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nicad13 · 1 year

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Crossroads: Chapter 3

The Connection

Summary: Because Din and Rayne deserve a little happiness.

Notes: Here come the R-rated bits.

Lovely illustration by @catstanbulite.

As I think back on this chapter, I feel like I should make it clear that Rayne's perception of the Jedi is not my own. She's looking back on her experiences through the lens of abandonment and the persecution that followed. She'll continue to do that throughout this story, but I'm thinking of addressing it in a later one.

Canon-compliant through Season 1, alt version of Season 2. Posting some old fic in the hopes of some more comments & inspiration to push me to finish the sequel by the end of Season 3. AO3 link in the Source at the bottom.

Tags/Warnings: Found Family, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Helmet rules, Grief/Mourning, Religious Conflict, Angst, Sexual Situations, Infertility

---

I am not your señorita I am not from your tribe If you want inside her well Boy you better make her raspberry swirl

Tori Amos, Raspberry Swirl

---

The morning sun crept over the hangar wall as Din approached the edge of the yard, jetpack in hand. He adjusted his cloak before swinging the pack over his head and sliding it into place over the armor on his back.

He stood still and closed his eyes, re-centering his balance, focusing his thoughts.

The sounds of morning were subdued, but plentiful. He heard the turn of a ratchet as Rayne opened an engine panel at the top of the Razor Crest. He heard the bleeps and blurbs of the bots as they shuttled to and fro, bringing her what she needed. He heard the soft snores of the kid as he lay napping in his crate under the belly of the ship, safely out of the way of anything Rayne might drop from the roof or anything Din himself might do in the coming moments.

His first flight on Nevarro against Gideon and the TIE fighter had been just good enough to not get himself killed, and that was about all that could be said of it. His second flight from the lava river back to the Razor Crest had been more controlled, but not altogether good. He needed more confidence with it, to learn to operate it properly. The hangar wasn’t ideal; he would’ve preferred a wide-open space, but Rayne hadn’t yet had a chance to work on their personal fob-scramblers, so he and the kid were still restricted to the hangar or the ship. The lattice protecting the hangar formed a ceiling of about 50 meters. At the very least, it would force him to stick with low-altitude practice to start.

He tapped the ignition button on his vambrace and the jetpack fired up, jerking against his shoulders first, then settling into a steady rumble. Eyes still closed, he recalled his boyhood lessons in the Rising Phoenix, early training with stripped-down jetpacks that were far less powerful and temperamental than the real thing, never getting more than three meters off the ground, but enough to get a feel for how to lift off, hover, and land on your feet instead of your head. He had proven to be far better with a rifle than a jetpack in those days, so his later training had focused on that instead, but he still remembered the basics.

Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes, he lifted off, gently, not the 100-meter straight-up shot of before. He paused at ten meters of altitude, rotated in a slow spin, then brought his hands up to initiate a forward glide. It started reasonably well, but just when he thought he had it, he shot forward, smashed into the blunted bow of the Razor Crest, then fell face-first to the ground as the jets cut out.

Rayne had been walking along the top of the port engine when the sound of Din’s collision startled her off her feet and sent her sliding butt-first down the curve of the cowling to the top of the hull. Not liking the sound of what she’d heard, she slid down the rail of the service ladder to the ground and ran to where Din lay prone, skidding to a halt beside him. “Din! Hey! You ok?”

A low groan escaped the modulator as he pulled his hands in and pushed himself over and up into a sitting position, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around his shins, head hanging. “Give me a minute.” His voice was thin.

His head pounded.

He couldn’t fill his lungs.

The ground swam before him.

His stomach lurched.

Uh oh…

Just before he could tell her to turn away so he could take the helmet off ahead of his breakfast ending up in it, he felt tiny hands press into his ribs, and the nausea fled as quickly as it had come. His chest heaved as he finally was able to pull some air in.

He turned to see the kid standing next to him, smiling, ears up and alert.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, dropping an arm to put it around him.

Rayne took a knee before them. “What’s up, guys?”

“Just rung my own bell.” The kid snorted as if to say, You did more than that, pal. “He put me back on an even keel. Usually that kind of thing wears him out.”

“He’s getting stronger. That’s good.” She stood up and offered him a hand. He took it, and she helped him up. Walking out to the yard a little further, she turned back and looked up to the bow of the Razor Crest, amber shades reflecting the sun. “Doesn’t look like you did any harm to your ship.” She looked back at Din and smiled. “You do know I’ll have to charge you extra for any damage you cause here that I’ll have to fix, right?”

“I understand,” his tone was light as he walked back out.

---

The rest of the day was uneventful. Rayne wrapped up the hyperdrive repairs, the kid swallowed three frogs and a wrench, and Din’s jetpack practice improved. Rayne couldn’t resist a bit of light teasing by the end of the afternoon. “Fledgling status will not excuse any broken windows.”

“Yeah?” Din shot back. “You handle a sword like a giant ten-year-old.”

“Because my training stopped when I was ten years old.”

They took the sparring sabers out again, but more for instruction, this time. He taught her a few new moves, the same ones an old friend had taught him ages ago, tricks for smaller people fighting larger ones. She was still somewhat off-balanced and clumsy, but improved despite it. She showed him how to get more power out of his swings without over-committing. They practiced, more of a dialogue, the ring of steel-on-steel coming in short, rhythmic bursts.

The kid watched them from his crate, fascinated by the choreography before him, Mythosaur pendant half-in his mouth, the silhouette of his father moving fluidly with that of his new friend against the setting sun. His father was a mix of skill and power, efficient movements graced by the billow of the cloak about his shoulders, armor glinting in the slanting light. The friend was raw power and speed, lean limbs still clad in the form-fitting clothes designed not to catch on moving parts, occasionally stumbling, but never tiring, matching his father strike for strike.

For the first time the kid could ever recall, his father was happy.

The kid decided he liked his father’s new friend. She was strong like Cara, kind like Kuiil. She let him eat frogs and gave him a huge, shiny ball. She had openly accepted his effort to heal her. Encouraged it, even. She played with him like no one else had in a long, long, time, lifting without her hands and smiling at him, like it was their own secret to share.

He wanted to stay here with her. But they never seemed to stay anywhere for very long. If they couldn’t stay, he wanted her to come with them. They brought people with them, sometimes.

Maybe they could keep this one.

---

Dinner was again delivered and consumed, and conversation turned towards the kid’s future.

“The Jedi wouldn’t be the right place for him, anyway,” Rayne said.

“No?”

They were sitting around the fire. Din with his back to the Razor Crest, facing the hangar’s exit, the kid on his left, Rayne to his right. Rayne and the kid were playing with the bearing again, tossing it back and forth, catching it not with their hands, but with the Force. Rayne held it aloft for a moment, making it rise and fall. “Extremist practices. They forced people who would otherwise have made good Jedi to the Dark Side.”

“Like what?”

“All the girls were sterilized.”

“What?”

“Sith rape just as much as anyone else, so it was a preventative measure. Still.” She paused for a moment, gazing at the bearing, then continued. “Zero-tolerance policy for intimacy. No sex. Nothing beyond platonic relationships. It was stupid. The Force burns. You’re supposed to direct all that energy into becoming more skilled, becoming a better warrior. It’s banthashit. Sometimes you just need to connect with someone. Get inside their head. Let them get inside yours. The worst of the Sith were picked off because they were lonely.”

“You know a lot about this for someone who’s not a Jedi.”

She cast her eyes in his direction, then focused once more on the bearing before tossing it to the kid. “I had some early training before the Republic fell. Went to ground once Order 66 went out.”

“How old were you the year of the fall?”

“Ten.”

A bitter laugh barked out of him. “We’re the same age. You look good for forty-four.”

Rayne smiled. “So do you. The beskar takes at least ten years off.”

He tilted his helmet to the side. “Makes for an even complexion, anyway.”

“You could be a Tusken under all that and have a lifespan of two hundred years for all I know.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m human. Same as you.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Rayne felt him hold her gaze through the visor. She reciprocated, waiting. After a few moments, still facing her, he pulled at the tips of the fingers of his right glove with his left hand, taking it off to reveal a perfectly normal-looking human hand. Olive skin that would be bronze if it ever saw any sun. Long fingers, nails neatly filed to the quick. After a few moments, he put the glove back on.

“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re welcome. Something about making connections.” He made a show of turning his head all the way to his left, all the way to his right, then back to her. “I’m curious how that worked out for you.” His tone made it clear that he had observed the lack of anyone else around the hangar.

She leaned back in her chair and caught the bearing as the kid threw it to her without taking her gaze off of Din. “Fair question. I was married for ten years. He was a good man. Died in an Imperial attack five years ago, at the end of the war. I had a few before, had a couple since. Just because they didn’t last doesn’t mean I didn’t gain anything from them. I’m still friends with the ones who aren’t dead. I wouldn’t give them up for the world. Each one of them gave me experiences I wouldn’t otherwise have had. Each one of them taught me something about myself. Each one of them gave me moments of joy. Learning how relationships evolve is a good skill. Denying your own feelings gets you nowhere and only leaves you bitter. That’s where the Jedi got it wrong. Not getting laid leads to a heaping pile of bitterness. Bitterness leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. And that, my shiny friend, leads to the Dark Side.” She threw the bearing to Din, this time. “So. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any connections get made past that helmet?”

He took a deep breath, thoughts of Omera way too close to the surface for his liking. But Rayne had been frank with her answer, and she deserved his answer in kind. “We’re not celibate. The helmet stays on. It can only come off if it’s completely dark. No attachments outside of clan membership, if you choose to be part of one.”

“I’m curious how that’s worked out for you.”

Another deep breath. “That’s also a fair question.”

“And?”

God, she isn’t going to let me get out of this. He looked down at the bearing in his hands. “The Mandalorians brought me in as a foundling and raised me in the Fighting Corps. I couldn’t fit with any of the existing clans and wasn’t looking to start my own. I gave any extra money I had to the foundlings at whatever covert I was based out of at the time. The Armorer – the leader of the covert on Nevarro…” he paused, shoving the horrors of the slaughtered remains down in his mind so he could get through this. “She declared me and the kid a clan of two last week.” He shrugged his right shoulder, seeming to indicate the mudhorn signet on the pauldron there. “As far as the other stuff goes, I can’t give you a number. It’s… not in my nature to count. Longest I’ve had since leaving the covert I grew up at was maybe a couple years. That got a little crazy and I had to move on. Last one was about a year and a half ago. I passed up an opportunity nine months ago. I’m… not sure I did the right thing, there.”

“What happened?” Rayne asked.

“Didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish.”

“Got too attached.”

“Yes.”

“Her or you?” Din’s silence stretched longer than she expected, so again, she decided to make it easy on him. “Both.”

“Yes.”

“And with the bounty hunters after you…”

“It was unsafe to stay.”

She nodded. “Tough situation. Sorry to hear it.”

“Thank you.” Again, his voice cracked through the modulator, confirming the sorrow that he couldn’t help but radiate.

“So what will you do next time?” she asked.

“Next time?”

God, he’s going to make me do all the work here. “Next time you have the opportunity to make a connection.”

“It… depends.”

“Assume the other party understands the conditions. Mandatory helmet. No strings attached. Bounty hunters not at the doorstep for the moment.”

Like… right… now…

He finally realized what she was offering. Finally realized what had been sitting in the pit of his stomach since yesterday’s test flight. Maybe even since the start, when he’d seen how well the kid had taken to her so quickly.

But… Omera… oh, god he’d come so close with Omera. Had almost let her lift the helmet from his head. Had almost… But he knew that would have been an attachment he could not have borne to break. He deserved the knot that formed in his gut when he thought of her. He deserved it for letting his discipline slip. For letting her in. Knowing that she had made the same mistake of him only made it worse. The best he could do was console himself with the knowledge that she was safer with him and the kid far away. The best way to keep her safe was to keep his distance.

As far as Xi’an… well… she had clearly been a mistake. A remnant from a darker part of his life. A history he had worked so hard to claw his way out of. Only she had liked him that way. Ruthless. Brutal. Murdering. She had validated that part of him. When you were so good at killing, it was easy to start to like it. Until one day you find yourself in a room full of corpses you created and the woman you’ve been sleeping with walks in and thinks it’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen in her life and you realize that maybe this is kinda fucked up and you want out.

He had turned that corner, good and hard. Had proved it to himself when he didn’t kill her when he had the chance, even if she probably deserved it.

I won’t make those mistakes again. I won’t.

Not for this woman. It didn’t matter that the kid got along with her so well. It didn’t matter that the ship responded to her touch in ways it never had for him. It didn’t matter that she could bring him to the ground with a sword. It didn’t matter that she was somehow able to meet his gaze through the helmet with her eyes every time she looked at him.

