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danniburgh · 3 years

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Sharp Around the Edges (Pero Tovar x f!reader)

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Summary: He had taken too long to come back; he wasn't getting you easy this time.

Pero wanted nothing more than to reach to you and caress your soft, warm skin, but his dagger was still pressing on his chest and he had to resign to only watch you stand naked next to him.

Word count: +4.5k

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), knife play/knife kink, blood/cum eating. sorry it just happened. Me, a mexican woman, trying to write dialogue in non-modern english gets its own warning.

A/N: first i saw this gif down here and i was like YES I WANT TO DOM PERO TOVAR, and that’s how this was born, i wanna thanks @mouthymandalorian, @purplepascal042 and @starlightmornings for helping me a lot with this bc its the first time i write Pero and i wanted to get it right, anyway enjoy lol

Masterlist // Read on ao3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

gif by @toesure

The sound of the cicadas interrupted your train of thought. It was hot, the air inside the kitchen was warm and besides the screams of the dying bugs outside, the entire inn was completely silent.

You let the cup you were drying on the counter and you brought the same rag you were using to your forehead, wiping the thin sheet of sweat that had settled on your skin.

You couldn’t wait to sink inside a bath of chilled water.

“Ah!” your mother, outside the kitchen, screamed and applauded twice, you frowned and walked towards the small, closed window that let you see the receiving room and the small counter your mom hid behind to count the day’s coin “my favorite boarders!” she let out, you sighed and rolled your eyes before opening the wood shutters and looking at your mother walking to wrap her arms around two tall, broad, armored men.

You felt your jaw tighten when a pair of deep brown eyes lingered on you for a second too long before returning to your mom.

“Mi señora.” he said, you scoffed under your breath as your mom let out a flirty giggle.

“Tovar, Garin, it is so good to see you both,” your mother said in a soft voice that made you want to laugh, “it has been a long time,” Garin, the taller, blond one, only nodded to her and she started guiding them inside the inn “child!” she called out for you, not bothering to turn around to the kitchen, you sighed again because of the tone she used when she yelled and because she kept calling you child, cleaned your hands on your white apron that hung loosely from your waist and walked out of the kitchen.

“Yes, mother.” you mumbled out, feeling that brown pair of eyes stuck to your body; a slight warmness settled inside your gut and you fidgeted with the hem of your apron.

“Take these nice men to their usual rooms,” she said, finally looking at you, “help them get settled while I get some water ready for them.”

“Of course, mother.” you bit your lip as she turned back to the standing men and gently took the small pouch of coin Garin was handing her, you smiled to yourself when she palmed Tovar’s armored bicep and waited for her to go inside the kitchen and out to the water well.

“William, amigo.” Tovar mumbled with that smokey, rough, accented voice of his and you saw him looking at his partner, the blond man looked at him and then at you, knowing what his friend wanted and rolled his eyes.

“I will see myself in.” William mumbled and you nodded at him, Tovar stepped a little bit closer towards you while both your gazes followed William as he walked up the stairs towards the room he always used.

“Paloma,” (dove) he started, stepping closer, you glared at him and he stopped walking, “is there something wrong?”

“Don’t, Pero.” you raised your hand at him, the man frowned at you and you could see the confusion on his face.

“What is wrong?” he asked again.

You turned around instead of replying and walked towards the stairs, he called you again, this time by your name and you ignored him, you heard the heavy steps of his boots behind you as you reached the second floor and you felt the way his rough fingers were trying to grab your hand.

“Palomita,” (little dove) he muttered while you guided him to the room he always slept in when he stayed in the inn, “what did I do?”

“Taking too long to come back,” you said in a low voice, unlatching the door and opening for him, “you took too long.”

Pero tightened his jaw in front of you and stood straighter. Knowing you wouldn’t say anything more, he walked inside the room and turned his head slightly to see you walk away and hear you rushing down the stairs, letting out a tired, nostalgic sigh.

A couple of hours later, a bath with chilled water for the summer heat and the grime he had been accumulating and a rich, packed dinner later, Pero was laying down on the cot in the middle of the small room, thinking about how the thin, rag filled bedroll was doing wonders on his back after weeks of sleeping on a blanket between him and the hard floor.

But his mind kept going back to you, to the way you looked at him when he arrived, how much he had missed your stern stares, how good you looked in those skirts and a loose blouse that reminded him of how soft your skin was, he had missed you whole.

