#wooden-woven-tray

[indegoafrica-1]

Weaving Stories: The Timeless Elegance of Woven Bags and Bolga Baskets

Explore the intersection of Style and Sustainability with Woven Bags. Learn how these eco-friendly accessories are making a statement in the fashion world while embracing ethical practices.

#bolga baskets #woven bag #Long island city #Untied States #wooden-woven-tray #copabu-wooden-woven-tray

[sertane-j0]

Milwaukee Traditional Dining Room

An illustration of a mid-sized, traditional, enclosed dining room with a light wood floor, yellow walls, and no fireplace.

#natural wood flooring #dark metal cabinet pull #light wooden flooring #light woven tray #light wood dining table #crochet table cloth #light woven bin

[lilacxoz]

Princess - Gojo Satoru X Reader

F!reader

Warnings!: non protected sex, choking, darcryphilia, love bombing, Princess X Royal Guard trope.

I am not responsible for people under 18 who read this. minors or ageless bloggers please dni!

“Please Prue, I cannot stomach anything for the work I must complete before sunrise,” you bit your bottom lip, looking over the written up budget for the kingdoms church. You hadn’t realized just how rich they’d become from your fathers rein. You weren’t much of a religious folk, so you were afraid to cut their income by half.

“Your highness, you are not to eat then I must call your personal guard, for he will make you,” he warned, knowing what kind of bond you and your guard had. He’d been your guard for ten years now, since your sixteenth birthday. He was a foolish boy who wasn’t good at his job in leaving your alone and protecting you from afar. But you’d grown a connection to him, sharing secrets and thoughts in your tower many times. You’d shared things that not even your reflection had heard.

“Call Satoru if you dare, I shall simply give him the same response as you,” you told her, offering a fake smile. Your maid, Prue, was a nice women yet you couldn’t appreciate her kindness due to the stress. She sighed, placing the tray on your desk before leaving your chambers.

As You embraced the silence, your wooden walls homing the orange flicker of your candles. Your desk was covered in papers and folders, painted by the light and some even your tears. You were almost done though, almost free to sink deep into your mattress and let the night whisper a story.

After around three revolutions of the clocks long hand, you heard soft footsteps grow closer outside the door. Your ears perked up, recognizing who held such confidence strides. The wood creaked outside your door as he unlocked the wooden door. He stepped inside, not earning a glance from you. He clicked his tongue through a grin, unstrapping his sword from his waist.

“Princess,” he called to you, setting his sword against your desk as he pulled over a stool next to you. You glanced over at him, being met with his beautiful eyes of the sea. That’s what drew you to keeping him as your guard, his eyes reminded you of salty air and the sound of waves crashing against large rock formations.

“Princess,” he called to you again, this time a little more demanding, “tell me why you choose to be defiant.” You didn’t spare a glance this time, focused on writing down a couple numbers down on the budget for the local taverns. You chose to be a little generous since you yourself liked to relax in one of the local taverns at night before curfew.

You were pulled by Satoru’s soft hand holding your chin between his fingers, making you look up at him. He always had a way of making you flutter like the butterflies you loved to watch with him in the spring. He knew the kind of effect he had on you, and you knew he knew as well. It was almost unspoken, woven between the threads of the stares you share that your relationship had grown far from princess and guard. It was just a matter of time before someone drew further over the line.

“You must eat the soup Chef Dee has prepared for you. It would be a waste and an insult to his craft if you were to leave his food untouched.” He handed you the bowl of soup in a cherry oak bowl. “Eat.”

You stared from him to the bowl, grabbing the silver spoon off the tray and and complying with his request. Prue was right, you cannot defy him. He was persuasive with his words and actions, it was addictive to see just how far you could push him.

“Thank you Princess. After you eat, please slip into your night gown before you grown marks from your corset,” he asked if you, poking your side. You wore your day dress: a soft pink ankle dress with a white lace corset that wasn’t as harsh as your evening dress. It was comfortable, made of silk with lace trim and an off-the-shoulder touch. Your hair was let down, your mothers hair pins holding back your face framing pieces to help you see the papers better. You could admit, it was a little embarrassing for him to see you this way. But then again, he’d seen you down to your undergarments so you had nothing to worry when it came to presentation.

“Why you care so much about my health is up for debate in my head, it cannot just be because of your guardian duties or the fact we are close,” you pointed out. He shined you he boyish smile, his white hair covering some of his eyes. He was truly an amazement at how gorgeous yet masculine Satoru was. His sharp jaw and plush lips were enough to leave a girl melted at the knees. He was every girls fantasy, yet every man’s threat. Satoru was the chief of royal guards, quickly moving up the ranks from when he was placed as your personal guard. He had better opportunities presented to him to change roles, yet he stuck with you. Now he was chief, yet always made time to be with you most of the day.

“Can a guard not care for his princess without reason? The way you doubt me hurts, princess,” he faked pain in his chest, earning a few giggles from you. You laugh was contagious yet a beautiful hymn to him.

His face suddenly dropped, as if lost in his own mind. You nudged him with your foot on his ankle, asking him why he was distancing himself. “My Princess,” he looked down at you with something strange, “shall your coronation come by spring, I cannot promise I will stay your guard. I-“

You watched him break, his jaw hard as he stared at you distantly. You knew the rules, you knew you had to switch to your fathers guard due to tradition. But you hated tradition, it was all a bunch of horse play. You placed your hand on his knee, the other following as you set your bowl of soup down. The candlelight danced across his face, making him appear even more beautiful than before.

“Shall the day come Satoru, I will fight my ancestors and the kingdoms expectations of queen if it is what I must do to keep you. You aren’t leaving my side, I will stand between the lines of the people and royalty just to be with you,” your breath was gone, telling a breathless, “for I love you.”

His hands slid to your shoulders, his eyes clearing of his brain clouds. He knew what he wanted now, and he didn’t care if it was forbidden. He didn’t care if he had to bite the apple as Eve did, as long as he had you by his side.

His lips drew closer, your breaths mixing together in a concoction that left your knees weak. You took the apple, connecting your lips to his. He tasted of the forbidden apple, whimpering out from the sweet taste. You hadn’t realized how much you needed him until his hands trailed down to your waist. You took the initiative, crawling into his lap and letting him lead the kiss.

He was your Romeo, your Shakespeare tragedy that led you astray. You didn’t care of the consequences that would fall over you both for doing this, you were going to be queen and you’d fight for him. He knew that, falling down the same path as you. He’d quit his title as a royal guard just to hold you to sleep every night. Just to taste your lips, just to touch you…just to feel you. He was lovesick, and so where you.

He pulled away from the kiss, watching you breath heavily. He slid his finger tips against your cheek, watching the redness form from your embarrassment and lust. “I cannot kiss you any further when you deserve a bed,” Satoru whispered, leaving the only sound to occupy the room being your breaths and the wind blowing against the windows.

You smirked down at him, combing your fingers thorough his soft snowy hair. It was late winter, his hair reflecting the thick snow coating the once green ground. “As your Queen,” you stated in an authoritative tone, “I command you show me what you think about doing to me on this desk.”

Your body was on fire, his lips all over your neck as you sat on your desk, legs cradling his torso. You could feel him through his trousers, wanting so bad to remove the articles of clothing that were blocking your connection. You needed him so bad, so bad it physically hurt. The fire between your legs grew stronger than the candle flame, and he could feel it.

He reached a hand down between your legs, slipping it down into your undergarments. He could feel how wet you were from a simple touch, only fueling his body more. His hips were magnetic to yours, so much so that he couldn’t control himself from grinding up against the hand he was slowly slipping inside you. His other hand was wrapped around your neck, your eyes rolling back through each small squeeze of his fingertips. You had to be quiet, for anyone could walk up your tower and ask for your assistance. But in some strange way, that made you just a little less quiet. It was almost thrilling, heightening your endless pleasure.

“Tell me Princess, does it feel good to be in such a vulnerable state at the hands of your royal guard?” He asked in a sinister manner, eliciting a small whimper and a nod. He smirked at the response, looking down at you. “Tell me how good.”

He curled his fingers, making your body jerk forward as your eyes squeezed shut. You’d had many late night with guys from the tavern looking for something quick and fulfilling. Even princes had come and made you feel like you were floating. But nobody compared to the way he knew how to play you perfectly, like a bard with his lyre. It was mesmerizing, freeing. Your body melting deep into the earth and coming out in heaven.

You whispered his name in a chant, like the nuns at the cathedral. You were close to that heaven, sinking deeper and deeper until you were finally at the gates. Your body exploded in pleasure, eyes tearing up as Satoru watched you unravel in his hand. Your high lasted longer than any other you’d experienced, opening your watery eyes to be met with his flushed face and a smirk. He was full of lust, and you wanted him to feel what you felt.

You helped him get you out of your undergarments, as well as freeing him of his work belt and unbuttoning his work pants. He cock was large and thick, oozing with precum. You both watched eachothers movemnts, looking for any discomfort; but there was none to be found. You both wanted this, needed this. You both spent long nights, from sunset to sunrise, dreaming and pretending this moment right now was real. Now it was, and you weren’t wasting any time in indulging in it.

You let out a gasp as he slid himself inside you, the skirt of your dress bunched at your hips. The desk below you moaned from the weight of his small thrust, but you both couldn’t fathom anything around you. All you both could focus on was your connection. “Satoru…” you whispered, his hands planted down on the desk by your hips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his in a kiss of need. He complied, slowly rocking his hips against yours. You could feel him, all of him, and it was nothing compared to anything you’ve ever experienced before.

His thrusts grew a bit faster as his lips devoured yours, as if a kiss of death. Your body had succumbed to his, moving your body to try and keep up with his thrusts. The desk below was creaking with each fast movement, loud enough for anyone in the stairway to hear. But you didn’t care anymore, especially with the loud moan of his name you let slip. He loved the noice, pulling away from your lips to only attack your neck with bites that caused more.

You moaned, but you were missing something. He pulled away, watching you grab on of his hands and slip his thumb over a specific part of your body. He felt the bundle of nerves, watching you face contort into one of pure blissful pleasure. He loved the reaction, rubbing the small nub faster and pressing down on it. His thrusts grew faster, feeling you tighten around him. He felt it, that feeling of heaven. He ran to it with his pace, your head bobbling with each thrust. You let go of his neck, laying down over the papers as you let him take control.

You were just as close to your orgasm as he was, crying out his name as tears fell down the side of your face. His head leaned back as he gave a few more brutal thrusts before letting himself go inside you. You came just as he did, your bodies connected along with your souls. This was more than just sex, and that was now known between the two of you. This was a soul connection, one that ran deeper than anything you’ve ever felt with anyone.

“I love you, princess,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your neck. He wanted another round, and you were ready to comply to his unspoken request.

#jjk x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo saturo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk smut

[ceruleancattail]

Ok ok here we go again

Can i request yandere Trey and Cater in the mystic au, with them both being friends and rivals who battle for reader's attention

I'm so sorry Anon, I might have went feral with this one-

Twisted Mortality

Mystic Trey x Mystic Cater x reader

tw: Yandere, gore, forced cannibalism

Kitsune often use their abilities for the benefit of their companions as long as they are regarded with respect. However, they are Yōkai. They do not share human morality.

Something soft drapes itself on your lap. A tail, dyed with all the gentle hues of a sunset. Light orange, fading into a pale pink. The colours seem to shift, the longer you stare at them. Waxing and waning, blending into one. Another illusion, perhaps. A trick of the light, woven into his very skin.

You can’t remember what Cater looked like, behind all the smoke and mirrors. 

As of now, he had you on his lap, his tails draping themselves over your form. Two over your lap, another two finding solace around your legs, snaking around like great big snakes. The rest seemed content to twist around your upper torso, engulfing you in their softness.

His arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on the curve of your shoulder. You could feel Cater’s every breath, with the way his chest pressed against the small of your back. His ears flicking the side of your cheek, fur brushing against your face gingerly. 

He was close.

 A little too close for your comfort.

He was always clingy when you came home, hanging all over you like a lonely puppy. Yet all his affections just seemed stifling, his very presence a hand around your throat, choking you. Every breath you took had his scent. The faint smell of incense, with a citrusy undertone. His tails, surrounding you. Caging you in his embrace, as if you were a little bird, a pet. Beads of sweat slipped down your skin, soaking your shirt. It reeked. All of his fuzz and fur only contributed to a suffocatingly balmy heat. It prickled your skin, crawling up your arms sickeningly slowly.

You squirm, palms pressing into his arms. A  plea for you to be released. If he noticed, Cater didn’t give any indication. He only lowered his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You could feel his breath waft against your bare skin, the barest silver of his fangs brushing over your neck. The razor sharp edges hovering over your flesh, a silent threat on his part.

Quit Struggling.

Falling limp, a sigh slips out of your lips. All you could was to sit, amusing yourself with the colours dancing across Cater’s tail. It was almost like a mirage, with the way colours faded in and out at random intervals. 

Behind you, pots and pans clanged. Metal striking against metal, utensils brought to life with Trey’s awfully skilled hands. Busy in the kitchen… again. Ever since you’ve brought him home, Trey has never let you step anywhere near the stove, let alone the kitchen. He brushed you aside with his tails, gently nudging you towards the living room. He’ll suggest for you to rest, but something in his eyes made you realise that Trey had no intention for his words to be a mere suggestion. It was an order.

Most of your duties have been taken by Trey himself. He handles almost everything now, from cleaning to cooking. You have nothing much to do, but to pamper both of your foxes whenever you’re home.

Even if you try to help, Trey’s plucking whatever you held in your hands, before chiding you gently. Master, you work yourself to the bone everyday… let Trey take care of this for you. Let him take care of you. 

“Master. The food’s ready.” 

A rich voice, tinged with a good-natured tone. Trey himself, walking out of what was once your kitchen. He holds a wooden tray, your dinner laid out in little bowls. Traditional Japanese fare, his speciality. Trey almost never lets you eat anything else anymore. Something about protecting your health. You don’t eat anything but the things Trey cooks. The last time you did, you spent hours hunched over your toilet, retching. The vile taste of vomit clung to the back of your throat for hours, the acidity of bile sinking its claws deep into your tongue. 