Those eyes. The steely blue of freshly-polished beskar. Pinning his own when everyone else looked a little too far to the left or the right, missing the mark just a bit.

Goddammit.

Rayne lacked Omera’s beauty. Where Omera’s toughness was graceful, Rayne was all utilitarian wire and sometimes even a little clumsy. Omera was rooted to her home, where Rayne drifted to safety. Omera had her community, where Rayne made due with a string of companions and the robots she’d built with her bare hands. Omera provided for the kid, where Rayne had him hunting frogs and developing his Force skills. Both were pragmatic in their own ways. But he had to admit that Rayne was sharp. She cut directly to the heart of an issue and dissected it with a surgeon’s skill, pointed out the problem with the tip of the scalpel.

And she read him like a goddamn book.

He might as well just stand naked before her.

That can be arranged.

Goddammit.

He realized he still hadn’t answered her question when the silence was broken by a gurgle from the kid, hands outstretched, waiting for Din to toss the bearing. He’d been playing in the dirt for three days now, and it was starting to collect in the creases at the top of his head and in his ears.

“Can I… do you… can I give him a bath?” Yes. That’s my answer to the offer of intimacy. I need to give my kid a bath.

Rayne simply lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “Sure. He’ll fit in the dishtub in the kitchen. Come on in.”

Din heaved a sigh, heaved himself out of his chair, put the kid in his crate, and followed her through the door to the shop. They went in a short distance before turning through another door that opened to her residence as she flipped the light on. They entered a small, tidy kitchen, which was separated from a cozy living/bedroom area by a small peninsula counter. The lighting struck a warm hue against the adobe walls, but the open windows were arranged to maximize a cool breeze. Rayne pulled a plastic tub from the cabinet and placed it in the sink. “I’ll let you get the right water temperature for him. I’m gonna’ go take a shower – I can wash his clothes and blankets with my stuff.”

“Yes, please.” Din placed the kid in the tub, took his gloves off, stuffed them in his belt, and made a lifting motion with his hands. The kid raised his arms in response, huge dark eyes gazing up at the visor, smiling as Din undid the fastening of his robe and lifted it off of his arms.

A mythosaur pendant hung on a leather string from the kid’s shoulders. Suspicions confirmed, Rayne did her best to suppress a frown.

Mandalorian Jedis were a mixed bag, at best.

Din handed the kid’s robe to her along with the blankets. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She handed him a clean towel to dry the kid off with and headed to the shower.

When she came back out, she found them sitting on the bed, the kid wrapped in the towel, lying on his back on Din’s thighs as Din dried his ears, lids drooping over his eyes. She handed the robe back to Din, fresh out of the clothes unit, and placed the blankets in the crate. “Looks like he’s ready for bed.”

“Yes, he is.” The sight of a fully armored Mandalorian hunched over and wrestling a tiny, green, sleepy baby back into his clothes was almost too much, but she managed to stifle the laugh. When he was done, he lifted the kid back to the crate and wrapped him in the blanket. Only then did he stand up and face her. “It seems I’m the only dirty one left. Do you mind if I…”

She smiled. “Mine’s a lot bigger than yours. Go ahead.”

His head dropped in thanks. “I need a few things out of the ship. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

He returned a few minutes later with his kit and she showed him where the towels and clothes unit were. “Hair dryer is under the sink.”

“Thank you.”

She left him to it.

Feeling reasonably secure about the lock on the door, he lifted the helmet from his head, placed it on the floor, and stacked the armor next to it. Peeling all of the layers off, he stuffed his cloak and clothes in the unit to get clean. Stepping into the shower, he relished the feel of warm water running through his hair and over his shoulders. He stood still for a moment, taking some mental space to relax, to be out of the armor and yet still feel safe, very much aware of the fob scrambler somewhere overhead keeping him that way.

He was unused to the idea of someone else protecting him.

Someone who wasn’t even really a soldier. Nor a Mandalorian.

If anything, an ancestral enemy.

Things were simple with Mandalorian women when neither of you were part of a clan. Everyone knew the rules. No attachments. If you wanted the lights on, helmets stayed on. If you wanted the helmets off, lights stayed off. You didn’t get many chances, so when you got one, you made it good. Good sex was like good fighting – it required training, but you were also encouraged to develop your own style. Din had both. Contraception depended on what kind of work the woman was up to and what she wanted. With Mandalorian numbers so low, pregnancy was revered. Pregnant women worked until they no longer could, then they went back to the covert and were properly cared for. Obstetric science among the Mandalorians rivaled even their trauma medicine. Mandalorian doctors boasted the lowest maternal and neonatal fatality rates for all of the species that were represented among the ranks. Women brought forth their children. After, they nursed, if they were mammalian. They recovered. They received more training. They trained the younglings. The stories Din heard from mothers returned when he was a child still rang with great clarity in his memory. How to extricate yourself from a bar fight. How to negotiate with mechanics. How to clear the mud from your rifle. How to gut a Taun Taun without making it smell like ten-year-old garbage. And then, when the child was weaned, the women returned to the field. The children were either adopted by a clan or raised by the men and women of the Fighting Corps who were suited best for the task, who knew how to prepare them for the harsh world that awaited them. They were the true parents. Mothers who were not part of a clan were told nothing of their children; the same went for clan-less fathers. Contributing to the enclave was good. But it was best not to know the specifics. To hear about the fall of a fellow Mandalorian was bad enough. To know they were your own blood would be devastating. As bad as the carnage at the covert at Nevarro had been, he considered himself lucky that he had not been there long enough to form much in the way of friendships. Further proof of the point.

And so, intimacy with Mandalorian women, such as it was, was easy enough. Physically satisfying. Often fun. Usually safe. Never any strings attached.

But with anyone else...

In most ways, it was easier for the women. The only trick lay in finding anyone who was any good at it and didn’t expect anything after. Pregnancy was celebrated. It brought in fresh blood and the children were always cared for. But for the men… for the men who preferred women, anyway… the universe had enough orphans. Making more was unconscionable. You wrapped it up. Every time. You made it abundantly clear that there would be no attachments, that you would eventually move on and never see each other again.

And you didn’t take chances with the lights. You kept your fucking helmet on.

And so, with anyone else, things were… difficult. He’d only chanced it with two. The first was looking for nothing more than one night, ravenous, and seemed to have a kink for armor, so the results had been satisfactory, if even a little humorous. Xi’an was hot in that scary kind of way, back when he liked being scared because it meant he wasn’t dead. The woman just on the other side of the door right now… definitely wasn’t a fan of the armor, but had a healthy appetite and would be happy to have him for whatever time she could. She was good with a blade, but she wasn’t a psycho about it. She was more than capable of taking care of herself and was comfortable with her independence. He had to admit to himself that he had a certain weakness for women who were capable of killing him, and he had no doubt that Rayne had it in her.

Being in close quarters with an enemy sorcerer would be a unique challenge. Given what he had seen, given what he had heard, she didn’t need weapons to kill him. Hell, she didn’t even need her hands.

She could kill him with her mind.

He wasn’t sure he knew what was normal, anymore. He wasn’t sure he had ever known what was normal. All he knew was that he wouldn’t last more than a minute with her if he didn’t take pre-emptive action.

He took himself in hand and resolved the issue.

Head cleared, body clean, he stepped out of the shower and dried off, then flossed and brushed his teeth while he was naked, just because he could. The tile on the floor felt blessedly cool under his feet, and the draft of ventilation pricked goosebumps on his skin. Having the opportunity to shave, he took it. He fished out the hairdryer and blew his hair dry, enjoying the warm air on the back of his neck. I gotta’ get one of these. When everything was done, he packed up his kit, hung it on the knob, and regarded himself in the mirror once more. Remember who you are. Remember who you are not. This is the Way.

And keep your fucking helmet on.

---

He stepped through the door, anxiety radiating off of him in waves. That peculiar mix of anticipation, fear, and, despite his recent release, the desire for more. “Thank you. I feel… better.”

“You’re welcome.” She stepped closer, gauging his reaction as she did so. His balance shifted more to anticipation, but his fear caught up with it again. She was still for a moment, noting the rise and fall of his chest, fists clenched at his side. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to ask. Once again, she would have to make this easy for him. “Would you like some company tonight?”

“I would.”

The surge of anxiety almost knocked her over. “Your place or mine?”

“I’d be more comfortable on the ship.”

“I understand.”

He turned to the kid’s crate and froze. “He likes to nap on the flight deck sometimes, but he doesn’t always stay there. I don’t…” Again, another wave of anxiety, complete inability to move his thoughts forward.

“He’ll sleep through it. Two hours of playing Force-catch should have worn him out.” Din visibly relaxed. Not much, but a little. “And just so you know…” she reached out and traced the plate at his wrist. “People who are Force-sensitive… within a short range, we can tell when… the Force responds to orgasm.”

A small choking sound clicked over the modulator. “I needed to clear my head.”

She smiled. “Did it work?”

“Clearly not.” He looked back towards the kid. “What’s the range?”

“For me? I’m guessing twenty-five meters or so. For him? Probably more. Definitely longer than the length of the Razor Crest’s hull. Having the helmet on probably cuts it down some.” She prodded his arm to get him to turn his head back to her. “We grow up with it. It’s part of life. We take it for granted and are surprised when we discover that no one else feels it. When we’re little we don’t even know what causes it. Like hearing birds chirp or when someone gives you a blanket when you’re cold. It… just feels nice. It’s nothing to feel creeped out over. If anything, it probably helps him sleep better. I thought you should know.”

“Thank you for telling me.” He took her hands in his, then looked down, acknowledging this first time of reaching out to touch her. “The helmet stays on. I know that’ll be tough for you, but that’s how it has to be.”

“I understand.”

“And when I leave, you won’t ever hear from me again.”

“I know.”

“This is the Way.”

“Okay.”

She followed him out to his ship, Din carrying his kit, the kid floating next to him in the crate, soft snores coming from under the blankets. They walked up the rear ramp and she hit the button to close it when she reached the hold as Din continued on to the flight deck. He placed the crate on the starboard jump-seat, tucked the kid in one more time, laid a finger on his forehead, and wished him goodnight. He stepped out, closed the door to the flight deck, and came down to the hold.

He sat back on one of the lower rungs of the ladder to take his boots off, noticing as she turned to the bunk. It was really small in there.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

“Hm? No. I’m just… a little claustrophobic.” Her gaze lingered on the bunk for a moment more before coming back to his. “I’ll make it work.”

He titled his head. You sure?

She took a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Ok.” He stepped forward and took her hands in his.

She could feel him trembling through the gloves. Looking him up and down, she realized that undressing a Mandalorian was going to be a complex task. And he probably wasn’t going to be entirely comfortable with it. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to shed all the layers first with him still in full gear. She released his grip and ran her hands along his forearms. “Can we start with the armor?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I should do the vambraces.” Indeed, taking them off looked like an intricate procedure, unlocking the clips under his forearms without setting off the weaponry along the top. Once they were off, he pulled a drawer open and placed them inside. He also un-holstered his sidearm blaster and undid the utility belt, placing them in the same drawer, then turned back to her. “You can do the rest.” His voice was tight over the modulator.

She slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders, slid her right hand across his chest to the pauldron on his left shoulder, and realized she was completely flummoxed as to how to remove it. He permitted himself a soft laugh and showed her how to do it, then allowed her to do the one on the right herself. They did the same for his thigh guards, him showing her how for the left, her doing the right. He guided her hands to his sides to unclip the fastenings for the chest and backplates, the cloak coming off with them. The last items to go in the drawer were his gloves.

He stood before her in nothing but a helmet, black shirt, and black pants. Aside from the helmet, he could have been a normal person.

Now, finally, she had a better idea of his actual size. Just a shade under two meters. A surprisingly moderate build, but with broad shoulders, chest tapering to his hips.

“Your turn,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re not done with you yet.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

“Fair enough.” She didn’t have much to take off. She’d come out in the clothes she normally slept in; just a loose sand-colored shirt and black leggings, plus the pair of sandals on her feet. Her hands dropped to the bottom hem of her shirt, and he followed suit. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes never left his visor as she pulled her shirt off over her head and he did the same with his, the hole at the top of his shirt just big enough to get the helmet through. They stood before each other, both naked from the waist up, regarding each other.