And he knew then you had too. It wasn’t his plan to take too long to go back to you; things, as they often did, went wrong and plans were changed. And he spent nights upon nights yearning in silence for you and your tight-lipped smile he only got when the room was too dark for him to really admire, and your stern eyes that seemed to always read him so well, and your warm skin that until that day had received him openly, and your chapped lips that ate at his mouth and kissed on his body and licked at his skin like no woman had done before you, and the soft curves that made your body the one he wanted for himself and no one else.

At the thought of the pieces that formed you, his cock started to rise. God.

He needed you.

A knock on the wooden door brought him back to reality, and he stood up from the cot and unlatched it, opening it, pulling from the latch.

You stood there, not really looking at him, Pero searched for your eyes, but you avoided looking at him.

“I came to pick up your dinner tray.” you muttered, Pero nodded, narrowing his eyes, he stepped to the side to let you walk in towards the small wooden table in the corner of the room; the tray was emptied and somewhat cleaned on the table and his short daggers were resting next to it, Pero squared up his shoulders and he pushed the door closed slowly.

You let out a sigh when you heard the door being latched, and you turned around to face him.

“No.” you let out, Pero tilted his face and smirked at you.

“No, what?” he teased, you shook your head and stepped back when he stepped closer to you, “I missed you, Palomita.”

“Do not call me that.” you warned him, your stern gaze on him, finally looking at his deep brown eyes, eyeing the hardness of his scar you had kissed plenty of times and the darkness around his lids.

“I missed you.” Pero said again, hardening his voice.

He stood right in front of you and raised his hand to brush at your waist; you took him from that wrist and twisted his arm to the side, your other arm took his opposite shoulder and he let you shove his back against the wall.

Pero smirked at your reaction and took in the hardness of your expression with the admiration of a combat experienced man being subdued by a person who knew him better than most.

“Do not touch me.” you whispered again, leaning to him and tried not to get overwhelmed by his warmth and his fresh lavender and lime scent of the soap bar he used when he bathed.

Pero stood up to the challenge you were giving him. He had told you before how much he liked your fiery nature, the way you commanded the respect you were sure and knew you deserved, and he adored you for not fearing anything or anyone.

The fact that you had him pressed against the wall and stood inches away from his face only made his body fill with more arousal.

He reached you with his other hand and you stiffened; you tightened the grip on his wrist and narrowed your eyes.

In a swift motion you released his wrist, gave half a twirl and picked up one of his daggers from the table; you turned to face him again, pressed him harder to the wall and pointed the tip of the dagger on the skin of his neck, right below the jaw.

“Would you look at that,” Pero let out in a semi proud tone, you huffed, and you nodded your head towards the grip he had on your waist, he dropped his hand and you moved your wrist to twist the tip of the dagger on his skin “I know you can handle a knife, mujer, but I came here to see you, not to die.” he whispered, his breath collided with your face and you felt that same warm arousal you had felt earlier when you looked at him and you felt every time you saw him.

“You want to mount me, Pero?” you asked in a whisper, pressing the dagger a bit harder on his skin, Pero smirked at the seriousness of your voice.

“Of course I want to mount you, Paloma,” he replied “I have not thought of anything else.”

“Would it kill you not to mount me?” you asked him again. He narrowed his eyes once again and glared at you, not understanding your intentions “would you die?”

“Of need, Palomita, I always need you.”

“Liar,” you spat under your breath, gliding the edge down to his jugular, “you would have died on the way out of here if that were true.”

“I was dying inside,” Pero said, hissing when you pressed the edge of the dagger down “be careful with that, mujer.”

“Why?” you challenged, looking at the way the silver blade contrasted with the sun kissed tone of his skin, with the darkness of his eyes, liking the way the polished metal glistened slightly with the reflection of the lit candles, enjoying having him slowly shrinking under your hands “why should I not just slice you open?”

Pero huffed but hesitated to reply. You slid the dagger further down and rested the weight of it on the hollow of his throat. A smirk formed on your face when you saw his Adam’s apple bob at the feeling of the sharp tip pressing on his skin, enough to sting but not enough to break it open.

“I have no suitable answer to that.” Pero whispered and you scoffed, moving to slide your free hand from his shoulder to his face. You leaned in and left a soft kiss on his jaw that made him let out the lowest sigh you had heard from him. The sound gave you a boost of confidence you had never felt with him, and you moved your leg to brush his legs open.