Come to think of it, Trey seemed particularly cheerful that day… as if he relished your suffering. A punishment of sorts, for failing to listen to his kind advice. You brushed it off at the time, just your imagination going wild again.

Now, looking at those golden pupils, you weren’t quite sure. As much as Trey looked human, there was a certain disturbing quality to his eyes, A sadistic gleam of an animal, staring down its trembling prey. A shiver ran down your spine, blood running ice cold.

You heard a faint snarl, as Cater’s arms tighten around your torso. You could feel his chest rumbling, vibrating into your back. Shaking you down to the bone. His tails sway ever so slightly, a warning. Trey only sighs, before stepping onto one of Cater’s many tails. He digs his heel into it, grinding down. Yelping in surprise, Cater loosens his hold, just barely enough to free your hands.

“What was that for, Trey?”

Cater whines, lower lip jutting out ever so slightly in a pout. Trey only shakes his head, carefully balancing the tray of food on one of Cater’s tails. He then sinks onto the space beside you and Cater. An emerald tail snakes across your waist, wrapping itself around rather loosely. Various shades of green ripple across his fur, melting into one another. Like a field of grass, morning dew twinkling on every blade. It wasn’t as soft as Cater’s, yet it carried so much more weight. 

You winced at his touch, jerking away instinctively. That was only met with a click of disapproval from Trey’s tongue, before his fingers dig into your chin. Tilting your face upwards firmly, forcing your gaze to meet his. 

A sigh, as Trey squeezes your face. The gesture, a little too harsh to be considered affectionate, claws a little too sharp to be considered harmless. He tuts, shaking his head. 

“Master, you’re wasting away. You should really eat a little more.”

A protest balances on the very tip of your tongue, before you swallow it back down. Choking on all the words you refused to say. A bemused smile danced on Trey’s lips, before he lifted up the spoon. Tapping on your lips until you reluctantly opened your mouth. Letting him feed you, spooning rice and some kind of… meat into your mouth. Frowning, you chew. An odd, tough texture rolled around in your mouth. It wasn’t any meat you were familiar with, actually. Glamping it down, you give Trey a curious look. “What did you just feed me?”

A chuckle, a rather fox-like expression slipping slyly across his face.

“Do you really want to know, Master?”

A chill ran down your back, cold settling deep into the base of your spine. Blood freezing, goosebumps racing up both of your arms in turn. Shoulders tensing, you inch away from Trey ever so slightly. Only for your back to bump against Cater’s chest, your errant heartbeat thumping away.

You hear a laugh, as a weight pressed itself onto your shoulders. Cater’s arms, wrapping around you in a loose hug. His fingers dig into the flesh of your arms, holding you in place. He didn’t bother to sheath his claws, this time. They gleamed with a certain grim determination, edges as sharp as blades.

You could hear the grin in his voice, as Cater chimed in brightly.

“Do you like it? Both​ Trey and I put in ever so much effort to make sure it was super fresh!”

A pause, before he bubbled on:

“That creep by the station will never bother you again !”

You felt the bile rise up to your throat once more. The acidity clawing at the very back of your throat, stomach seizing upon itself. Tying itself into figure eights and fishermen knots. Lunging forward, you retch onto the ground. Throwing up whatever… flesh these two foxes saw fit to feed you. 

Trey makes a move first. Seizing you up the neck, thrusting you upright. Captured in his grip, all you could do was to heave, gagging on dry air. Cater stroked your back gingerly. Rubbing nauseatingly slow circles onto your back, in an attempt to pacify. Gently, Trey dabs at the beads of sweat sprouting on your brow, the spittle dripping from your lips. He does this ever so tenderly, you could almost believe he was concerned for you.

You could almost believe both of them had a heart. They looked so human. Flesh and bone. 

However, they were yokai.

 Human mortality wasn’t something they possessed. 

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #yandere twst #mystic #mystic au #trey clover x reader #trey x reader #trey #trey clover #yandere trey clover #yandere trey #yandere trey x reader #yandere trey clover x reader #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #cater #cater x reader #yandere cater diamond #yandere cater #yandere cater diamond x reader #yandere cater x reader #protection potion♦️

[lovelydaniellerose]

Aesthetic kitchen recommendations pt. 2 🍴 *You can find pt. 1 here*

1. Fruits basket

2. Oil and balsamico

3. Parsley

4. Cookbook stand

5. Coffee mug rack

6. Pumpkin soup bowl + Wooden bowl

7. Smeg kettle

8. Kitchen apron

9. Can glass + Simpley cup

10. Serving + Plates

11. Woven tray + Glass cups

12. Knife holder

Huge thank you to the cc creators: @syboubou, @pinkbox-anye, @leosims4cc, @somik-severinka, @joyceisfox, @aira-cc, @bbygyal123 and @lilaccreative, @irinaseverinka, @kerriganhouse, @arwenkaboom.

#sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 cc #sims 4 cc recs #cc recs #the sims cc #sims 4 cc finds #ts4 cc finds #cc finds #ts4 cc #the sims community #sims 4 aesthetic #ts4 simblr #sims 4 simblr #ts4 download #sims custom content

[ariellewm]

Czar Agskaga - A Random Snippet Story

Warning: Slightly on a steamy side (nothing too crazy, it's on the light side), naga (half human, half snake beings)

The story I wrote was inspired by a question from @wyyvernn . She asked: If my original character played an instrument, what would it be?

I imagine him playing the dudek flute or any sort of flute. Remember the Narnia Lullaby that Mr. Tumnus plays? That's the exact song that came to mind that Czar would play. The dudek flute is also what was used for the recording of the song.

Enjoy the story down below!

**Play the Narnia Lullaby in the link above for added ambience to the story if you wish!**

It was a quiet evening within the Amber Palace. Waves crashing along the shore, the smell of incenses of rose and lavender filling the naga prince's chamber. 

"Your Highness," the maiden called out behind the silken drapes, "I have the fruits you've asked for."

"You may enter." The prince said, inviting her into the chamber.

Walking in, she carried a woven tray. It was filled with all sorts of freshly picked fruit. Apples of jade, violet ripe berries. She made her way to Czar, careful not to step on his glossy onyx, red and gold pattern coils. The tray was placed upon a table beside the prince.

She stepped back, lowering her head, "Is there anything else you need, your highness?" 

His upper tanned body slightly turned. Crimson eyes fell upon the maiden. He notice her shouched shoulders, unbalanced posture. Czar emitted a soft hiss as the end of his black tail reached toward her. Delicately, his tail tilted her head upward to face the handsome prince.

"S-sire?" Shyly she gasped from the cold touch. Her freckled cheeks blushed a delicate shade of plum. 

Oh yes, indeed, her eyes lacked of sparkle. Dark circles beneath those beautiful, soft eyes.

The cool touch of his tail moved away.

Czar's hand reached toward one of the apples on the tray. "I noticcced your a bit exhausssted. Here," he tossed the apple to her, "you dessserve a break."

"But...but your--" 

"Pleassse dear, call me Czar." 

"Czar, what of my duties?" Confusion appeared on her face.

He slithered toward the cozy floor cushions, "Relaxxx my lovely girl. You've been hard at work all day, ssserving me and my uncle." His coils twisted and wrapped around the pillows and low table. He gestured a spot across from the table, "Pleassse, won't you join me?"

I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit for a while, she thought to herself. With a small smile she eased herself onto the large floor pillow. The maiden savored the crisp apple offered by the prince. She relished the taste with every bite. 

"Ssshall I play sssomething for you darling?" His faded inked arm reaches over behind him. A beautifully carved wooden flute appeared. 

"I found thisss the other day. Perhapsss you'd like to hear a sssong or two?"

The maiden swallowed before answering, "I would very much like to hear."

The naga smiled, placing his lips around the mouthpiece. Eyes closed, he began to play.

It was ethereal. Soothing to the ears. His fingers delicately danced upon the holes as he played. Otherworldly, almost as if she was transported back to the ancient city of Draca Isla, the once home of naga's and dragon's. She could smell the earthy damp rock, the sweet fragrance of amber lilies growing in the wild. 

The pillow underneath the maiden began to sink. Or was it just her imagination?

Czar's ruby eyes opened to only darken as he took notice of the maiden's dreamy eyes. The half eaten apple dropped to her side. He smiled as he played, continuing his enchanting melody.

Want to learn more about His Illustrious Eminence?

Here are some links:

Information + Concept Artwork on Czar Agskaga

"Coils of the Naga" & "Coiled by the Naga" Written by Arielle W.M. ( @ariellewm ) & Produced/Voiced by Ycey Narrates

SFW Hypnosis Headcanon Story

#fantasy writer #fantasy #naga oc #naga x reader #naga x human #naga male #male naga #fantasy story #about ocs #prince oc #original character #writer #short story #my oc stuff #my original characters

[simstorian-blog]

Raffia Quinta

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Parched Prospect

Lot Size:  20 x 15

(1-bedroom, 1 Bathroom)

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

Expansion Packs

City Living

Eco Lifestyle

For Rent

Growing Together

Island Living

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dream Home Decorator

Outdoor Retreat

Spa Day

Stuff Pack

Laundry Day

Moschino Stuff

Toddler Stuff

Kits

Desert Luxe Kit

Build Mode

Harlix – Bafroom (Double Arch Short, Seamless Window Short End)

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 1 (Interior Double Door)

Harrie – Kwatei Pt. 1 (Interior Single Door - Short)

Lili’s Palace – Jugendstil Floor Tiles

Mutske – Retro Reboot Thindows 2 x 1

Peacemaker – Baton Siding

Peacemaker – Vaulted Ranch

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 2 (Account Book, Back Pack, Plein Wallpaper, Suitcases)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 1 (Books, Wooden Wallpaper)

Buy Mode

Anye

· Cleo (Blanket)

Awingedllama

· Boho Living (Birds of Paradise, Ficus in Large Vase, Wooden Lamp)

CharlyPancakes

· Lighthouse Collection(Books)

· Miscellanea(Books)

· Munch (Island)

Felixandre – SOHO Pt. 1 (Stool)

Harlix

· Harluxe(AC Control, Bedding Blanket, Book with Sunglasses, Light Switch, Mini Bar)

· Jardane(Lonuger)

Harrie

· Brownstone Pt. 3(Leaning Canvas)

· Brutalist Bathroom(Pill Mirror – Medium)

· Coastal Pt. 7 (Bench)

· Octave Pt. 2 (Hanging Strip Light – Short)

· Octave Pt. 3 (Record Player)

· Octave Pt. 4 (Light Switch)

Ice-CreamForBreakfast

· Iris Apfel x Ruggable Rugs

JoyceIsFox

· Simple Live #8(Wine Glass)

KiwiSims4

· Blockhouse Hallway(Bench)

· Tui Bedroom(Double Bedframe, Table Lamp)

Kta

· Abstract Prints 3 (Mesh Needed)

· Abstract Prints 4 (Mesh Needed)

LorySims

· 2018 Ferrari Portofino

MyCupofCC

· ColourTalk Mirror

· Woven Bath Mat

Myshunosun

· Dawn(Living Books)

· Gale Dining(Cart)

· Uma Living (Monstera Plant)

· Vasterhamn Sofa

· Witching Hour (Picked Flowers and Herbs)

Peacemaker

· Oasis Chic (Living Alocasia)

Pierisim

· David’s Apartment Pt. 1(Books, Coffee Table, Simbook Pro Tv)

· David’s Apartment Pt. 2

· Domaine Du Clos Pt. 4 (Zucchini Chopping Board)

· MCM Pt. 3

· MCM Pt. 4 (mug, pasta)

· MCM Pt. 5 (Accent Storage, Walking closet middle left + right )

· Office Mini(iSimac 2021)

· Tilable(Shelves)

· Vera Bathroom (Bathrobe)

Ravasheen

· Elgato Set

SixamCC

· Fancy Dining (Bar Stool)

· Retro Vibes (A Very Soft Rug)

Sooky88 – Justina Blakeney Rugs

Sundays – Sumba Pt. 1 (Pillow Set I)

Tuds – Wave (Candle Holder)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

#simstorian #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #cc #ts4 simblr #build #sims 4 build #oasis springs #raffia quinta #residential lot #interior design #colorful #mid centruy modern

[dreamsofminnie]

“Ethereal Paintings”

14~ Be my muse co-artist☂️ | Word Count-> 1,465

Scaramouche x Reader Smau

Scaramouche has only ever been nervous and worried about two things in his life, one was his mothers approval and receiving love when he was younger. The second was when he started his rise to becoming happier, if he truly deserved the friends he now holds dear.

So this kind of useless bustling of nerves irritated his skin scorching pink neck up. He could tell himself that it was merely a meet-up to talk from one artist to the other.

Except he was dreading his fake facade of an artist title.

He was no artist. He was a coward who wanted the approval of one. With nothing but a computer screen to show.

Scaramouche eyed the clock hands tick as his restlessness increased with it. He ruffled a hand through his hair now anxiously biting his fingernails.

If he kept up with this any longer he would very much back out like the moron he is.

The button ringed from the inside of the studio echoing as anticipated steps clack more sensible towards the door between them. It swung open and your face greets him with a smile.

Scaramouche likes how easily your smile comes, but also hates how melty he feels towards you when it hasn't even been a whole 2 months since you both met.

“Glad you can make it Scara! Welcome to my studio” You wave him in quickly while the door closed shut and you ran back to the large empty canvas stand.

He hms at the loft-like studio. The opposite wall of the front door was fully windowed providing lots of natural light perfect for an artist. The second floor wasn't visible to where he stood since it was overhead, but he could imagine that's where your prized works were and maybe even a rest area where you could sleep in. The studio probably seemed very minimalistic when you first entered, but now the walls and floor have been coated in beautiful color splashes of paint.