His build may have been moderate, but what he had was all business. Lean muscle through his shoulders, arms, chest, and abs, made all the more defined by his olive skin. Several scars marked him where the armor hadn’t reached; high on his left arm, low across the ribs on his right side, a fresh one on the inside of his right shoulder. His left shoulder was a little higher than his right, the sign of a collarbone broken long ago. Her build was moderate as well. Not much curve, but strong. Athletic. Her skin was fair but tanned reasonably well in the sun, leaving her a few shades lighter than him. She took a slow spin around, giving him a good view of her back, a tattoo of the Rebel Alliance Starbird sigil on her left shoulder. What looked like a scar from a blaster bolt graze ran from the top of her left shoulder blade to the top of the muscle. He reciprocated, revealing another scar just below his right shoulder blade, the muscles in his back forming a valley to his spine.

“Like what you see so far?” She asked.

“I do. You?”

“I do.” She stepped closer to him, just within arm’s reach, and she had to look up to the visor. “May I touch you?”

“… Yes.”

Even now, he was still hesitant. She reached up and ran her hands along his collarbones, noting the asymmetry, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He drew a sharp breath at the feel of her fingers along his skin. Her hands were an odd mix of calluses and softness by way of turning wrenches and submersion in engine grease on a daily basis. When she reached his throat, she slid her hands up as far as she could go, catching just a bit of hair at the back of his neck, below the helmet. She slid her hands down his ribs, smiling when he winced in a ticklish flinch, and rested her hands at the top of his pants. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes.”

He brought his hands to her face, running his thumbs along her cheekbones, then pushed his fingertips through her hair, up through the short chestnut curls. “My hair is dark,” he said, voice cracking. “It’s too long right now… longer than yours. It’s getting a little gray around the temples.” He ran his thumbs along her eyebrows, pausing at the outside corners of her eyes. “My eyes are brown. They’re deep-set like yours. I have the same lines under them at the corners.” His fingertips spread along the backs of her jaws. “I have high cheekbones, but my face is rounder. My nose is arched. I… actually have kind of a big mouth.” She raised an eyebrow in response. He laughed. “I know, right? I’ve managed to keep all my teeth, and they’re in decent shape.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders, noting the thrumming tension there. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“What are your eyebrows like?”

“Normal, I guess. Unremarkable. Two lines between them, right here.” He slid his thumbs through the same place on her.

“Facial hair?”

“Just shaved.”

She smiled. “That covers all the bases. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He resisted the urge to press his head to hers, the traditional Mandalorian prelude to intimacy when wearing a helmet, heeding her discomfort with the armor. Instead, he brought a finger to her mouth, laying its length between her lips. Taking his meaning, she kissed it. Gently at first, then she took his hand in both of hers and pressed harder, taking it between her teeth, pressing her tongue around it. His other hand slid from her shoulder down her back, flattening against the end of her spine and pressing her hips to his. She kissed all of the knuckles of his hand, blind to the small nicks and scars, eyes closed, listening as the rhythm of his breath picked up. When his hand was thoroughly wet, he pulled it away from her mouth, trailed it down her chin, her throat, sternum, her belly, and slipped the tip of a finger into her navel.

The rest of their clothing fell away and he guided her to his bed.

He opened a drawer in the bulkhead and extracted a small, wrapped package.

“So that Jedi sterilization thing…” her words trailed off.

He nodded. “I wondered.”

“Another perk about being Force-sensitive is that I don’t contract or transmit diseases. So if your supply is limited...”

I’m too naked as it is. Maybe they could unpack all that later, but for the moment, Mandalorian training for protection in all things outweighed the human desire for direct contact. Otherwise completely flummoxed, he fell back on the old mantra. “This is the Way.”

“Ok.”

The immediacy of her acceptance encouraged him.

They lay together, hands running over bare skin, both of them taught muscle and sinew over bone, acquainting themselves with each other with desperate intensity. She pressed one hand against the helmet, pushing his head away even as she gripped his flesh with the other, her meaning clear. Don’t touch me with the metal. Instead, he once more brought a finger to her lips, she once more wet it, and he made her ready.

He was patient, unhurried, disciplined, secretly enjoying the power he seemed to have over the enemy sorcerer as she became undone before him. Finally, she brought her lips to the space between his shoulder and his neck, whispering the word “Please,” over and over.

They joined. They moved. They breathed. She warned him that things with a Force-sensitive partner might be different. He accepted. And so he was ready for it when the tell-tale moan parted her lips, ready when something gripped his spine in rhythmic pulses matching those that gripped the flesh he had sunk into her. His own release came shortly after, and once again she felt the warmth of it bloom in her mind as he shuddered against her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you…”

He was always so polite.

After, she turned around to spoon back into him, tolerating the press of his helmet against the back of her head, the wash of his mind over hers worth the price of the beskar against her skull. For a short time, he was at peace, too destroyed to think much about anything, and she was content to enjoy the warmth of his body around her. It wasn’t long until she noticed a change in his breathing, a cloud of sadness gathering within him. Continued regret at the lost opportunity from months ago. Fresh wounds from the carnage at the covert at Nevarro. She brought his hand to her lips, again kissing the length of his finger. Without thinking, she reached out with her mind to soothe his.

“Stop.” His response was immediate, followed with a rush of anger. “Get out of my head. Let me feel what I’m supposed to feel.”

She let go of his mind, shocked at the rage in his voice, but she gripped his hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was a reflex.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry. I… wanted to help.”

She felt him take a deep breath behind her, his lungs filling against her back. “Then just talk to me. With words.”

The irony of him asking her to talk was not lost on her, but she let it slide. He needed this. “It’s ok to feel this way. It’s ok to think about her. It’s ok to miss her. It’s ok to mourn the others. There’s enough room for all of us in here.”

The anger was replaced with a sudden rush of gratitude and he held her tight against him. She held his hand to her face and kissed along his thumb as the sorrow returned and he wept, shaking and silent.

After a short time, he noticed that his hand was wet from her tears, and he belatedly realized he’d projected a year’s worth of angst at her after refusing to let her calm him down. “God, that was selfish of me. You were just protecting yourself. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” She snuggled into him. “I can block it when I have to.”

“Do you think the kid got any of that?”

“Oh he got every bit of it.”

“Dammit.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than you think. It’s easier when it comes from a good place.”

Din gave a shaky sigh and sat up. “Might be a good idea to get dressed. He crawls in here with me sometimes. And after that…”

“Yeah. Is there enough room in here for all of us?”

He turned his head in her direction and let out an exhale that was probably a laugh. “Yes.” He scooped up his clothes. “I’ll be right back. Inside of my helmet got wet, somehow.”

She smiled and dressed while he locked himself in the other room to dry things out.

When he returned, he crawled back in and lay facing her in the dim light, letting her take his hand in hers. They were still as she stared into the visor. She smiled after several minutes. “I don’t know what’s creepier for you – having me stare at you with your eyes closed back there or your eyes open. Which one have I been doing?”

He gave a small laugh to let her know he was smiling. “They’re open. No more creepy than for you not knowing if I’ve been staring back.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

She smiled and bit his finger with a gentle nip.

“May I ask a question?” His voice was low over the modulator.

“Yes.”

“The sterilization thing.”

“Yes.” Her smile disappeared, but she still held his hand and his gaze.

“How old were you?”

“Six, I think.”

“Did they give you a choice?” His voice cracked.

“I don’t remember being given one.”

“Your parents allowed this?”

“I don’t remember my parents. The Jedi recruited us as soon as possible. I’m told I was picked up after I started throwing spoons with my brain when I was six months old.”

Din’s mind was reeling. “So you were on your own when the Republic fell.”

“Yes.”

“When you were ten.”

“Yes.”

“You were a foundling.” His voice cracked again and he felt something tighten in his chest.

“No. I was on my own. No one ever found me.”

Again, she heard the faint sound of his teeth clicking shut, and he tightened his hand around hers. “I found you.” Oh god, what am I doing?

She kept her expression neutral. What the hell does he think he’s doing? “I guess you did.”

They both jumped when a small squeak emitted from the foot of the bunk and a tiny green hand reached up. Din sat up and pulled the kid into bed with them. “How do you keep sneaking up on me like that?”

“I didn’t even hear the door from the flight deck open,” Rayne said.

“I always find it still closed when he does this. It’s like he phases through the bulkheads.”

The kid laughed in what Rayne swore was with a mischievous tone, crawling up between the two of them before plonking himself down, pulling his blanket up around his chin, and closing his eyes with a smile on his face. Din tucked the blanket around him, forming a tight little bundle. “Time for bed, I guess.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” They settled down, but she still found herself staring at the visor before her. “One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Rayne isn’t my real name.”

“No?”

“You were honest about your name, so I’ll be as honest as I can about mine. It’s safer for you if you don’t know it.”

“Order 66,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“I understand. Thank you for telling me what you could.” His hold on her hand tightened for a moment. “I’m closing my eyes now.” He did sound tired.

“Ok. Me too.”

In truth, he waited for her to close hers first. When she did, the tightness in his chest released, but just a little. He wondered at the little boy who he had finally come to accept as his own. He wondered at the woman who had given him shelter, in more ways than one. He wondered at the relationship forming between the two, the Force bonding them together as she taught him how to use it the best she could.

He wondered if he was looking at his family, right now.

He wondered what the hell he was doing.

And then he closed his eyes.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu

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https-maxine-stuff · 1 year

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“The star-crossed lovers.” (Originally posted on Wattpad! Still a wip there.)

Cast! Pt. 1

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Astrid Evergreen

Face claim: Jenna Ortega

Backstory: born on February 22nd 1977 to two purebloods was Astrid Evergreen the heir of the Evergreen name. Her family was known for its Slytherin heritage, plus seer abilities and upholding traditional wizard values. On her 10th birthday she was given her letter she was excited to learn magic at the prestigious school of Hogwarts. Her mother took her to Ollivander's wand shop, it was an English Oak wood, it had a unicorn core and was 10 and half inches long with a slight curve. When she was dropped off at platform 9 3/4 she met Cedric, the two talked about their hobbies and became friends instantly. They rode the train together and stood in line together. She expected to be sorted into Slytherin but the hat had other plans.

"Slytherin? No no my dear you are nothing of the sort." She felt her body tense.

"What do you mean..?"

"Why my dear, you are a HUFFLEPUFF." Her eyes widened as her breath hitched. Hufflepuff? Hufflepuff??!? She stood up her robes changing as she walked numbly to Hufflepuff, she felt ashamed to say the least. She could recall her mothers letter and her screams as a punishment for being in Hufflepuff her parents had her given a secluded room away from other students.

Her brother Oliver was born a few years later.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Cedric Diggory

Backstory: Cedric Diggory (September/October 1977–24 June 1995) was a British wizard who was the son of Amos Diggory and his unnamed wife. He started attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1989, and was sorted into the Hufflepuff House. (I stole this from the wiki 🫶🫶 I wasn't about to create a whole new background for these kids 💀)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Harry Potter

Harry James Potter (b. 31 July 1980)[1] was an English half-blood wizard, and one of the most famous wizards of modern times. The only child and son of James and Lily Potter (née Evans), Harry's birth was overshadowed by a prophecy, naming either himself or Neville Longbottom as the one with the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort, the most powerful and feared Dark Wizard in the world. After half of the prophecy was reported to Voldemort, courtesy of Severus Snape, Harry was chosen as the target due to his many similarities with the Dark Lord. In turn, this caused the Potter family to go into hiding.

Voldemort made his first attempt to circumvent the prophecy when Harry was a year and three months old. During this attempt, he murdered Harry's parents as they tried to protect him, but this unsuccessful attempt to kill Harry led to Voldemort's first downfall. This downfall marked the end of the First Wizarding War, and to Harry henceforth being known as "The Boy Who Lived",[5] as he was the only known survivor of the Killing Curse due to being magically protected by his mother's loving sacrifice. In accordance with the terms of the prophecy, this attempt on his life also established him, not Neville, as Voldemort's nemesis.

One consequence of Lily's sacrifice was that her orphaned son had to be raised by her only remaining blood relative, his Muggle aunt Petunia Dursley, and her husband, uncle Vernon Dursley. While in their care, he would be protected from Lord Voldemort due to the Bond of Blood charm that Albus Dumbledore placed upon him.[59] This powerful charm would protect him until he either came of age, or no longer called his aunt's house home. Due to Petunia's resentment of her sister and her magical abilities, Harry grew up abused and neglected.

Shortly before Harry's eleventh birthday, there were several attempts from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to send him a letter inviting him to not only come to Hogwarts, but also to explain his magical heritage.

(Every canon character's background is coming from the damn wiki)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Ron Weasley

Ronald Bilius "Ron" Weasley (b. 1 March 1980) was an English pure-blood wizard, the sixth and youngest son of Arthur and Molly Weasley (née Prewett). He was also the younger brother of Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and the elder brother of Ginny. Ron and his siblings lived at the The Burrow, on the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole, Devon.

