin? Suddenly spring to life? Shout if she giggles? What? You will?! I’ll kill you. *smacks it into the wall then runs back to Jas* See? Anyone that says otherwise will get the “mannequin treatment” from yours truly. *jabs his thumb at himself*

Jasmine: (Slowly blinks at Teshteal, reaching down to her sleeve and pulls it up along with some bandages to show him her self harm cuts, then points to her head) (Writing) “They carved themselves in my head, you can’t fight me to stop me.” (Gestures at her side then at her legs that are also littered with cuts, cuts that bring a forbidden relief when inflicted) (Writing) “That was the next step for you I think, to get commands to self punish so they are always in control even when they aren’t there. It starts with breaking you down, then they can build you however they want and you can’t stop them because you’re nothing and worthless.”

Teshteal: I cannot- that’s a bit of problem. Hm. *taps his chin* Perhaps imagine I’m beating them up? *does not know how to help* Or both of us! *grins stupidly. He’s trying his best*

Jasmine: (Shrugs her shoulders, having no idea how to stop these thoughts either. Or the more violent thoughts that occur to “solve problems”, those are the most dangerous to herself and others. There is a way to pacify herself however, although she hates that it can happen. She stares down at her notebook and flips back a few pages, peeling two that are stuck together. The page is shown to be a list of those mentioned commands. On the very top is written “A-001”, her assigned number from the vault that is needed for some of these commands)

Teshteal: *immediately points to Reset, Dismissed, and the Custom Command* Those seem to be the safest ones. *scratches his head* I don’t think I’m a handler, but maybe we can make a custom command word? One not associated with fear? *snaps his fingers* Valentine-! His last name’s perfect for a command and he’s associated with a strong emotion- literally the one that rivals fear itself!

Jasmine: (Writing) “They used the custom command one mostly to get me to eat, although they found out they had to specify how much because I’d only eat one spoonful then stop.” (Freezes, her hands shaking when she remembers what else they made her do with this power. She was helpless against it) (Writing) “Also had me do other things, I hated the custom command.” (If used in the right way maybe these can helpful, especially to Nick if she gets out of control or lost in her head)

Teshteal: I know you hate it but it could be useful to help stop the voices. We can use their tactics against them. *smiles reassuringly at her* We have a way to stop them.

Jasmine: (Puts the tip of her thumb in her mouth while she stares down at the list. Hate is an understatement. It would send shocks of fear through her to hear these spoken directly at her and possibly flashbacks of being punished for not following orders, but in the end is it better than the alternative? She doesn’t know, she’ll have to leave it up to Nick in the end to make the call. Should she show this to him? Show him her assigned number so he can activate the command that render her completely useless and submissive if necessary? Her Dad won’t abuse this power, yet she doesn’t want to…)

Teshteal: We can show this to Detective Valentine and discuss what to do. He seems too kind to use the commands excessively.

Jasmine: (Immediately tears out the page when he says that, tucking the list in her jacket pocket so it’s safe with her and she the one with control over it. She tilts her head at Teshteal when two thoughts comes over her) (Writing) “What’s your assigned number? And where’s Nick if he’s not here?”

Teshteal: *heart beat roars in his ears suddenly and ge stiffens up at the thought of anyone knowing it. Regardless he keeps a chipper tone* I assume still over at Hangman’s Alley. I initially came here to bring you back to the group. *hesitates* Why do you want to know my number? *tail wraps around him and he starts to fidget with it nervously*

Jasmine: (Writing) “You know mine, I’d be lying to say that it doesn’t make me uncomfortable that you know it. I am the one who’s more susceptible to this.” (Looks up and blinks under her mask, realizing that her coding is yelling at her to get the edge on Teshteal and even things out. That’s why she wants to know it) “Fuck….” (Takes a few steps back in horror at herself while she drops the book, crashing into the wall as she starts breathing quickly and grabbing at her arms)

Teshteal: That’s true. *ringing his tail even more nervously* Mine was F-666. The useless ones. The… the cannon-fodder. *suddenly feels a wave of panic wash over him. He slowly backs away, his own coding and instincts telling him he’s so much more vulnerable now that someone now knows his assigned number*

Jasmine: (Horrified that she didn’t even realize her own true ambitions for doing things until it’s too late, until she was getting what she wanted. She presses herself up against the wall as the words “Monster” and “Pathetic” ring in her head over and over again, along with another one that’s getting louder. “Mistake”) (Quietly) “I am sorry…” (She has tears on her face now, not that Teshteal can tell as she slowly slinks to sit on the floor in a dark corner and picks at her arms)

Teshteal: *smells the saline and his eyes widen. Softly, fighting his panic* No, no, no. Don’t cry. *slowly approaches her and kneels. He takes her hands, gently crossing her arms over each other, and starts breathing slow, deep breaths. Softly still* You’re okay… We’re okay…

Jasmine: (When she heard him say not to cry she goes deathly silent and stiff because she’s not suppose to and would receive severe punishment for doing so. But when Teshteal starts comforting her in that sweet and gentle manner she relaxes a bit and lowers her head as the voices in her head attack her, the mask fogging up from her tears. She’s getting hit with berating and judging remarks for how she handled things, scolded for not performing better. On the other side is the same three words that are meant to keep her down and scared)

Teshteal: *keeps comforting her as he sits. He keeps taking deep breaths, hoping she’ll subconsciously start matching them while keeping his own thoughts at bay, too* You didn’t hurt me. That’s good. We’re okay… *puts his forehead against hers* I’m okay…

Jasmine: (Choking on her tears) “What if I hurt you?” (Shy’s away from him out of fear of doing so. She already hurt people who tried to help her. Nick- her own father, included along with Lucille)

Teahteal: So what if you do? *shrugs* I’m Safeguarding you, right now…

Jasmine: (Raises her head when she hears that command he’s doing for her, sniffing back her sobs and she tries to stop trembling so much. She’s suddenly very aware on how much time they are wasting just sitting here waiting for her to stop being such a baby) “You are not suppose to, no one is.” (Pulls back and tries to stand while bracing onto the wall)

Teshteal: *stands and extends a hand to help her* As your sibling and your friend, I’m absolutely supposed to. *determined* They may be in our heads but I’ll be damned if I let them stop me from helping people I care about.

Jasmine: (Stands on her own and just starts walking back to the rooftop without looking at him, hoping deep down that he doesn’t take it personally. She’s gone completely numb to keep herself at bay, to keep herself from crying. Soon she’s rushing up the ladder and jumping from the stores roof to another roof, looking back to see if Teshteal will follow)

Teshteal: *already pocketed the ridiculous hat and it’s following her easily and effortlessly*

Jasmine: (Starts efficiently leaping from rooftop to rooftop, railing to railing, gliding across nimbly like a cat save for the part of constantly walking on all fours, she only does that when it’s easier or needs to stay hidden. Soon she and Teshteal near where she last saw Nick and Lucille, quickly lowering herself so they can’t see her. Or rather so Gardio doesn’t see her)

Teshteal: *whispers* Why are we hiding?

Nick: Alright. I think I need to go find those two. It’s been a while.

Gardio: I probably should have gone with him. Don’t know why I didn’t. The man doesn’t have the best track record of keeping his head low or out of trouble.

Nick: Didn’t he crash his car through a precinct window once?

Gardio: Good lord, don’t remind me, Nick. *chuckles at the memory*

Jasmine: (Peers down, swallowing hard. She pulls back and takes off her mask, quickly wiping it from the inside so she can see better. Her eyes are red and puffy, there’s still fresh tears going down on her face as she puts it back on and tightens her hood. She slowly starts backing away in the direction they just came from)

Teshteal: *takes her hand* Hey. Gardio won’t hurt you. I promise… at least tell Nick what’s going on before you run off. *softly. Pleaful* Please?

Jasmine: (Gestures over the edge to where the trio is standing below and points to her head, shaking it while holding up her trembling hand. Then she points to her heart and shakes her head again to try and signify that she can’t feel anything and has gone numb. She thinks for a long moment before she uses her free hand to make several small slicing motions down her arm, remembering her promise to Nick. She looks over the edge, seriously considering jumping off and scampering to somewhere she deems safe)

Teshteal: *takes hold of her other hand after he sees the sign* Hey, look at me. Neither I nor Nick will let Gardio hurt you. I doubt he ever would seriously try, but neither of us will let it happen. Let’s talk to Nick. Please…? *his pupils are wide with concern as he begs her almost desperately*

Nick: *about to go when he suddenly looks up at the building* Nevermind. You two stay put. I’ve got this. *walks over and climbs up a fire escape on the side. He swings himself over the ledge of the roof* There you two are. *walks over* Talk to me about what…? And when did you start calling me by my first name?

Teshteal: *keeps her hands in his as he addresses Nick* It’s faster to say- sorry. *looks to Jas then Nick* Rosie’s scared of meeting Gardio. She might need a second to get her barings but I’m scared she’s going to run and… *pauses, fear crossing his face for a second* Do something…

Jasmine: (Starts pulling from Teshteals grip while grunting with frustration, twisting her wrists in a furious manner. If she really wanted to she could escape and run free, but she rather not hurt Teshteal while doing so. She’s dangerously close to the edge as she struggles, not that isn’t aware of it she’s actually trying to jump off)

Nick: Thanks for the warning-

Teshteal: Nick. *mouths* A-001 Reset.

Nick: What- That’s-

Teshteal: Just do it. It’ll help.

Nick: *with some hesitation and regret as soon as he says it* A-001 Reset.

Jasmine: (Eyes immediately go wide and get filled with terror as she goes completely limp. She falls to her knees still super close to the edge and puts her hands behind her head while she heaves heavy breaths. Her mind and vision go blinding white, heart thumping in her ears while she “resets”. Essentially, this command was to help them clear their heads if they get overloaded and out of control, helps them rethink their decisions and strategies. For her it was mostly used when she made a grave mistake in combat. So she’s getting slapped with internal corrections on her recent and past mistakes, fearing that she’ll be severely punished)

Nick: *terrified at seeing how frightened and powerless she suddenly becomes* What did you just have me do?

Teshteal: Quick- tell her she’s not in trouble. That’s a crucial step.

Nick: *glares angrily at Teshteal but kneels and gently and calmly starts reassuring her* You haven’t done anything wrong, Rosalinda. You’re okay. Dad’s right here… I didn’t know what it that would do to you or what the situation was. *heart breaks seeing the fear on her face. His voice cracks a little* I’m so sorry. *gently cups her cheek and strokes it with his thumb*

Teshteal: I-

Nick *looks back at him with a glare then quietly goes back to reassuring Jas that she’s safe*

Teshteal: *goes quiet again and wordlessly starts pulling out the trinkets he found around Jas’s house, setting them next to the pair* Please give these to Rosie. I found them at her house… *decides he’s gone too far this time* I’ll be somewhere. *scampers off suddenly*

Jasmine: (Staring off at nothing with her hands still behind her head in surrender, her red teary eyes unfocused. She doesn’t seem to register Nick as her mind continues to flash white for the reset, anticipating a blinding pain to come from either a slap or her jaw roughly grabbed to wake her up from it followed by berating remarks)

Nick: *holds her close, gently lowering her arms so he wrap his around her* Come back to me, doll…

Teshteal: *running like the wind, tears streaking past his ear. He doesn’t know where he’s going but he knows he can’t be there anymore. He messed up. Being alone is what he deserves*

Jasmine: (Can’t stay in reset mode forever and starts slipping back into reality and into the correction stage. She doesn’t move but blinks with slight recognition at her surroundings as her previous actions slowly play out in her head, the slightest mistakes coming into view. It throws her off that she’s not getting hit or forced to do things she doesn’t want to, instead her Dad is here and comforting her. She still feels like she did downtime terribly wrong…)

Nick: *gently petting her hair* It’s okay… I’m sorry.

Teshteal: Stupid. Moron. You don’t deserve anyone. You’re a burden. You’re just an inconvenience. *stops suddenly and just collapses into a ball* No one cares- *the memory of being held in one big strong hug by Gardio burns inside his mind. He wants to go back to that so bad but knows… he knows as soon as he finds out…* You just make things worse…

Jasmine: (Finishes her assessment of herself from the moment she first left to the store until now, biting down on her tongue. She’s currently in a “do whatever the hell you want with me, I don’t care anymore” stage by reflex in order to shield herself. It’ll be awhile until her mind registers that it’s safe to fully return, and that she doesn’t have to go numb anymore for these type of things)

Nick: *decides to carry her on his back back down the fire escape. He arrives at Lucille but notices Gardio’s missing* Where’s your father?

Lucille: Went off to find Teshteal.

Nick: *opens his mouth then shuts it*

Jasmine: (Completely motionless as Nick carries her, not making much of an effort to hold on. She’s like a limp Raggedy Ann doll, anticipating for something to happen to her, waiting for someone to puppet her)

Gardio: *looking everywhere for Teshteal, even asking a few feral ghouls*

Teshteal: *curled up in a hole, waiting to just… Die*

Gardio: *managed to find him* Linus…?

Teshteal: *a jolt of fear causes him to jump* Don’t call me by that name!

Gardio: Oh- sorry… *kneels in front of him and even then he towers over the poor rat of a man* What are you doing?

Teshteal: …Trying to die.

Gardio: By sitting in a hole in a wall? Friend, you’re going to be waiting for a while.

Teshteal: Why did you even bother finding me? I’m a monster. Literally. *smacks his tail against the ground*

Gardio: That makes two of us. *points at his face* That’s no reason to give in.

Teshteal: It is if you hurt someone close to you so easily.

Gardio: I see… but don’t you think that it would hurt them more if you ran away and never apologized for it?

Teshteal: *looks up in surprise. He hadn’t thought of that. He lowers his head, voicing another thought* What if I keep hurting them?