Scara was in fact very impressed and in awe with how an artist like you worked, how your art studio is so bright and gorgeous. Truly a manifestation of creativity soaring past its limit.

When your friends told him that you dabbled in every art they weren’t lying.

White tarps laid out of the floors underneath the several canvases stands you had plus a large standing table you held a pc and drawing tablet on. The table held many other art mediums for your disposal.

You were shifting stuff around, hobbling the canvas stand and a few stools as well as more materials for paint and other materials.

“Scara, what medium would you like to try out here? I have every art imaginable” Busy looking through the shelves of art supplies, you couldn’t notice his subtle fear in his stiff movements.

“...Acrylic paint i guess.” He peered at your metal drying rack and saw the recent acrylic painting and choose that as his safe option.

You turn to him with a grin holding them up in a woven bucket, ���That’s my preferred medium too”

He gave a slight sigh of relief.

Moving around to place the three stools, one stool for each of your canvases and the third stool for the basket of paint. Gesturing him to sit you gave him his painting palette tray, water cup if he so needed, as well as his brushes and palette knife.

“Let’s just have some fun painting whatever comes to mind, yeah? Whatever you feel like right now. Art therapy time if you will.” You laugh in joy, having a new art friend who would paint with you was nice in its own right.

He nods quietly enjoying your sunshine and the un-desired purpose in this painting.

As he squeezes the needed paint onto his paint tray his ability to color coordinate fails him. A murky purple was made instead of his wanted light pink.

His face narrows and scrunches up as the scraping of his palette knife grinds harder against the wooden tray.

Your iridescent laughter seems to erupt into the room and it draws Scaramouche’s attention away from his threatening stare down with his paint.

“Aren't you an artist?? Hahaa, are you not skilled in the painting area mouchie?”

He jolted at your unintended nickname where both you turned away to collect yourselves for a second. “Well— …yeah, but, i’m still not good.” He cleared his throat to feint embarrassment when he really was swimming in his own remorse.

“What color do you need then? I can make them for you.” He peered at your palette which consisted of pretty pastels. He didn’t want you to mix fresh new paint for his pathetic ass.

“I can just use some of yours. I wanted a small canvas anyways.” You nodded as he scraped some of your hefty mixed paint onto his tray. You got started on applying paint to the blank canvas and he followed along.

Chimes of piano music fill the room from your ongoing playlist playing on your computer. It was rather peaceful.

One of the rare moments Scara can feel at peace.

“If you don’t mind my idle chatter—having a nice chat while drawing is nice to me.” You put down the paintbrush for a second to look at Scaramouche.

“—would you like to hear the story about my parents? It’s one where thinking about it always fuels my art drive and how I'm so immersed in drawing all 99% of the time” His attention is pointed at you in obvious interest. Your fingers pick up the paintbrush and continue light strokes of paint, a bit abashed at his sudden attention to you. Starting off your story, Scaramouche attempts to multitask but finds himself staring off at you instead of his canvas.

“My mother was and IS an artist, my father was just a politician who loved good debates. Y’know like those old aged stuck-up political men.” Chuckles emerged from both sides.

“Father had strong feelings towards art since he thought it was but pointless. He couldn't find the meanings of art. So when he and mother met for the first time they butted heads a lot in debates. Father was that one stubborn lawyer man.”

“Their arguments were real heated and well put out points were favored on my moms side. When mom got an offer for a large project that caused her presence to be in Sumeru, dad was a little empty without the debate over art and how useless it is. He grew so used to the debates every week when he was able to see her working as they bumped heads. But he was too stubborn and high on his horse to even ask one of her friends when would she come back.”

“Years passed, like a good 3 years, and she came back to Inazuma as well as many of her paintings to show off her success. When they met again at a politically invested museum he saw mom again after weeks of her return. He saw her showcasing her works with the most grandiose and genuinely happy-in-life smile. Compared to her lesser smiles when she wasn’t profound in the arts.”

“It was then where he fell in love with mother. Her strong will for her crafts, her hands that hide all her calluses from hours of work. And the smallest detail on the piece even caught a mile away, he fell for it all. He told her of his admiration, though awkward with being in touch with his emotions, she was glad she got through to him finally. Mother always admired his stance of his opposing opinion, it was the big push for her to compose such a grand choice of risking a lot for art which gave her no stable income. Without him, her hopes to prove to the world that art is needed, she would have stayed hidden as ‘one of those disgraceful artists with no real job.”

“When they got married she taught him how to paint and they were so much in love. Still the debater, he challenges her to art history and how he knows the most about her large contribution to opening up the art world. The amount of times i asked them to repeat the story to me, haha i think I might have high standards now.”

“Enemies to lovers…”

“Hm? I don't know, having an enemy is kinda.. clique, no? And i honestly don’t think i can ever date an enemy i hate.”

Scaramouche shrugs as he attempts to brush up his awful attempt of a painting. “I don’t think I would be able to bear an enemy either.”

You smile and got up brushing your apron. “I have a bunch of snacks in my pantry. Let me fetch them.”

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Synopsis{2}-> Many study dates and flirting over weeks drew you both close. Awkwardness still drew a line between you both but it was enough for a start. Admiring him from the sidelines wasn't enough, however, pieces of the false facade start to shred; and fate has ways of twisting your heartstrings — Is he really– …

We love parents in love🫶and y/n following in their footsteps🤭

The plot is finally moving🥹🥳

Un-Ooc(ing) scara when the plot thickens

//Taglist//

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h

#genshin fic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smau #text fic #genshin impact smau #genshin screenshots #genshin x y/n #scara smau #scaramouche x you #scara social media au #genshin scara #genshin scaramouche #scara x you #scara x y/n #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scara x reader #scaramouche

[adarkandmagicalforest]

Good Mouse

she was new to the red keep

and the white worm had advised that she keep her head down and just listen

however, the queen's master of whisperers had other plans for her

Larys Strong/Reader

Keep your head down, the White Worm had told her. 

Keep your head down and listen, keep your head down and wait, keep your head down and learn.

So she did. She did all the Lady Mysaria asked of her. She tidied rooms, she cleaned floors, she brought meals up from the kitchens and the dishes back down to be washed. The other serving girls told her the best ladies to serve, the old men to avoid and where the most handsome knights liked to do their practice. Talia was the most severe of the older ladies-in-waiting, who gave the rest of them quick orders and expected them done before any other, as hers were usually directly for the Queen. Dyana was quite soft and kind, and occasionally needed a reminder of what she was doing, but her lady was the Princess Helaena, so her needs were always taken care of next now that the Princess Rhaenyra was away from the Red Keep.

And after the royal family, it was the members of the council whose needs were tended to after that. 

The King's Hand and Lord of Harrenhal, Lyonel Strong, was an gruff but polite man who accepted the meals she chose for him with good-natured complaints at the plain porridge or herbed fish she brought for him, citing the orders from the Grand Maester that he should avoid pink and red meats during this stage in his life. 

But the Hand's son, Lord Larys Strong, was a very different man than his Father entirely. 

The first time the new serving girl attended to the Master of Whisperers was when she brought him his supper one autumn evening. His rooms were in a far off part of the Red Keep, one that she had to walk for a full ten minutes to get to after retrieving his supper of pigeon pie and vegetable stew. 

The only lights that had been on in his rooms were on the walls, which she had taken as a sign that the Lord in question was not present. 

And so, she had taken a moment to relax within the unfamiliar chambers which were so different than her own, where she had to share with nine other girls. These rooms were nothing like those cramped quarters. These were larger, with big windows by the wall which were covered with thick velvet curtains to shelter out the glow of the moon outside. The rest of the room was well spaced, with well-made wooden furniture nothing like the rickety end table and squeaky collection of cupboards where all of her little possessions existed inside one of the small spaces. 

Lord Larys' meal was placed neatly onto the dining table. His plate of pie was set down on a woven mat, his container of stew set onto the metal cage that hovered above the trio of fat candles that would keep it well heated. 

His wine, a Dornish blend, had only just finished being decanted before the Lord in question nearly scared her out of her wits with the sound of his cane.

"Oh!" she'd gasped, hurrying to pick up her tray and make herself scarce. "My lord, I'm sorry, I was just on my way - " 

Lord Larys Strong's nickname was Larys Clubfoot. An unkind if true one, the man was born with a foot that was formed wrong in the womb. As a side effect of such a deformity, the man was forced to use a heavy walnut cane and wear a thick leather boot on his foot. Which typically was not what made a particularly sneaky man, and yet somehow it wasn't until the nobleman's cane clacked down against the stone rather than the carpet did she become alerted to his presence. 

"No no, please." Lord Larys immediately said, holding out his hand to stop her escape. She could have still left of course. Even with a hand on his cane, he looked unsteady standing upright. But he was also a lord. Her superior. And Lady Mysaria told her to listen, wait, learn. 

"My apologies, my lord, I've brought your supper for you and I was just on my way." She explained, staying put as his square-shaped hand was still held out to her. Even when it lowered to rest on top of his cane, relieving the weight off his leg and giving the man a slightly taller stature. 

"Why, thank you." Larys said, approaching the dinner she had just set out for him. Then, he reached out and lightly touched the lid of the small stewpot, where it sat still hot thanks to the candles that burned beneath it. "How thoughtful," He then mused, lifting up that lid and observing the flow of steam that floated out of the little pot. "And clever of you." 

The serving girl looked to the little iron cage he gestured to. It seemed rather unremarkable to her, just something that her Mother had always used to keep dinner hot on the table. The one on Lord Larys' table was actually crafted from a scrap piece of iron that she'd found in the kitchens that was just large enough to set the pot on top of. 

"I thank you, my Lord." She said, looking up at him, resisting the urge to flinch when she saw that he was now within mere feet of her, all without her noticing. 

Perhaps without his deformity, he might have grown into his height or bone structure - but as he was, he looked thin and strange, with dark brown hair and rather beady eyes that seemed to peer into her with a disturbing lack of shame. But then, he was a Lord. If he wished to stare at her like that, he had every right to. 

listen, wait, learn sweet girl

"Hmm. Not enough for two, however." Lord Larys noted then, his eyes finally separating from hers to look upon his supper again with a disappointed shake of his head.

"Oh - I did not know you would be having company, my Lord. I could leave for the kitchens now and come back - ?" She attempted.

"No no, this is fine." The noblemen dismissed easily, resting his cane against the back of the chair as he lowered himself into it. "Tomorrow evening, you will bring enough for two."

"As you wish it, my Lord." 

"And you will be dining with me." He said, just as at ease, as if this was a perfectly normal command to his ears, even as he pulled his perfectly heated stew forward and dipped his spoon inside it. Larys was a very delicate eater, careful with his utensils and making sure that no drop of broth nor any food dripped onto his lap nor dribbled down his chin. Where his foot was rotten, his hands were extremely steady. Seated, he was as confident as any other lord. 

So she repeated herself. "As you wish it, my Lord." She said. 

But this was all the man seemed to want from her for now, as he smiled at her in a way that did not reach his eyes and dismissed her with a playful wave of his spoon.

She told the White Worm of this development as quickly and covertly as she could. 

Attend the dinner, my girl, the Valyrian woman had written back. Do as the rat commands, whatever he commands. Learn.

So she had obeyed. 

Supper on that second night was glazed duck, roasted onion rice porridge and plenty of cooked breads and cheese. The wine that night was a rosy one from Highgarden and even smelt a bit like rosewater as she was decanting it. She had never smelled anything like it and the pitcher was radiating the fragrance even after she put the wineskin away. Soon, it was even smelling like peaches and apples, and as she set out the dishes of duck, she found herself wishing she could try it even before Lord Larys arrived. 

Thankfully, there was too much to be done to become too distracted by the temptation of wine, including the lighting of the many candles in the room and setting out the two place settings at the table - of which, she'd already changed twice, as she hadn't known where the Master of Whisperers wanted her to sit. She'd settled for on his left. 

"Ah, how dutiful of you." Larys commented when he'd arrived, immediately coming forward, leaning on his cane as he limped to his seat. His hardened boot bumped slightly against his chair, the odd turn of it making it a nuisance. She didn't comment on it nor offer to assist him. Lords did not like to be helped without prompting. "Sit, won't you?" He then added once he was settled, now in his element, his slightly greasy hair pulled back out of his face and his posture slightly less hunched as he reached for the wine that had been so tempting her.

She obeyed his request, sitting down comfortably on his left as she watched with anticipation as Larys filled his wine goblet and then hers. 

"Drink." He commanded gently, the sound accompanying a slight smile. He was freshly shaved that day. 

He needn't have to tell her twice. She reached for the goblet eagerly while Larys watched. The smell was even more lovely up close, and she took the moment to take it in before she sipped it.

"A connoisseur?" The lord inquired with amusement as he started to serve her from the dishes. 

"No, my Lord." She said with some embarrassment, putting the goblet down. 

"Now now, lying is a sin, my Lady. You can tell me." Larys scolded her good-heartedly, but she heard the warning within it regardless and it made the wine taste suddenly not as sweet on her tongue. Sin indeed.

"I enjoy categorizing them, my Lord. Just from the scent mostly... I think this one is one of my favorites." She explained, feeling unnerved yet again by how directly he looked at her. It made her feel like she was naked rather than dressed in plain cotton. 

"Is it?" He leaned forward, interested. He did not reach for his own goblet yet. "Tell me what you smell." 

The girl swallowed lightly and smiled nervously before reaching for her goblet again. She shut her eyes and tried to obey. "Well - this is a blush wine. It's pink, sweet. But it also smells of roses, fruit... I can even smell the wood of the barrel they aged it in - apple." 

"My, all of that you can catch from a mere smell. What a clever nose you have there, little mouse." Larys said bemusedly, like she was exactly that, an entertaining little mouse in a maze of his own design. It made her wonder exactly why he had commanded she dine with him that evening. The other girls had never reported that he was that sort of man, and they were never shy about that sort of thing, not with Prince Aegon and his proclivities being an open secret. If the Master of Whisperers preferred to have servants in his bed, she would have been told. But her Mistress had told her to obey, whatever he wished. 