Ron began attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1991 and was Sorted into Gryffindor House. He soon became close friends with fellow student Harry Potter and later Hermione Granger. Together, they made the Golden trio and faced many challenges during their adolescence, including keeping the Philosopher's Stone from Professor Quirinus Quirrell, rescuing Ginny from the Basilisk of the Chamber of Secrets, saving Harry's godfather Sirius Black from the Dementors of Azkaban. (Purr)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hermione Granger

Hermione Jean Granger (b. 19 September 1979) was an English Muggle-born[3] witch born to Mr and Mrs Granger. At the age of eleven, she learned about her magical nature and was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione began attending Hogwarts in 1991 and was Sorted into Gryffindor House. She possessed a brilliant academic mind and proved to be a gifted student in almost every subject that she studied, to the point where she was nearly made a Ravenclaw by the Sorting Hat.

Hermione first met her future best friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley aboard the Hogwarts Express, and initially they found her unfriendly and somewhat of an "insufferable know-it-all", an impression reinforced by her constant correct answers and eagerness to please the professors. However, she stepped in to take the blame from the boys after they had saved her from a troll on Hallowe'en in 1991, surprising them in a grateful way, which led to them quickly becoming friends. She later played a crucial role in protecting the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort.

In her second year, Hermione had a key role in the discovery of the Chamber of Secrets, before falling victim to the Basilisk unleashed upon Hogwarts following the opening of the Chamber. However, she recovered from the petrification under the care of Madam Pomfrey with Professor Sprout's Mandrake Restorative Draught. The next year, Hermione was granted permission to use a Time-Turner from the Ministry of Magic to facilitate her volition to study far more subjects than were possible without time travel, though she and Harry later used it to rescue Sirius Black from the Dementor's Kiss and Buckbeak the hippogriff from execution. (She's so me)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Fluer Delacour

Fleur Isabelle Delacour (b. c. 1976-1977) was a French quarter-Veela witch, one of the daughters of Apolline Delacour and her husband, the other daughter being the younger Gabrielle. Fleur attended Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. During the 1994–1995 school year, she was Beauxbatons' champion in the Triwizard Tournament.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Cho Chang

Cho Chang (b. 1978/1979) was a witch who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1990-1997 and was sorted into Ravenclaw House. She was a Seeker for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and a popular student. She was also one year ahead of the famous Harry Potter.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Viktor Krum (I spelt his name WRONG)

Viktor Krum (Bulgarian: Виктор Крум; born April-August, 1976) was a Bulgarian wizard. He attended the Durmstrang Institute, and was also the Seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team at the age of eighteen while still at school.

In 1994, he played in the final of the Quidditch World Cup. The Irish won the match, but Viktor caught the Golden Snitch to end the match on his terms. Later in the year, he was part of the Durmstrang delegation sent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the Triwizard Tournament. Subsequently, he was selected by the Goblet of Fire as the Durmstrang Champion, and competed bravely.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Draco Malfoy

Draco Lucius[11] Malfoy (b. 5 June 1980) was a British pure-blood wizard and the only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy (née Black). The son of a Death Eater, Draco was raised to strongly believe in the importance of blood purity. He looked down on half-bloods and Muggle-borns.

Draco attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1991-1998. He was sorted into Slytherin House the moment the Sorting Hat touched his head. During his years at Hogwarts, he became friends with Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and other fellow Slytherins, but he quickly developed a rivalry with Harry Potter.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Alejo Belmonte

Faceclaim: Oscar Isaac

No backstory suffer in silence all you have to know is he's a Muggleborn who's from Buaxbatons.

#harry potter #cedric diggory x oc #oc stuff #ron weasley #hermione granger #oscar issac #oc x canon #oc story #main story #goblet of fire #harry potter goblet of fire #death #smut with feelings #eventual smut #angst #soulmates #right person not enough time #friends to lovers trope

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 2 months

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youtube

Einstein telescope E-TEST prototype passes its first series of tests

The Einstein telescope project has reached a new stage, with the E-TEST prototype—developed in the ULiège and CSL laboratories—being sent to the Liège Space Centre to undergo a battery of cryogenic and vibration tests. To function optimally, the future mirror of the Einstein telescope has to withstand being cooled to extreme temperatures and be subjected to almost no vibration.

"This was an important milestone for this unique and ambitious 4-year project, which began in 2020," explains Christophe Collette, an engineer and scientific project coordinator at ULiège's Aerospace & Mechanical Engineering Research unit. "We suffered a few delays and setbacks due to the pandemic, access to materials, and increased delivery times, but thanks to the team's determination, we arrived with a finished prototype on time."

Assembled at AMOS from August to October 2023, the E-TEST prototype was transferred to CSL at the beginning of November to be placed in the FOCAL 6.5 vacuum tank, which was used for the cooling tests.

To avoid any risk of vibration, the prototype was placed in an empty chamber 6.5m in diameter and cooled radiatively (without contact). "In refrigeration, this method is generally less effective. Still, we got around the problem by increasing the exchange surface between the cold panel and the cryostat inside," explains Christophe Grodent, CSL's Commercial Director. "The panels were cooled using a helium liquefier, which is used for all our cryogenic applications."

Tests started on 22 November, and equilibrium was reached on 11 December 2023. In 18 days, the facilities could go from around twenty degrees Celsius to around -250°C.

"Although we were hoping to get below 40 Kelvin (K), we weren't expecting to reach an equilibrium temperature of 22 K on the mirror. The thermal panels reached a temperature of between 14K and 17K Kelvins. A game changer." These impressive results demonstrate the quality of the CSL's cryogenics facilities and capabilities.

Although the E-TEST prototype still needs to be in its final configuration, it is not far off. The heart of its operation, its mirror, 45 cm in diameter and 27 cm thick, made of Silicon, will arrive by the end of 2024. It's the only one of its kind in the world, and it's currently being produced by an American company specializing in the field and the only supplier of this type of product.

"We are working with an aluminum mirror, a very similar material, which we have painted black to increase its emissivity," explains Christophe Collette. "If this mirror passes the vibration tests, the silicon mirror will also pass them with flying colors."

These vibration tests are essential because they provide information about the mirror's internal damping and its ability to remain stable. One of the fundamental principles of the gravitational wave telescope project is to erase the vibrations of the Earth to achieve maximum stability for detecting the waves.

"The initial results are encouraging, but there are still a few improvements to be made. That's the principle of a prototype: test, learn, and improve. Its suspension system will enhance the mirror's stability, which a Liege-based company is currently studying."

While we await the arrival of the silicon mirror, the E-TEST prototype has not been shelved. "The project is continuing, and we are carrying out new tests under different conditions, which will enable us to improve its performance further. What's more, this prototype can also be put to efficient use by other researchers working on different projects in the field of gravitational wave detectors and other related fields."

IMAGE....Temperature of the prototype components during the first E-TEST campaign at CSL experiment (solid lines) and simulated curves from theoretical model (dotted lines). Credit: ULiège / CSL

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #astrophysics #Youtube

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monsooninn · 4 months

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Berakhot 4b: 17. "The Taste."

17. What is the taste?

The Hebrew word for taste is ta'am, which has an etymology derived from the term tamam.

The verb תמם (tamam) primarily means to be complete or finished (Genesis 47:18, Deuteronomy 31:24) and secondarily to be ethically sound or upright (Job 22:3, Psalm 18:26). And in that sense, this verb is similar to שלם (shalem), to be complete or whole, and ישר (yashar), to be level or straight.

Our verb's derivatives are:

The masculine noun תם (tom), meaning integrity (Genesis 20:5), or completeness (Isaiah 47:9).

The feminine equivalent תמה (tumma), also meaning integrity (Proverbs 11:3, Job 27:5).

The adjective תם (tam), meaning complete or perfect (Song of Solomon 5:2), sound or wholesome (Genesis 25:27), or morally integer (Job 1:8).

The adjective תמים (tamim), meaning complete or whole (Job 36:4, Joshua 10:13), or sound or having integrity (Genesis 6:9, Psalm 18:24). This adjective is also used as a substantive, meaning that which is complete or entirely in accord with truth and fact (Joshua 24:14, Amos 5:10).

The masculine noun מתם (metom), meaning entirety or soundness (Isaiah 1:6, Judges 20:48).

The Tanya and the Mishnah state to taste is to perform Chabad, the consumption of information through contact with the Self. During the process of tasting the world we are going to learn who and how the Self comes to ruin through wickedness and how it achieves Shabbat, freedom from the need to sacrifice in order to learn.

Finally through Gemara which is "emptying with one hand and filling with the other" one comes to attain Ha Shem. Tasting reality the entire way is requisite. Certainly families, societies, institutions, organizations, and governments need to be able to taste properly.

The Value in Gematria is 1517, אווז, "a goose."

Apparently, a male goose keeps his testacles on the outside.

Berakhot 8a:3:

I am not, and Shmuel said, a goose and a wild goose hybridized with each other, and they were born in it. MT said my father, this is his eggs on the outside and this is his eggs on the inside, and you will see him laying eggs.

The Gemara asks: Is that so? But doesn’t Shmuel say that a domestic goose and a wild goose are considered diverse kinds, and one may not mate them with each other. And we discussed it: What is the reason? Abaye said: In the case of this one, the male wild goose, its testicles are external, and in the case of that one, the domestic goose, its testicles are internal. The Gemara comments: And yet both geese lay eggs. Evidently, the fact that the male’s testicles are external does not prove that the female gives birth.

The Value in Gematria is 9961: טטוא‎, "a tattoo". Tattooing, nokadata, means one can only imbue the Self with the identity of Ha Shem. One is in the end not a Christian, a Jew, a Muslim, a man or woman or any kind of being just a hollowed out, curved surface that collects, bends and returns the Light of Ha Shem to its Origin.

A tattoo is nokadata, "knowledge reflected back about the state of Ha Shem."

Tattooing one species of goose upon another for the purposes of refining the truest nature of the goose back upon itself is what is meant by the above stated Kabbalah of the Taste of the Goose.

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supernaturalgirl20 · 3 years

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To be loved by the devil!

Pairings: the thief/the devil x reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving),fluff, jealousy, mentions of God and biblical stuff, cursing.

Summary: the devil has searched a lifetime for his soulmate, with no luck. A chance encounter at a lavish party changes everything.

A/N: I’m a little late to the party with the commercial, but hey I got there in the end. This is purely self indulgent.

{Comments and reblogs really appreciated}

You’d heard the stories, your grandmother spoke often about them. How the devil walks among us tricking people into giving him their soul for earthly treasures. That however was not his true intentions, no, he searched for something far more precious. His soulmate! You had laughed at your grandmother, “the devil does not have a soulmate, he’s the devil.”

“Laugh all you want girl, but every being on this earth has a soulmate. El Diablo has walked the earth searching for her for a lifetime.” You learned not to question her, to just let her tell her stories, for that was all they were, stories. El Diablo was not real.

Sarah had invited you to some lavish party at this huge historic home in the middle of nowhere. It was some art dealer or something that was hosting it and you were under strict instructions to wear something formal. If you were being honest you didn’t really want to go, but Sarah wasn’t the type of person you said no to.

As you finished off your make up, you look yourself over in the mirror. Not bad. You bought a new dress for tonight, a red backless dress with thin straps. It was form fitting with a slit up the side. It made you feel powerful, sexy. A car horn startled you and you grabbed your purse and made your way outside.

“Y/N, you look stunning. You need to come to these with me more often.”

“Thanks. Ready to go?”

“Oh you bet.”

The driver pulled out of the drive and away you went. You drove out of the city and away from civilisation. There were trees everywhere, it made you feel like you were in a different world entirely. The closer you got, the more your body tingled. You felt a weird sensation deep within you, like something or someone was calling your body, calling it home.

Arriving at the house, we’ll mansion really, you we’re in awe of its beauty. Whoever owned it was extremely wealthy. Upon entry you were both given masquerade masks. Yours was a beautiful black lace mask with small diamonds running through it. Sarah leaves you at the bar to talk to some work colleagues and while your sipping on your champagne, you feel a set of eyes on you. Turning around you look out into the crowd, but you don’t see anyone staring at you. Suddenly a figure looms over you, “what is a beautiful women like you doing all alone?”

“Oh I’m not, I’m with a friend.” He looks around dramatically, “I’d don’t see anyone.”

“She’s dancing.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Well there free, so I’m good.”

“Hey no need to be rude, I was being nice.”

“Look I’m sorry but I’m not interested. There are loads of beautiful women here, I’m sure one of them will let you get them a drink.” You can tell from his clenched fists that he’s annoyed. He turns to leave, muttering under his breath.

“Fucking bitch.”