“I should cut your throat open, Pero Tovar.” you said, he nodded slightly “you left me here alone,” you muttered, Pero sighed “you left for months, I should end your life.”

“Preciosa,” he whispered softly, “you should, but I know you will not.”

You growled and Pero felt the sound settle right inside his lower belly. His cock bobbed in interest inside his trousers and you dropped your hand from his face to his chest and fisted his black tunic, pulling him away from the wall.

Pero wasn’t a lightweight, and he knew it, but he knew better than to make himself heavy to stop you from doing what was on your mind. Besides, you were still holding his dagger against his neck, and he wasn’t a fool.

You pulled him towards the cot and dropped the hand that was grabbing his tunic to your side; you moved the dagger from his neck to his cheek and pressed the tip on the place only you knew he had a dimple.

“Undress,” you ordered, Pero breathed in deeply and, as his natural reaction was, he smirked, only to hiss at the way the movement of the muscles of his cheek made his skin slide against the tip of the dagger, creating a small cut that didn’t bleed “careful,” you let out, rising your eyebrows at him, “I am not repeating myself.”

“Yes, madam.”

Pero took the hem of his tunic and you stepped back to allow him to take it off. He dropped it to the floor next to you and looked at you, as if he was waiting for you to press the knife back on his skin.

He would be lying if he said the way you were handling yourself around him didn’t make him feel deeply aroused and fond of you. You weren’t a damsel, by no means you were helpless, but you, gaining control and bossing him around as if you were a commander of a large army, made him look at you in another light.

Pero had issues with authority, yet he would let you order him around for the rest of his life.

You put the tip of the knife on his chest, right above his sternum, and Pero tried to suck the air inside and make his chest thinner to avoid the inevitable sting of the sharp tip almost cutting him.

“The trousers.” you let out, Pero nodded once and unlaced them, letting them fall to the floor, he stepped out of them and slowly kicked them next to his shirt. Leaving him naked and at your mercy.

You let your eyes roam around his naked, muscular yet softened body; and smirked at his half-hard cock.

“Lie down.” you muttered, Pero let the air that he was holding out and nodded again, grasping already the idea you had in mind.

He could let you boss him around for the rest of his life.

Pero sat on the cot and shuffled up. You followed his movements with the dagger, never stopping the touch on his skin; you held it straight; you held it in a way it grazed lightly and pressed sternly at the same time. He was loving the feeling that at any time you could just bury the weapon inside him and leave it at that. But he knew you wouldn’t.

With your free hand you undid the loose knot that held your apron right on your waist, you let it fall down on your feet and Pero smirked to himself when you continued unlacing your skirts, all with one hand while the other held a sharp dagger against his chest.

“You are beautiful, Paloma.” he muttered when you started unlacing your blouse.

“Shut your mouth, Pero.” you said, hiding the pleased feeling his statement made you feel.

“I am telling the truth.” he teased, you stopped undressing.

“And I am telling you to shut your mouth,” you repeated, pressing the tip of the dagger harder on his chest, making him hiss again with a smirk on his face, “you are enjoying this more than I expected.” you said, twisting the blade.

“I am,” he let out, closing his eyes and fisting the sheet when you glided the dagger down, making sure it didn’t cut “because it is you who is holding it.”

You huffed at his words and pulled up your blouse slowly, sliding your free arm off first and then changing the dagger to that hand while you took off the blouse, leaving your top half naked and just wearing your undergarment.

Pero opened his eyes, and you smirked at the lusty dark stare he gave you, he made the motion of reaching to you and you glared at him, raising your eyebrows and he stopped his movement.

“Get yourself hard.” you nodded to his half-hardened cock.

“Yes, my lady.” he whispered teasingly. You groaned at that and knelt on the cot while he fisted his cock and started moving his wrist.

You leaned down to him and pressed the blade harder on his skin, Pero hissed and tightened the grip on his cock, choking down a grunt of pleasure.

“Call me that again, I defy you.” you whispered on his face, Pero’s eyes fluttered closed, making you smirk again and shake your head a few times.

You wanted to laugh at him being clay under your hands but you knew, as he did, that if you laughed, he would take back control, and if he was enjoying being subdued by you, you were enjoying ordering him around.