He was not too repulsive looking. He looked rather like his Father, but far thinner, and had only shared the coloring and a few cursory features of his more handsome brother Ser Harwin Breakbones, like the shape of their noses and the ridge of their brows. She would not need to pretend too badly, it was not as if he were the ancient Maester with his hound dog face or Lord Beesbury who preferred young girls with yellow hair to strike at him when he least expected them. 

"Thank you, my Lord." She said, picking up her utensils at his silent gesture. "It is from years of practice is all. You learn to recognize the best wines from what you can, especially when serving those who drink so much of it." 

This made Lord Larys chuckle and finally pick up his own goblet, waving it under his nose in a bit of a show before sipping it himself. "Hmm... I'm catching - grapes?" 

The serving girl giggled. "That is the jist of it, Lord Larys." 

The nobleman speared a piece of duck on his plate. "Mm. I rather enjoy the sound of that from you, little mouse. Though 'rat' was unkind I found it very inspirational. Rats are everywhere, as I am." The enjoyment she had dried like ashes in her mouth, even while Larys hummed with pleasure at the taste of the meat in his mouth, cutting the flesh neatly with his knife, the threat almost too much for her to bear, even with how calm a disposition he held. 

"Ser - " 

"I'm not a ser." Larys corrected immediately, lifting a piece of meat up and inspecting it. "And you're not eating. Are you frightened of me now?" 

She wasn't sure how to answer that. She wasn't even sure what she should do. She could have run, but his implication of 'rats' had left her unable to move. Her supper was getting cold there without any candles for her plate to rest above. 

The lord sighed gently then, putting his own utensils down. "There's no need to be frightened. I could not possibly harm you, could I? You could stand up and leave, right now, and I could do nothing to stop you." 

Oh certainly she could leave that room without being stopped, that much she did not doubt. It was a matter of what happened afterwards that she feared. No matter how she exited that room, death would be waiting for her. Now the only question was by whose will her life would end. By the rat or by the worm. And so her pale hand reached out and picked up her wine again. She drank from it deeply, and the sweet nectar of roses, peaches and apple swirled within her mouth. If she was to die, she would at least enjoy her last cup of wine. Neither Master nor Mistress could take that away. 

"Oh now... That is a decision I respect." Larys commented, his dark, imploring eyes lit with approval as he watched her savor her wine. 

"If this is to be my final action, I would like to enjoy it fully, Lord Larys." She explained shortly, pleased that her voice did not shake. 

"'Final action?'" The Lord echoed. He picked up the pitcher and refilled her cup. "Oh no, little mouse, this won't be your final action at all. Far from it." 

Startled, she put her goblet back down. But he did not wait for her to question him before continuing with his line of thought. "Tomorrow evening, bring another wine you enjoy. Something complicated, from the Arbor perhaps. And dessert as well. Whatever your favorite it, I imagine with your taste in wine, you'll have fine taste in sweets as well." The rat said with a wry grin, the compliment nearly lush even while she looked at him bewildered. 

"I don't understand, my Lord." 

"Larys." He corrected her.

"Larys." She repeated agreeably, seeing this perhaps as a way out, a way forward, a way that she could still use to listen, wait, learn. 

"I think you do understand me, mouse." Larys then said. It was then that the lord revealed his true wants to her, something that honestly relieved her more than she thought. Because this - this drifting of his dark loom-y eyes over her body, from down her pale neck and over the curve of her breast within her dark cotton dress. This made sense, this was something she could do. "But I understand that you need more from me than just a mere insinuation, little mouse. I'd like you to continue to keep faith with your... confidant. I'll allow you do to as you will, continue working as you wish for whomever aging lords and rude ladies wish it from you... Or, you can join my own service, permanently - and be allowed a few more liberties." 

He wanted her to serve both of them. Serve both and live. Serve both and survive. 

She would not assume that his second suggestion was a mere suggestion at all. Her only choice was to join his own service - and from his look, she knew what such a thing would entail. But this did not worry her, not when she could imagine far worse under more violent hands. Though the darkness she saw in Larys Strong's face was one that she could not take lightly. But what could he possibly desire from her other than a warm cunt and a pretty face? 

"What would your service entail, Larys?" The mouse inquired nervously, looking at him as if she could discover his proclivities through his face. Anticipation was written there, but satisfaction too. He knew she had nowhere else to go. 

"Undress, if you please." He said softly, his eyes moving over her body.

Despite expecting something along these lines, she could not help the way her heart jumped with horror at the order. But she would not disobey - she stood, lifted up her skirts and pulled them over her head. Her shift, plain stays and her small clothes followed, surprisingly the easiest thing to remove - as once her clothing and her shoes were kicked away, the noblemen seemed to become shy himself, as he was now staring down at her feet. 

Then, he was staring to such a degree that she had to follow. She still wore her stockings, plain ivory ones. They were tight and slightly sweaty from where they clung to her feet from the long day's work. 

She reached down to them.

"No." He commanded, finally looking upon the rest of her, his gaze roaming her small, pale breasts, down her soft stomach and down her thighs where the cinched ribbon kept her stockings in place. "You've been working since dawn, haven't you? Your legs must be sore." 

"I - yes, they are." The mouse eventually said, when she realized that his question was one he expected to be answered. 

And once she had, he seemed quite pleased with her. As then, he was pushing his supper out of the way, making a space there. This was quite a strange action to her, especially as she was standing there quite naked, a little cold, frightened and very confused. 

His wide, square hand then laid itself onto the fresh space he made. "Come, sit here... I'll rub them for you."

This was not an offer. It too, was another command masked in a polite tone.

"Don't be afraid. Come now, let me help you." Larys the Clubfoot urged warmly, lightly patting the wooden table.

So the naked girl drifted in and obeyed, lifting herself up onto the table so she was seated in front of him. Even with the slight height she now had over him though, she did not feel secure, even as she silently waited for him to spread her legs and do as he would to her.

Except he didn't. Instead, he reached for her left ankle, wrapping his warm hands around the delicate bones there. His fingers smoothed slowly over the cotton, slipping up and down while his eyes devoured the sight with a hunger that was bewildering. 

The rat tutted then once his hands reached her foot, the imprint of his thumb against the soreness there willing some of the ache awake. "Poor thing. These are worn so thin... Look at how dirty they are here - and here." He said, pressing his fingers in and rubbing where the most throbbing existed. The bottom of her stocking was a bit dirty thanks to her shoes, which she would need to replace and soon. 

The lord rubbed his thumb in a circle into the arch of her foot then, making her sigh lightly at the relief it gave.

Which ultimately seemed to be what Larys Clubfoot desired from her.

"Now let's remove these, hm? You'll feel much better once they're off." He said easily, eagerly. Larys' hands reached up to her thighs, pulling the ties before pealing the cotton away from her. It relieved the pressure on her legs for a moment before the lords burning hands clasped at her again.

That was when she noticed the tent in his trousers.

She'd guessed as much. And yet, she was stiffening up, all too aware of herself now.

"Now now, none of that." He whispered, his voice hoarse and heady. "No fear here, little mouse. Come now, I can show you." He moved himself closer within his chair, bending her knees up and placing them on the arms of the chair. This new position left her cunt quite open and spread to the cool air and it took a reminder to herself to not flinch nor squirm to cover herself shyly.

"What a pretty pussy for a mouse to have." The lord said playfully. "Now let's see here." He mused, taking her leg and folding it, trapped, between her thigh and his chest as he leaned in to inspect her. "Shy pink petals, just like a little rosebud, if you pardon the analogy." He said with an amused smile before turning his head to kiss briefly at her ankle. His lips were warm and dry. Then, his wide hand went between her open thighs and laid itself upon her cunt, encompassing it completely with a comforting wave of heat that made her gasp lightly.

Larys rubbed his hand over her at the sound, the friction moving over her sensitive center until pleasure started to build within her, that familiar bud above her core giving her the urge to roll her hips boldly against his hand for more of that delicious friction.

"That feels good hmm?" He said, slowing his movements. Then, he ran his thumb between her petals, swiping down and briefly slipping it inside her, swirling it around and thrusting inside until he had gathered some of the slick moisture there, spreading it. "That's good. I want you to feel good. Come here, now. That's right, on my lap." 

She hadn't needed to move very far. Just to move a few inches down to sit on top of his knees, but she kept her elbows on the table behind her for balance  something that Larys appreciated as it gave him the ability to bend her legs back, as if she was an open dinner plate for his eyes to devour. 

Already, his kisses had returned to her legs, always kissing from her calves down to her ankles and then finally to the bottom of her feet, which was when his cock became most noticeable beneath her and when his hand started to rub insistently at her cunt again, making her moan and tremble at the sudden rush of pleasure. 

Soon, the lord did as all lords did eventually, and took out his cock.

It seemed a fairly regular cock, though it was particularly veiny from where she saw it before Larys sank her on top of it, his left hand digging into her hip while the right continued to swipe over her, his rapid fingers making her voice grow breathier and breathier while her peak built up within her until she was close, so so so close.

"Oh my little mouse, look at you. Look at you, look at you, oh how could I not keep you?" He murmured ecstatically, his hand never stopping, even as she began to grind herself back, back against his cock which was now well inside her. "And people always said I was too difficult to buy for... Oh my mouse, yes, you can cum for me, that's right, just like that. Such a good little mouse." His praise made her cunt clench desperately around the cock inside of her, her mind dizzy from confusion and arousal and then the peak that overcame her, making her shake and moan quite loudly while her arms and legs shook and her head fell back against the wood. 

It was then that he began pulling on her hips in earnest, fucking her with what strength he had in his arms, but he didn't appear to require more than a few thrusts before she felt his release shoot inside her, joining her own dripping arousal slipping out onto the lord's clubfoot and the stone floor when his cock softened and slickly slipped out of her wet cunt.

"Very good." Larys praised again, looking delighted as he took her by both ankles, kissing the tops of her feet, before spreading them wide again and kissing her directly on her cunt, making her breath hitch unexpectedly. "Yes, very good... Run along now, mouse. Get dressed and inform your Mistress that you've made the lord rat fall hopelessly in love with you. If she asks for details, I'll hope you be discreet." He punctuated this ominous order with another kiss to her cunt, a lingering one that she rather liked, which made her sigh and want to squirm against his mouth.

But he parted from her regardless, wiping their mixed spend from his mouth, it not appearing to bother him at all as he smiled.

"I will see you tomorrow evening." He promised as she left. The door shut behind her heavily, and when she looked down to check if she was presentable enough to sneak back to her crowded chambers, she realized too late that she had forgotten her stockings.

#larys strong #larys clubfoot #larys x reader #fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd larys

[astarte-salon]

Prompt: A woven rattan tray sits on the table, with soft sunlight shining through the window and casting shadows on the wall behind it. The wooden furniture in front creates an atmosphere full of natural texture. A vase with dried flowers is placed next to it, adding some warmth to the home decor. in the style of Van Gogh. --ar 2:3

#midjorneyart #midjourney #concept art #commercial illustration #ai art #prompt list #prompt blog #prompt midjorney #prompt ai #warmth #home decor #interior decor #interior design #home interior #decor #interiors

[fraddit]

This is a new post in my series of three four about Eddie’s house on 9-1-1.

part one, part two, part three | Buck’s loft

Since 5b blessed us with lots of looks at Eddie’s room (finally!!), I wanted to do an update to my model of Eddie's house.  Rather than alter my original post, I’m just making a new one to tack on.  So, let’s get started.

Here’s the floor plan view.  They changed the door into the room from both the S2 House and from what we saw a glimpse of in S3.  So the door now swings inward.  They also removed a window and moved the closet from right by the door into the room to over on the other side of Chris’s closet, which makes the room bigger (And also leaves a weird empty space hiding in the walls, but it's fine. I'm fine.).

And Eddie has used his new bigger room to fit his new treadmill.

More views and details under the cut!

The furniture is all pretty similar to what we saw in S2 but not exactly the same.  He’s got a contemporary, metal bed frame that’s either a queen or a full.  There’s a very low headboard.  The bedspread is blue and white plaid.  The two matching end tables are wood with similar metal frames to the bed.  There’s two matching lamps with sort of beige ceramic bases and kind of dark muted mauve lampshades.  On the table next to Eddie’s side of the bed, closest to the door, is an analogue alarm clock and a tray to hold what I’m guessing are his pocket items like keys and wallet.

Under the bed is a large woven rug in a muted green color. And above the bed is a ceiling fan.

Across from the bed, between the door into the room and the closet door is a mid century style wood dresser.  Sitting on top of this dresser is another ceramic lamp, this time in a blue color with white or beige shade.  Next to that is the only visible photo in the room.  It’s of Eddie and Chris hugging Shannon on Christmas in S2.  In front of that is Eddie’s Silver Star.  And next to that is a low profile decorative wooden box.

There’s a piece of art hanging on the wall above this dresser, but the only glimpse of it I could get was enough to know that there’s a white matte and the lower right corner is some shade of brownish.  So, I’ve taken the liberty of choosing a desert art print to match the other desert art in his room.  I’m pretty confident that it is actually some sort of nature art, because all of the art in Eddie’s house is nature art.  The living room is tree/forest stuff with one water fall.  The dining room and hallway are ocean and water.  Chris has his own stuff, but there’s also the Redwood poster and he has a lot of animals.  And Eddie’s room seems to be desert themed, which is why I stuck with desert for this mystery art.

Along the far wall is the treadmill.  It faces the closet door.  We never got to see this wall pre destruction, so I don’t know if the destroyed frame we see in the aftermath was on this wall or was the piece from over the dresser I just discussed.  So, this wall could be blank or not.  There’s no telling.

Behind the treadmill, in the corner, is another taller and narrower wood dresser. It’s got a nice bonsai tree sitting on it that looks to be a jade tree.