Gardio: If you make steps to improve on yourself, you won’t. Not in the same way, at least…

Teshteal: *sighs sadly* Detective Valentine won’t want me around anyway-

Gardio: You let me worry about Valentine. Worry about the person you hurt first.

Teshteal: *starts to cry again suddenly* I don’t deserve this kindness.

Gardio: You deserve friendship.

Teshteal: No-

Gardio: Don’t fight me on this, officer. That’s an order.

Teshteal: *well now he can’t argue. Orders are orders*

Jasmine: (Closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, counting how long it took her to calm down earlier. Two minutes too long, pathetic)

Teshteal: This might be stupid to ask but can I have a hug?

Gardio: *Picks up the little rat of a man and gives him a big hug* Not a stupid question at all.

Teshteal: *feels a lot safer suddenly. He hugs back*

Jasmine: (Opens her eyes, lifting her head from Nicks shoulder and she looks around like a wide-eyed lost kitten. She’s so terrified, so confused. Her brain doesn’t know know to process anything, it’s stuck in this mode)

Lucille: *just standing near Nick, checking one of her guns for damage*

Jasmine: (There’s a slight haze to her vision and a ringing noise in her ears, almost like her mind is censoring what she sees and hears. Again it’s completely unnecessary now, maybe she can correct it later so the reset is just her clearing her mind and nothing more)

Nick: *worried about her specifically*

Teshteal: You always give the best hugs…

Gardio: *sets Teshteal down on his feet* Are you going to be alright?

Teshteal: *whipes his eyes* I think so.

Jasmine: (Puts her head back down, partly closing her eyes while she take heavy, but steady breaths. She still anticipating the regular abuse she’d normally suffer after a reset. Luckily for everyone, unlike when Lucille slapped her into a similar state she isn’t being drowned in horrific memories, although she still remembers them)

Lucille: *Kind of regrets that, too. Still thinks Jas hates her for all of that*

Gardio: Glad to hear. Now let’s get you back to the others. *adjusts his hat* What do you say, partner?

Teshteal: Yes sir. *salutes him dramatically*

Gardio: *starts walking back towards the group* At ease, we’re not on duty. *cracks a grin* Save the formalities until we’re in uniform.

Teshteal: You are. *referring to his coat as he starts to follow*

Gardio: Hey, you gotta look the part out here in the ruins! Dress for the job you want and all that.

Teshteal: *sticks his tongue out at the old ghoul*

Gardio: *glances back* Still just as immature as ever.

Jasmine: (Tenses suddenly, going completely relaxed while she trembled. She’s not sure why exactly as she’s not currently getting flashbacks, guess it’s just muscle memory)

Nick: *decides to cradle her like a toddler and quietly comfort her*

Lucille: *yawns*

Jasmine: (Raises her head and her little hands hesitantly grab onto his coat. Her eyes get teary again while she feels something jolt in her chest. She didn’t do anything wrong, did she?)

Nick: Ssh… it’s alright, doll. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not this time.

Teshteal: *leading the way this time*

Ferals: *start climbing out at the sound of the two’s footsteps*

Teshteal: *gets into a fighting stance*

Gardio: Let them be. They’re curious about the noise.

Teshteal: They’ll attack-

Gardio: No, I don’t think they will. *looking around at all of them* Go back to sleep you all…

Ferals: *stand and twitch in place, seemingly unsure of what to do*

Gardio: Just keep walking, Teshteal. Don’t make eye contact.

Teshteal: *hard swallow as he straightens up and walks normally down the road*

Gardio: *keeping an eye on the ghouls as they pass through* That’s right. Slow steps. *calmly* We’re friendly…

Jasmine: (Stares off for a bit while her bottom lip trembles, suddenly feeling very clingy to her father and fearful of being separated from him. Ditching all the voices telling her no, she grabs onto Nick as tightly as she can while she wails nonsense into his coat. Aaaaaand here’s that separation anxiety she’s been trying to avoid developing all this time)

Lucille: *jumps* What the-!?

Nick: Whoa-! It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere, kiddo! I’m right here.

Jasmine: (Not sure what the hell came over her that’s making her sob and hold onto her Dad like he’s the last person on earth. She had never been like this with her mother even when she was very small, or with any other adult she was close to after her mom died)

Nick: *sighs and keeps reassuring her he’s not going anywhere*

Teshteal: *Once they’re through and a safe enough distance* How’d you keep them from attacking?

Gardio: Glowing Ones tend to be a bit… odd as nonferal ghouls go. I can kind of tell what they’re thinking usually- don’t know how or why.

Jasmine: (Realizes that she’s not even crying tears all that much, she’s just blubbering incoherent sentences. She shuts her mouth but doesn’t loosen her death grip, closing her eyes to recount again with a clear head. She’s not in trouble, she was told to reset by Nick and not the trainer or the guards. There’s no need to shield herself anymore after a reset or have a panic attack, she can take a rest now…)

Nick: *softly* I’m sorry, Rosie…

Teshteal: *eyes widen* You have super powers!?

Gardio: You have super speed, horns, a tail, and cat eyes. Still out to lunch on how that last one’s even possible.

Teshteal: Touch-ay.

Gardio: You still don’t know how to say Touche…?

Teshteal: It’s a weird word!

Gardio: It is literally two syllables.

Teshteal: Listen, I can only hold so much grammar and pronunciation rules in my head.

Gardio: *rolls his eyes at his lame excuse*

Jasmine: (Ran out of batteries, she’s exhausted from the ordeal. She keeps her tight hold on her Dad while she buries her face in the crook of his neck, dropping into a power nap)

Gardio: Wait… how are you leading me back?

Teshteal: Take a wild fxcking guess.

Gardio: …Oh please don’t tell me you’re guessing.

Teshteal: What? No! Sense of smell. *taps his nose* It’s very accurate!

Gardio: I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted.

Teshteal: How did you find me anyway?

Gardio: The power of friendship and “Ghoul to Ghoul communication”.

Teshteal: … Please tell me you’re joking.

Gardio: I’m not. I wish I were.

Jasmine: (Napping quietly and peacefully, some tears still on her cheeks. She’s holding Nick on his promise that he’s not going anywhere, that’s the only reason she can sleep right now)

@lucilleandherrobots

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #nick valentine #fallout oc #fallout original character #fallout roleplay #fallout rp

[fyreiswriting]

I know I've been pretty quiet for a while on here, and that's mostly because I've been working on Other Things. I know a lot of you probably followed me for Coral Island content, but I'm giving the game (and the fanfic) a break for a bit.

Instead, I got dragged down deep into Baldur's Gate 3. How deep? I'm glad you asked.

Nyrra wakes up on a beach with a tadpole in her head.  She finds companions, seeks a cure, saves some lives, falls in love. She fights. She fails. She dies. Nyrra wakes up on a beach with a tadpole in her head. This time, she vows, she will not fail. 

Working title Future, Past, Present, featuring my Tav, Olaenyrra Finadrel (Nyrra for short, a Storm Sorcerer half-elf who's head-over-heels for Gale), as she wakes up from one worst day of her life to the prior worst day of her life. I'm churning out chapters right now while the brainrot's got me (again), but I'm 7 chapters in and it's only day 2 of her new timeline. Whoops.

(Just once I'd like to do a thing by half. This isn't it.)

Anyways, if you're interested, I've included the opening 500 words or so below the Read-More for you to peruse. Please be aware there are endgame spoilers within the first two paragraphs. No definitive date on when I'm going to post yet; I'd like to either build up a hell of a backlog or even finish the story before I post.

Anyways: hope you enjoy.

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

Nyrra came to choking, gasping, sputtering for a breath that fought her. A staggered step forward met air; she hardly had time to collect herself before she crumbled to the ground, wheezing, desperate to draw air. Each cough shook her to her core, hands trembling, shaking. She pressed her forehead to the cold ground and forced herself to breathe.

Slowly she grounded herself again; slowly she gathered her thoughts, her limbs. Her memories spun around her, a confusing mess of images and feelings she couldn’t make sense of. Gods – facing the Elder Brain, the Emperor, everything leading up to the look on Gale’s face as he looked at her and reached up to touch the orb–

Gale. 

Nyrra threw her head up, staring forward at where she could swear he’d just been– only to freeze.

As if responding to her motion, the ship heaved, shaking terribly. Nyrra, collapsed in a bundle of limbs on the floor, stared forward, unblinking, at the pool before her. 

The tadpole nursery. On the nautiloid. Which was clearly in its death throes.

What in the name of the gods–

She gathered herself again, got back to her feet. Looking down at herself showed she wore the outfit she’d been caught in, so many months ago. No sign of the beautiful armor she’d purchased at the Gate, which had been half-destroyed by the time they made it to the final showdown overlooking the city. She patted herself down – all there. A pinch to her arm hurt like it should.

What fresh hells…

She turned – and sure enough, her old staff lay beside the pod she’d just ejected herself from. Nyrra grabbed it, turned it over in her hands. She hadn’t seen it in months, not since she’d found better staffs that could deal more damage and do magic beside. Now she clung to it as she turned to face the room again. 

All the other pods – empty, including Lae’zel’s, or bearing a dead person. The tadpole nursery continued to drain whatever cradled said tadpoles slowly, dripping onto the floor. She inched forward enough to see just a few tadpoles remaining.

Disgust overwhelmed her. She raised her free hand and snapped.

The Fire Bolt she summoned roared over the distance. It swamped the bowl entirely in cleansing fire, engulfed it, lit the liquid and half-dead tadpoles inside at a thought. Powerful- very powerful, moreso than she recalled it being. A small explosion later– hardly worse than the ones rocking the ship even now– and everything within the bowl died for good.

She looked around the room once more. All the pods stood empty, or she could do nothing for the husk of a person left inside. Her only path was forwards. Move forward, and hope that perhaps, just perhaps, this was a waking dream or nightmare.

The circular portal opened as she approached with purpose, dispelling her into another room. Her gaze swept the space for more than simply other survivors- any sign of her companions, her people. Just as she reached the small elevator in the center of the room, her brain twinged– no, she realized. Not her brain. Her tadpole.

Oh, gods. Still infected.

Shit.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #fanfic

[snexy-the-snail]

Okay, you can't just give us this content and NOT have someone ask for a one shot-

Come on, please-

Give us the one shot on how Cacao found that little crumbling-

okay okay XD You're right- also adding the art back on because no one can stop me lmao))

Defending the borders of his kingdom was important, there had been a great threat and Cacao wasn't keen on repeating the battle and the loss that came with it. He had lost his son to a sword and while he wasn't dead the attack had left his body weakened. AS if sensing the memory, the healed wound twitched in pain. Sense that moment he closed up and kept the castle strictly staff only..that didn't mean he wouldn't fight for his domain.  

He scans the area frowning when he sees a Dire Creamwolf stalking something in the snow, an off-white cloak seeming to be a dark contract in the blinding freezing icing. It was normal to see young crumbs fighting their first Creamwolf to complete their training and slowly start joining the ranks of the kingdom only something was off. He holds up a fist the party coming to a silent halt. 

He slowly approached the unaware wolf, focusing on both the predator and the small form curled in the icing. Though he couldn't feel much, a brief flash of a flurry of emotions hit him. This wasn't a crumbling ready to prove themselves, they were tiny! He grits his teeth raising his sword, swinging just as the wolf lunged for the small form.  

He might have cut the predator down, but it didn't mean they were safe yet..in fact a pack should be nearby which was never a good thing. "Stand crumb." He orders waiting for the cookie to stand up. All he managed to make out was a small whimper, the small form curling up more. A small sigh escapes him as he kneels in the icing, the cold biting into his knees as he settled down. “Are you that weak?” He moves his hands under the crumbling slowly lifting them up to examine the small cookie. He wasn’t receiving any response, though the small body leaned into the heat he was putting off. The trembling didn’t fade however, which was rather concerning. 

"You're cold." Cacao looks at the small thing in his hands, a painful feeling of familiarity washing over him. Their size was much like his son's, he had found the crumb like this as well small and helpless, barely able to swing a sword to defend himself. This small thing didn’t even have a weapon or had lost it. A loud piercing howl echos through the woods drawing him from his thoughts, his party shifting behind him for the order to draw arms. "It's not safe here. You'll die." He waited for a response, expecting something verbal. 

Another trembling whimper escapes the crumb, yellow eyes filled with tears peering up at him. Huh..a Crunchy Chip Cookie..how odd. Maybe their parents had abandoned them or maybe simply were killed by the beasts they tried to tame, either way they couldn't stay out here...and the rest of his party need their hands and so did he. They were so small compared to him which meant they would fit snugly inside. 

Well, it was as good as any time to swallow them down. Thanks to his stature and how small the crumbling was it wouldn't be too much of a hassle, maybe a slight stretch against the armor but it would keep them safe. "You're already causing trouble." He let a mildly annoyed breath out as he opens his mouth wide. He heard a frightened little gasp, small hands scrambling to grasp at his gloves. He sighs and continues to ease the small crumbling head into his waiting maw.  

They were so young he could still taste the sweetness on them. They weren't being fed bitters, yet, which meant they weren't anywhere near ready to start being independent or try to fight on their own. The sweetness was something he hadn’t tasted in years, not since his own crumbling was young or since he had been one himself. 

 There was a brief panic, a small spasm as he gently laps at the crumbling body, trying to coat as much as the dry surface as possible. He didn't have time for fighting, another howl sounded though much closer than the last time. He needed to get the crumbling down now and safe. It wouldn’t be..comfortable for him but it would get the crumbling down. He closes his eyes mentally, bracing himself before swallowing. The feeling of the semi slick head pressed into the entrance of his throat, so he swallowed again, ignoring the whine and terrified whimper, the crumbling starting to squirm in his grasp. 