You hated guys like him, ignorant assholes. Thinking if they get you a drink it’s a one way ticket into your knickers. Downing the glass you get another. This was going to be a long night.

“I’m so sorry, I’m back now. Wanna dance?”

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“Yes, now come on.” Sarah grabs your hand and pulls you behind her. You join some of her friends from work and you notice Jake is with them. You have had a huge crush on him since Sarah’s birthday party last year.

“Y/N, you came.”

“Yeah, we’ll I didn’t really have a choice. You know how Sarah is.”

“Yeah tough cookie.”

Suddenly the music shifts to a slow set and Jake pulls you into him.

“You don’t mind, do you? I promise I can dance.”

“No I don’t mind. Lead the way.” He was an amazing dancer and the feel of his arms around you sent butterflies to your stomach. Jake is telling you how beautiful you look but you can’t concentrate, you fee someone staring again. That feeling you got in the car comes back, growing more intense by the second until..

“Mind if I cut in?”

You turn towards the voice and all you can see are these beautiful brown eyes staring at you. It’s like there staring right into your soul.

“Uh..”

Jake doesn’t get to say a word, mystery man has you whisked away. The feel of his arm around your waist and the smell of his cologne has you dizzy.

“You are very beautiful, mi ángel.” You can feel the blush rise up onto your cheeks. You can’t help staring at his eyes, it’s like you’ve known him a lifetime and yet you just met.

“I have waited a lifetime for your mi amor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you not feel it deep within your soul? We are destined to be together, you are mine and I am yours.”

“I…I..”

He swings you around and lowers you back. His lips trail down your neck and it sends a spark straight to your core. When he pulls you back up, your no longer in the ballroom. Looking around it appears as if your in a bedroom. There is a huge four poster bed and the room is illuminated by the crackling fire. You can see him more clearly now, in his long house coat. He slowly removes the mask and it’s like something has taken your breath away. He’s so handsome, with those deep brown eyes you could get lost in, his curved nose that suits his face perfectly and that thick head of hair that has you wanting to run your fingers through it. He’s right in front of you and as he pulls you close, something about him feels like home.

“You do not know how long I have waited for you mi amor. No matter, I have you now, nothing will separate us again.”

“I don’t know..”

He places his hands on your cheeks and pulls you into a sweet kiss. Suddenly your head is spinning and images flash behind your eyes. Images of you and him, together, in love until god separated you both. As punishment, for Lucifer betraying him, you both were cast out, soulmates ripped apart. Your memories of him were wiped and he was bound to a lifetime searching for you. When he pulls away you have tears in your eyes, “Luc” you lean up and kiss him again, this time more passionately.

“You remember me?”

“Yes! I’m sorry I ever forgot.”

“It wasn’t your fault mi amor, I was to blame for all this, but no matter. We’re together again and I will not let you go this time.”

His hand caressed your shoulders and the straps of your dress fell. With one tug, it pooled around your feet. You stepped out of it and reached up to push his coat off his shoulders. He backed you up until the back of your legs hit the bed, he lay you back gently, kissing his way down your body. He nudges your thighs apart and begins kissing the inside of them, slowly inching towards your aching pussy. He pulls your hips closer and slants his mouth over your core. His tongue searches through your folds, before finding the little pearl of your clitoris. Your nerve endings tingle with pleasure as you writhe beneath him. His gorgeous face rises from between your legs, a devilish smirk on his face. You grasp the sheets desperately trying to anchor yourself as a wave of ecstasy washes over you. Luc entwines his hand in yours, holding you steady. He kisses his way over your hips, along your stomach, sweeps his tongue over the peak of your breasts, before settling his body against yours.

He kisses your lips passionately before slowly inching himself inside you.

“Fuck mi amor……I forgot how tight you were. I love you.”

The weight of him on top of you feels perfect. His movements are slow and languid and you need more.

“I need you to move faster Luc.” You lock your ankles behind his firm ass, pulling him closer and urging him to go hard. You can feel the tight knot in your stomach threatening to unravel.

“I’m close baby, want you to come with me.”

He reaches between you and presses his thumb over your clit, rubbing circles.

“Fuck yes!”

You cry out as fierce waves of pleasure crash over you, your whole body trembling with the force of your climax. He thrusts into you once more before he follows you over the edge, blowing his seed deep inside you. He pulls out of you and you feel empty without him. He disappears into the en-suite to grab a wash cloth, before coming back and gently cleaning you up. He throws it on the floor before climbing under the duvet with you. Pulling you close he kisses your forehead.

“Te amo, mi amor. I am never letting you go again mi ángel. He will not take you from me again.”

“I am with you now forever mi amor.”

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(If your crossed out I couldn’t tag you 🤷‍♀️ I’m sorry)

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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always-tilting-at-windmills · 2 years

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Focus

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jbk405 · 2 years

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Season six of The Expanse definitely suffered from its shortened episode count. Because of that the pacing was off, they had to leave out large sections of the novel it was based on (Sections which I think were very important in the story development), and this left some characters underutilized. But if you take that into account, and recognize that you are grading on a curve, the finale pulled it off.

Got me so pumped up that I’m listening to the Belter version of “Highway Star” as I’m writing this.

The action was top-notch. Bobbie Draper was a motherfucking beast, and got me chanting “MMC!” as the charged the guns. This is what she is here for, and the parallels were obvious with her first scene back in season two. Amos backing her up was perfect.

Naomi triggering the ring gates....that hurt. That hurted. I fully believed that Filip was on the Pella when it made transit, I didn’t doubt for a single second, so Naomi’s pain was real. Learning later that he survived was a brilliant decision to depart from the novel’s narrative structure, since it puts us in the same position as her when it happens.

Holden accepting the presidency of the Transport Union only to immediately resign is somewhat of a goofy change from the novel -- and I do wish that we’d gotten the scene of him being flabbergasted at the very idea of putting him in charge and saying that it’s a stupid idea -- but I concede that it actually makes sense. It publicly pressures Avasarala to go along with it instead of having her knowingly agree, which may be necessary since she wouldn’t voluntarily allow Earth’s jurisdiction to be limited. She’s come a long way from where she started the series, but she’s still an imperialist -- literally -- so it makes sense that she wouldn’t willingly grant her former subjects authority over her.

The final shot, of the Rocinante flying into space until it’s engine becomes just another star in the heavens...that was beautiful. Honest-to-god beautiful. That may be one of the finest closing scenes of a TV series I’ve ever seen. Optimism and hope and beauty. We’re talking equal to the “Sky’s the limit” pan out from TNG.

Plus, did everybody else notice the sci-fi name easter eggs for the boarding team? Alien(s), Blade Runner, we had them all dropping onto the ring station.

Where the episode struggled was in the pacing problems I’ve mentioned. With no time to spend a whole separate episode on consolidating forces and establishing plans, the attack on the ring station seems almost incomprehensible. I doubt I would be able to understand what was happening in that sequence if I hadn’t read the book. Camina Drummer also only got two scenes of consequence despite being one of the beating hearts of this season. Seeing Sanjrani sitting next to her at the conference, when they were last seen publicly haranguing Drummer, is also practically incomprehensible.

The biggest problem was the time spent on Laconia. I said it earlier in the season, but now I will say flat-out that the scenes on Laconia were wasted time. If we’d had another season to build off them I would say great, lay that groundwork, but as a final season these should have been supplementary material. Putting them in every episode just detracted from the already-limited screentime, and they didn’t even try and connect it to the main story at the end.

But even with those problems, I will still say that they Pulled. It. Off.

#We started the series with an ice hauler pulling a flip-and-burn and we closed there as well #The Expanse #Babylon's Ashes #Season 6 #Series FInale #FInale

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polishksiezniczka · 3 years

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By God's Grace | Camerlengo Patrick McKenna x Reader

You believe Patrick, your lover, to be dead after the explosion but are eventually reunited.

Notes: AU—Patrick is the good guy! Angst, romance. Also, I can’t help but get serious Obi-Wan vibes again from this oneshot ?? I am definitely picturing a similar reunion between you and your dashing Jedi lover when he returns to you after a dangerous, far-off mission (minus the Italian, LOL). 1.4K words.

Thank you to the lovely @quiescentcrepuscular for being a phenomenal beta reader!

By the time you learned of the situation, it was too late: the helicopter had taken off, Patrick its doomed pilot. As you watched him ascend higher and higher into the night sky, you nearly became catatonic. You couldn’t bear to witness the man you loved so deeply die alone and afraid while you stood there, completely helpless.

So you ran back to the Swiss Guard’s headquarters, tears blinding your vision. You couldn’t calm down and slowly felt yourself pulled down into a spiral of panic. As you ran, images of Patrick replayed over and over again in your head. Your first meeting. When he reciprocated his feelings for you. Your first kiss. The first—and last—time he told you he loved you. The last time you had been together...

You had rushed to his side with Lt. Chartrand after discovering him lying on the floor of His Holiness’ study, his chest badly burned by the brand.

“Whatever happens, know I’ll always love you,” he had whispered hoarsely, so that only you could hear, his fingers ghosting over your hands as you cleaned and dressed his wounds.

“I know, Patrick. I know,” you replied, your eyes still fixed on his chest as you hushed him gently. “And I will always be here for you.” Your voice dropped to a murmur. “I love you...”

The memory of your distracted nature stained your last moments together—how you wished you could relive those moments again! Shaking your head, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying in vain to shut out the anguish which you now felt, but grief coursed through your body so violently you began to feel physically ill. Your lungs burned from overexertion, exhausted by both your sprinting and crying.

Why hadn’t you done more to comfort him? Why hadn’t you gazed into his beautiful, caring eyes one last time?

You did little to stop the loud sob which escaped your throat, surely drawing the attention of the Swiss Guards at the door to the command center, but you didn’t care about them, nor anyone else for that matter. Your entire world had died with Patrick.

Why had you not told him how much he meant to you? How much you cared for him? Loved him more than life itself?

You collapsed onto a sofa then, weeping bitterly. “Please, Patrick, please forgive me. Please…”

----------

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed when the door beside you burst open.

“...it is truly a miracle, what happened to the camerlengo!” At first you barely registered Olivetti and Commander Richter’s presence until you heard his name. You froze.

“What about the camerlengo?” you cried out, abruptly wrenched from your grief.

“Didn’t you hear? He survived the explosion!” Your heart stopped, barely processing the words coming from Olivetti’s mouth. “Before the bomb detonated, he was able to parachute out of the helicopter. He saved us all! Sia Lode a Dio!” he marveled.

“Where is he?” you demanded frantically. “Where is he?!”

Before Olivetti could even finish his sentence, you were already flying out the door, on your way to the hospital.

----------

You nearly let out a cry of relief upon seeing Patrick. Doctors and nurses fluttered about him, attending to his wounds. He looked so small and fragile in the moment, far from the confident man of God you knew. But that didn’t matter. He was alive. Your beloved. Your Patrick. Alive.

“M-Monsignor!” you exclaimed breathlessly.

His eyes immediately locked with yours, and you saw his heart break. Your eyes were likely still red from crying, tears glistened against your cheeks, and your windswept hair indicated your haste. He stared at you incredulously, afraid that you were merely a hallucination brought on by one of his injuries.

“Miss Y/L/N…?” Even in this state, he remembered his propriety, bringing tears to your eyes.

You needed to pull yourself together, lest you make a scene. You cleared your throat. “Monsignor, I have urgent news from the US Embassy. About the incident.” You gazed at him in earnest, silently begging to speak with him.

He tore his gaze away from you; his eyes darted about, as if deep in thought. Then, he spoke:

“Starò bene. Se ci scusi, sorella.”

You offered your arm to him, which he eagerly slipped into yours, carefully making your way to the hallway with him. Once out of view, he whisked you into an unoccupied room and shut the door.

Your reaction was immediate: you bolted into his arms and held him tightly, burying your face into his neck with a sob. You were careful to brace your weight against him, remembering the angry red marks of the brand which marred his beautiful chest. He held you just as passionately, stroking your hair and tenderly rubbing your back.

Although his scent brought you instant, indescribable comfort, your bawling only intensified. You felt his skin grow warm from your tears and ragged breathing despite his attempts to hush your incoherent babbling with his soothing voice. “Oh darling, shhhh. Please, don’t cry. Shhh…” He leaned back to study your flushed, tear-stained face, his hand coming up to cradle it. “I’m here, I’m here.” He lightly brushed his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe away your tears.

You stared up into his beautiful eyes, bringing your hands to his face in turn, memorizing its angels and curves with your soft fingertips. You felt him lean into your gentle ministrations, his eyes squeezing shut in sheer comfort.