In shots of Eddie’s destroyed room when Buck breaks down the door, there’s a floor lamp next to this dresser that is not visible in any of the shots from 5x11, so I didn’t add it here.  My take is that that lamp was added specifically in that scene for lighting and effect.  There’s also a wicker basket that I assume is for laundry next to Eddie when he’s crying with the bat, but I’m not sure where in the room it normally lives.

Next to the dresser is the only window in the room, which is centered on the wall.  There are some light brown/beige blackout curtains and also mini blinds for window treatment. There's vegetation visible outside the window.

On the other side of the window is a small piece of art.  It’s a pretty desert scene in blues and pinks with saguaro cacti at either sunrise or sunset.

And there you have it.  Eddie’s room!

If you got this far, thanks for reading all of this.  I hope this is helpful or at least interesting. 💕

#eddie diaz #911 fox #911 #911 on fox #evan buckley #911 parade of homes #made by fraddit #911 by fraddit #shut up fraddit

[sims4t2bb]

weekly update

Hello everyone, and happy Sunday! We hope the weather has been just how you like it (☀️ in the northern hemisphere, ❄️ in the southern hemisphere!), and that your upcoming week is filled only with the best things.

The updates for this week can be found under the cut — onwards and upwards! ✨

— Base Game

Caress Stacking Crates, The Fairest Trade Crate Display, debug April Showers Watering Can, Book: Gardening, Bug Spray, Clipper, Extract Bottle, Fertilizer Jar, Handsaw, Ingredients Sack, Spray, and Welding Torch conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

— Expansion Packs

Cottage Living

Debug Burlap Sack, Flower Bucket, Onion Crate, Simple Living Cookbook, Soil Sack, Soil Sacks Pile and Water Spigot Planter conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

High School Years

Armoire for the Ages conversion by @simsco has been added.

Debug Barrel Half, Metal Planter (Large), Metal Planter (Small), and Wooden Planter Box conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Growing Together

Dining is Groovy! v.1 by Kindermade; Dining is Groovy! v.3 by Kindermade; GreatShapes Great Nights Bed; Not Your Grandma’s Drawers, Your Table; Privacy is Groovy! by Kindermade; and Woven Whims Cane Weave Double Bed conversions by @simsco have been added.

Antique Rug (Of Mysterious Origin) conversion by @communicores has been added.

Horse Ranch

Rancher's Water Feature, debug Rounded Metal Planter (Large), Rounded Metal Planter (Small), and Rusty Garden Flower Sculpture conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

— Game Packs

Outdoor Retreat

The Gordian Smooch and Lumber Jack’s Coffee Table conversions by @simsco have been added.

Debug Bucket, Hand Fashioned Planter Box, and Handmade Garden Pot conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Dream Home Decorator

Smooth Single Slumber and Swingin’ Single Bed conversions by @simsco have been added.

My Wedding Stories

Not Quite the Ghost Chair and Woven with Love Chair conversions by @simsco have been added.

Werewolves

Kristopher's Planter and debug Industrial Palette conversions by @tvickiesims has been added.

— Kits

Book Nook

The Genremax Loveseat (+ add-on), Perfectly Round End Table, Rounded Coffee Table, and The Self-Care Book Tray conversions by @simsco have been added.

#weekly update

[therealvalkyrie]

i love you clean hair smell I love you soft sweatshirts i love you no pants at home i love you little cactuses in teacups i love you stack of books on the nightstand i love you quiet evenings by the window i love you worn wooden furniture i love you hand woven tapestry i love you dried flowers in a vase i love you little glass trays from the thrift store i love you all my trinkets<3

#im such a little clutter collector #but anyway I love my cozy little room and all the small comforts in it #valkyrie talks

[lovelessdagger]

Starlight - Chapter Thirty-Five: Apocalypse

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Graphic Violence. Derealization. Gore.

Words: 7k

Summary: In the middle of it all, a metal surgical table, leather straps attached to the sides. A tray of scalpels to the left, powered down heart rate and oxygen monitors to the right. On top of the table however, the object to make Din’s heart stop.

Lumina.

Masterlist | Starlight Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next

An unsatisfactory thump echos on impact to the tile in the closet of a room. A single three strand braid, woven tight and thick lands at the heels of Lumina’s feet. What’s left is choppy and uneven, ending at the middle of her neck. Thick recycled air brushes against exposed skin, fresh cut ends poking. 

On the counter in front, a knife sets down continuing to vibrate until it too falls.

She’s asked, What do you remember? The question comes from behind, practiced posh accent as heavy as Dagobah’s humidity. 

An answer is foregone, the weight of her tongue unbearable.

“She’s in the void,” postulates a second, another female. After a pause, “The voltage should have fried her from the inside. She’s melted.”

“Perhaps,” the first agrees. A hand grips her chin, cold skin on her fever temptation. Again she’s asked: What do you remember?

She can’t answer, in the most physical sense. Her mouth opens to cough, phlegm spitting on the counter right before the mirror. She refuses contact with the vision of herself. She can imagine the sight well enough. She watches outside herself from the rafters of ventilation. She’s cold in her observation deck, wrapped in stiff wool blankets. They scratch until she earns a rash.

Ghost stands directly behind, officer Kane posed against the entryway. Lumina, in the middle of it all. The chair she sits on is old, wooden, creaking whenever weight shifts. They’ve each taken their turn of their snide remarks of her.

“She could have done miracles.”

“Wasted talent.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. Men would never listen to it. Not when she looks like that.”

“She used to be a whore.” 

“Figures.”

Ghost shoves the side of her head. She hates silence, rebellion, disrespect. She assumes a right to Lumina’s memory, whatever she believes to be left of it. Were she to possess the same gift, the discovery would be quite the disappointment.

Everything is there, amplified and muted. Faces turn to masks, bodies blurred shapes, familiar motions. She feels high. Lonely. Claustrophobic.

For the first time, Lumina misses company. A feeling, she assumes, to be unrequited. In vain and a sick need of self deprecation, she attempts to convince herself it is not human interaction, affection, that she longs for. Instead the scenery of green, whomever it comes with an unwilling side affect of association.

The light cruiser is cold and empty, lacking windows to space and oxygen stale. Green paradise filled her with warmth, breathed her anew. There are few places which resemble it. She has traveled more of the galaxy than most men could conceptualize. Nothing has felt so welcoming than the woods. Nothing except for—

Lumina locks eyes with herself, squinting like she were too bright. She sees brown above dark circles, odds and ends of overgrown and chopped layers sticking up from her scalp. She is a kiss away from death.

She might as well be staring at a holophoto of her childhood.

Not all memory is abstract. She remembers the sun warm on her skin, reflections of silver always to her left. She remembers waterfalls, three within close proximity, more further away. Six round creatures, brown and large. Tall grass, centuries old trees, blue lakes and lagoons. A manor as old as time, worn with love, forgotten as all things are. Lace, ivy, dedications to those already dead, a Senator and a Jedi.

She remembers flowers.

A wild field of blossoms in a haze. Decorating everything visible. Garlands, mosaics, art in all ways art can be. A single bouquet, separated from the rest. Large, dusty blue, white almost. Golden at its heart, bursting into five pointed ends.

A quick release of dawn, a flash of what could have been.

Lumina does not look like herself, and breaks contact lest she further her own destruction.

She’s forced to stand and dressed like a doll, bottom up. Looking as if she were poured into cloth.

Kane repeats her earlier sentiment.

Figures.

The corridor sounds crowded, heavy, angry. Sensation shoots up her nerves. Lumina faces Ghost, the second now complete with her mask. The red lit visor is burning. Kane coughs during their contest, chirps from her communicator duetting.

Her muscles relax with sweetness of a nearing end.

---

Bo-Katan, though only knowing Din Djarin for such a short time, is far too aware that something is wrong. Past the usuals of his gruffness and hostility, exacerbated tenfold, his mind is poisoned. The change is a palpable chemical.

Jedi, she thinks scoffing. If that.

Fennec Shand snaps in front of her helm. “Focus.”

Bo raises her left blaster, three shots into three Stormtroopers. She shrugs. The forces are less than she expected, and half seem far too unwilling than usual conscripts. Her energy is better suited elsewhere.

Or so she thinks. Fennec, clearly, has other ideas.

They play off another, her and Shand. It’s a miracle they hadn’t met sooner, all things considered. The galaxy is far too small for her liking. Everyone she knows—those still living—have sequestered themselves in the farthest corners, each lightyears apart. There’s no reason for this invisible golden string of sunlight to tie them all.

Snap.

“I’m focused.”

“Sure.”

“…You have no idea the position I’m in.” Bo speaks with a soft edge, cautious of the wandering ears of Koska and Dune.

“I have some.”

“No. You don’t know them like I did.” 

Do.

…Did.

“I’ve worked with them both. Him at the beginning. Her at the end.”

“Before or after?”

“Mainly before. Once after. Once after the after."

"Were you friends?"

"Friendly… eventually." Fennec stops first, hand raised, she points left. She whispers, "Were you?"

Dune takes care of the offenders. Her automatic blaster is insulting, but it serves its purpose. She’s more than helpful, a surprise given her avid protest on the rescue. She’s made her disdain for the girl—Lumina, abundantly clear. There are questions on everything, her hidden truths, intentions, trust, lack thereof.

Bo-Katan leaves the returns to Shand, she worries if she says anything it will be that she agrees. No one is sure of anything, least of all Din, and though Bo-Katan would never admit it, she takes his word above all else. Fett seems less concerned about whatever the girls sense of morality could be than her just being alive. Clones, blind allegiance seems built into their core. This Bo-Katan knows, it’s the rest who refuse to listen.

Dune has a point, but the thought of abandonment now makes Bo sick. Though Fennec doesn’t look to have any issues of her own. She and Fett are staunchly for this mission. Bo can’t determine yet whether Fennec’s loyalty is a stem from her partnership to Fett or her own will. She’s not sure she wants the answer.

Blindness is far easier than acute awareness of truth.

"I don't find making friends easy," Bo admits, remembering the question. “Or all together necessary." She nods to herself, following a vague memory. "Though she was the best of them."

“I mean were you friendly?" Fennec asks.

"No."

The crowd of them arrive to the corridor before the cell of Pershing’s instruction. "Make it quick," Dune says, flanking left with Koska to their lookout positions. "I'd rather not wait around."

"Becoming Sith soup isn't my idea of fun either," Bo says. “Keep comms open, call if you need backup.”

Crouched together at the end of the hall, her and Shand, stare at the lonely metal door. Two guards stand, one on each side. Fennec refuses to drop conversation, even as they take down the troopers and shoot them in the chest.

“What’s the plan?” she asks.

“If you were listening you would know I went over the plan—”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Bo’s lips purse a thin line. She hadn’t thought that far. Dune’s objections rattle inside. “I don’t know.”

“Fett says you have a location.”

“Not exactly. It’s been years. Could be anywhere, and encrypted comms aren’t my definition of approachable.”

“You don’t think it’s smart.”

“You do?” Bo sighs. “I want what’s best.”

“For whom?”

”Fett doesn’t seem keen on it, why are you?”

Fennec shrugs. “Like I said. We were friendly.”

Bo-Katan takes the code cylinder from a fallen guard, careful to avoid the blood from his chest. They press against each side of the door on her insertion into the lockboard, blasters ready. On Bo-Katan’s word cage doors open, they enter with initiative. Depth is larger than anticipated, and the light from the hall does little. 

“Lumina?” she calls. “It is Bo-Katan and Fennec Shand. Are you here?” Her helmets opticals convert to night vision, a now green lit room empty. The settlement of a grave enters her gut, she doesn’t think and calls her name. 

“Lumina,” Fennec corrects.

Right.

The corner of the room coos. “What the hell?” Bo says, turning. “The kid is here.” The alien waddles to the rooms center, meeting the pair. He waves, and it’s now Bo sees the shattered lightbulb at their feet. Bo kneels, holding her hand out in caution. “Hey little guy. Remember me?”

“I don’t get it,” Fennec says. “If he’s here, where is she?”

“I don’t know. Let’s get to the bridge, there are cameras everywhere. We’ll find her.” She taps on her arm. “Marshal Dune, Koska, we’ve run into a situation. Is the path for entry to the bridge clear?”

The response is static.

“Marshal Dune, Koska. Do you read me?”

“Unfortunately your party seems to be indisposed right now.” The voice and its owner, concealed behind a black mask in the doorway. She removes the code cylinder from the lockboard, twirling it around leather gloved fingers. “Ni gana kil'yc ca'nara.” And before Bo-Katan can exclaim any senes of confusion, much less fear, her hand slams on the lockboard panel. “You’ll just get in my way.” 

The doors lock shut.

She shares a look with Fennec, one only meaning one thing. Marshal Dune was right. 

“Din Djarin,” Bo-Katan rushes into her communicator. “She’s not here. You’re being set up. You are not to engage with her under any circumstance. I repeat do not engage. Abort your mission and go to the bridge. I repeat, abort your mission immediately. Do. Not. Engage.”

---

To call Doctor Pershing’s assessment of the situation off would be an oversimplification. Part of Din Djarin wonders if they were given accurate schematics of Gideon’s light-cruiser at all. While he faced the privilege of no storm trooper confrontation, the same oddly applied in a noticeable lack of dark trooper.

He’d gone just as Pershing instructed. Second floor stern, port side. From there, exactly three hundred paces from the lift shaft to the brig, passing the holding bay on the way. Neither occurrence remained true. 

Three hundred paces becomes five hundred until the nearest door, and the fleet of dark troopers remained MIA. Instead, the corridor echos his presence and vents rumble. MSE droids skid past in the opposite direction with no alarm. 

Din debates turning around, returning to the lambda, or worse— comming Bo-Katan, admitting he is simply not capable of being alone. Alas, pride beats even the strongest of curses, and he continues.

Pershing’s code cylinder does not work on the first door, nor the second or third. In fact, Din inserts the breaker into every lockboard he sees seven times until function begins.