 He continued guiding the crumb's body further into his mouth swallowing the dry body. He kept the soft flesh away from his teeth not wanting to cause any harm to the crumbling if he could help it. It stung and tore at his throat but with a blinding flash of pain and nausea the small thing squelched into his stomach. The size of the crumbling made his middle press out against his armor. The feeling wasn't exactly unpleasant, if anything the weight brought a familiar feeling. He stood from his kneeling position, the organ gurgling loudly as it tried to cradle the small form of the wriggling crumbling. 

"Draw your arms, we will fight the Dire Creamwolves. It should be a swift victory." He announces, turning to face the group he had brought. The sound of swords, shields and other weapons bring drawn. He grabs his sword, gripping the hilt. A small squirming from his middle increases causing him growl in warning. 

"Stay still crumb, I need my focus." 

The squirms fall immediately just as the first of the pack emerges from the trees. He’d deal with the small thing tucked in his middle later, right now they needed to defend themselves. He turns to face the edge of the forest, a brief silence as the gaze of the creamwolf landed on their fallen foe. Seconds later he was swinging his sword as the pack advanced in a raged fury. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The battle had been relatively easy, minor wounds but no deaths or permanent damage. He rubs his temples in exhaustion as he pulls his armor off, pausing when he felt the small crumbling stretch out at the new room. It felt...nice. The corners of his mouth briefly twitch up, cupping a hand over the small lump they made. He supposed he should let them out. 

He grabs his kimono, changing into the soft material before pulling on a thick warm cloak, the warmth seeping back into his old bones. He hoped he managed to keep the crumbling warmth through the battle and march back. “I suppose it’s time to bring you back out.” He murmurs, waiting for a response verbal or nonverbal. He waited for a few moments before noticing the soft breaths. 

They were slow and deep, sometimes hitching and other times pausing to match the rhythm of his own breaths. It was almost... Serene. “Ah..I see. You’re napping.” He starts heading to the throne room, ready to rest on his throne while listening to the upcoming or current issues in the kingdom. Perhaps he should see if any beast tamers had lost their crumbling.  

AS he makes his way to the room e feels the crumb shift, a small hum coming from the little thing before they settled again. He hoped they were comfortable, or at the very least a little warmed up now. He cups a hand under their form, lightly rubbing his middle with a thumb. The cloak covered any sign of the crumbling, so he wouldn’t need to deal with concerned or curious cookies.  

He sits on his throne, lightly drumming his fingers over the crumbling. Later he would need to ask them questions, such as their name, why they were alone and any idea of who their parents were. He takes a small breath in taking in the moment. He hadn’t had a little tucked away since..well since his son Dark Choco. Another small twitch of his slips as he thinks of the memory. The small crumbling got used to the idea rather quickly and had been disappointed when he grew too big to be swallowed down.  

“That will probably happen with you as well.” He muses to himself looking down at his middle. It would be a shame to wake them up now..he’d wait until they woke up from their little nap.  

#soft vore #safe vore #protective vore #cookie run vore #snex content #ah yes #vore with cookies #lmao #half size vore

[gogololo]

Their heart rate was mostly back down to normal, body slowly cooling off even as they cling to him. His heart beat is steady and strong against their ear and they’re counting his breaths because what if they woke up? What if this was a lie? Another delusion conjured up from too many late nights in the lab trying to distract themselves from-

“Teva” he speaks softly, like he’s unsure if they've fallen asleep yet. That same gentle voice that’s kept them grounded time and time again. His hand holding one of theirs, carefully looking over the new scars and burn marks left by too many hours working.

“Mm?” not opening their eyes the engineer manages to find a blanket and succeeds to tug it over both of their bodys. He chuckles, helping best he could while still being clung to.

“What does this say?” faintly there’s a tap on the side of their hand, between the bottom joint of their thumb and where the hand meets wrist. Tev already knows which ink he was pointing to. He would have noticed it eventually.

One of the only words to adorn their body, clearly underlined by a rough jagged scar. It’s blue, bright clear blue to stand out against all the lines and dots of black across their skin and the sharpness of scars that they celebrate.

Bright blue so they wouldn’t forget the color of his armor.

“You didn’t have this one when I saw you last.” Again he’s so gentle with them, tracing worn fingers along the ink before bringing the hand up to press a kiss against their palm. Manda help them, whatever they’ve done to earn him back they’ll do it again and again as long as they get to keep him. “You told me you don’t do words generally either.”

Of course he would remember. Everything they told him got stashed away in that bright mind of his.

It took them a second, his lips trailing from their palm to the soft inside of their wrist becoming a distraction, but they didn't open their eyes to answer the question, unsure of how he would feel about the answer.

“Eyayah” there’s a draw to their mando’a. It’s not crisp and smooth like his is when he uses the bits and pieces he learned growing up in the GAR. You could take the kid out of Keldabe, never the Keldabe out of the kid-

“Don’t know that one” there’s a hum and he hasn’t stopped moving, trailing more kisses up to their forearm. There’s less major scars there, small bits of ones from not having protection while working. Again it takes a moment to form words.

“You should” he pauses and finally they open their eyes, dark green meeting honey brown as he tilts his head. “It’s your name after all. Means Echo.” the way his eyes widen makes them look away, scrambling for words heart caught in their throat. “When Rex sent word about what happened, that you were dead, I was working on our ship. Lost focus completely and slashed my hand open. Blood everywhere. Kir was pissed because I didn’t say anything at first and I was under the console. I guess I passed out because he didn’t realize-”

They forget how quick he can move if he wants.The kiss isn’t reckless, it's firm and sweet and tastes like home. He holds on like if he lets go they’ll run away or disappear. Tev melts into it, like they always do, holding on just as strongly. There’s a smile on the mandalorians lips as they finally part, resting their foreheads together in a quiet moment of peace.

“You didn’t tell me…?” he’s searching Tevs face, speaking so softly like he was afraid they would get spooked and bolt. He’s right to think that, they’re still wondering if they should.

“dunno, figured there was a chance you’d think i was crazy for it” it’s honest. For all the things they are, they never lie. “I didn’t get to tell you so much before I lost you…”

There he is again. Kissing along their jaw up to their ear, soft and steady, making their words hazy and thought difficult.

“Tell me what?” it’s a whisper, hope laces into the words but space for them to back out if needed, they know he would let them. That if they weren’t ready he would let them just change the subject and move on but-

“That I love you, that I trust you with my life, and that everytime we had to part ways it was like getting my heart ripped out of my chest..” the words trail off. Air choking in their lungs and everything feeling like just a bit too much and not enough all at once. It still hurt.

Even with him here now it hurt thinking about the news.

Tev doesn't notice the tears until he’s pulled back, carefully wiping away tears with his remaining hand and pressing kisses to the warm skin of their face.

“Cyare” he’s so gentle with them, letting them cling close and ride out their tears. It takes a bit of time but he doesn't let go, just whispers about how strong they were, how sorry he was and that he wouldn’t let it happen again. They know that’s a lie. There’s no way for him to guarantee that at all, but it was pretty to hear. “I love you too, so very much, I’m right here. You have me right here and when the war is over, when all this is done, I promise I won't leave you again.”

#star wars #clone wars #tbb echo #the bad batch

[lunarscaled]

-> There was nothing wrong with it if you asked them---using open space like armor. It was lighter and not nearly as noisy, and it was to be found in abundance anywhere that was intimidating enough to keep most common-sense people out, save for perhaps some overly enthusiastic teenagers that wanted to prove themselves in a test of courage. Lyric kept themselves in layers of it much the same way they wrapped all their limbs around themselves now, their necrotic insides untouchable by anyone, even Christoph ( though they're sure he wouldn't want to be sticking his hands in that. he had a gut for things more grotesque than them for certain, but they think even he would draw the line at rooting around in your friend's organs, unless they did something that really pissed him off. ) Their offhanded comment was the wrong thing to say. They can feel the way a muscle in his hand on the back of their neck twitches tense in irritation ( Lyric would accept a profound amount of terrible treatment towards themselves that Christoph would not. they approached such indiscretion with very different tactics; Lyric was sure if they kept their head down and played dead long enough, whatever was chewing them up would get bored. Christoph... they think Christoph would fight probably anything if it made him mad enough. that included other people, aaaand other people who were cruel to Lyric. Even if they were running for their lives. Even if they were only scared, too. ) before he has even disengaged himself, deep breath in and look-away.

Their head is cradled on their forearms between their knees. They do not miss the attempt at a comforting look from him, even if it doesn't last long. Of everyone here, he was the only one Lyric felt they could trust.

"Don't hit yourself. You'll scratch your eye or something."

-> A moment to set aside their despondency and grief, something in their chest twists gently when he approaches their sorrow with a delicacy: he keeps his voice in check because they flinch when he yells ( and when someone screams. it's the worst part, in their opinion, having to listen to someone shriek the whole time. underneath their humanity and mercy, something hisses at them to just shut the fuck up and die already ); he keeps his touches steady around their shoulders and does not take space or contact where it is not openly given; he tries to console them, above all else, because Lyric is the one having the harder adjustment here. They supposed it was better than being on the other end of the hook, but... they couldn't take to it. They were good at it and had no pride in that fact ( people were predictable, so of course they were. you only needed to know the chances of someone running away or the first place to hide to catch them in a corner. ) If Christoph didn't help them, they're sure the entity would have made them into a husk by now. An exhale, soothed and amused by his words, leads into the smallest impression of a smile when he mirrors their curled-up shape.

"... Do you never worry we're doing the wrong thing? I know there isn't a lot of choice, but... I think I can't help giving people the benefit of the doubt. I would be scared, if I was them."

-> They flinch a little, their posture ticking up a notch straighter at the clap on the back. Lyric gives a heavy exhale they hadn't realized they'd been holding. Peptalks did help, it seemed.

"No way, you sound totally ragged--- Probably cause you always try to talk to them when they're running around. After awhile you just start yelling and it freaks them out. Uh, but then they're so focused on avoiding you... it makes them easier for me to approach them because they aren't listening."

@mortul moved from X.

#mortul #⭐ self sabotage like art skyrockets in value posthumously ( mortul. ) #⋇ THE FORMLESS GRIEF OF THE BODY WHOSE LANGUAGE IS HUNGER: DEAD BY DAYLIGHT #ur honor these are my emotional support serial killers. :|

[one-boring-person]

What about a Barney Ross x Reader where they're this small and positive person (like between 4 ft 10 in and 5 ft 2in) that literally smiles and laughs through the danger? And they share a vulnerable moment with Barney about their past/trauma and end up having a romantically heated moment? It could also be like the Expendables Crew x Reader with the same prompt and they support the reader if you want!

I'm really sorry this is a bit short, but I hope you like it!😊💛

Took You Long Enough.

Barney Ross (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: allusion to sex, mentions of abuse, mention of death, mention of injury, alcohol consumption

Masterlist

"You ok there, kiddo?" The gruff voice behind me startles me a little from my thoughts, my head turning towards the source.

Barney moves into the ring of visibility cast by the fire he's permitted us to light, dark eyes glowing in the orange flush surrounding us. His body armor hangs loosely from one arm, his undershirt rumpled and bunched around his musculature underneath, pistols still hanging from his hips. As he draws nearer, I smile a little at the state of his hair: mussed and wild.

"Yeah, just thinking." I respond, watching as he comes to sit beside me, pulling a hip flask out.

I raise an eyebrow and he waves me off, playfully dismissive as he takes a sip of whatever he's got inside, offering it to me. Taking it, I sniff the rim before tipping some into my mouth, wincing at how strong it is.

"Jesus, Barney, you trying to wake the dead with that stuff?!" I swallow tightly, grimacing at the flavor.

The mercenary laughs, holding the flask loosely.

"Feels like it needs to sometimes." He muses, the self-deprecating note creeping into his voice again, as it so often does in his quieter moments. 

I shrug.

"Gunnar uses stuff like that to make his brain function normally." I comment, glancing over to where the Swede is asleep.

Barney laughs softly - as softly as he can manage with a smoke-torn throat - turning his gaze on me again.

"What were you thinking about?" He eventually asks, head tilted, dark eyes curious but not probing.

Tensing a little, I pull at my fingers a little, unconsciously, unsure of whether or not to tell him. Part of me wants to keep this to myself, but the other part knows full well that he'll figure it out eventually. 

"My dad." I finally admit, keeping my head down. 

"Your dad?" His voice is quiet, tone questioning though it's clear he's not trying to pressure me into answering.

"Yeah," I nod, unwilling to look up as the memories stir in my head again, "My dad."

"What about your dad?"

Swallowing, I take a breath to calm the rising emotion, regaining my composure.

"About how he's the only reason I'm still around. And where that eventually got him." I steady my breathing, "My mother was...abusive. She was dependent on alcohol, and she was often violent when she got drunk, to both me and my dad. It was terrible...she'd come home from "work" reeking of booze and sex, then she'd have a go at us. Then she'd take her fists to us."

I stop for a moment to steady myself again, my breath threatening to hitch as I recall those horrific episodes...the raised fists, clutching shards of bottle, or glass, slashing down at the nearest target. The last time, she found her target in my father and raised her fist never again against him. She didn't need to.

"She used to use pieces of glass to...to cut us." Subconsciously, I rub at my arms, remembering the ugly scars littering the skin, "One day, my dad protected me and she got him in the neck."

I fall silent, glad to know that Barney is listening with his whole attention, eyes fixed on me, wide with undisguised shock.

"(Y/n)...I'm so sorry...I had no idea." He starts, sounding genuinely apologetic.

"Well, now you do." I laugh, but the sound is dry and sharp, unnatural.

We fall silent, the mercenary evidently unsure of how to continue until he eventually moves closer, hesitantly lifting a hand to my chin, which he takes between three fingers, tilting my face towards him. Meeting his gaze, I can't help the jump in my pulse at our sudden proximity, overwhelmed by the sympathy flooding his brown eyes.