It was a situation you didn’t think you would find yourself after spending months wondering where he was or if he would return safely to you; the relationship you had with him wasn’t at all ideal; he would arrive at the inn with William, spend a few weeks there, sneak around with you, make vague promises of settling down in a village with you, and go again. You didn’t mind as long as he came back to you.

But the last time he left, he didn’t come back as quickly as he used to, and you soon found yourself mourning him.

So for him to just show up at the inn and wanting to fall into the old routine of bathing and sneaking into your room to fuck you until the sun appeared on the sky outside was the last bit. He wouldn’t get it easy.

Pero closed his mouth, and you scoffed at him only shutting up when he had a weapon aimed at him. You grabbed his wrist, and he opened his eyes, stopping his movements on his cock. You pushed his hand away, and he gulped when you stood up from the cot and with your free hand slid down your undergarment.

He wanted nothing more than to reach to you and caress your soft, warm skin, but his dagger was still pressing on his chest and he had to resign to only watch you stand naked next to him.

You knelt on the bed again and climbed to startle his lap, Pero sighed at the feeling of your slick already leaking onto his thighs.

“Hands away.” you ordered. Pero lifted his arms and left them to rest above his head.

You circled your hips on his thighs to release some of the pressure you were feeling in your core and choked down a moan when his worked up muscles tightened under you.

You leaned down to him, sliding the dagger up to his pulse vein again, and you licked the trail of sweat that had formed on the other side of his neck, Pero sighed heavily and you moved to steal a rough, fast kiss off his lips.

“I am going to fuck myself with you,” you whispered against his lips, Pero nodded twice, already eager, he felt like he was about to burst open if he wasn’t inside you “and I am going to tell you when to fall apart, you will do it when I tell you, do you understand?” Pero nodded again and you lifted yourself on your knees and moved to hover your core above his cock.

You took his cock in your hand, gave it a few strokes with the only purpose of teasing him and lined it up with your wet entrance, you sat on him slowly, staring at him and taking in the way his body loosened up when your warm walls constricted his cock.

A soft moan left your lips when you had him fully inside you, you felt stuffed and you realized just exactly how much you had missed him inside your body, making you feel complete.

“I missed this, Palomita.” Pero whispered out along with a moan when you started circling your hips around him, you put your free hand on his chest and the other kept pressing the dagger on his neck.

“If you did, you would have come back before.” you muttered on top of him, feeling his hard cock already grazing that unknown spot inside you that made your legs shake.

“You were not letting me explain,” he gritted out as you sat up, dragged the dagger back to his chest and started bouncing on top of him “you know things get–ah, carajo, the travels get complicated.”

You let out a moan when he gave a shallow thrust into you and you pushed the tip of the dagger on his skin.

“Stay still, Pero,” you demanded. He nodded again, “I thought you were dead,” the tone of your voice dropped an octave when you said it and Pero narrowed his eyes to you and saw nothing but pleasure and grief in your eyes, “I had no means to know if you were alive.”

“Preciosa…” he let out.

“Shut your mouth,” you whispered, changing the rhythm of your bounces, he growled lowly at the way your boobs bounced with you “I do not want to listen to your explanations,” Pero closed his eyes in pleasure when the lewd noises of your skins collapsing together and your slick leaking out of you and around him grew louder “I will not let you leave after this.”

Pero smiled tightly at that as he opened his eyes, his hands twitching above his head because of the increasing need of clasping your hips and thrusting into you.

“You will ke–keep me bound to your home?” he asked, you nodded, Pero looked down his body, past the dagger held against his chest, at the union of your bodies and restrained his hips from moving to meet you in the middle, “how are you going to make–a mercenary stay put?”

“Just how I am making him lay still while I use him,” you said, Pero sighed in pleasure at your words “I will carve mo–more scars if I need to, Pero, you know I will,” he nodded and took in the way your skin contrasted with his, the way your face quirked with pleasure and anger and the way your eyes looked at him as they always did, “tell me you are going to stay.” you demanded.

“Yes, my lady.” he whispered. You frowned and without stopping your movements you pressed the blade of the dagger on his skin, breaking the surface open.

Pero hissed in pain and stiffened his body as you smirked at the thin trail of blood that came out of the cut.