He concludes with the undeniable fact that Doctor Pershing had lied to them all. And if such were true, nothing could ever be predicted. Especially this:

The room which opens is not a brig, nor a standard holding cell by any stretch of the imagination. It is a laboratory. With glass cabinets along the wall and floor, vials of meticulously labeled liquids, tables and counters covered by wires and computer terminals. 

In the middle of it all, a metal surgical table, leather straps attached to the sides. A tray of scalpels to the left, powered down heart rate and oxygen monitors to the right. On top of the table however, the object to make Din’s heart stop. 

Lumina.

Sleeping, or worse but certainly incapacitated. One arm hanging off the edge. Her clothing torn apart. She looks feverish and pale, twitching every now and then. 

Din stills in the doorway longer than feasible to excuse as decision making. He wants it all, to scream and run and vomit and hide and rage and break every glass and not care what cuts. 

Bo-Katan’s voice unwillingly penetrates his thoughts, frantic. Din Djarin. She’s not here, you’re being— He cuts the connection and unwillingly enters. 

Lumina resembles her appearance after Nevarro far too greatly for Din to have any sense of comfort. He can hear the AZI unit whirl around the room, reading useless information of her brainwaves and abnormal vitals. He scans her heart rate, weary of the sensation she claimed it caused. Unconscious or not, angered or not, he cannot bring himself to harm her. The results are too low, dangerously close to snapping into cardiac arrest.

The body seems to have entered a self sufficient regulatory stasis, he hears the AZI say, bringing as much comfort now as it did then. 

That is to say, none at all.

“Lumina,” he whispers. “Wake up…” His protest is unconvincing and her body temperature drops rapidly. “Lumina wake up.” He takes her shoulders, lifting her with a cradled head, she is limp. “I know you can hear me.” He grows frantic, air from his nose hot. His visor fogs. “Lumina. We promised Fett we’d bring you alive, wake up.” He swears. 

“You’re a fucking hypocrite you know that? You make me promise I won’t die or do stupid shit and that’s all you ever do. I can’t keep watching you die. I won’t do it. I can’t do it anymore. I hate you. I hate you, I fucking hate you. You’re the worst thing that ever happened me. I wish I never met you. You’re selfish and entitled and you have to wake the fuck up so I can tell you that I—” He runs out of air, shaking his head. “I swear I’ll kill you if you die. I’ll do it right here. I’ll fucking kill you Lumina. Don’t make me. Please—please, Lu. Lu, Lu wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake—”

She stretches. The movement is slow and hardly recognizable but her muscles move and contract, she groans. She breathes through her mouth, heavy like wampas lay on her lungs. Her eyes blink open, soft gray in harsh light. 

She sits up, painfully assisted by him. Her vision doesn’t focus on any one thing, fluttering around the room, squinting at the bulbs above. 

Something breaks, a small incremental shatter in Din’s brain. He cannot help the itch, and has an unbearable urge to kiss her. “Sarad?”

It wouldn’t matter if Din had left her for a lifetime, there is no instance in which he could ever forget the sinking feeling of knowing something is horribly wrong. She’s dull and uncommitted. She flinches when realizing it is his hands that hold her. 

“Lumina?”

“I wouldn’t bother. She has the mental capacity of an infant in this state.”

Din turns. “Moff Gideon.”

“Hello, Din Djarin.” He enters the laboratory, hands behind his back, gaze unassuming. Crossing, he lands behind her. “We must stop meeting this way, it’s far too crass for my liking.”

“What did you do to her?”

“I assure you she has done it to herself. We presented her many opportunities to make the right choice, and yet she did not. Disobedience is not tolerated as I am sure you are aware.”

Din asks again, each word hit. “What did you do?”

“She was a troubled girl, and I’m afraid Dr. Pershing’s methods proved lackluster. I wouldn’t worry if I were you, while the mind flayer is not gentle, she retains no memory of it. Or, anything.”

“What?”

“Please,” Gideon scoffs. “Don’t pretend you care just to humor me. Have you forgotten what she’s done to you? The Child? She is the reason for so much—” his left shoulder twitches “—torment.”

“She’s still a person,” Din stutters.

“Is she? I understand how you could be fooled, so was I, but I assure you personhood is the least of her descriptors. Haven’t you wondered how she seems to be so… superhuman? Why she of all people carried such importance? I had Doctor Pershing conduct his own studies to discover this. She is a strandcast. Containing original Fett DNA, of which the Empire continues to hold total and unending proprietorial rights to. This thing isn’t human, it’s a rogue experiment. You see Din Djarin, this is my property, and it won’t be going anywhere.”

“I don’t care what she is,” Din says. “I made a promise. She’s coming with me.”

Gideon walks back, pacing the laboratory in long strides. “I should like you to meet someone.” He smiles with teeth, right hand waved out. “My personal guard.” From the corridor, a masked womanly figure dressed in black and red. Her description is of ill comparison to that of Pershing’s, and Din’s memory is far to hazy to recall the fateful day to perfection. The further he strays the less he knows. But she is shorter than he, thin but curved. He sees no skin. 

“I do not often make requests,” Gideon says. “But I do recommend you leave with haste. She is not one you’d like to cross.”

Perhaps it is instinct or a sickening need, a rotted habit within his psyche, but Din grabs Lumina’s hand. She flinches, he feels bile stir. “I’m not leaving without her, and I don’t fear you. Or her.” He ignores the pounding in his chest.

Gideon’s jaw tightens. “Very well,” he says. “You may take the thing. After all it was created once, she can be again. However, in doing so you forfeit ever seeing the Child again.” 

“What?”

“Fortunately, seeing as she provided all testing trials, he has remained an unnecessary nuisance, yet a necessary backup. If you’d rather correct his fate into hers, be my guest.”

A storm whips to the level of hurricanes inside of Din. 

“I urge you to think on your decision,” Gideon says. “Don’t forget the reason you’ve had to drag Bo-Katan and her crew of savages aboard.” He spares a look. “I hope you’re not surprised. I’d recognize Lady Kryze beyond the grave. I owe her my thanks. Without her, Mandalore and many many more of you Mandalorians may still be alive. Without her…” His right hand falls to his hip. Gideon takes hold of a sleek hilt. The device powers on, the sound angry, the light the darkest he’s seen. “…I would never have this.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“Are you so blind to yourself? This is the Darksaber,” Gideon says. Lumina’s head lifts as does the guard’s, staring mesmerized. “An ancient Mandalorian weapon, said to create kings. You see Din Djarin, whomever wields this sword rules Mandalore and all its people. This is why Bo-Katan has chosen to join you. Believe no other excuse she has said. She works for her own benefit.”

“I don’t care about the sword,” Din says. “Keep it. Die with it. I just want the kid… and her.”

“Is that right? Is that truly what you want? Her?” Din has not missed the growing migraines, their current reappearance penetrates with a force. “I’d like you to think, truly think of your desires.”

Fett wants her, he reminds himself. That’s reason enough. 

“She’s a malfunctioning asset created for destruction,” Gideon continues, turning off his saber. “The fact is hardwired into her programming, she can never change. Never provide you with a family, comfort, love. This model at least, is incapable, and in this state she has no idea who you are.”

Incapable. 

Din catches himself in his chest, fist tight. Something dark and buried tells him he’s known all along. It’s the same whispered haunting voice that spoke the truth to him all those days ago. Trapped in Gideon’s cargo hold, held by droids against his will. He’s always known. Nothing has changed, not in the slightest.

And her, her being some… some clone, some piece of bioengineering, what difference does it make? How is it not another excuse for her actions?

He steps away, far away. Far enough that she is no longer within arms reach and his heel hits cabinets. A glass vial topples and cracks. 

The guard watches, Lumina does not. Her gaze is robotic, remaining stagnant on the sword. She turns hypnotized to face the oppressor. 

Gideon isn’t entirely incorrect in his assessment. Mostly, but not complete. Lumina isn’t the same, the sight of her makes that much obvious… but had he known her at all? Had anything been real? She had indeed worked against him the whole of their time but…

His nerves twitch. Damn migraine.

“Tell me, Din Djarin,” Gideon says. “What is it that you want?”

He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t. He will repeat it until he dies, he does not want her. Even now. Especially now. Not as he stares at her for the first time in ten days, of which each feels like a year. Not when there’s this insatiable urge to grab her, hold her, take her somewhere, anywhere else. He wants to take her into the Razor Crest, let her take a stupidly long shower as she always does and sing just loud enough so that he may hear. He wants her to sleep and eat and sleep until she looks anything like herself again.

But the Razor Crest does not exist anymore. Neither does she.

She does not care for him. Not ever, not now. Especially now. Not when she cannot remember anything of their lives. Cannot look at him, recoils at his touch. When all she can give him is an exposed and turned back, chilled from blowing air and perfectly clean.

A perfectly clean unmarked back…

Huh.

“I choose the Child,” Din says. “Keep her, you’re right. She means nothing.” 

“Are you certain?”

He nods. “Yes.” 

“Very well. 318,” Gideon says, her attention snapped. “You are dismissed. Return to your quarters.”

She stumbles, jumping off the surgical table without imprints on the back of her thighs. She nods at Gideon, ignores Din, and brushes past the guard. When doors close it’s as if she never existed at all.

What a thought.

“Where’s the kid?” Din asks. 

Gideon smirks. “That would be nice to know, wouldn’t it?”

In an instant Din is flung against the opposite wall, crashing directly into glass, labeled fluid splashing in every direction. He groans, his helmet denting the wall.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” Gideon asks. He keeps position while his guard advances. Her left arm is stretched, fingers moving on her right. “Did you honestly believe you could get anything from me?” He laughs. “You have been a stain on my plans for too many moons and your interest has faded.”

Din’s body constricts on himself, the guard pushes him further and further into durasteel.

“You should have never come,” Gideon says. “The Child alone I can understand, I’m a father as well. But her?” He scoffs. “Lord Vader created her for one purpose, to squash enemies like bugs. It is all she knows. You should have understood that.”

Dins feet lift off the ground, not far but shadow does form. He tries to fight, he tries to try and he cannot. His body struggles too much, it is too weak, he is too human. 

Gideon instructs, “Kill him.”

His throat tightens, his hands pull at his own neck. Nothing works. The guards left hand balls into a fist, snapping to the side. His vision blurs. Din Djarin watches her right hand gently turn with his neck and falls into a deep unimaginable sleep. 

---

The Mandalorian awakes by a jolt of electricity, a minute two finger punch to the pulse point of his neck.

He hears that he’s dead, however—and although he cannot say he is familiar with the sensation—he does not feel dead. Quite the opposite. Energy renews, and in the strangest way, the aches he carried disappear. Clarity enters.

His eyes take longer to open, boots and knees crouched in front of his visor. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long, behind the figure of the guard is still Moff Gideon. He speaks with gesture, and it is now Din realizes his prior shyness in motion. On his left, his arm ends abrupt, disfigured. 

That’s new.

Gideon is less proud without knowledge of Din’s audience. He keeps a distance, almost afraid. 

The thought, surely she couldn’t have caused his disfigurement, is not a stranger to his mind. The implication however, is. 

She doesn’t move or speak or breathe really. Gideon talks, as he always does. He praises her. Her hand enters Din’s left side pocket—having landed on his right—quickly and leaves all the same. Gideon tells her he’s amazed her conditioning was a success. She stands, Din forced to stare at her heels. 

“Glory to the Empire,” she says eventually. Her vocoder is too strong, she reverbs like a canyon. 

Gideon repeats. 

Glory to the Empire.

With a sinking feeling, Din would much rather be prepared for his grave. Placed six feet below in rich soil, safe from the collision of fate. 

---

“You will kill the Mandalorian… What I see, is the Mandalorian you align yourself with will fear you, and you will kill him in the name of the Empire.”

The words tornado as Lumina’s hands shake at her sides, sweating under leather. She pants outside of Doctor Pershing’s laboratory where a gang of four Stormtroopers await. The mask Ghost had given her found quick removal, laying thrown on the floor. Her forehead presses against the wall, expression pinched.

 “Get a move on,” one says.

She shouldn’t worry. She knows she shouldn’t worry. Her skills surpass worry, they transcend fear. The Mandalorian is not dead. He may be sore and dazed but he is not dead. He’s not. And if he were, if she were somehow careless and unyielding to her power she would have felt it. His pain, his agony, the Force leave his body. She would know, it would kill her just the same.

A darkness whispers in her ear, Anakin killed his wife…

“I said move,” the Trooper repeats.

She grunts, “Give me a minute.”

The silence is too loud, she can’t hear through the walls. She should have stayed, fought Gideon herself, finished what she unknowingly started. It isn’t fair to Din. It’s never been fair. 

What if he hadn’t woken? What if Gideon were in the room at this very moment, boasting his success, torturing the Mandalorians assumed dead body. What if the helmet is removed?

She didn’t think this through. Din is a capable man there is no doubt of it, but Lumina is uncontrollable and dangerous, she knows not her own strength. What is he against her? Ghost forbid her weapons but what does that matter to the Force? 

Her ability to consistently make the worst choices would be impressive under any other circumstance. 

She should find Fennec, create an excuse of direction and return to the cell. Koska and Dune should wake soon, bodies dragged inside of the bridge. She still has time to fix things, course correct.

It’s all Bo-Katan’s fault, an excuse she cannot abandon. What business does she have to be here? She never expected Din to want her rescue, and had surely hoped to be correct. So why should Bo-Katan look for Lumina specifically? They hadn’t been the most amicable in their initial meeting.

Pershing must have had something to do with it. Though explanations were rushed and short lived, he knew what their final meeting would result in. The drugs, the flayer, the oncoming ambush by the Mandalorian and his company. They decided logistics as quick as possible. 

Their finding of him was no coincidence, and his fear permeates regardless of ruse. Should he be privy to a plan—a likely scenario—he was to promote motions. The Mandalorian Din Djarin was to be directed to the station with the Child. Boba Fett would go on to discover Lumina with possible aide by Fennec Shand. Any other parties could be divided as they saw fit. Only then would Lumina through some miracle arrive at the Child’s holding cell, entrap the Mandalorian until all was well and vanish without a trace.