"I'm really sorry that happened to you, (Y/n). Thank you for telling me." He says softly, breath lightly brushing over my face as he speaks.

I can't keep my eyes from his lips now, a deep yearning awakening inside me. Feebly, I try to say something in return, but can only manage a soft sound of acknowledgement, sounding almost pathetic. His fingers are warm on my skin, rough calluses scraping ever so slightly over my chin as he lets his hand fall ever so slightly, his eyes now raking over my face entirely. Unable to help myself, I let out a soft groan, nearly imperceptible. 

Somehow, he hears it.

Instantly, his hand cups my face, pulling me forwards, lips pressing insistently against mine. Moaning in surprise, I clutch at his shoulders and lean into him, pressing closer as he uses his hold on my face to deepen the kiss, tonguing at my lip. Parting gladly, I let my eyes fall closed as his tongue slides into my mouth, tasting me even as I do him, discerning the strong alcohol and rough cigar smoke on his breath as he groans into me. 

Dropping his hands, Barney grips my waist and pulls me into his lap, pinning me against his hard body. Moaning, I grind against him, pulling back as he starts to bite and kiss at my jawline, huffs of need leaving him. His tongue is hot and wet on my skin as he licks down to my neck, following every trail he leaves with his lips, hands gripping me tightly. Nudging his nose against the underside of my jaw, Barney encourages me to look up so he can lavish my neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses, stroking up my back now, hand tangling in my hair to pull my head back. Fervently kissing my neck, he wraps my legs around him and flips us so we're lying on the floor, his hard body pressing down on top of me, lips returning to mine to stifle the moans that are now escaping me.

"There are more private places to be doing that." A gruff voice interrupts us, Lee's weary tone catching us off-guard.

Parting, we look through the darkness at the mercenary watching us, blushing as he smirks and lifts an eyebrow.

"Took you long enough, Barney."

#sylvester stallone #break writes #barney ross x reader #Barney Ross #Barney Ross imagine #the expendables #the expendables 2 #the expendables 3

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Cassian - Hellish Prompt: Reader is an assassin/spy that was caught and azriel has spent months torturing her for information and can’t get anything out of her and cassian eventually goes to see who this assassin/spy is and the mating bond snaps and cassian beats the $hitt out of az bc of the mating bond instincts and rhys has to intervene and break up the fight (i was thinking this could switch between azriel’s POV at the start and then switch to cassian's POV)

AN- this was SO fun to make. Please more requests like this!! I love the idea of unexpected mates!

TW -blood/ blades.  

Drip, drip, drip. Copper smell filled the small room. Blood leaked down the drain in the floor. You wheezed a laugh bitterly and spat on the ground at his feet. Azriel's rage simmered calmly under his dark shadows. They coiled, ready to strike. Wanting to strike. The sound of your feeble laughs was practically the only sound Azriel had gotten from you for the first week of torture.  The second week was worse, even for him. Truth teller revealed nothing when he gouged into your skin from the bottom up. Truthfully, he was impressed beyond measure. But that didnt mean that he could stop the job at hand. He had to know, and wished he didnt have to do this kind of thing to get the information from you. "Listen..." He sighed, cleaning his blade. He was always nervous whenever he had a back turned to an enemy, no matter how well they were restrained. But he trusted his shadows enough to tell him if something was wrong.  "If you just.. Cooperate and tell me where the Queens are, we can let you go. No trouble, just releasing you back to Rask." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but he was nearing an exhaustion point. Torture every day for two weeks had its toll not only on the victim, but the dealer as well. His shadows seemed to be growing restless too, waiting for a chance to strike.  He watched your reaction from the corner of his eye. Noted the way your head hanging loosely seemed to gain a bit more strength before you spoke. "Losing your touch, Spymaster?" You revealed a row of bloody teeth to him, and grunted when the chains at your wrists stung the magic that weakly attempted to help you.  Azriel could have sighed. He could have laughed and bled you dry. Have a healer come and patch you up enough to keep you alive. The idea was tempting, but he didn't like having anyone besides his brothers see him in this mode of darkness. He could have brought Rhys down to attempt to break into your mind again. After the first attempt and Rhys' reaction to being blocked, he wasn't eager for that again. So he sighed, and brought out the potions laced with Faebane.  + He was convinced you weren't a normal Fae. After months of his best torture methods he was a wreck. "She just-" He tried to hide his frustration, but his brothers knew him best. Cassian smirked by the fire, warming his wings. Rhys seemed a bit more concerned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Azriel had never been one to spend a long time on torture. Rhys saw the frustration flowing from him after every session with the stubborn Fae in the dungeon cell.  "I dont know what to do anymore. She's the only one to have never broken." He ran a hand though his hair. His shadows seemed weak, exhausted like him.  Rhys considered for a moment, looking between his two brothers. Cassian seemed to be enjoying Azriel's frustration. Maybe a bit too much. Rhys sipped his wine then, with a look of innocence, "Maybe we will have Cassian end it. Perhaps seeing the Lord of Death in front of her will knock something loose."  Cassian's stare whipped to him, a silent plea on his face. "We should leave it to our expert Rhys-" Azriel laughed, cold and bitter. "The expert hasn't got a damn thing out of her. We either kill her or send her back to Rask with all the information she's collected about us. With nothing in return." Shame lined his features. The sense of failure to his high lord was a heavy weight to bear. "Cas...I expect you down there tomorrow afternoon. It will be her last chance." Rhys' no nonsense tone shut down Cassian's retort. His jaw locked with distaste. He hated the cramped cells below the house of wind. Hated the way going underground made his wings feel like they needed to stretch. The worst was when that stale air was laced with the rotting smell of dead mice or old blood. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it.  "Come on Cas, dont you want to see the only one that's outlasted me?" Az asked with a mock grin. He couldn't give the same smile back. Turmoil spilled inside him at the thought of going so far below the mountain.  + Cassian took a long time to go to bed that night. His restlessness about the next day made him wake up over and over, never having more than an hour of peace before being waken up.  Azriel held up a mug of tea to him the next morning. "You look like shit." He handed his brother the mug with a small smile. Cassian glared at him, but took it anyway. He went to the balcony, his heavy wings needing to feel the fresh air. It was like taking a bath after being covered in grime. He sighed in relief, letting the late morning sun graze his body. The cold wind from Illyria was beginning to come in for the winter, and the familiar smell ignited something in him. He felt a draw, but shoved it to the back of his mind. He knew what he had to be this day. "Why the hell do we have to keep them so far down again?" Cassian complained. Around and around and around. Down deeper and deeper into the pit of the mountain that the house above was carved out of. Cassian felt like his lungs were collapsing the further they went. He tried not to let his nerves show, but he knew Az's shadows would pick up on it anyway.  "Remember when you broke your arm chasing down that Attor?" Azriel could have laughed at that memory, but the story surrounding it made the experience soured. More shame on top of the guilt already there.  Cassian hummed in approval, welcoming the distraction the memory brought. He tried not to focus on how each turn of the staircase got darker and darker. How the air seemed to compress around him. He locked his eyes on the scar on one of Az's wings. "And we spent a week fixing the top story of that apothecary?" He asked, keeping his voice steady.  "Yes. Dont you remember how the Attor got out?" Cassian shook his head, and Azriel huffed a laugh. "I left the door open for just a second to get a new knife and..." He shook his head, part in anger and regret, part in shame. "It had escaped before I turned around. I dont know how it happened, to this day."  Cassian stared at the back of the shadowmaster's head. The dark ripples around him seemed to spike. "It happens Az, you can't be perfect."  "It's not perfection, its basic thought. After that we moved all enemies to the lower dungeons. No matter the threat. Rhys even put wards on the arches." He ran a hand over the walls, his fingers catching a few of the grooves that linked each spelled archway to the other.  Cassian left the conversation at that. At least his brother wasn't brooding as much as before. The dim lights began to come into view, and his heart began hammering. Adrenaline singing through his veins. His polished siphons glowed, reflecting red off the dark stone ceiling. He had polished all his black armor the night before, when he couldn't sleep. Something poked, prodded at him all night. Keeping him awake. He figured he may as well make use out of it.  "She's not going to talk to you unless you show..weakness first." Azriel said in a low voice. Cassian nodded, reaching the end of the stairwell with him.  Cassian couldn't see the dark figure in the cell, but he felt the presence nonetheless. The dark draw that you demanded. He wondered how Azriel had dealt with that pull this whole time. The tantalizing draw to you. He shook his head, pushed the hair out of his face and nodded to Azriel.  He opened the door, then began his ritual. At the start of every session he would toss a bucket of water over your body, then a bucket of salt. It made the wounds that handn't healed fully scream in pain. You jolted at the suddenness of it this time. "Good morning, shadowsinger." You ground out, voice rough with strain. Cassian watched in awe at his brother.  Cassian was never one for torture. There was a reason Azriel was appointed to this position. Watching the calm cruelness of him was jarring, but Cassian kept his face straight. He stood behind you, watching the flimsy attempts to pull at the shackles holding your arms up. Lacerations dotted each arm, some light pink scars. Some were still scabbing over. A chill ran down his spine.  "You have a guest today, would you like to see him?" Azriel's voice was cool, calm. Like he was speaking orders to a group of soldiers. He began slicing new lines into your arms, moving up to your neck. He had left your ears in tact, as a last resort if you refused to speak to Cassian. The pull Cassian felt was overwhelming. He walked a bit too quickly around you, plastered on a wicked smile for show, then crouched down. The smile faded when he finally saw your face. Your dripping hair was a horror on its own. Plastered to the skeletal cheekbones, and pale eyes. Those eyes were brighter than anything he'd ever seen. A field of flowers down the slope of Illyrian mountains. His world shifted, drawing the breath from him. "Mine." His mind seemed to roar with that alone, but in a thousand different variations. "Lover, friend, partner, mine mine mine. Mate. My mate." His lips quivered with the realization. With the way his heart soared, and the way he moved without realizing it. He choked a gasp, and fell forward on his knees before you. He saw the same astonishment in your reaction. Azriel dropped his sword, confusion and concern alert on his features. "Cas wh-" Before he could finish, before his shadows could detect that Cassian had even moved, his brother was on top of him. Cassian's knuckles stung with every punch. A new kind of rage flared inside him. It made his muscles yearn for violence. Made his teeth crave the flesh of those that so much as looked at you wrong. There was no mercy for Azriel, it was as if he was an enemy on the battlefield. Cassian held nothing back. You hung limply from the chains that bound you. Crunch after crunch sounded from Azriel. He eventually managed to push Cassian off of him. Then they locked together in battle again. Clashes of armor against armor were deafening. The snarls they ripped at each other were loud enough to make you cringe. Your heart squeezed at the sounds of Cassian's breath. At the scent of blood spilling. You pulled feebly at the chains, your mind roaring to protect him.  Your mate. You tried to watch the battle, but the weakness in your body refused to let you turn more than a few inches. They were panting, Cassian fighting with a ferocity Azriel had never seen. His eyes flared with rage, like he was possessed. "Cas-" Azriel grunted, shoving his brother backwards. His back hit yours, pushing you down and digging those stone cuffs into your wrists. You hissed in pain. Cassian roared and lunged at his brother again, and again.  The darkness that boomed outside the cell was jarring. The stone ceiling shuddered, small rocks and dirt falling from it. Cassian did not stop. He didn't hesitate, coming at Azriel with punch after punch. His fist crushed the wall behind where Az's head had been. 

"Enough." The high lord's cool command was enough to make you still your weak attempts at looking at the two. Cassian's chest heaved as he tried lifting his arm to punch Az again. Pure fury in his heart was enough to make him disobey Rhysand's order.

  Then Rhys' talons gripped him. Freezing his mind, stilling him. Rhys' face shifted to surprise at what he glimpsed at there. "Oh.." He breathed. Azriel panted, backing away from his brother, out of the cell. He locked the cell and wiped the blood from himself, his wings hanging limply behind him. "What- the hell." He panted, nursing his arm. Cassian's eyes locked to your small frame. How your muscles quivered, how your arms shook with the effort of holding yourself up. He felt Rhys' claws recede slowly from his mind, releasing each part of him one by one. He rushed to you.  He picked up Azriel's sword and with a clean, masterful swipe, broke the enchanted stone that bound you. The weak sigh that came from you was heartbreaking. His eyes pricked with tears, and he caught you before you could fall to the floor into the puddle of dried blood. He didnt notice, or care that it was there. He sat there with you, cradled you and shook with you. 

"Cassian... She's.. Cassian's mate." Rhys said slowly, astonished. He didn't take his eyes from his brother in the cell. Azriel froze in place. For a moment, the dungeon was completely still. Totally silent, as if the world waited for what was to come next.

Azriel turned on a heel and left, trudging up the stairs. Rhys dared not touch his mind. "Cassian...." He spoke, trying to get his brother's attention. He did not glance at Rhys, just curled around your body more. Protecting, nesting almost. Rhys knew the feeling too well from the weeks after he and Feyre's bond snapped into place.  "We will check in tomorrow. Be safe, brother." Rhys spoke to Cassian's mind. It was nothing but an ocean of rushing thoughts. Cassian could have bared his teeth, could have tried to fight his brother through the bars of the cell. Hell, he could have probably broken through those bars with the primal strength flowing through him with the rush from the bond. 

But he didn't. He stayed, his warm body pressed against yours. Those siphons glowing against your skin like a fire. He stroked your hair soothingly, his tears like rainfall on your body, through your bloodstained clothes. He didn't remember falling asleep there, but it was the most restful, peaceful night he'd ever had in his existence. 