He moved his hands and gripped your hips. Before you could say something in protest, he lifted your body and pulled you away from his cock just before it started spurting his white seed all over his belly as he groaned in pleasure with his eyes closed.

You sighed at the mess he made of himself and he opened his eyes to face you.

“Preciosa, I jus–” you held your hand with the dagger to him and shook your head to stop him from trying to explain himself.

“I told you not to call me that,” you muttered, he nodded with a smirk. You looked at the cut on his chest and Pero followed your gaze to it. “so, you enjoy that?” you teased, he huffed at you.

“Well, I suppose I do.” he said. You leaned down to the cut and with your fingers cleaned the little blood that had escaped from the opening.

Pero followed your movements and widened his eyes when you brought your fingers to your mouth, tasting the blood.

“I did not peak,” you muttered, pulling out your fingers, leaving the dagger on top of his chest, right below the cut you did “you are going to make me.”

Before Pero could give out more than a nod, you crawled on the cot and knelt above his head. Pero frowned, looking up to you. You opened your legs and put one knee on each side of his face, giving him an unrestricted view of your wet, swollen core. He smirked at you when you turned your head down to see him.

“Eat me.” you ordered. He said nothing, but wrapped his arms around each thigh and brought you down to his mouth.

You let out a relieved sigh when you felt his warm tongue slide from that small hooded button at the top of your core to your entrance, and you leaned to rest your hands at the sides of his belly. Pero stuck his tongue in your wet hole and you moaned roughly when he started humming in pleasure.

The seed that rested on his belly glistened with the reflection of the candles and you brought your hand to it, scooping it and bringing your fingers to your mouth. It wasn’t the first time you tasted Pero’s seed, but you liked it better directly from the source, you liked it better when it was warm.

Pero shivered at the delicate way you were cleaning his mess and slid his hands from the back of your thighs to your ass. You moaned when he started guiding your hips to move around his mouth, grabbing handfuls of your flesh and grazing his teeth on the puffy lips of your core.

“Pero,” you gasped under your breath and threw your head between your shoulders with your eyes closed when his mouth sucked on the little button of you and nibbled at it a few times, “hea–heavens, Pero.”

You arched your back and looked down to your core, finding Pero’s jaw open and watching the movements of his chin as his mouth had you on the edge of your peak, you felt his teeth nibbling again at your thin lips and your hooded button and then his tongue lapping and soothing the subtle sting.

You took his softened cock in your hand, not to get it hard again, but because you had missed its weight and its velvety texture against your work-hardened hands, Pero moaned again at the surprise of your action and the sound reverberated on your core, throwing you over the edge. You hit your peak with a choked moan and Pero kept lapping at your entrance as it kept leaking, eating everything it had to give him.

You threw yourself to the side softly, and the bedroll made a muffled sound that combined with your soft pants.

Pero sat up and the dagger that rested on his chest fell to his lap on the blunt side. You huffed at the way he got slightly startled and he left it at the edge of the cot, his hand immediately finding you and resting over your breast.

“I missed you, Palomita.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, “do not leave again, that way you will not have to miss me.”

Pero huffed a stern laugh and leaned down to take your lips in his. His kiss was as soft as a mercenary’s kiss can be, his lips were warm and soft yet chapped and wet.

“Only if you oath to do this to me again sometime soon, amor mío.” Pero teased against your mouth. You gave him that tight-lipped smile he loved so much.

“When the cut on your chest heals.”

pedrito's perma list: @northernpunk @pascalesque @sleep-tight1 @cheekygeek05 @bii-aan-ckaa @letaliabane @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorianalso @supernaturalgirl @metalarmsandmanbuns @purplepascal042 @asta-lily @greeneyedblondie44 @missswriter @juletheghoul @pedro-pastel @agirllovespancakes @maharani-radha

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar fanfic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #pedro pascal characters

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xazz · 3 years

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Moth Wings 5

Pairing: AltMal, Altair+Desmond Rating: Explicit Tags: vampires, romance, servant AU, music AU, fluff, angst, flangst Status: WIP

Double update bc it’s a spooky story for a spooky period of time :,)

Also now tumblr has access to the first full chapter of Moth Wings that Patreon has already enjoyed for a while now. If you wanna get ahead it’s all available on Patreon which you can find on my main blog.

The next day Altair only played the violin quietly. He didn’t want Malik to hear and Desmond liked the music. Malik didn’t bother him that day, or the next, thankfully.