Pain enters her chest. Why wasn’t Boba here? What of his promises?

A baton wacks at the back of her leg, breaking her contemplation. She bites her tongue to not cry. “Move!” the Trooper barks.

They may think her turned infantile and slow, but it does not disregard their innate fear. The thrill of joy given in their power, her hurt.

“I want to see 313,” Lumina says through clenched teeth.

“She is to remain undisturbed. Direct orders.”

The illusion continued longer than any of them expected. Without a voice it stood simpler but to be tangible? As children Ghost would faint from the experience continuing longer than a minute. She’s older now yes, but overconfident, overzealous.

“I am giving you direct orders, take me to her now.”

“We don’t listen to the likes of you anymore,” another says. “We outrank you, clone.”

…Clone?

Lumina whispers, “What?”

Tired of a wait, they grab at her, pushing her away. “No talking,” one says. “You’re going back in the hole.”

For a moment, Lumina listens without argument. Her feet drag and shoves become all the more frequent, but the word pulls over and over.

Clone.

Suddenly breathing becomes her most difficult task.

They shove her again.

She blacks out.

---

Alone, Moff Gideon moves throughout the laboratory with a slow and dignified ease. He paces his observation as if at any moment it could all disappear. He fears entrapment inside some glorious dream, a miracle of the Galactic Empire, and that he will soon wake up. Many many sacrifices have been made—phantom pains on his left arm grow stronger by the hour, and any hope in seeing his daughter again is nulled—but to reach this conclusion. To win.

To not only defeat the pesky rodent of Din Djarin that has plagued his life for the past rotation, the Mandalorian built of pure beskar and unending gall. To say he did it. To prove once and for all that a Mandalorian is no greater than a simple man. No stronger than a well trained body. No smarter than a former agent of the ISB. No more fearsome than the greatest of Jedi and greater of Sith. 

Bo-Katan would come next, already captured in a cell. Waiting, no doubt, with anticipation and slow building anxiety. Her defeat would be even easier this round. Gideon will waste no time and guarantee no Mandalorian would ever interrupt his plans again. 

It will be child’s play. 

And even this, this undoubted success, his unquestionable victory is not where his foul pride blooms. Gideon lifts a forgotten data sheet, unintelligible letters resembling binary and making out the sequencing of life.

This.

Her.

This unattainable thing. This proof of all his struggle, his research, his desire. The evidence of a myth, the last surviving link to greatness. A combination of science and magic. A handcrafted being, the first documented artificial life to carry the power of the Force.

And she belongs, to him. No longer temperamental, or emotional, or unstable and manic. But a calm vessel, willing and wanting to take any direction given. Immune to attachments. Trained and domesticated like a mutt.

And if by chance she were to become… unpredictable? He wouldn’t have to wait another twenty plus years for a replicated specimen to reach maturity, nor the ten years it took for the original Fett beings. With a Kaminoan trained mind like Doctor Pershing and the endless Imperial funding sure to be granted after the display of his new power, Gideon could have adult clones made in one standard rotation. There would of course, be no need for formal education or socialization. Only objects to destroy and to be destroyed.

Who knows, one day he could perhaps convince Doctor Pershing to implement the cloning methods on another being. Someone… more worthy. Someone like himself.

But he is getting ahead of a future that has yet to come. That will surely come. He will celebrate with wine and the envy of others. Then, oh then the day will arrive that his cohorts will quit their useless wait on Grand Admiral Thrawn or the words of Admiral Rae Sloane. They will realize the alien is wholly unnecessary. That he, Moff Gideon—soon to be Grand Moff Gideon, it is inevitable—is all they could ever want. All they could ever need. 

What a day that will be indeed. And this… Grand Inquisitor this child of the harvest, the unfortunate growing muse of his actions. She will too be pleased. They will together build a cloned Sith army, never ending, never dying. 

It will be their Empire.

Though, mainly Gideon’s. 

 How wonderful. 

Until then, the matters of the present do need dealing with. For starters, while the body of Din Djarin is a joyous sight, it will begin to smell. And that is a problem far beneath his station. Someone else will have to collect the body, Gideon will take the beskar. To deter from any undeserving thieves of course.

“What a shame,” he gloats to the Mandalorian, crouching. “This is quite the unceremonious end for one of your kind.” By instinct his left hand—or what had once been his left hand—reaches to the beskar helm. The right replaces in action. “You should have believed her,” Gideon muses aloud, his own private diversion. “If you had… maybe she wouldn’t have killed herself—” Gideons words end choking, the grip of a leather hand around his throat. 

The Mandalorian rises from the dead. In one fluid motion their positions flip, Gideon slammed to the ground. The Mandalorian shouts in his face, “What did you do?”

Gideon sputters, his eyes bulge wide. This should not be possible. Not at all. The Mandalorian lifts his head again, hitting down so that he sees a flash of white. 

“What…” he pants, “…did you do to her?”

And Gideon does the only thing he knows. He blindly reaches for the Darksaber, it’s activation dangerous and spastic. Distracted, Gideon takes the opportunity to knee Din Djarin in the stomach and clamors to his feet. He waves the saber fanatically, like the Mandalorian were a rabid bear to fend off. 

The attempt is useless. Din rises to his feet, broad shoulders somehow broader, body somehow taller. Anger all too tangible. From his back he pulls an unending beskar spear. 

If the Mandalorian is a bear, Gideon is fresh bloody meat begging to be devoured.

---

Cabinet glass is the first victim, second comes the vials, third the terminals. Beskar and plasma collide in never ending ricochets and hollow bangs. Sparks fly with every impact, the smell of burning metal infiltrates the air. 

The aim is two fold, defeating Gideon certainly is the priority but… Din chances every misplaced glance he can spare. The entire room, every inch is evidence of her. Scribbled handwritings of her blood, height, weight. A checklist of future exams, possible theories, prescribed medications. 

He shatters whatever he can; spear swooping wider, stabbing further, misdirecting Gideons ill timed shots for his own destruction.

The Moff is no competition and it is an insult to the Mandalorian’s character to assume so in any aspect. Nothing is calculated or practiced. The sword Din assumes, weighs too heavy in his single hand. The blade tempts to drag and is prevented only the lifting of the beskar. 

At the first point of break, Gideon scurries across the room to create distance and regain breath. He push the surgical table to slam against Din, but with half the available source of velocity the Mandalorian kicks it away.

Gideon is playing games, and Din is bored.

With the arena opened, Din attacks Moff head on. He utilizes his danger and rage with such fervor, he removes his actions from the blocking preconceived. He does not run or use words to distract Gideon. Overhead lighting flickers them in and out of existence. Din flashes closer in each blossom of light. 

Gideon’s right hand lifts wildly, ready to swing. But Din takes hold of his wrist, not bothering to look whether or not he could catch it because he knows he would. Din squeezes the thin frail bone until he hears one snap and one shout of agonized pain.

The hilt falls and skids across the ground.

The game is over.

Din Djarin takes hold of Gideon by the throat and smashes his fists into his face until his gloves turn red and hot. He throws Gideon against the one plain wall of the room. He crashes the Imperial into the paneling over and over and over. Gideon is too weak to fight back, too old, too human. His knees give out first, feet unable to find the bottom of him. 

Din never loses grip. He keeps Gideon upright. Keeps him with laser precision. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. This… this is where Lumina had always been wrong. Din isn’t better than her, he isn’t holier, good. He’s better at hiding his fury, the fires in his eyes.

He could kill Moff Gideon, and he would without any regret. He can picture it so clearly, the spear piercing through the Moff’s trachea, his warm blood splattering out. Another name to the list of the Mandalorian’s cold blooded murders. The New Republic, he knows, would never see to it that Gideon earn a just punishment for his crimes. He had of course been subjected to execution in the first war tribunal. And Bo-Katan had already faced so many disappointments in life, what would the addition of one more change?

Should anyone deserve a sense of vengeance against the Moff it should be Din Djarin. The man had attacked his family after all. Hunted his child for well over a year. He killed Mandalore. Killed Concordia. Killed the tribes of Nevarro. Killed the Razor Crest. Killed Kuiil. Killed countless of women on Ryndellia. Killed the only chance Din would ever have at being anything close to normal and happy and good. Killed her. 

And he doesn’t care about her, the stabbing pain in the back of his mind ensures that. He would kill her himself if given the chance, and perhaps that is where the anger stems. That she had gone before he could have a proper go. A final fight, final blows, final argument filled with expletives and statements neither of them truly mean. A final storm out of each others lives. A final sunrise and a final night. A final moment to say I’m sorry. Please come back, it won’t happen again.

A final moment to know it absolutely will.

The Mandalorian will never have himself again. And somewhere deep down Din knows the blame can’t all fall to Gideon. Because they are who they are, and man is flawed even when carved by the hands of gods.

But being who he is means an unchanging stubbornness and penetrative anger. He cannot change now when the purpose is removed.

He wants to kill Gideon.

And he will or—he would. 

Divine intervention continues to be a foreign concept despite it’s persistence in his life.

Moff Gideon’s communicator shrills with life. Men on the other line shout in broken desperation. “Sir! Sir, she’s gone wild—won’t—stop!—the whole ship—looking for—thirteen—need to evacuate!”

 And Gideon… Gideon looks as though he has never experienced fear in his life until this moment. He is not, Din comes to realize, afraid of dying. That portion of battle came expected. No, what he is truly afraid of is whatever lays behind that communicator. 

Death seems to be his only escape.

And so Din decides.

He decides to force Gideon to live.

---

The apocalypse of the Sith had at long last come. Or, so it would seem. Outside of the laboratory, doors open to a new world. Pieces of the wall are torn off their holdings and crashed into another. Shafts are shredded, pipes leaking. Overhead lighting is blown out, shattered glass insult to injury.

It is an abomination.

Stormtroopers are in worse shape than Elysium Hortus, were that at all possible. Dismemberment, blood, burnt flesh, and crushed bone. The first thing Din steps on is a lone hand. 

Had he been too lost in his own skirmish to be deaf to the destruction? Surely the battle did not occur without fight. Whoever, whatever is the origin of this sweeping death could not have done so in secrecy. And yet—

The path leads two ways: Down the blackened road to the right, or towards the light and untouched territory. Runi kar’tayl dictates Din Djarin go right, every string of his joints tug in the direction. But he has grown a habit of no longer listening and remains statued.

Gideon pulls at the ropes tied around his arms. For the first time in his life, he is horrified. “Gods,” he swears. 

The Mandalorian shoves him forward, almost tripping the Imperial on a fallen pipe. “Quiet.” 

“You should have killed me.”

“You’d be so lucky.”

“You won’t make it either. None of you will. We’re all dead, she’ll never stop now.” 

This grants the Mandalorian pause. He turns Gideon a sharp degree to face. The old man groans. “Who? Who did this?”

And the old man shakes his head, a sinister smirk growing. One having long accepted the power of death with warm embrace. Like his final twist of fury and demonic faith has at long last come to fruition. “Should you have a god, I recommend you pray. What is it your people say? Haran eyaytyc at droten.”

Hell is upon man.

--------

Translations: Ni gana kil'yc ca'nara - I have no time Runi kar’tayl - Soul awareness Haran eyaytyc at droten- Hell is upon man (lit. Hell escaped to the people)

---

Chapter Thirty-Six: Pandemonium

Taglist: @lexloon​ @jay-bel​ @xsadderdazeforeverx​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny​ @hello-th3r3​

#Din Djarin x Original Female Character #din djarin x original character #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x ofc #Din Djarin x oc #Mandalorian Fanfic #Star Wars fanfic #mando x original female character #Mando x original character #mando x ofc #Mando x oc #Din Djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #Starlight

[cutegirlmayra]

An oldie but a goodie: sonamy movie night. Amy picks Titanic thinking it's a good blend of romance and contemporary and enough action for Sonic. At first Sonic isn't too into it but he tolerates it. He does as the movie progresses but starts to get uncomfortable at all the tragedy since he's a hero and wants to help. It really starts affecting him everytime Rose is mentioned and keeps involuntarily thinking Amy is in trouble. They have to stop the movie and Amy reassures Sonic she's okay

I'll do you one better...

DO NOT SUBMIT PROMPTS, THEY ARE NO LONGER BEING ACCEPTED AT THIS TIME. THANK YOU FOR YOUR READERSHIP, BUT KEEP YOURS HANDS OFF MY INBOX--IT'S FULL.

Thank you ^^ And enjoy the prompt!

Prompt:

"Three hours!?" Sonic side-stepped to the right, "Ohh..." he had a sweatdrop on the side of his face, slowly showing the terrible dread he was feeling of having to sit still that long. "I know I promised you some 'quality' time, Amy... But is this really the 'quality' that's gonna make you happy-Waha!" he was yanked to the couch, as Amy had already set up everything for the night.

"There~" she chimed, sitting him down and walking over to the other side of the room, opening a giant basket-woven-like chest and throwing him a heavy blanket.

He watched her a moment, before getting smacked with the blanket and fighting to flop it off of him. "H-he-hey! Amy!" he tried to kick it off but she clicked the remote to start the movie, sitting down beside him and pulling out her tray of movie snacks.

"Here. Now quit complaining." she stuck her nose up in the air and closed her eyes, making it clear this was what she wanted to do for her 'very special time only-exclusive date-not a date-time with Sonic'.

"And it's totally a date!" she swiped her head to him as his eyes lit up and he quieted down about complaining or trying to get her to change her mind, eating one of the treats and enjoying the flavors as he savored it by swishing it around in his mouth.

He gave her a side-look and blinked, before rolling his eyes and lifting an arm up, which made her super happy, as she scooted closer and rested her head to him. He lowered the arm once she had made herself comfortable and looked to the screen, growing a bit bored already...

She lifted up the blankets over their knees and ate a little too, snuggling up to him as the movie began.