“I thought that I would n-never s-see you again. I th-thought I had lost you f-forever.” You choked back a sob. The shakiness in your voice made it difficult for you to speak coherently as the tears relentlessly streamed down your face.

He clasped his hands over yours. As he slowly revealed his cerulean orbs to you, you noticed the luster of tears. “Never, angelo mio,” he whispered ardently, turning his head to softly kiss your palm. “Never. By God’s grace, I returned to you.”

He kissed you softly then, assuaging your fears; you tasted the saltiness of your tears lingering on his lips. As if to reassure you of his presence, he rested his forehead against yours. You remained like this for several minutes, the peaceful silence interrupted occasionally by your quiet sobs or the soft words of affirmation Patrick whispered against your lips.

You finally leaned back, your eyes immediately filling with tears as they scanned his face. “Y-you’re hurt,” you lamented softly, brushing back the few pieces of hair which had fallen into his face. Angry red gashes and bruises riddled his face and torso, and you longed to kiss each and every one, to hold him until he was no longer in pain. “I’m so sorry...” you whimpered.

As your eyes continued their frantic scan, Patrick brought you back to reality by whispering your name, pleadingly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Cuore mio…look at me.” Your eyes found his effortlessly as he caressed the nape of your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. “I’m all right. All that matters is you are here, safe, with me.” He smiled then, his eyes crinkling endearingly. “And I would never leave you without saying goodbye.”

You sniffled and let out a soft, choked laugh as you watched his face brighten. “Patrick, my love,” you whispered reverently, “I’d be lost without you.” You paused, cradling his face once again. “I love you more than life itself. Please…I don’t ever want to be without you again.”

His gaze softened as his eyes welled with tears. “Ti amo,” he replied, laying a soft kiss on your cheek. “Ti amo,” he repeated, planting another on your opposite cheek. He looked at you lovingly as he leaned forward. “Ti amo…” he murmured, capturing your lips in his. ¤

Translations

Sia Lode a Dio! = "Praise God!"

Starò bene. Se ci scusi, sorella. = "I'll be okay. If you'll excuse us, sister."

Cuore mio = "my heart"

Ti amo = "I love you"

Taglist: @seraferna @lemairepstuff

#ewan mcgregor #camerlengo patrick mckenna #patrick mckenna x reader #obi wan kenobi #forgive me father for i have sinned #fluffy angst #angels and demons #carlo ventresca #il camerlengo

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rexsjaigeyes · 4 years

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Te Odio, Te Amo

Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo x female reader | NSFW, 18+

Words: 2,881 damn, it’s long

Warnings: dub-con, rivals-to-lovers, jealousy, degradation, name-calling, fingering, blowjob, rough sex, unprotected sex

A/N: Huge thanks to @just-a-fan-i-guess for editing the Spanish!

Gif by @oydsseus

You weren’t sure how you got here– trapped between a wall and the man you thought you hated– but now you were questioning if the hate you felt for Félix Gallardo was just sexual tension all along. He always did something to piss you off, so you liked getting on his nerves as well. Tonight, however, was the first time you had no idea what set him off since you weren’t actively trying to make him angry.

The party you were at was dull and you just wanted to flirt and have some fun since you were forced to be here. It was an easy task to gain the men’s attention since most of them were blatantly staring at the way your dress hugged your curves. It didn’t take long before you had attracted a small crowd of guys and they were hanging onto your every word. Now you just had to pick which one you wanted to mess around with, but something was holding you back.

Something drew your attention to the other side of the room, and you stopped yourself from sneering as your gaze fell on Félix. You never really knew why you hated him so much, but simple things always made you see red. He never had a hair out of place, his suits always flattered his thin body, and his gruff voice made your stomach flutter. Everything he did looked effortless while you had to fight for a place among all the slimy men in your business. On top of that, Félix always teased you, calling you naive or too inexperienced to work among men like him. That’s why you constantly jumped at the chance to piss him off, and regardless of the fact that you hadn’t done any of that tonight, you were still happy he was glaring at you for no reason.

Looking away from his narrowed eyes, you continued sucking up to the men surrounding you and willed yourself not to glance back at Félix. They were easily captivated; all you had to do was feign interest by twirling your hair or batting your eyes at them and they were hooked. It would be far too easy to take one of them home, but deep down, you hated how easy it was. You always preferred a bit of a challenge. Seducing someone like Félix would take work, but that’s what made it fun.

Annoyed that your mind strayed to the thought of Félix, you looked up to see if he was still staring at you. Much to your dismay, he was too busy getting cozy with a beautiful woman by his side, and you felt something odd and unfamiliar eating away at your insides. Grimacing, you tried brushing the feeling away and returned your attention to the man currently invading your personal space. He smelled of cheap cologne and cigarettes; the stench made you nauseous, but you mustered up a smile as he rested a hand on your waist.

“Una cosa tan hermosa como tú debería estar bailando. Baila conmigo, mamacita,” he demanded, and you tried not to roll your eyes at how he called you a ‘thing’.

A beautiful thing like you should be dancing. Dance with me, sexy.

Normally, you wouldn’t have wasted your time on a man like this, but you glanced over his shoulder and saw Félix laughing with the woman beside him and something inside you snapped. Smiling politely, you took the man’s hand and he led you to the dance floor.

He was much better at dancing than you expected, and soon you were having fun, quickly forgetting about how angry Félix made you feel. You swayed your hips in time with the music, and your dance partner pulled you closer to his body so that he could feel you brush against him. You allowed the touch, leaning into him while you smiled.

Grinding your ass against the man’s crotch, you could already feel your effect on him, and you were debating whether or not he was worth taking home. He slid his hands up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tentatively as you rolled your hips. You threw your head back with a grin, knowing you had the man right where you wanted. You were about to suggest heading back to your place, but you were interrupted by rough hands pulling you away from the man and dragging you out of the room. You looked up in disbelief to see Félix pulling you towards an empty hallway.

“Qué chingados, Félix,” you hissed, trying not to draw more attention to the two of you.

What the fuck, Félix

He yanked you further into the hallway before letting go and pacing in front of you. He was seething, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he huffed. You had no clue what his problem was, but you weren’t about to have your fun ruined just because of the stick up Félix’s ass.

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you complained, “Estaba bailando–”

I was dancing–

“Estabas avergonzándome delante de mis socios,” he whipped towards you, berating you as if you were a child.

You were embarrassing me in front of my partners

“¿Ah, sí?” You scoffed. “Tus ‘socios’ no son inocentes, estoy seguro ellos han visto a personas bailando antes.”

Oh yeah? Your partners aren't innocent, I'm sure they've seen people dancing before.

“¿Bailando? Ustedes dos estaban prácticamente cogiendo ahí,” he spat, raising his voice a little. You rolled your eyes in response to his petty exaggeration before he continued, “No te dejaré arruinar esta noche para mí.”

Dancing? You two were practically fucking each other out there. I won't let you ruin this night for me.

“Ah, ahora lo entiendo,” you chuckled humorlessly, “estás asustado que estoy robando el foco, ¿eh? Pues por qué no sales ahí y bailas para él, y tal vez él no correrá a tu competidor.”

Oh, I get it now. you’re scared I’m stealing the spotlight, huh? Well why don’t you go out there and dance for him, and maybe he won’t run to your competitor.

Félix growled and slammed his hand against the wall beside your face, caging you there as he scowled at you. “Cállate,” he said through gritted teeth.

Shut up

You had never seen him this mad before, and you hated how your body reacted to it. It was always fun pushing Félix’s buttons, but the way he was looking at you now made you shiver in the best way. He looked livid, but it only made you want to talk back more.

“Tal vez si eres un buen chico y te lo coges bien, será un socio mucho más cooperativo,” you mocked him with a sly grin.

Maybe if you’re a good boy and you fuck him well, he’ll be a much more cooperative partner

The look of rage on Félix’s face made you smile, but he surprised you by grabbing your neck with one hand and wiping the smug look off your face. He wasn’t gripping you too hard, but the way he held your throat made your eyes widen and your knees weak.

He brought his face inches from yours before whispering harshly, “¡Dije que te calles! Nunca escuchas, ¿verdad?”

I said shut up! You never listen, do you?

You were stunned into silence, not expecting him to be touching you like this. As much as you hated admitting it, you were enjoying every second of his rough demeanor. Before you could say another word, Félix frantically started hiking your dress up with the other hand.

“Félix, qué haces” you tried pushing his hand away, but he let go of your throat and grabbed both your wrists before pinning them to the wall above your head. “Alguien podría vernos,” you shouted in a hushed tone.

Félix, what are you doing? Someone could see us

“Deja que nos vean. Tal vez aprenderás tu pinche lección finalmente.”

Let them see. Maybe you'll finally learn your fucking lesson.

You struggled against his hold on your wrists, but he didn’t budge. Once your dress was rolled up above your waist, he used his knee to push your legs further apart before shoving his free hand down your panties. His thumb grazed against your swollen clit, and your mouth fell open in a silent moan. He slid two fingers down to your entrance, groaning when he was met with your slick arousal. You should have been mortified by how turned on you were, but before you could react, he pushed his fingers inside your pussy with ease.

“Mira eso,” Félix chuckled softly while curling his fingers inside you. “Ya estás tan mojada para mí.”

Look at that. You're already so wet for me.

Hating how smug he sounded, you sneered, “Tú deseas, Miguelito. Eso es por el hombre con el que estaba bailando, no por ti.”

You wish, Miguelito. That's because of the man I was dancing with, not you.

It was a blatant lie, but you hoped Félix couldn’t tell how much you were enjoying the way he was roughly fucking you with his fingers.

“Dime otra palabra y tendré que callarte, puta.”

Say another word and I’ll have to shut you up, slut.

You bit down on your bottom lip so that he couldn’t hear your whimpers, but you were seconds from begging him to go faster.

Hating the effect he had on you, you spat, “¡Vete a la chingada!”

Fuck off!

“Bueno,” he chuckled, “lo pediste princesa.”

Fine, you asked for it princess.

He pulled his hand out of your panties and yanked you further down the hallway before pushing you into a vacant room. You gasped softly as he slammed the door behind you and started loosening his tie with a dangerous look in his eyes. You were still shaking from the feeling of his fingers inside you, but you tried to keep your composure as you watched him. He looked so primal, tossing his tie aside and backing you further into the room.

“Ponte de rodillas,” he commanded, leaving no room for argument.

Get on your knees

You were about to make one of your trademark retorts, but he gave you a look that said not to test his patience any further, and honestly you didn’t want to see what would happen if you disobeyed him. Shakily, you knelt down and watched as he flung his suit jacket onto the bed and worked on undoing his pants. Your lips quivered and you unknowingly licked them while watching his movements. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were desperate to taste him.

“Eso es,” he hummed in praise. “Entonces puedes seguir órdenes, ¿eh?”

That’s it. So you can follow orders, huh?

He was taunting you and you knew it, so you kept your mouth shut while looking up at him through your lashes.

“Buena niña,” he whispered before pulling his cock out of his pants.

Good girl

You were practically salivating at the sight, your mouth instinctively parting as you watched precum leak from the tip enticingly.

“Hm, parece que te hice callar finalmente,” he moaned and pumped his length in front of your awaiting mouth. Groaning softly, he pushed the head of his cock against your lips, muttering, “Abre tu boca…”

Hm, looks like I finally got you to shut up. Open your mouth...

You obeyed and opened wide, hollowing your cheeks as he pushed his length inside your mouth slowly. Félix moaned as you sucked him and brought your hand up to cup his balls. He continued sliding his cock deeper into your mouth until the tip hit the back of your throat and you struggled not to gag. Your eyes started to water, but you kept deepthroating him, loving how rough he was being with you as his pace quickened. He cursed under his breath when he looked down at you, grabbing a fistful of your hair so that he could control the pace better.

“Esto es lo que imagino cada vez que me contestas,” he growled. “Es una pena que él no puede verte así, tan desesperada por mi pene.”

This is what I imagine every time you talk back to me. It's a shame he can't see you like this, so desperate for my cock.

You moaned in response, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach from how dirty his words were. His thrusts became sloppy and he shuddered from the vibrations of your moans around his cock.

Félix cursed under his breath and stuttered, “Odio lo que me haces. Me vuelves pinche loco.”

I hate what you do to me. You drive me fucking crazy.

You could tell he was close from how his face scrunched up and how desperate he sounded. Just when you thought he was about to cum down your throat, he pulled on your hair and slid his cock out of your mouth. You whined softly, wishing you could have seen him come undone that way. He shushed you and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself a little.

“Quítate el vestido y acuéstate en la cama.”

Take off your dress and get on the bed.