#acotar #acotar fic #reader x cassian #cassian fic #cassian #azriel mention rhys mention #cassian x reader

[caspercryptid]

Hi! Been stalking for a while but since your requests are open, I thought I'd drop in for the first time 💜

Could you please tell us an insomniac bedtime story featuring Jayce/Jayvik with the concept of kintsugi? As an artform it has helped me a ton with all the hardships I put my body through, maybe it could help others too...

In the meantime, stay safe and amazing!

☄️🐉

So this is a deeply deeply deeply strange way to have fulfilled this request, and for that I apologize. Angst with a happy ending. Everything Is Fine I Promise.

Kintsugi, also known as kintsukuroi, is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum _______

Jayce doesn’t know how long Viktor’s been dead when he finds him.

The body is half-buried in Pilt-mud and if it weren’t for the weight, Jayce wouldn’t even be sure that there was a body inside the armor. It’s all deactivated, the lenses in the mask cracked, not a single bit of flesh exposed or remaining. Viktor’d apparently closed the helmet around the back of his head where his hair used to be exposed, the back of the helmet coming up in a little metallic crest, like it’s imitating the effect of Viktor’s half-wild curls.

Jayce half-wonders what the point was, when surely he could have welded it to his jaw, but there’s nothing to feel about that, the last of Viktor’s organic matter hidden away. The body may as well be a robot’s, but that robot was once the most important person in Jayce’s life, so he’s careful as he lifts him from the earth and carries him home.

There’s nothing to feel, or at least, That’s what Jayce tells himself, because he isn’t. Feeling. Objectively, scientifically, there should be some reaction. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. But Energy wasn’t supposed to be created or destroyed, either, and Jayce feels the space in the world where Viktor was like a black hole, like a void, but that wasn’t new. He’d felt it for years. So he does all he can think to do, and he gets to work.

Step one: Clean.

He gets a hose and blasts off the armor, clearing everything he can, and then he gets a toothbrush and goes to work in the fine joints. It’s slow-going: silt has pushed into every crack and wire and circuit it could find, and there are so many cracks. The armor is beat to hell. It shouldn’t be splintering like this, and Jayce hates the thought of the heat and force that must have been applied to it to get it to do this. He pushes past that thought and he keeps at it.

Step two: Disassemble

Jayce has to draw up blueprints based on his understanding of each part he removes, and he removes no more than necessary to clean under them. He’s still not entirely sure what he’s doing, but he starts to understand as the papers build up around him, the project taking up more and more of his lab. He wants to understand. He needs to.

Step three: Repair

The hexcore responded well to gold. That hadn’t been useful information back in his first experiments- they could never afford it with the Kirammans' money- but it’s useful information now as Jayce goes into the shoddy piecemeal wiring Viktor had replaced with whatever the hell he could get his hands on– mostly copper stripped from Piltover’s electrical systems, if Jayce had to guess– and replaces it with gold. He welds and he replaces and he works around the hexcore powering Viktor’s suit, still humming with life, because removing it feels like a final act of disrespect. Jayce doesn’t touch it, doesn’t pull out Viktor’s heart to hold it in his hands. If the suit was going to be Viktor’s final resting place, than Jayce was going to make it worthy of him. Of his best friend. Of the man he’d been once before he gave it all up and put himself through so much for Piltover, and then for Zaun. He had built the city of progress and then gone home and tried to undo his own work, and at first Jayce hadn’t understood it.

Oh, Jayce understood breaking down. Jayce understood backbreaking labor, but he’d done it for himself. He’d done it because he had to. He’d believed in the city, sure, believed in progress and innovation and the whole nine yards, but he had been working for ideals more than for people. He was very good at inventing life-saving technology and not very good at comforting crying children. Did one matter more than the other? He was starting to think that he’d been wrong to think so.

Viktor had understood the details and missed the big picture, sometimes. Viktor had invented technologies with the most heinous possibilities and not understood, because he was a good man. He wouldn’t misuse them. Viktor had been excellent with children.

Jayce is still not entirely sure what he’s doing, even as he does it, or maybe he understands perfectly, and there are simply a hundred different reasons and explanations. He wants to do one last thing for his friend. He wants to soothe the ache of the years they’d spent apart. He wants to heal the wound that’s just as much in his own heart as it is in Viktor’s chest, as he uses gold to repair the cracks in the armor, just because he can.

He’d never much liked the Machine Herald armor. It wasn’t because there was anything wrong with it, but because he missed the face underneath it so much.

When he removes the top layer of broken amber glass, he gets a shock.

Through a clear layer of something too strong to be just glass, he can see Viktor’s eyes.

They’re closed, but that’s not the shocking part. There’s... no decay. No sign of injury, no cold pallor of death. He looks like he’s simply asleep.

Jayce half assumes he’s hallucinating, numbly replaces the amber lenses with a brighter shade that matches the gold through the cracks in the armor, and he tries not to think about it.

The more he avoids the thought, the more it bothers him. There has to be something. He removes the chestplate again, does what he said he wasn’t going to do, takes a closer look at the hexcore.

It’s.... cracked.

Without fully knowing what he’s doing, moving again in a daze, Jayce removes the hexcore from his hammer. Piltover switched to synthetic over a decade ago– it’s one of the few remaining. He’s quick and careful as he reaches into Viktor’s chest, pulls out the core, and replaces it with the one from his hammer.

The cracked one in his hand sparks and fizzles, and Jayce realizes a second too late that Viktor’s armor was definitely designed to keep it stable, and he is almost certainly about to die. He has just long enough to think that this is almost poetic before there is a very bright blue flash, and then Jayce is being hit very, very hard, and there’s an explosion and he’s on the ground but he’s not dead and he blinks the spots out of his eyes and–

And Viktor is on top of him, shielding him.

“You fucking idiot.” he seethes. “What did you– why are you crying?”

Jayce realizes that he is crying, and that he can’t stop grinning. “You’re alive.”

“You–” Viktor seems to be trying to find the words, but he reaches up for his visor, and he pulls it up.

His eyes are gold and black, now, but his skin is the same, the same moles under his eye and across his chin, just a touch of black metal at the corner of his jaw, on the side where it used to give him trouble.

“What did you do?” Viktor asks, reaching up to touch the visor and Jayce doesn’t answer, just throws his arms around Viktor’s neck and kisses him, and Viktor is kissing him back, and he feels the cracks in his heart gild over. They wouldn’t be the same. But they’d be alright.

#jayvik #vikjayce #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #viktor arcane #casper's haunted fic tag

[normally-alexis]

||Choked up

Pairings - Wilbur x Reader

Warnings - Heavily implied NSFW, Gore-related topics, knife kinks, spitting kink, Pain kink.

Summary - Nights before L'manburg was destroyed and Wilbur went insane you meet up with him and stay over.

Word Count: 1927

L'manburg was pretty much peaceful even though Dream and everybody else didn't want it on the server. It wasn't really bothering anybody so far even though some people, it's mainly just a place to get out of the tough rules of the smp.

You hadn't got into much trouble since you were partially on dream smp's side even though you switch sides pretty often. Whichever side would win you would switch to that side because you didn't want to pick sides you'd be a villain in either's eyes.

Hanging out with Tommy was fun even though he was three years younger than you. It wasn't weird since you both had a strong relationship with Wilbur and Philza. Philza was a father figure to all of you even though you weren't in the slightest related.

Growing up with Wilbur and Techno as best friends was pretty amazing, they taught you a few things throughout your teenage years. Philza before adopting Tommy was nicer to the three of you manly you and Techno.

Being the only female was different, you didn't have special perks as a kid, you were treated like a boy just with fewer responsibilities. Thinking back from when you were a kid towards now it was very rare for people to have kids on the smp. People just adopted children when you think about it.

Techno wasn't really in the Dream smp anymore he was with Philza somewhere out there. Tommy and Tubbo were kids and nobody really wanted them to do anything, they were still sorta young so they just joined L'manburg.

Nothing to stress about at the moment, still being one of the youngest adults of the smp gave you very few privileges. You had to take advantage of them while they lasted at the moment. Since it wasn't safe to live in L'manburg or on the Dream smp you had a bunker underground.

Why wasn't it safe? Anybody who picks sides cannot change that side, if you were on L'manburg's side you would be a big target considering you did have a private association with Dream.

You were underground sorting out some armor and some blueprints, you always have to move a lot if anybody ever saw you so why not be prepared? You kept sketching and erasing multiple times until you age up and burnt it.

The smoke was pretty bad to inhale so you move to an area where there wasn't much smoke at. It's pretty much clouding up the bunker and you start coughing, it's not that bad so you grab a potion and throw it on the burning blueprints.

It's not clouded up anymore even though you could have let it burn out. You drop your armor and weapons on the ground because you wouldn't be needing it at the moment. making your way over to your seat you sit down and look at all the notes in your notebook.

Flipping through the pages seeing if you found any notes you probably had written but most likely forgot were noted down. You stop at a page because it wasn't remembered from last time, it's a note from an anonymous person saying to come to the back of L'manburg.

You look back to see if anybody's there even though there's clearly nobody there. It must have been written early when you had left out. You push your chair out and then stand up, You take a moment and hesitate to think if you should do it or not.

It's a win and lose situation but what's life without a few risks? You leave from the seating of the area and walk over towards the ladder. Before climbing up the ladder you turn the lights off not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

You grab onto the ladder and push yourself up placing your legs on the ladder, you climb up the ladder. Once you reach the top you push the top open and the trap door was forced open, you place one hand on the ground and place another hand on the ground.

You push yourself up and get on the top of the surface part of the ground. You take a small breathe and close the top. You push yourself up from off of the ground, you knew where L'manburg was since it was a pretty often visit.

You move throughout all the leaves and in vines, it's pretty normal to walk through it all. A few thoughts crossed your mind thinking about it, Dream wouldn't try contacting you that way he'd just catch you in the middle of the Dream smp and pull you to the side.

Thinking about meeting in L'manburg it would only be Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, Eret, Fundy, or Niki. It's not really Important who invited you but you really did want to know. You walk over to the area of the Dream smp and pass Tommy's house. It's pretty abandoned but you didn't bother starring at it too long.

You walk past it and walk towards the bridge that usually leads to L'manburg, you stop for a moment and hear a singing noise. It's not anywhere in sight per say but it's loud enough to hear. It's within the walls beside you and you put your ear on the wall.

It's more of a humming sound, you remove your ear from the wall and roam your hands along it. You hit a button along the wall not surprised but the wall opens up and the humming is more clear.

You enter inside of the cobblestone room not really expecting anything. The floor made a little sound when you entered inside of the room. You look on the ground and there's a few blood clots on the floor and some guts along with it.

You cover your mouth backing yourself backing into the corner. You sorta had a dislike of blood, not Hemophobia but it wasn't your favorite to be in a room filled with something dead. You look up and see Wilbur finishing cutting something up.

He already heard you since you had entered the room. He turns around and removes his gloves which were stained with blood. It's not a human thankfully but it's a dead animal, still very uncomfortable in this situation.

Wilbur looks up at you not very surprised  up at the moment, " What's wrong?" The whole display itself was wrong. You uncover your mouth smelling all the disgusting rotting corpses, "You're killing animals and letting them rot," How is he not disgusted? You roam around the room seeing more dead animals.

Wilbur tries explaining himself while coming towards you, but you get very distracted by all the blood splatter on the ground and much more graphic stuff. You weren't looking at him meaning that he knew your attention wasn't on his apology.

He grabs your hair and tugs on it making you shift your attention at him. Pulling and tugging on your hair really hurt because it's like being forced by Wilbur. As tough as you seemed whenever you had armor on being without armor is a completely different story.

"What's wrong tell me, you had a lot of nerve coming from somebody who would fuck literally anybody attractive enough," It's very weak of you to get degraded by somebody who doesn't even know how to defend himself.

"Or anybody who even found you attractive," You knew your worth but whenever somebody tells you something about criticizing yourself you'd just believe it and fix yourself. Was he right? You can't answer that yourself.

You had gone pretty silent and it causes Wilbur to get more aggressive with you. He knees your in your stomach not damaging your internal organs but it just made you feel weak and you tremble on your knees.

You grip onto your stomach squeezing it together, He's treating you like complete shit. He stops kneeing you and he pinches your cheek practically teasing you. You weren't even supposed to be meeting Wilbur at the moment.

Responding would get you in trouble and not responding would get you in more trouble. He's very agitated at the moment and he grabs the pocket knife from his pocket putting it towards your thigh.

"Can I Carve our Initials on your thigh," He asks you, You weren't too fond of punishment but you did like the attention being craved. You nod your head slightly and he removes his hand from your hair.

He grabs onto your thigh and you fall down stinging your back. He slowly starts carving your initials on your thigh, you don't make the loud noises you want to because he'll just end up cursing you out.

You wanted to curse so badly even though you liked it when he inflicted the pain, But why was it only acceptable when he did it. He was only done carving the 'W' halfway, you flinch and he messes up.

It a swerved 'W' and it looks very crossed out, He's upset with you and gets up from squatting. You try communicating with him, "Wilbur?" He's not necessarily listening to blocking out the thoughts.

He puts his foot in between your legs pushing it further near your shorts, His shoes against your clit. You can't tell what his original thoughts are, before you can even react he kicks you in your side. You fall on your face gripping onto your lower half, it's like a period without the loose blood clots.

He squats down and grabs onto your hair pulling you up making you look up at him, "Such a slut aren't you darling?" He spits on your face and it drips off of your face on the ground, is this really who you were such a despite slut that you would let a man do this to you?

Most definitely, you try smiling at him but it's a half-smile since you were in pain. "You holding up good slut?" He asks while looking you in your eyes, you nod as a response and try getting off of your sides.

You weren't damaged that badly you could always heal from it... He lets go of your hair once you were stable enough to stay on your knees. He takes his belt off and takes his pants down, he places the belt around your neck and ties it.