"Wait... isn't this that ship that sank?" Sonic's eyes blinked a few more times, "How is this-?"

"Shh! It's starting!" Amy put a hand to silence him as he just looked to the corner of his vision and frowned, realizing that no matter what he said... Amy wanted it her way.

Well... he had been busy and he did promise a 'not date, date night' thing...

It was a compromised name... which he still thought was a weird concept...

As the movie progressed, he yawned and his eyes started bobbing... before finally... he conked out.

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

Sonic woke up and was suddenly on a ship, "W-ahh!" he jumped up immediately, "Woah, am I..? Is this a nightmare..?" He looked around, a little squeamish about being surrounded by water, before looking over and seeing Amy had stepped onto the farthest spot on the ship, moving herself over to the front of the railing.

"H-huh? Amy?" he used his super speed, dodging and waving an apology to the humans he passed by as he hurried to her side.

He pulled up right next to her, stopping with a skid on the deck, "Amy! What are you doing!?"

"Don't try and stop me, Sonic!" Amy furrowed her brows to the waves below her, as Sonic worriedly outstretched an arm.

"Take it easy, Amy, it's dangerous..." he tried to reach out a hand but she leaned further out.

"Move any closer and I'll do it!" she closed her eyes tightly shut and Sonic moved slightly away.

'Woah, she's serious.' he realized and looked over the railing at the humongous ship's front blade razoring through the sea as though scissors to paper. "Huh...", he looked back down to the ship's wooden flooring. 'If Amy does slip... she'll be pulled under for sure... or worse.' he looked up gently to her, but being one who sticks fast to his decision, he sat down and started taking his shoes off.

"W-what?!" Amy looked behind her, hearing him grunt as he removed his shoes. "What are you doing!?"

"You really leave me no choice..." He stated, carefully putting his shoes to the sides before taking his socks off. "I'm too invested now." he normally wouldn't say that... Was something feeding him lines?

"Too invested..? Oh! You wouldn't! It's freezing down there!" Amy warned, turning around on the railing, worrying more about him than herself now. The wind blew her skirt and her hair beautifully as Sonic set his shoes to the side, stretching. "You hate the water... and you can't swim!" she pleaded.

"Well, yeah... that's true. And it's gonna be real cold... like daggers piercing your body." He finished his stretches and turned to her, standing proudly in his conviction. "But I'll tell you this much, Amy... if you jump, I jump." he smiled charmingly to her.

Her eyes shined at his words... then she nodded, climbing back over the railing before her flatted-heels slipped and she almost fell, but Sonic raced up and grabbed her, pulling her back up, "Amy! Grr... Hang on!"

"Soooniiiccc!!!" She gave off her famous cry for her hero's aid, and he was able to pull her back up.

She fell on top of him and he panted with her at the exertion, but looking directly at one another, they laughed.

"What you were doing was crazy, Amy... but I knew you wouldn't jump." he grinned, confidently.

"W-what? How do you know I wouldn't have?" she puffed up a cheek, not liking him making assumptions.

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

Sonic's eyes opened as Jack finished the line, Rose and him getting caught as Sonic shook his head a second, using his other hand to rub his head, 'Did I zone out..? Or fall asleep..?' he wondered.

He looked at the movie... then it's run time.

He sighed, 'Amy's already asleep, isn't she?' he looked over and there, by his side and under his arm, was an adorably sleeping Amy Rose...

He smiled down to her, 'Knew she couldn't resist a stay-in date-not date-night inside...' he shrugged, letting it be fate.

He... started watching on the movie on his own...

While Amy dreamed ahead~...

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

Spit takes, talks of freedom... all of Rose's parts replaced by her own, and her friends made appearances, too! But none more spectacular a performance than her Sonic The Hedgehog as daring Jack!

She raced to summon her hammer but couldn't due to the cold water really affecting her at this point, but finding nothing but panicked people, she broke out an ax and came back to her hero.

"Will this do?" she held up the ax as a tied Sonic's eyes shrank in fright, but then nodded with a brave but sheepish smile on his face.

"That'll do... B-but, wait, wait!" he lifted a foot up, as though badding her back like one would a hand to stop someone, "Do some practice hits on that wardrobe!"

She tried, and shattered the entire wardrobe... having it fall to pieces as Sonic just tilted his head in synchronization with Amy at it falling to pieces from one Amy Rose whack, faster than the ship was sinking.

She turned back to Sonic and he just smiled encouragingly with a sweatdrop on the side of his face, "Alright... one's enough practice." He parted the chain from the pipe he was stuck on. "Remember, Amy, aim for the links." he looked up at the window... water had already submerged it... and his face turned grave with realization...

He had to save Amy.

After the entire pipe came off it's hinge, along with the cutting of his handcuffs, Sonic jumped in the air and waved his legs and arms out in his surprise at her strength.

She quickly rushed to Sonic's aid as, even though the water was to their waist, he was acting as though he was drowning already.

"Amy, Amy!" he struggled before she pulled him up and showed him it wasn't that deep yet.

"Come on! I know you can do this, Sonic!" she looked into his eyes, "Just hold my hand, and don't let go!" she switched lines with Jack, as her dream Sonic looked into her eyes and gently turned to a look of love and fondness for her.

He nodded, "Thank you... Amy... wah-ah!" he was dragged along as Amy swiped through the common-class's barricade chain-doors, not even bothering with the 'key falling' scene before arriving to the top of the deck, looking around as she was determined to get Sonic on a boat.

"Amy, hang on!" Sonic warned, holding a hand out.

"No time!" Amy courageously charged towards the rising top of the ship, "Hold on, Sooooniiccc!" acting like a true heroine, she grabbed the rails as Sonic dangled by her hand, crying out in his shock at the ship turning completely upright.

"I've got you..!" she strained her hands to the railing... but her fingers began to slip. "Ah..! Oh no!" she started to lightly cry, 'This isn't how the movie ends, though... they still swim up... I...' her fear in her dream gripped her before feeling Sonic start to climb up her body. "W-what!?" she felt his hand reach the railing with an even firmer, determined grip than her own.

Her eyes sparkled at his heroism, before her grip slipped and Sonic's arm wrapped around her body, keeping her up as she grabbed and held tightly to him, looking up as he smiled down to her.

He looked... so cool to her...

"Ah, Sonic!" her admiration came flowing out of her, larger than the whole of the Atlantic sea. "My hero!" She then gasped and looked down, seeing the water rushing up as the ship was moving quickly down. "We're going to get-!"

"Sucked down into the ripping current." Sonic bit down on his teeth, knowing exactly what she was going to say. "Hang on, Amy! Rose!" he swung his body acrobatically flung her and himself up on the railing, his feet catching him and holding her bridal style.

He looked without fear to the water, as Amy clung her arms around his neck, "Oh, Soooniiicc!!!" she cried out as the water came rushing at them, turning her head to his chest as he jumped.

His jump was rather impressive, holding them in the air a moment before falling back down.

"Oh no, I don't want to dream about this part!" she cried out, realizing she wasn't awake anymore.

When they hit the water, she immediately kicked her feet and got them to the top of the water...

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

Sonic's eyes began to tremble as Jack began his speech to Rose, realizing he couldn't fit up there with her, and holding her hand as he mentioned she'd live on, and have lots of babies, and seeing Rose swim over to blow the whistle...

He didn't notice Amy stir as she was having her nightmare, trying to find a way to get her and Sonic on the floating piece of door's driftwood but slowly blinked her eyes open and rubbed them, her lips trembling from Sonic in her dream saying Jack's line.

"I wouldn't let go..." she sleepily stated, sniffling.

He looked down at her, realizing she had woken up and then back to the movie, engrossed in its narrative.

His mouth hung slighlty open in an 'o' as the movie showed Rose did live on... even riding horseback through the beach's waves... and the island carnival... everything from her changing her last name and seeing the statue of liberty.

He smiled at the end, "Hmm..."

Amy looked up at him, "Sonic... you're supposed to be sad." She pouted at his reaction.

"... I can't be." He stated, seeing the older woman pass away in her sleep and start walking through Titanic.

"What do you mean you-" she stopped when Sonic pulled her up from having sank down to his side, and held her a little closer than normal... making her blush as her eyes shimmered once again up to him as though in her dream... when she was playing Rose.

"Because... he saved her life, Amy. In every possible way a person could be saved." he then looked down at Amy, and gave her a genuinely glad smile, "It may be a Romeo and Juliet situation... but I've always felt Juliet should have lived on."

As the ending music played, Amy was just in awe at Sonic's subtle confession...

He cared that Jack was still Rose's hero... in every sense of it, he felt the biggest accomplishment and joy of the movie was that Jack saved the person he loved the most, and didn't regret a single decision... from the start of their voyage to the end... Jack's entire mission... was to save Rose.

"He saved her, Amy." He nodded, opening his eyes to then look curiously down at her as Amy fell in love all over again...

"I've ... never thought of it that way before." She tilted her head, smiling with tears on the edges of her eyes, "I've always just thought it was a tragedy... Rose couldn't be with the man she loved, but she ran away from the life she was forced to carry... and then... letting go of the Diamond... the Heart of the Sea... I thought if you watched this with me, you'd realize how important I am in your life, and you wouldn't want me to let me go..." she rubbed her eyes, "But now... I think I see what really makes your heart different than other heroes, Sonic." she hugged him tightly, rubbing her head into his chest as he uncomfortably squirmed at it.

"A-Amy-Amy!" he was almost about to stand up on the couch before she continued...

"This movie just showed me... Sonic... that it's not that you don't value our time together... I don't want to scare you into missing me... Instead... you showed me that you view love as the ultimate sacrifice... that you value that I'm happy and safe more than anything else in your entire world... even your life... and that... that ... that I value your life, and the memories we've shared together... more than anything else in the whole wide world too, Sonic..." She gently closed her eyes, "And that's fine, Sonic... But it also made me realize... I don't want a tragedy with you... no matter how romantic it is..." she cried lightly into his chest as Sonic slowly relaxed and came down from trying to wiggle out of her embrace.

"I just want to be with you, Sonic! Forever and always. My heart... you are my heart, Sonic..! And I want you to live on! Free, care-free, and all the ways a person can be free... because... because I love you freely, Sonic The Hedgehog!" she cried in her infamously high-register.

Sonic smiled and sighed, leaning back on the couch and stroking her head as he looked back at the movie's credits, his eyes comfy slits as he yawned and stretched a little, letting her cry it out.

"I didn't really think of us in that situation... but..." he let his head fall to the side of of the couch, smiling, "I think... I'm just glad she's safe and had a full life... ya know?"

She cried harder then and jumped further up into his arms, "A-Amy! Amy! Hey! Lo-Loosen up the grip just a little bit, Amy!!!" her arm was gripping his head, and he had to lightly pat her back to try and get her to let go of him so he could breathe. "Amy! Amy, let go!"

"I'll never let go, Sonic The Hedgehog! Never!"

"Ammmmyyy...!!!"

That was the last three hour movie Sonic agreed to sit down through... and mostly,... he and Amy were dreaming together and completely out when the 'more erotic scenes' came on...

Both missing that part of the movie... entirely.

Write me like one of your PG-13 for these YOUNG CHARACTERS Sonamy Prompts, Mayra~

"As you wish."

#sonamy prompt #sonamy #sonicxamy #cutegirlmayra

[lycianlynx]

Though she could improve on expanding her relations, especially those who share the same house as her, she never hesitates to reach out and gift those who were from the same continent as her when she was able to. Luckily, the academy had the dates posted publicly taking a lot of the guesswork out, now she just had to figure out what to give.

Lilina had already planned on baking something, but she felt as though the recipient deserved a little something extra.

While strolling through the market downtown, she chanced upon a stand full of glass-blown statuettes, ceramic, and wooden carvings. Many of them caught her eye, each more colorful or unique than the last. And finally, a small wooden carving, as if it could speak, called out to her. It was a lynx with delicate grooves for the fur and the shade of baker's fudge with varying ribbons of brown woven throughout as if it were plucked straight from the tree.

As for the treats, after many failed attempts, she finally revealed ( with assistance ) golden brown tarts with a few fillings such as strawberry, blackberry, and raspberry. And for an added touch, little hearts and stars were placed on top.

Each gift was wrapped appropriately—the lynx in parcel and the tarts on a covered tray. And now it was time to present.

"Chad, it's not much, but please, accept this." She hands the parcel and tray over. "To another year. Even if we don't speak much, I'm glad you're here with us."

"Lady Lilina?" Chad stands to attention the moment he notices her approaching her with too much intent for her to be looking at anyone else — Keen eyes immediately spot the package and tray, and for a split second, he entertains booking it. He doesn't. It's his birthday, after all. But also, dear Saints, it's his fucking birthday. How did she know? Why's she here?

to give you a gift, obviously. dipshit.

There's a second of stunned silence as the boy freezes in indecision; And then, bit by bit, they creak to life again. A jerky movement, his fingers interlacing stiffly as he waffles on how quickly or slowly he should accept because what is he going to do, say no? He'd never be able to show his face in Ostia again. "Lady Lilina, you're too kind, you really didn't have to —"

Then a reflexive bow of his head. "No, no, this is more than enough, Lady Lilina. I..."

Hands slowly unfold, reach out, hope to whatever legends are still watching over them that they hadn't hesitated for long enough that her arms start to strain. There's the most pained look of gratitude in the pinch of their brow, their wide eyes, the hopeful flicker in them.

"To another year. Thank you, really. I..."

Another pause, growing awkward again; With a free hand, he peels the tray's cover back, plucks up a tart, "Did you make these yourself?" and after marveling at how cute the decorations are, bites into one.

It's... It's good. His entire face visibly lights up as he tilts the tray towards her a bit. "Mm! These are really good, Lady Lilina! I'll treasure them — You take one too. I can't eat all of these on my own, yeah?"

#;answered #higaneion #;s. a still life of fire and flowers | lilina #haoughgh thank you mirae!!! #lilina darling...