His raspy command made you bite your lip, and you were too desperate for release to tease him any longer. Following his orders, you slipped out of your dress and underwear before lying back on the bed. Félix groaned when he saw your naked body, and he quickly shed himself of the rest of his clothes before crawling on top of you. He slid his hands up your body before reaching your tits and something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

Brushing his thumbs across your nipples, he groped your breasts and groaned, “Si él no fuera mi socio, lo habría matado por tocarte así.”

If he wasn’t my partner, I would have killed him for touching you like this.

You moaned, barely registering what Félix said as you enjoyed the feeling of his rough hands on your body. You gasped as he lowered his mouth to one breast and flicked your nipple with his tongue before sucking on it. His teeth grazed the sensitive bud and you writhed underneath him, gripping his hair with both hands. He pinched your other nipple and groaned against your skin when you accidentally bumped against his hard cock. Kissing his way up your chest, he latched his mouth onto your neck and sucked harshly; you immediately knew he was only doing it to mark you.

“Por favor, Félix,” you muttered, “Quiero sentirte dentro de mi.”

Please, Félix, I want to feel you inside me.

He chuckled against your skin, enjoying how you were begging for him to fuck you. You knew he’d never let you forget it later, but right now you were too desperate to care. Félix pulled away from your neck and muttered for you to spread your legs. He groaned at the sight of your dripping pussy before stroking his cock in front of it. You could feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance before he slowly pushed it inside you, stretching you out. Moaning, you threw your head back as he bottomed out and stilled inside you. He was thick, but you were so wet that he slid inside easily and you were already desperate for him to move. Grabbing his forearms, you gave him a pleading look so that he’d start thrusting.

Grunting softly, Félix pulled out before thrusting back inside harshly. His hips snapped against yours as he fucked you hard, and you were surprised by how much strength he had behind each stroke. You arched your back, moaning from how good it felt. Suddenly you remembered that someone outside might hear you, so you brought your hand up to your mouth to stifle your sounds of pleasure. Before you could bite down on your finger, Félix grabbed your hand and pulled it away from your mouth, pinning it down along with your other wrist.

“Quiero que te escuchen. Gime para mí, dime qué bien se siente,” he rasped.

I want them to hear you. Moan for me, tell me how good it feels.

Hesitantly, you parted your lips and let out a low whine, but he wasn’t satisfied with it and leaned down to bite your shoulder.

“Más fuerte,” he growled against your skin. “O no te dejaré venirte.”

Louder, or I won’t let you cum.

Swallowing your pride, you moaned louder, chanting his name as he rocked into you. He continued marking your neck and collarbone, and you knew there would be no way to cover the marks up tomorrow. You could feel your orgasm approaching, and you wished you could hold onto him. As if sensing what you needed, Félix released your hands and grabbed your hips so that he could fuck you harder. You shouted his name and wrapped your arms around him, dragging your nails down his back and leaving angry red scratches there.

“Vente para mí,” Félix groaned in your ear, his thrusts getting sloppier.

Cum for me

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you came around him, high-pitched whines spilling from your mouth. You clenched tightly around his length before his release quickly followed and he came inside you. Panting, Félix collapsed on top of you, moaning when his cock twitched inside you. You both took a second to catch your breath before he pulled out and rolled over to lie down beside you. Your throat felt sore from all the screaming you had done, and your cheeks reddened when you thought of how the entire party must have heard your cries. Félix stayed silent, and you weren’t sure if he wanted you to stay much longer. Sitting up on the bed, you reached for your discarded dress and started slipping it onto your sweaty body.

“No, quédate,” he reached out for you, sounding much softer than you were expecting. As if to find a reason why you should stay, he added, “Ya es tarde, es mejor que pases la noche.”

No, stay. It’s late, you might as well stay the night.

You chuckled and turned to smirk at him. “No es demasiado tarde para divertirme con otro hombre antes de irme a casa.”

It’s not too late for me to have fun with another man before going home.

You knew the comment would make him mad, but that was the point. Félix scowled and grabbed your waist before pulling you back onto the mattress. He rolled over so that you were once again trapped under his body with nowhere to run.

“Tal vez no debería darte una opción y simplemente atarte a mi cama, ¿eh?”

Maybe I shouldn’t give you a choice and I'll just tie you to my bed, hm?

You tried not to let him see how much his words excited you as you tested his strength and wriggled beneath him.

“Me gustaría verte intentarlo,” you laughed and tried to shove him off you, but he barely moved. Félix was skinny, but he was much stronger than he looked. The dark gleam in his eyes set your skin afire and you knew you were in for it now.

I’d like to see you try

“Desafío aceptado, cariño,” he teased with a grin. “Pero no digas que no te lo advertí. No necesito otra razón para que me odies.”

Challenge accepted, darling. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don't need another reason for you to hate me.

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

Félix tag list: @sirianfromsixties @foreveradreamlover @antmnwasp

Lmk if you wanna be added to my Félix tag list! I have more Félix smut coming soon ;)

#divswrites #narcos mexico #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico smut #miguel angel felix gallardo #miguel angel felix gallardo x reader #miguel angel felix gallardo smut #felix gallardo #felix gallardo x reader #felix gallardo smut #diego luna #diego luna smut

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ilkkawhat · 3 years

Text

come find me

[just something short and sweet that came out of my gifs from yesterday (and a convo with @csinickstokes) daltonstokes lemon content]

Jack awakens from a dream that was born on the very cloud he’s floating on. His arms stroke through the waves of silk, his fingers stretching out and searching for the lifesaver he tethered himself to the night before, but much to his dismay, Nick Stokes is out of his reach.

“Nick?” Jack sighs, one hand wiping the dust out of his eyes as he rolls over, propping himself up. Maybe Nick rolled to the edge of the bed.

When his eyes open, and he sees nothing but the impression left in the wake of Nick’s body. The space doesn’t even feel warm.

He’s been gone for a while, and that realization makes him feel like he’s fallen from heaven straight into hell.

“Yo, Nick-ay!” Jack hollers, cupping his hands together against his mouth like an improvised megaphone.

Still no response, just the gentle whir of the air conditioner.

He shimmies over, peering over the side of the bed, maybe Nick had fallen off—it’s happened before in rough nights either by an outburst of fists as Jack fends off his demons, or hands pulling Nick back underground—but all that’s there is the clothes that Nick stripped away from him last night.

Last night, last night...There’s a throbbing in his head as he squeezes his face, trying to clear up the whiskied haze to recall their last words to each other, their last touches. Was it something he did? Was it something he said?

The trepidatious beat of his heart crashes entirely when he finds a folded card placed on top of the pillow that previously cradled Nick’s head, another piece of the puzzle falling into his lap.

He growls as he sits himself up against the backboard of the bed, his desire to learn what he’s done outweighing the fear of Nick’s abandonment—but his desires and fears are morphed into something new when he reads the three words written to instruct him on what to do next.

The sleek handwriting was unmistakable. There’s no haste to it, but the curves outline the heart that beats through the paper against his fingers, sending a shiver from his throat to his throttle.

Come find me

“Oh, I’m comin’ alright, Stokes,” Jack grins. He picks up the fallen picture that fell out of the card and seethes a sharp breath of air as he traces the image with a pulse vibrating throughout his body.

It’s a picture of Nick, naked, sprawled out across a bed that’s not theirs, a hand gesturing for Jack to jump in as the other gestures to the fully exposed erection he managed to hold for an impressive amount of time before Jack finally pounced—yet he can’t remember where this picture was taken, just the ecstasy it captured.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from jumping out of bed, quickly putting on the same clothes he spotted on the floor just moments prior and visiting all of their usual haunts, knocking down doors and pseudo-interrogating receptionists that the paranoia in him screams were paid off by Nick to steer him off course.

But finally, after an entire day of searching, he finds Nick in the first room they rented together on the first night that they met. A key card was waiting in the lobby, and room service had already been to the room.

He opens the door and Nick is waiting, frozen in the frame-perfect image that was shared with him in the photograph that’s hidden in his shirt pocket under his jacket that he begins to sheathe off.

“Well, well, well, there he is! What took you so damn long?”

“Hey, you’re the CSI, not me!” Jack scoffs. He throws himself onto the bed, Nick bounces up and slaps him playfully on his bare chest.

“Thought you went to some special training. At-atmost?”

“AMOS, Advanced Mountain Operations School, and I think you failed geography if you think there’s a mountain around here, Stokes.”

“Only mountain I see is the one sticking up between your legs,” Nick licks his lips and his hand descends down, but Jack catches his wrist and flips him over, straddling Nick on his back.

“Not so fast, I haven’t found the buried treasure yet…”

“Buried treasure?” Nick groans while Jack pins both wrists together against Nick’s spine.

“Yeah, you know…” Jack’s finger traces Nick’s spinal column down to his puckered butthole. “X marks the spot. ‘S why you gave me a map, wasn’t it, hun?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Nick pants, preparing himself. Jack leans in, putting even more pressure and teasing Nick with his touch—the hairs on the back of Nick’s neck tickle his nostrils, his own hot breath washing over Nick’s, his finger taking the plunge as he says:

“Happy anniversary, Nicky.”

#mk.op #mk.fic #daltonstokes #nick stokes #jack dalton #csi x macgyver fic #i might either expand on it someday but i think i need to just #do some short fics #cause everything i have just seems so long

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drethanramslay · 3 years

Text

Letters of Love and Longing (4)

Book: A Courtesan of Rome

Pairing: Marc Antony x MC (Aurora Lavigne)

Letters of Love and Longing Masterlist

Request by @beckaroo- #29

Author’s note: This is my first time writing Marc Antony and i Hope i could do him justice. I referred to Google for the info and translation so if it is wrong blame google (And also lemme know because i always am willing to learn hehehe)

Thanks to @cryinginthebackseat the OG talented queen to pre read it ❤

Year: 1940 Location: Across the Mediterranean Sea in Libya, North Africa

Mio Tesoro,

You were right in predicting that Italy won't stay still. You were right that the people who run this country care little for its citizens or for the people working to keep this country alive. Mussolini's pride is the reason our country is put into a tumultuous war and will be the reason we will suffer.

What was the reason to join Hitler? Was it that hard to shut his pie-hole and not get involved in something bigger than him? Bigger than all of us?

Mussolini and I have so much in common. He is also from a small, inconsequential family much like myself. Worked hard through childhood and had big dreams and ambition so big, people would laugh at you. Joined the military to rise the ranks... sounds familiar, no?

I just hope that I never become like him. And if I do, you have full permission to smack me.

My loyalty lies with my country but I am honestly so disgusted by that man. I happened to overhear what the Bastardo said to Marshal Badoglio? "I only need a few thousand dead so that I can sit at the peace conference as a man who has fought."

Who says that? After years of serving him and his fancies, this is how my loyalty is paid?

I apologize for unleashing all my annoyance and rage on you. You don't deserve it.

This was meant as an appreciation and acknowledgement of how you always manage to be correct. But look at me, displacing and projecting my anger onto you, my Aurora, mia cara. Sorry.

Ideally, this letter could be seen as me fraternizing with the enemy and I could probably be hung for it. Could you know how scandalous it would be for a high ranking officer to be head over heels in love with a French woman? Every day I think about you or the way your lips feel against mine or those sinful curves, I am dancing on a thin line, the moral grey zone as they say.

But what is life without the rush of cheating death, eh?

I miss you. More than I thought I would. It is a completely new experience for me. I don't understand the romantic ballads the young lads sing to woo a woman. I rather show you how much you mean to me... Or how much you infatuate me... Or how much I love you, for actions speak louder than words.

But I am so far away from you. You would think that after all these months of distance after you left Italy and sought refuge in Switzerland I would be able to deal better with the distance.

How far away you seem - how far everything seems that I have loved.

It must be the karma of all the lives I have taken to be miles away from you. But if it means getting to see you again, I will suffer through the hardest of times. I would go to any ends to be in your presence. Aurora.

I am pleased to hear that you are taking care of yourself. If you are well, I am well. Also, I am glad that you have made some friends with the other woman. They will give you the company I lack to provide. Mussolini says that it is going to be a short war so I hope that I can bring you back home. If not, then we will have to settle for these letters which do so little to alleviate the emptiness in my heart.

Ti amo, mia Bellissima.

Yours,

Marc Antony.

Well from whatever little history I remember back from high school, Mussolini was a gigantic cunt and I didn't like him. Also the quote is true! He deadass said that like yuck, fuck off

Also the axis powers were Italy, germany and Japan while the Allied Powers were Great Britain, France, Soviet union, USA and China.