He takes his boxers off and grabs his dick which was already erected due to sadism. "C'mon slut, suck," He tugs on the end of the belt and you put your mouth on his dick, following rules in such a bad position in your life. Never would you have thought you would be sucking off Wilbur..

You take it slow at first not wanting to rush it since you weren't experienced as much, you mainly focus on the tip of his cock and rub your tongue over and over on his slit. Whenever he feels like he would release something he tugged on the belt making you gag on him.

It was hard to take him and focus on not being choked up by his belt, He's not the strongest of keeping his moans in. He climaxes inside of your mouth and some gets on your cheek, He wipes the semen off of your face.

"Is this okay darling?" he kisses your cheek and helps you clean yourself up, at least he did aftercare..

#wilbur soot smut #dsmp smut #x reader #mcyt x reader smut #mcyt smut #dream smp smut

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under The Floorboards pt. IIII

(Technoblade X Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V

Whipping the sweat off your brow you placed the honey jars you collected on the ground, Phil really built this farm efficiently. However, that didn’t stop you needing to collect honey pots here and there, now that the vault was complete you could actually use the honey for normal things. Technoblade would never admit it but he loved when you put honey in his tea, contrary to popular belief he wasn’t a fan of plain black tea or coffee. You rolled up your sleeves and adjusted the sunhat that sat lazily on your head against your better judgment you had left your armor inside. The only thing on your person was a netherite ax Techno had enchanted for you, it was an effective weapon but without your armor, you were a bit of a sitting duck. As the bees buzzed and bumped lazily into each other, you couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight. They were just so silly. You picked up the crate of jars and turned around, your eyes narrowed as you saw some movement by the trees, it was still too early for Tommy and Technoblade to be back...so just who was snooping around the property. You felt very naked in your sun hat and overalls, especially if it was Dream himself that you were about to encounter. Your worry only increased as you noticed four men all in netherite armor walking towards the house, their swords were drawn. You had a feeling that these were the men who took Technoblade the day prior. They were like a little gang all dressed the same way, bloody aprons and all they really had the executioner vibes down. 

    “Hello, gentlemen.” You smiled giving them a wave while you adjusted the box of honey, “beautiful day isn’t it?” 

The first to answer was a man who had a scar from the tip of his eyebrow down to the bottom of his lip. He sent you a smile and you noticed a tooth missing from the upper row, a navy blue beanie held his dark hair in place. 

    “Very beautiful, it’s always a good day when the sun is shining.” He mused the sun in question reflected beautifully across all their netherite armor. The one thing you decided to leave inside, you weren’t intimidated nope not at all. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

    “(Y/N).” You responded with a hum, “Is there something that I can help you all with today?” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed two of the men moved to surround you, they thought they were slick. The only one who didn’t move was the tallest of the children there, he looked to be half Enderman. He also looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now poor thing. Drawing your gaze back to the other three men, you noticed one was Tommy’s age and had small horns atop his head, along with goat-like ears. A burn scar also took up half of his face. It made you frown distastefully, what was with these kids getting traumatized? First Tommy and now the half enderman and the goat kid, you couldn’t adopt all of them, well you could but it’d be a lot of work. The other looked to be part fox after all the big orange ears and the fluffy tail was dead give away, wait didn’t Ghostbur say his son was a fox. “Are you Fundy?” You asked, suddenly tilting your head to the side.

    “How do you know my name?” Fundy’s face flushed a little and he shuffled on his feet, his hand twitching to grab the sword that was at his side. 

    “I talked to your father earlier today. I’m assuming that’s how you found me?” You took the hat off your head and rested it on Carl’s stable. The fox gave a reluctant nod of confirmation you licked your lips and put your hands behind your back. “So? Do you have a problem with Technoblade or just me specifically?”

    “Wow, she’s not even a little bit ashamed.” Quackity mused and you frowned, “We’re here because your boyfriend blew up our country. He also disgraced our President right Tubbo? Don’t know if you’re aware of that or not but he escaped his punishment. So we intend to make him repent.” He walked towards you and you took a step away from him. 

    “That’s far enough thank you.” You held up your hand in hopes it would stop his trek towards you, Quackity did pause for a moment. He let out a chuckle and smiled. He thought your tough attitude was cute, but he was clearly mocking you. 

Jackass. 

    “Quackity maybe we should leave her be...she didn’t do anything.” The young goat kid murmured his ears flicking as he looked up at you. 

    “Quiet Tubbo. Let the adults speak,” Quackity snapped at him before clearing his throat and looking back at you. “Listen (Y/N) was it? We’re going to have to ask that you come with us. If you don’t we’ll have to take you by force.”

    “Wait, couldn't Technoblade have trained her?” The half enderman spoke holding up his finger in the air but no one seemed to pay him any attention. 

    “I guess force it is. Although the fight is a little unfair.” You took out your ax and twirled it in your hand, “Something tells me you don’t exactly like fair fights.” Fundy took a hesitant step backward not really wanting to lose a life for this of all things, but he pulled out his sword just in case. Clicking your tongue in distaste you sent a bloodthirsty smile their way, one that rivaled Technoblade, “Come at me.” 

Without hesitation, Quackity charged at you with his sword he didn’t aim to kill, just disarm or injure. You blocked the swing with the wooden part of your ax and spun around just in time to dodge an attack from Tubbo. You managed to elbow him in the back and he stumbled forward into Quackity, the man made a grunting sound before shoving Tubbo off of him and into the snow. Fundy moved next and managed to land a hit on the side of your arm, you hissed loudly glaring daggers at the fox. His ears pressed against his head and he let out a small whimper, “sorry!”

    “Don’t apologize to her!” Quackity groaned, “You guys are the worst gang ever.” He slapped his forehead as you readjusted your posture, “I have to do everything myself.” Quackity snarled charging at you again you sidestepped out of the way. As he stumbled trying to regain himself he knocked over the honey pots and they shattered against the ground. You swung your ax and managed to land a hit on him in the back of the legs, he let out a strangled yelp and fell on his face into the snow like Tubbo had done earlier. Yanking out the ax out of the leader of the gang blood splattered all over the ground and stained the snow. Little red beads dripped off the ax as you held it by your side, the man only let out another scream as it was torn out of him. 

    “Back. Off.” You repeated again baring your teeth with a hiss, “Turn around and go back to L’manburg and I won’t kill you. Got it.”  The ax was pointed at all of them, you saw the half enderman nod vigorously, 

    “Yes ma’am.” He nodded rapidly grabbing Tubbo and Fundy by the arm and pulled them back, the three of them watched as Quackity snarled and backed up to join them. You watched them cower and you dropped your ax on the ground so you could press the palm of your hand into the wound on your arm. You quickly turned and ran back into your home to collect bandages and fix yourself up, blood speckled the floor as you made your way into the bathroom. You tore off your overalls and shirt, washing out the wound before wrapping your arm in bandages. You didn’t know how long you stood there in front of the mirror but you looked worse for wear. 

Technoblade was going to lose his shit.

---

All Technoblade could think about on their way back to his retirement home, was you. He could only put up with Tommy for so many hours until he needed to talk to literally anyone else. He was ready to get your relaxing date night underway; he could already feel your fingers running through his hair braiding his as you went. He hummed fondly listening as the voices called him simp repeatedly, he didn’t mind this time considering he was when it came to you. 

    “That’s still cringe chat.” He murmured to himself as Tommy continued to scream about something in the background, “Yeah, yeah I love her.” He heard the chat flip their shit and he fondly chuckled, intermixed with their happy cries there was a distinct sound of ‘E’ as well as ‘nerd.’ He almost didn’t hear Tommy’s worried shouting. He frowned and rolled his eyes back into his skull, 

    “What Tommy?” 

    “Technoblade! Technoblade!” The teen bumped back into him, Technoblade grunted and looked down at him. He followed Tommy’s eyes and spotted the blood littered snow outside his house. Technoblade paused and his vision went red around the edges, his eyes stayed trained on the bloodstains as the voices began to roar within his skull. His head shot up and he saw the honey box spilled over on the ground, glass littered the snow, your hat hanging loosely on Carl’s old stable. 

     “T-Technoblade.” Tommy stuttered again looking up at the pig-man, seeing how glazed over his eyes looked. He swore steam was coming out of Technoblade’s nose and his hand drew out his pickaxe gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. He felt his tusks grow in size and his face began to shift into his pig form. Tommy’s voice was drowned out by the flood that was the voices in his head: 

‘SHE’S GONE. THEY HAVE HER. KILL THEM ALL. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. WE DEMAND BLOOD. E. SAVE HER. YOU’RE A FAILURE. YOU DIDN’T PROTECT HER. SLAUGHTER ALL OF THEM. SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. SHE NEVER HURT ANYBODY. YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’ 

Technoblade took a step forward to which Tommy rapidly backed up in response. He’s never seen Techno this gone before, oh shit he has it bad for (Y/N). However, Tommy didn’t make a move to stop Technoblade; he didn’t want him to release that rage on him. Technoblade walked into the house, stepping on his glasses that fell off his face. He threw his door open with a loud slam, he needed potions and he needed a new sword. 

Whoever did this all their cannon lives were gone he’d make it long and torturous.

A soft voice broke him out of his stupor his entire body went rigid. 

    “Bubs…” He slowly turned around and came face to face with you, you looked so small, so delicate standing in the doorway. You were wearing your pajamas, soft blue with little sheep all over them. His ears twitched and his shoulders softened considerably seeing you standing safe in the doorway, however, he tensed again the minute he saw the bandages tied around your arm. Blood leaking through them, he growled eyes locking in on the spot as you made soft shushing sounds at him. 

‘SHE’S HURT. SHE’S ALIVE THOUGH. BUT SHE’S HURT, THEY NEED TO PAY. ATONE FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HER. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. SPILL THEIR BLOOD THEN MAKE OUT WITH HER. SHE’LL LOVE YOU MORE IF YOU DO. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’

Technoblade jumped feeling her hand caress his cheek, “Bubs it’s alright I’m okay.” Your voice was smooth and soothing, his eyes dilated as you spoke to him. His face shifting back to normal as he breathed heavily through his nose, “See?” You brought his head down to rest against your chest, it looked uncomfortable the way that he was bending. However, he could feel your heart beating in your chest, he made a soft whimper and grabbed onto your shoulders his pink hair tickled your chin. You brought your hands up to run his fingers through his hair as he finally calmed down enough to ignore the voices for the time being. Right now they were just commenting on how nice and warm her hands were anyway.

    “What happened to you? There was blood everywhere I was so scared.” His voice broke a little bit as he pulled away from you. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest Technoblade had never looked so broken. 

    “The butcher squad came and attacked me. They wanted to use me to get to you but I fought them off just like you taught me.” You couldn’t help but smile proudly at him and he let out a disbelieving laugh. His hands moved from your shoulders to your back as he cradled you gently in his arms, you both stood there rocking back and forth together until Technoblade was satisfied. 

    “That’s my girl.” He finally murmured backing away from you, you flushed at the compliment. Whenever he called you that it made you flush all over, you let out a loud flustered whine and whacked him on the chest. Technoblade laughed at your flustered expression, it was a rare moment the tables were flipped like this and Technoblade was going to take full advantage of the situation. “Princess what’s with that look? Am I, thee Technoblade, making you flustered? I know I’m a lot to handle, I beat Dream once, I never die, I’m not homeless. Guess what?” 

    “What?” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle as he circles you eyeing you up and down. 

    “I’m single.” 

    “Oh really?” You cocked an eyebrow, “I thought you had a girlfriend.” You twirled your hair around your fingers and you felt his strong hands rest on your waist. 

    “Hm I don’t think so. You might need to refresh my memory,” Technoblade mused kissing your neck tenderly. 

    “Well she’s stunningly gorgeous, and tough as nails,” Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned back against him. “She absolutely adores you and how protective you are of her, and how much of a gentle giant you are.” He made a noise of protest and rested his chin on the top of your head. You could tell he was pouting at you, 

    “See, not only is that super cringe but also factually incorrect. I am not a gentle giant, I just committed vast sums of minor terrorism and I also kill orphans so what would my girlfreind say to that huh?” He huffed clicking his tongue distastefully. 

    “She would say that you’re right but also she sees the way you take care of Carl, and how you put up with Tommy. You’re totally brothers. That makes you at least a little bit soft” 

    “Not brothers and I don’t like him.” 

    “Right sure,” You giggled a little and kissed his chin lightly. 

Technoblade let out an indignant sound before muttering, “Oh we should probably tell Tommy you aren’t kidnapped. Also discuss what to do about L’manburg now that they know you exist.” You blocked out that last part and made a beeline outside to find Tommy. The teenager in question was fumbling with his hands over by his cobblestone tower, you ran over to him and engulfed him in a hug. 

    “(Y/N)!” He shouted letting out a disbelieving laugh hugging you back with a childish smile. “You’re okay! Holy fuck I totally thought you were dead and shit! Technoblade was going fucking apeshit! His face went all pig like n’ shit totally thought he was gonna kill everyone for you! Not that I was worried.” He added quickly shoving you away crossing his arms. 

    “Of course you weren’t THE Tommy is never worried.” 

    “Yeah exactly Miss Blade you get me.” You smiled fondly at him and you ruffled his hair and he shouted at you to stop. You did so sensing Technoblade approach the both of you, Techno interlocked your hand with his own and squeezed it tightly. “You chill now Big T?” 

    “I’m always chill Tommy. Only nerds aren’t chill.” He mused with a scoff, “Hence why I always call you a nerd.” 

    “WHAT THE FUCK TECHNOBLADE! I AM ALWAYS CHILL! I’M THE CHILLEST MAN ALIVE I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW!” 