Anyways, i hope you liked it ♥ Like, comment, reblog and share your thoughts :)

Permanent taglist: @bellcat2010 @choices-fangirl-yeet @chaotic-ramsay-queen @ramseysno1rookie @chasingrobbie @kimmiedoo5 @chaotic-pixie @akshara16 @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj @bratzlahela @ac27dj @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile @monsoonblooms12 @maurine07 @choices-love-affair @kaavyaethanramsey @drariellevalentine @agent-breakdance @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @greenbean-kylie @choices-addict @trappedinfanfiction @colossalpainintheass @jamespotterthefirst @queencarb @starrystarrytrouble @mrsdrakewalkerblog @lilypills @dr-ramseys-rookie @arcticlumineer @choicesficwriterscreations @anonymously-cool @choicesstan1 @nooruleman

Marc X MC Taglist: @theo-oface @beckaroo @cryinginthebackseat @arfeiniel

People interested in the series: @whatchique @cryinginthebackseat

#anushka writes #a courtesan of rome #marc antony #marc antony x mc #playchoices #pixelberry #choices fic writers creations

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s-creations · 3 years

Text

Return the Flames - Chapter 5

All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No possible loss of anything from an open flame.

A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.

It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.

Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.

_________________

Fandom: A Hat in Time Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).

Dominic counted the next two days as a sort of quiet blessing. The 48 hours passing with relative calmness that made the penguin think something bad was about to happen. Learning from the first night, Domini bought a large cooler. Along with a few bags of ice from whatever convenient store they were close to before arriving at the hotel they were staying at for the night.

The penguin had planned for the first night. A way to hopefully relax before fully diving into their journey. He was not expecting it all to turn out like it had.

What worried him the most was how subdued Amos had suddenly become. He would either be asleep or completely quiet as they traveled. He would push Dominic to use the bathroom to clean the day’s travel smell off before filling it with ice and hiding himself away. It was such a stark difference to the owl’s regular, bombastic personality.

Dominic honestly missed that loud and confident version of his ‘used to be’ rival. Because the bird before him now just gave off the air of surrender. Which Dominic just hated. But he was unsure how he was supposed to help.

So, they just traveled in silence. Taking in the surroundings, which quickly became dull. The same woods could only be that interest for so long. Even if there was now an incline added to their travel. The valley below just offered more trees.

They were traveling down such a road the afternoon of their fourth day when they approached something strange. It appeared over the crest of the horizon and gave the penguin driving a moment's pause before he realized what he was looking at. A blockade, a strong line of crows stretching around the road that were dressed in black trench coats. Dominic slowed the car down as they reached said blockade, confused as to what was happening. The slower speed woke Amos. The owl furiously scrubbed the sleep away as he looked around. No doubt expecting to see some buildings.

“Are we there?” The owl grumbled weakly.

“Ah, no… We’ve come across something strange.”

“What are ya- What the peck is this?” The owl exited the car to get a possibly better look at the wall of crows before them. “Oi, what are ya peck necks doin’ in the middle of the road!”

“What yourself Amos.” Dominic warned as he joined the owl. “Funny question. Those aren’t your actors, are they Darling?”

“No. They don’t live this far out from the desert. Those peck necks...they don’t look right…”

Dominic didn’t like this. But he had a feeling that just turning around wouldn’t help this situation at all. He put on his best performance smile and addressed the crows before them with his charm. “Good afternoon Darlings. Is there a problem here?”

There was no response. Dominic’s smile slowly slipping away as the silence stretched on.

“Grooves…” Amos’ quiet utterance of his name made Dominic’s worry grow. Turning to face the owl, he saw the other’s attention directed behind their car. The situation became further dangerous when another blockade appeared there as well. Same crows, seeming to double the numbers that surrounded them.

Dominic was now angry. This was, for whatever reason, a trap and nothing that the penguin wanted to be a part of. “Alright gentlemen, I’m not feeling very welcomed here. Is there something we can help you with.”

“We are not here to be welcoming.” A crow finally spoke from the crowd standing at the front of the car.

“Then why are you here. If you don’t mind me inquiring.”

“We are here to ask you to stand down and to hand the Phoenix spawn you have over.”

Both directors were shocked to hear the sudden request. But Dominic wasn’t going to play this game. He placed a hand on Amos’ shoulder. A silent request for the owl to remain quiet.

“Rather bold of you and your team to make such a demand. We are not a ‘Phoenix spawn’, as you say. We’re just pn a break from our jobs to take a small vacation. See the different sights that this world has to offer.”

“We request you to be silent penguin. We are C.A.W., the Crypto-hunters Advocating for Well-being. We know your vehicle was near and fled the fire that was created at the dinner. A fire that can only be created by a Phoenix. No one who is ‘innocent’ would flee. Now, for the safety of others, turn over the Phoenix spawn to us.”

“I’ll show you spawn.” Amos growled dangerously.

“I don’t believe we have any reason to go anywhere with you.” Dominic argued, tightening his grip on Amos’ shoulders. The crow who had spoken shook slightly, his neck seeming to expand. Dominic assumed their feathers were puffing out in frustration.

“The being you are so determined to project is dangerous. He is not allowed to have this freedom if he is going to harm others. He must be put down before he can cause any more damage.”

That was not a welcoming response. Even Amos seemed to have lost some of his bravado hearing that.

“...I will have to politely decline that request.” Dominic answered, pushing the owl back towards the car.

“This was not a request. You will be handing over the Phoenix, now.”

Dominic didn’t respond. He had a feeling they weren’t going to talk their way out of this. It was unclear what this group was capable of. Dominic, however, wasn’t planning on sticking around to find out.

“What exactly are ya planning here?” Amos asked, actually sounding nervous as the penguin joined him back in the car.

“Something possibly stupid. So, you should enjoy this.”

“What are ya-” Amos yelped when they suddenly shot forward. The murder of crows before them diving away as they zoomed by. “Are ya peckin’crazy!”

“Do you want to go with the quite literal murder group? I don’t know about you, but I would like to survive this.”

The owl didn’t reply. Instead, he turned to the rear window to see if they were being followed. His stomach dropped at seeing the numerous black cars. All gaining ground quickly.

“Uh, Dominic… I don’t want ta pressure ya, but they’re gainin’ ground.”

“Peck.”

If they weren’t running for their lives, Amos would have revealed in the fact the penguin had just cursed. As it was, he wished Dominic would have been a bit harsher with his word choice. Because the owl had a few words of his own to say. If only his mouth would unstick with the fear running through him.

“How close are they.” Dominic voiced through gritted teeth.

“Uncomfortably?”

“That’s not helpful Amos!”

“I don’t know what ya want ta- Back! They’re gonna ram us!” Sure enough, a hard hit landed on the back driver side wheel. Both winced at the sharp change in direction before Dominic corrected themselves. “Peck necks! Can’t this thin’ go any faster?”

“I’m already pushing hard.”

“Fine, then try and keep it steady.”

Dominic looked over quickly, mouth dropping as Amos partially crawled out of the window, sitting on the car door. “What are you doing!”

“‘M goin’ on the offensive, just drive!”

The penguin did as requested, his heart hammering in his chest. So focused, Dominic was startled when one of the chase cars was actually blasted away and consumed by a large fireball.

“Amos!”

“Just drive!” The owl scrambled to remain upright as the car was hit again.

“Would you please get rid of the one that’s hitting us!”

“They’re too close, I could hit us too!”

Dominic’s retort died in his throat when he noticed the warning signs of a sharp turn approaching. It became more worrisome when the penguin realized the car wouldn’t turn. “Amos, we have a bit of a problem...”

“Yer tellin’ me!”

“We have a new problem! The care won’t turn and we’re coming up on a curve!”

Amos turned towards the front of the car, seeing the warning signs they were passing. Over the horizon, the curve itself was starting to grow closer. “Uh...do we have a plan?”

“No, and we’re coming up on it fast!” Dominic winces as they were hit once again. “And our new friends aren’t letting up!”

“I don’t know what ya expect me ta-”

One final hit and they were sent over the edge. Breaking the guard rail, Amos winced as he was hit with the small pieces of flying shrapnel. They flew a few feet in the air before landing hard among the trees and rocks. Amos was flung from the car, hitting the ground and only stopped rolling when he ran, back first, into a tree. Dominic hit his head against the steering wheel from the first impact before being knocked around as the car flipped over. Which it only did once before being halted by trees as well.

Amos was the first to move. His body loudly protesting at being moved. But his mind screamed that they were still in danger and that Dominic might be dead. As quickly as he could, Amos limped his way over to the crumpled car. Wrenching the door open revealed an unconscious Dominic. A wave of relief hitting Amos when he felt a pulse from the penguin. The owl was also happy that he was able to free said penguin from the wreckage with ease.

It was uncomfortable to carry Dominic on his back. But Amos didn’t know how else to move the other to safety. As he started to slowly treck away from the destroyed car, Amos caught movement from atop the hill they’d just plummeted from. The C.A.W. agents were crowded around the destroyed portion of safety rails. All scrambling to find a way down. Without the express route the duo had taken.

Amos didn’t dwell on it. He needed to get away and hopefully find a way to heal them up. His feathers ruffled feeling eyes narrowing on his back as he moved further into the forest.

____________________________

Dominic felt absolutely terrible as he rejoined the waking world. His head was throbbing as he attempted to move.

“Ye’re awake?”

Moving his head, Dominic slowly realized he was resting on Amos’ back. The owl carrying him through the slowly thinning forest.

“...Amos?”

“Aye. How ya feelin’?”

“...Wonderful. Like I just got a massage.”

“Good to see yer wit is in full force. ...Seriously, how are ya feelin’?”

“I don’t think anything’s broken. But...I hurt everywhere…”

“We’re nearin’ a town. We can take a better look when we get there.”

Dominic’s eyes quickly scanned the area, only to find more trees. “How can you tell? It all looks the same.”

“Hear cars and people. If it’s not a town, hopefully we can get a ride ta one.”

It was, thankfully, a town they approached. With a lot of watchful eyes and raised brows as they made their way to the first convenient store they came across. Dominic would have been angry that no one was stepping forward to help. If he wasn’t more concerned about being in constant pain and wanting it to just stop.

Dominic let out a small grunt as he was sat down on a bench outside the store. Amos bending down to examine the penguin, who in turn saw how rough the other appeared.

“You look like how I feel.”

Amos snorted, hands gently running over Dominic’s limbs, chest, and back. “Yer not lookin’ too great yerself, so don’t count yerself out. But I’ll take it as a compliment. ‘M not feelin’ anythin’ broken… Goin’ ta get some supplies. We’ll ya be alright out here?”

“Yeah… I think people are keeping their distance. For some strange reason.”

“Alright, Mr. Comedian, sit tight.” Amos departed, Dominic seeing a predominant limp as the owl moved to enter the store.

The penguin wasn’t sure how long the other was gone. Dominic nodded off a few times before Amos returned, plastic bags full of supplies resting on his arms. He silently sat down on the bench next to Dominic and started to patch the penguin up. Amos was gentle as he administered the medicine and wrappings. It hit Dominic that the owl was probably used to patching up his grandchildren. Not injuries of his caliber, the penguin hoped, but no doubt getting the same care and attention he was receiving.

“There...ya made it out pretty well. All things considered.” Amos commented, breaking an ice pack and pressing it against the knot forming on Dominic’s forehead. The penguin let out a hiss of discomfort, Amos starting to put the supplies away.

“Thank you. Let me take a look at you now.”

“‘M fine.”

“We don’t have time for your self-sacrificing nature. Let me take a look.”

Amos huffed and pushed the materials closer to the penguin. “Fine.”

“...Thank you, Amos.”

Dominic was gentle and moved slowly as he checked the owl over. He wasn’t sure if it was Amos’ given heritage, but the owl was surprisingly in tack for being thrown from a moving car. A lot of cuts and bruises, but no broken bones or close to death injuries. Even the leg appeared to just be bruised with Amos needing to remain off it for a while for it to heal. All seemed fine.

At least, until he checked Amos’ back. The owl winced when Dominic touched the wounded area. “Bruised ribs?”

“Possibly.”

“Let’s not take the chances and act as if they are. Shirt off,” Dominic held back a smile as Amos’ feathers puffed out, “Come now, don’t argue with me.”

“Peck neck.” Amos grumbled, but did as was requested.

Dominic was careful as he wrapped another ice pack gently against the owl’s back. Trying not to invade to close into Amos’ space. The owl practically looked anywhere but at Dominic.

“There...you’re all set. We’ll need to change out that pack every few hours.” The penguin advised as he poured a few pain pills out and handed them over. Amos downing them quickly.

“...Thank ya…”

“You’re welcome...Darling. Now, let’s find some place to eat. We really need to talk about what happened.”

#A Hat In Time #discotrain #the conductor #dj grooves #s-creations #fanfiction #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves #Multi-Chapter

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