    “Stop shouting,” Technoblade groaned burying his face in your hair as you laughed fondly at their antics. Although L’manburg knew about your existence now, and although you knew Dream probably wasn’t too far behind in learning that knowledge either, you felt everything was going to be okay. 

All you needed was each other, Technoblde, Tommy, Phil and you. Together you four were gonna do great things, you just knew it.

~~~

I do plan on making another part because people seem to be enjoying this story a lot more than I originally thought when I first posted it. Which is amazing thank you for all the love and support! New stuff is also in the works, thanks again for reading and enjoying! Stay safe guys! 🥰✨

#dream smp #dreamsmp x reader #technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #mcyt #minecraft fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #blood for the blood god #rp

[edenmemes]

horizon zero dawn starters

❝  you can sense it. you already know you’re going to lose.  ❞ ❝  did you want to be alone?  ❞ ❝  you wouldn’t be so eager to speak with me if you knew me.  ❞ ❝  that will draw attention. we won’t have this place to ourselves for long now.  ❞ ❝  it’s a world worth fighting for. not just here. everywhere.  ❞ ❝  trying to live up to glorious pasts has a way of getting people killed.  ❞ ❝  never celebrate a victory before it’s earned.  ❞ ❝  i crave vengeance. do you?  ❞ ❝  my comrades weren’t so lucky. i might shed a tear, if they weren’t all cutthroats and cheaters.  ❞ ❝  i’ll always have a minute for you. maybe even two.  ❞ ❝  you walk on the edge of life and death. i can tell.  ❞ ❝  what is a gift but an award you did not earn?  ❞ ❝  so many voices to listen to, it must make your head hurt. i promise my voice will be soft and soothing.  ❞ ❝  i wish i could borrow some of your courage now.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always wondered. are all your kind hunters and fighters, or just a few?  ❞ ❝  no one doubts your determination. but you need to rest.  ❞ ❝  a bold claim. i wonder if you’ll live up to it.  ❞ ❝  why would someone name a knife?  ❞ ❝  so you’re alive ! we should celebrate! drinks on me!  ❞ ❝  try not to forget me, while you’re out there saving the world.  ❞ ❝  when we spoke earlier, you winced, then looked like you were in pain - or frightened.  ❞ ❝  i’m really not one for crowds.  ❞ ❝  so - how are we gonna do that? oh, wait, i forgot. we won’t. i do all the dangerous stuff.  ❞ ❝  i knew there was something about you. hammered from the stuff they make leaders out of.  ❞ ❝  no matter what happens, i will not intervene. do you understand? you are on your own.  ❞ ❝  it’s always a pain in the neck when you show up, girl, one way or another.  ❞ ❝  you’re bleeding, let me have a look. here, hold still.  ❞ ❝  just don’t think this means i enjoy it.  ❞ ❝  i don’t want to jinx it, but we might be in the clear.  ❞ ❝  when i start a fuss, i like to finish it.  ❞ ❝  i promise to look solemn at your funeral before i hit the bar.  ❞ ❝  what could go wrong? turns out, a lot.  ❞ ❝  let me come with you! i won’t be a bother. i know how to stay out of sight.  ❞ ❝  now i’m supposed to fill ____’s shoes. and instead, here i am, stumbling around in them.  ❞ ❝  we need to talk - alone. and you need to pull it together.  ❞ ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ ❝  oh, are you going to shut your mouth now? because that would be a surprise.  ❞ ❝  i will come to you in secret. no one will see me, so i won’t get in trouble.  ❞ ❝  it looks like something chewed you up and spat you out.  ❞ ❝  these are the true wilds, with threats unlike any you have ever faced.  ❞ ❝  that moment the door opened and you were standing there, and the way you smiled... i had to look away or you were going to see. on my face. what had just... blossomed inside me, you know?  ❞ ❝  i’m not afraid of you - i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞ ❝  stop being evasive? you might as well tell me to stop being charming. it’s impossible.  ❞ ❝  what a waste. at least he died better than he lived.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been looking up at the stars a lot, and the only story i see written across them is that we are small and insignificant and will soon disappear with hardly a trace left behind. it’s a hard story, and i don’t like it much..  ❞ ❝  if i’m going to stand for something, it’ll have to be something i believe in.  ❞ ❝  the strength to stand alone, is the strength to make a stand.  ❞ ❝  soon it’ll all seem familiar. like home.  ❞ ❝  now i see that i was just lucky to get a minute of your time.  ❞ ❝  i know my duty to them - and to you. i’m here. and wherever you go...i will follow.  ❞ ❝  you're really good at making it impossible to like you.  ❞ ❝  i’ve missed our little talks.  ❞ ❝  will change happen at all, while men live in palaces?  ❞ ❝  confidence is quiet. you’re not.  ❞ ❝  you’re not a very convincing liar.  ❞ ❝  i already have all the friends i need. i don’t need the bother.  ❞ ❝  all right, cool your fire. i got nothing to hide.  ❞ ❝  i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago.  ❞ ❝  you will turn back - or bleed. your choice.  ❞ ❝  when we met, i thought i was a big shot talking to a pretty girl hidden away in the middle of nowhere.  ❞ ❝  you would speak ill of the dead? truly you have no shame.  ❞ ❝  truth is, i get lonely once in awhile. there. i admitted it. don’t think less of me.  ❞ ❝  do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?  ❞ ❝  but i don’t know anyone here.  ❞ ❝  come on, stop. you’re going to make me tear up.  ❞ ❝  i feel like i should drop to my knees and worship you.  ❞ ❝  think i’m done? think again. i’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.  ❞ ❝  it’s hard to imagine where we’d be without you - and i don’t want to try.  ❞ ❝  if we’re to fight together on the brink of life and death, i’d prefer to do so with your forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  trust is for fools. it shifts and crumbles like sand.  ❞ ❝  what will you do while i risk my life?  ❞ ❝  you can smile, can’t you? ...no, that’s a grimace.  ❞ ❝  you killed that demon...pulled its guts from the carcass!  ❞ ❝  the sooner you’re gone from here, the better.  ❞ ❝  for now, all you need to know is that i’m a whisper of reason in this howling pit of insanity.  ❞ ❝  i heard the rumors, but i didn’t know for sure until saw you just now. i’m glad to see you’re okay.  ❞ ❝  no barrier can now stay you from your sacred task.  ❞ ❝  i won’t deny i risked your life. but it was the only way.  ❞ ❝  they can’t shoot if they’re dead. keep them busy, i’ll find an angle.  ❞ ❝  comforts are weakness.  ❞ ❝  as for honor, sacrifice-- true sacrifice, the kind rulers know nothing of -- it’s all a fat joke.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been sharpening my blade, anticipating the scent of the fight.  ❞ ❝  you’re not just a traveler. that armor was fitted for you. and the way you hold your bow...  ❞ ❝  i’d expect to see some tomatoes fly, maybe rocks. hopefully not spears. in any case, be ready to duck.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here for the price on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a moment, i was a child again, rapt from stories told by hunters at the campfire.  ❞ ❝  this...attachment to me will only hold you back.  ❞ ❝  whatever you do, don’t let their shabby looks fool you! they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i love. and what could be wrong with that?  ❞ ❝  when the arrowhead passes between armor and skin - that’s the place i belong.  ❞ ❝  right. why would i expect an answer? it’s so much more exciting to keep it all a mystery...  ❞ ❝  oh, it’s a story all right, but it takes a while to tell. maybe another time, over a drink or three?  ❞ ❝  why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?  ❞ ❝  i’ll wager you don’t scare easy - it’s a good quality.  ❞ ❝  there will be people celebrating, and feasting. more than you've ever see in one place.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t bring you here to answer questions. i brought you here to deal with that.  ❞ ❝  ...you’ve...put a lot of thought into this.  ❞ ❝  i do not want to hear this talk from you again. doubt is heavier than a week’s snow.  ❞ ❝  bandits are drawn to here like infection to a wound.  ❞ ❝  i guess you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason.  ❞ ❝  i thought you and i were agreed: only enjoy the killing as much as the challenge.  ❞ ❝  rumors spread like blood.  ❞ ❝  they would steal from us, chase us through the night, laughing.  ❞ ❝  leave it too long, your fingers itch for the bowstring.  ❞ ❝  you’re strong, shrewd, capable... i could use someone like you on my side.  ❞ ❝  you defeated it? alone?  ❞ ❝  grasp your grief. and kill it.  ❞ ❝  at least i’ll have a fire to keep me company.  ❞ ❝  only survivors scar. after everything you’ve been through, you keep going.  ❞ ❝  just stop being evasive and tell me who you really are.  ❞ ❝  i don’t mind putting my worthless ass on the line. but not yours.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here to intrigue you.  ❞ ❝  how about you? who do you think i am? what will you remember of me? ❞ ❝  everything freezing. the ground, the air... me.  ❞ ❝  you lost someone you care about. that leaves a wound. the sort of wound a lot of people don’t recover from.  ❞ ❝  the only thing i know i’m still fighting for is...you.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t earn this mercy, but i will die to make myself worthy of it.  ❞ ❝  to say you have my gratitude feels woefully insufficient. you saved my life.  ❞ ❝  makes you wish you could kill them more than once, doesn’t it?  ❞ ❝  why did you act so strange when we spoke earlier?  ❞ ❝  being smart won’t count for nothing if you don’t make the world a better place.  ❞ ❝  to serve a purpose greater than yourself...that is the lesson you must learn.  ❞ ❝   if a big, meaningful talk is what you’re after, move along.  ❞ ❝  that carcass! what sort of beast was that?  ❞ ❝  what are you doing out here all alone? where are your men?  ❞ ❝  you’ve obviously heard of me. you know what i’m capable of. why do you think this will turn out well for you?  ❞ ❝  there’s so much to discover before the world ends.  ❞ ❝  i couldn’t wait to see you again. it’s like...i’m dead and only come alive when i’m here with you.  ❞ ❝  some even say you have a conscience. how extraordinary!  ❞ ❝  do you always accuse people you’ve just met of lying?  ❞ ❝  if you ever visit, look me up. i’ll show you around, make introductions. it’d be a whole new life, if you want it.  ❞ ❝  it had a name once, not that it matters now. i was born there.  ❞ ❝  i always knew you were different... i think you’re a blessing.  ❞ ❝  no one hears your prayers anyway.  ❞ ❝  this place is difficult even for the prepared.  ❞ ❝  i underestimated you. i won’t make that same mistake again.  ❞ ❝  oh. is that supposed to sound scary or something?  ❞ ❝  look, maybe i shouldn’t say this, but it’s obvious that you don’t belong in this... backwater.  ❞ ❝  were you kept hidden away? did you have overprotective parents or something?  ❞ ❝  hmph. don’t go soft on me.  ❞ ❝  i prefer the company of spirits. or my own.  ❞ ❝  blood spilled calls for blood spilled! if the ground is cursed, then let our vengeance sanctify it.  ❞ ❝  so many people here, all talking at once. how does anyone think?  ❞ ❝  why is it that every time something bad happens to you, someone else tells you something bad that happened to them, as if that makes it any better?  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen armor like yours.  ❞ ❝  the wrongness here jags at me like an arrowhead.  ❞ ❝  when you found me, i was trying to eke out a glorious death. but now a glorious life seems more preferable.  ❞ ❝  tomorrow, may the sun rise on the world.  ❞ ❝  you saved my epitaph from being ‘a fine soldier but a fool of a man’.  ❞ ❝  i don’t think i know you at all. but i’d like to.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like this. it feels...wrong.  ❞ ❝  oh, i’m grateful for this wound. it’s a lesson i won’t forget.  ❞ ❝  you’re a clever one. but not so clever as to heed my warning, i see.  ❞ ❝  not everyone follows the law like you do.  ❞ ❝  how many times have i pulled you from danger by your neck? made excuses for your behavior?  ❞ ❝  for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re coming with me.  ❞ ❝  what have i ever given you but struggle?  ❞ ❝  it’s starting to feel real, you know? that we might actually get out of this place.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never been part of anything. i serve my own interests. always.  ❞ ❝  i apologize for my...behavior. i thought i was dead.  ❞ ❝  look, i don’t even know your story. must be a good one. if you ever feel like telling it, look me up.  ❞ ❝  when my anger has thawed, i will feel nothing.  ❞ ❝  i can’t remember when i had this much fun! i should be thanking you!  ❞ ❝  you gave him a quicker death than he deserved.  ❞ ❝  that...could be the last creepy thing you’ve said to me.  ❞ ❝  something’s really bothering you. if you think i’m gonna abandon you, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  surprised you saw me, the way you keep looking every other direction to make sure no one’s watching. careful there, or you’ll sprain your neck.  ❞ ❝  remember how the blood pounded in your ears? they’ll ring later, in the calm. it’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.  ❞ ❝  ___’s dead. i was ready to go through anything to make that happen. and i did.  ❞ ❝  is there a reason why you’re acting so cranky today?  ❞ ❝  you hold your grief close, like a tailsman.  ❞ ❝  i hope you can find peace.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know who i am, do you?  ❞ ❝  you know there’s always been dirt on my hands. now there’s blood too.  ❞ ❝  i want to be strong like you. but...  ❞ ❝  i hadn’t given up on hope, but i’ve forgotten the taste of it.  ❞ ❝  just...don’t start singing again.  ❞ ❝  you’re sparing me? after all i’ve done?  ❞ ❝  i don’t intend to die today.  ❞ ❝  it will take many good deeds to make up for the crimes you’ve committed.  ❞ ❝  but why should you have justice, and not me?  ❞ ❝  such a voice... a cold, awful jangle that scrapes your bones and hollows your guts.  ❞ ❝  one more word, and i’ll throw you in jail myself.  ❞ ❝  only in the struggle against death do we find, even for a moment, the spark of life.  ❞ ❝  the war changed you. changed us both. we’re not kids anymore.  ❞ ❝  i can’t sleep, i can’t breathe knowing you could be out there...hurting...  ❞ ❝  now i’m left to wear my sins. for me, at least, they hang heavy.  ❞       ❝  but what does a girl like you know of loss?  ❞ ❝  it’s a good thing you’ve got brains. because your personality could use some work.  ❞ ❝  i was going to ask you to leave with me...to go somewhere out in the sun where no shadow could reach us.  ❞ ❝  they didn’t need to disgrace my name. i did it myself, serving a rotten throne. ❞ ❝  you don’t approve? well, i have a secret for you. neither do i.  ❞ ❝  perhaps you are not an evil man. just a weak one.  ❞ ❝  losses can feel... overwhelming. but they remind us of our connections to others.  ❞ ❝  i don’t exactly see anyone beating down the door to spend time with you.  ❞ ❝  if i had known, i would never have spoken to you.  ❞ ❝  forge a new life. one of better make.  ❞ ❝  impossible odds, fine company, killing without consequence --- how could i resist?  ❞ ❝  look at me. i can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but you don’t have to go through it alone.  ❞ ❝  i wish i had known, all this time, what you were going through.  ❞ ❝  i’m with you. until the end.  ❞ ❝  i thought you just wanted to have tea and conversation! is there a battle coming? i wasn’t informed!  ❞ ❝  we’ve only met a few times, and yet you know me so well.  ❞ ❝  are you going to drive me off, too? it’s okay. i’ve dealt with worse.  ❞ ❝  now i know the kind of person i want to be, watching you.  ❞ ❝  it’s so...bittersweet. like a smile through bloodied teeth.  ❞ ❝  i swear i saw my ancestors... they said: ‘we’re not surprised to see you here’.  ❞ ❝  more mercenaries? what kind of person sells their loyalty?  ❞ ❝  keep moving or you’ll die!  ❞ ❝  this is the kind of place you’d take someone if you want to lose them forever.  ❞ ❝  if that’s destiny, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  ❞ ❝  i’ve thought about what you said. every time, the wound you gave me caught on my ribs.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen such disregard for personal safety.  ❞ ❝  the most important thing is what you’re not like - your father.  ❞ ❝  i’m never lonely where there’s killing to be done.  ❞ ❝  my past - and my secrets - are my own. you’ll do well to remember that.  ❞ ❝  only to you do i extend the courtesy of a warning.  ❞ ❝  if the war’s not over, i’m not done.  ❞ ❝  a long kiss, the best kind... i can still remember the feel of your hand on the back of my neck.  ❞ ❝  it would be a worse fate to bow our heads to the challenge and say, ‘too much’.  ❞ ❝  let’s not say farewell. i’ve had enough of that to last me a dozen winters.  ❞ ❝  have your wounds even had time to heal?  ❞ ❝  you can stop worrying. the secret’s safe with me.  ❞ ❝  just to be clear, i have no plans to murder you, alright?  ❞ ❝  you’re an idiot. a dangerous idiot, but an idiot.  ❞ ❝  i’m kicking myself for not seeing your potential from the beginning.  ❞ ❝  for your sake, you must go where you will never find me. this is goodbye.   ❞ ❝  so that’s what this is? a tantrum? a cry for attention?  ❞ ❝  change won’t come in a single sunrise.  ❞ ❝  this place may not seem like much, but we’ll make the best of it.  ❞ ❝  no murderers here, if that’s what you’re asking.  ❞

#rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #i'm playing through this game again !!!! & this time im rlly taking it all in

[mandoinevarro]

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k 

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun. 

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose.  Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.  

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”  

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”  

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga.  “Who’s they?”  

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.  

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”  

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.  

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you.  You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames  your knees with his legs “—armchair.”  Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.  

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.  

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.  

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”  

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.  

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you?  Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon​ @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

[redorich]

For the canyon au, what would happen if one of the hermits got hurt during a scout? Like, if etho is out scouting, something happens, and he’s unable to message the hermits or get help. Would he be willing to be seen? Would any smpers besides Puffy help him?

Zedaph didn't mean to leave the canyon, honest! He was just looking for a sheep of his own for a completely ethical experiment involving pistons and a perfectly reasonable quantity of peanut butter, thank you very much. He wasn’t about to steal a sheep from someone else’s farm, and for some reason sheep don’t tend to spawn at bedrock level. So really, he had no choice!

Zedaph is rethinking a lot of his decisions. He’s also wondering if he left the jump-powered stove on. Then he remembers that it’s jump-powered, and as he is not currently jumping on it, it is most likely unpowered. Unfortunately, it seems as though Zedaph is going to be eating a lot of cold food for a while if he makes it out of this alive, because he’s not going to be jumping on anything with a broken leg.

Despite his punishment for trying to take a cross-section of something that he now knows is probably sentient (oops), he can’t help but want to go back, to learn more. What is the rate of growth of those red vines? Are they all from the same plant? Are they actually sentient, or is the crimson kudzu in possession of an automatic response to attempted harm? Did the vine know it was hitting him off a ledge which would break his leg, or did it just know “whack human away from vine”? Would the vines taste good in soup? Are they flammable? Could Zedaph theoretically knit a fashionable sweater out of them, and if so would the sweater be capable of independent movement?

He is torn from his musings of a wriggly evil sweater by another thrum of pain. He hisses. There’s... more blood than is advisable. Outside of his leg, that is. Inside his leg is likely less than the advisable amount of blood, and come to think of it, his head’s probably a bit empty as well, seeing as how he’s having so much trouble thinking straight-- well, straight for him. His jumps in logic are incomprehensible to most on a good day, but right now even he can’t follow his own thought process. What was he thinking about again?

Ah yes. The overwhelming pain from being yeeted off a ledge. Come to think of it, the ledge he fell off-- the one he’s sitting leaned against-- is shaped awfully unusually. It must be manmade. Whoever made this is not a good terraformer. Zedaph should bake Scar some cookies. Is Scar allergic to peanuts? Ow. Ow. Ow. Zedaph will need to borrow Impulse’s oven-- or he could set up his own oven with an armor stand that jumps for him?

“Hey there, who are you?” says a female voice. Zedaph looks up. He doesn’t have to look very far up.

Standing in front of him is a woman with a cool pirate-looking coat (red, of course; all self-respecting pirates wear red), with long fluffy hair like white wool and rainbow fringe! Oh, and she’s, like, half sheep or something. That’s cool too.

Wait. There’s something about sheep he’s forgetting... How could he have been so stupid?! He came to the surface in the first place in search of a sheep, and now he’s (kind of) found one!

The cool pirate lady says something, but Zedaph-- well, he does hear it, but it doesn’t process. Words are just mouth-sounds. He is in pain.

“Found a sheep,” he mumbles, “Come back to the canyon?”

“You’re hurt, man,” the sheep-pirate-lady says. She has pretty rainbow hair, and the white parts look like clouds.

She laughs. “Thanks.”

Clearly, this woman is a mind-reader! As well as a sheep. Really, two for the price of one. Zedaph isn’t quite sure what to do with a mind-reader, but his head will be much clearer and therefore able to dream up wacky hypotheses once he respawns--

He gasps, jerking forward and choking on his own breath when he remembers the cold truth. Xisuma won’t be able to respawn him, not for several days. Zedaph doesn’t want to spend that long in the void.

“Woah!” the woman exclaims, rushing to steady him. “You look pretty bad, dude. Let’s get you home or something. Where do you live?”

“Canyon,” Zedaph rasps. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, I don’t think. Can’t remember why.”

The nice woman goes very still. “Hey. My name’s Puffy. I’m gonna take you to the canyon. Do you think you can stand if I help you?”

“Puffy..?” Zedaph squints off into the middle distance, trying to remember something. “She’s the person who keeps coming back to that barrel, isn’t she?”

Puffy pulls Zedaph’s arm over her shoulder and gently pulls him up to his feet. “She is,” Puffy says softly.

“I hope she liked the enchanted diamond shears,” he mumbles.

“She did,” Puffy says softly. “She didn’t even know diamond shears were a thing.”

“I was going to make an emerald flint and steel,” Zedaph rambles, “but it turns out that items made of flint and steel aren’t conducive to being made of not-flint and not-steel."

"Who would have thought?" Puffy laughs, then trips over a vine. Zedaph makes a pained noise at the jostle to his leg, which is dragging a bit on the ground because Puffy is so much shorter than him. She notices this, and rethinks her strategy.

"At this rate, we'll never get back to the canyon," she gripes. "Climb on my back instead, I'll carry you."

Zedaph obliges, but warns, "Tango says I'm heavy.”

“I’m stronger than Tango, I’ll bet.”

The Hermit is actually a bit heavy, but this is a matter of pride now. And also, quite possibly a matter of urgency. The Hermit isn’t responding anymore. He’s still holding on, so he isn’t dead or completely unconscious; still, he’s not in a good state.

As soon as the elevator down to the bottom of the canyon comes into view, Puffy books it. Surely, in the canyon base, the Hermit will have healing potions? He (They? Multiple Hermits?) gave her a whole beacon, so obviously he/they are late-game enough to have plenty of potions.

Stepping into the elevator, Puffy presses the button, then puts her hand on the Hermit’s neck. It’s a bit of an awkward position, since his chin is hanging over her shoulder, but it makes her feel better to have a hand on his pulse. He makes a pitiful noise as the elevator descends.

“Easy there,” Puffy says, “you’re almost home.”

The moment the doors open, she ventures out into the village. The only safe place she knows is the barrel where she leaves her items for the Hermit(s), so she takes him there. Now that she’s looking, she spots shadows, eyes, movements, throughout the supposedly empty village. One such person comes out of the woodwork, sprinting.

“Zedaph!” exclaims a tall, musclebound man. His face is twisted in naked worry as he meets Puffy at the barrel, which she sets Zedaph down on.

The large man, who wears a black shirt with a creeper face on it (does that mean something, Puffy wonders?) scrutinizes the blond man on the barrel for a moment before springing into action, splashing potions and bits of lapis and-- holy shit, is that a Totem of Undying?! When the blond man, Zedaph, seems to come back to himself enough that he could reasonably eat a golden carrot with minimal choking hazard, the new man hands him one. Finally, he turns to Puffy.

“Thank you,” he says. The relief in his voice is tangible.

Puffy shifts awkwardly. “I was just doing the right thing. I noticed, uh, his bracelet.”

They both look to Zedaph’s wrist. It’s got a woven bracelet on it. The textile isn’t astounding, but the pattern on it is intricate. Puffy would know, she made it herself as a gift for the Hermit. As Puffy and the other Hermit look at each other, she realizes that he is also wearing something she made: a pair of fingerless gloves which are now stained with redstone dust.

He catches her staring. “We all have one-- oh, uh, my name’s Impulse, and this is Zedaph--”

“Impulse,” a new blond man hisses from behind the two. Puffy jumps. She didn’t hear him coming.

“Tango!” Impulse greets, suddenly nervous. Why a man as big as Impulse would be nervous when facing anyone, let alone a normal-looking guy like Tango, is beyond Puffy. Maybe Tango’s red eyes have some sort of significance?

“Impulse,” Tango repeats, looking around for anyone that isn’t a Hermit. “You’re not invisible.”

Impulse’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. “I had to see Zedaph.”

“Yeahhh,” Zedaph slurs.

“Besides, if we can trust any of the natives, it’s Puffy,” Impulse insists. He crosses his arms in what should be an intimidating display, but truthfully looks more like a pout.

“You know what Xisuma said,” Tango says. “I’m grateful to have Zedaph back, but...”

“Xisuma would agree with me,” Impulse says stubbornly.

Tango sighs explosively, full of nerves. “Alright, fine, can we at least get out of sight? Anyone could come wandering across the surface and spot us.”

“How many of you are there?” Puffy breathes. Everyone’s eyes snap to her.

“Twenty-four,” Zedaph says happily.

“Zedaph!” Tango admonishes.

Rolling his eyes, Impulse scoops Zedaph up off the barrel like he weighs nothing. He carries the dazed blond man down the path and into a cottage-style house. As Tango goes to follow, he catches Puffy’s eye.

“Sorry,” he says, “nothing personal. Just trying to avoid being explodificated, which means not being seen by the people who live on this server. You get it, yeah?”

He jogs off to catch up with Impulse, and Puffy hurriedly follows. Tango’s got a bracelet like Zedaph’s, but it’s one of the ones Puffy made out of different shades of red. She wonders if all the Hermits wear something she made.

The inside of the house is a bit cramped, but it’ll do. It’s got a bed, at least, so Zedaph’s got somewhere to keep his leg off the ground. This all feels surreal.

“So, uh...” Puffy says into the stuffy silence of the room. “How about that, uh, bedrock?”

Nobody has anything to say to that. Fuck.

Out of nowhere, yet another Hermit shows up. There’s a trapdoor in the wall that, now that she looks at it, Puffy realizes that Tango was hiding intentionally. That’s all gone to shit, though, because a man with white hair and a mask over his face peeks his head out from the hole in the wall.

“Hey guys, what--” The man takes a look around, spots Puffy, and freezes. “...On second thought, I’ll come back later.”

“Wait!” Impulse says to the man. “Get Xisuma, or at least tell him Puffy’s here if he can’t make the trip right now.”

“Karl thinks you’re Mothman,” Puffy blurts out to the white-haired man.

The man looks very self-satisfied for someone who’s only showing a quarter of his face. “Oh? Where does he live? For absolutely no reason, of course.”

“Etho...” Tango groans.

“Oh, alright, I’ll go get X.”

The man leaves. Oh boy, thinks Puffy, this is going to be interesting.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #captain puffy #zedaph #zedaphplays #impulsesv #tango tek #xisuma #xisumavoid #ethoslab #me.cpp #me.txt