His hand strength was increasing now. And he was starting to develop callouses on his fingers again. Thankfully. It made playing easier.

It didn’t get him any closer to getting Desmond to talk. When Desmond wanted music he mimed playing the violin. That wouldn’t do. He needed to get Desmond to start talking. He needed to show progress to the mistress and master. That he was doing right by them. That he wasn’t fucking up their son. Of course he also bitterly thought if they were really worried about the state of their son’s development they should be the one raising him!

Altair had taken to playing the lullaby each night now to Desmond. He sat on the bed with the violin as Desmond lay under the covers. He mimed playing. “No,” Altair said. “If you want me to play you ask, with words.” Desmond frowned. “I know you understand me, Des. If you want me to play you a lullaby you need to ask me.”

Desmond scowled at him and mimed again that he wanted Altair to play. “I’m not going to play unless you use words, Desmond.”

Desmond scowled and rolled onto his side, pouting. Altair didn’t leave yet. “Just ask me to play, and I’ll play all night if you want,” he stroked the boy’s hair gently.

Desmond sat up. His mouth worked and then in a very bad way went, “Altear plaw.”

Altair’s eyes widened. “Play? You want me to play?”

“Plaw,” Desmond said and mimed using the bow. “Plaw, plaw.”

“Okay. I’ll play,” and he tucked Desmond back into bed. “Thank you for using your words,” he said, holding onto the hem of the blanket. “Using our words gets things we want, see?”

“Yeas,” Desmond said. “Plaw.”

“I will. You’re such a good boy,” and he kissed Desmond on the forehead. Then he sat up and took up the violin and started to play the lullaby. Even just the few days his hands were more deft and sure than they had been the first time he played. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of the song washing over him, reminding him of being a child himself. In his bed Desmond yawned and Altair kept playing. He played it a few times and at the end of the last bar hung onto the last note, letting it fade slowly into the air around them and opened his eyes. Desmond was sound asleep, curled up under the covers.

Altair got up and put the violin away. He always took it back to his closet room with him every night. He liked having it near. It reminded him of his father. Of his life outside the castle.

He closed the door softly and when he turned around his heart was in his throat. Malik was leaning against the wall just next to the door. “Ah, sir, did you need anything?” Altair stammered stupidly, looking down at his chest and not his face but at least not looking at the ground.

He flinched when Malik put a finger under his chin, making him look up. “Just a bit higher,” he said nicely.

Altair swallowed, “Can I do something for you?”

“Yes,” Malik stood up properly and Altair really wished he’d just leave him alone. “Come with me.” Altair did follow and was glad Malik had turned away so he could avert his eyes. He didn’t lead Altair to his room but to another room. A bigger room. A ballroom perhaps? Altair had never been in here. A small couch had been brought into the middle of the ballroom. Malik went and sat on it and Altair was destined to stand before him. He started to get nervous, his hands trembling. “Play for me,” he said.

“What?” Altair choked.

“Play for me. I’ve heard you practicing. Let’s hear you now,” Malik reclined into the back of the couch.

“Ah- alright,” he put the violin case down and pulled the instrument out, retightening the loose bow. He swallowed and put the violin under his chin. He needed to think of something. He closed his eyes to try and think of some music. Anything. Something came after a few seconds, piercing through the panic. It was an up beat song but not very quick so he could keep up with the tempo. He used to play it a lot during festival days with other string players. It was a song for spring and reminded Altair of flittering butterflies.

The sound filled the ballroom, the high ceilings and marble floor creating perfect acoustics for the sound. It made it sound like there were five players in the room and not just Altair. He opened his eyes to look around the room he’d never been, his hands knowing the song well enough to not need his supervision. It was a high vaulted room with beautifully painted walls and a place to sit along the sides. And while spectacular wasn’t really of interest to Altair. The dining room was as magnificent and he saw that every day.

His eyes eventually rested on Malik sitting in the sofa and he was watching intently. It made him faulter and Altair lost tempo, his fingers scattering across the neck awkwardly. He blushed, looked away, and pulled himself together. He looked back at Malik and Malik was just enraptured by the playing. He wasn’t anywhere as good as he used to be but Malik didn’t know that. To him this was the height of how you played this instrument.

Finally the song ended and Altair lowered the bow. Malik clapped, smiling widely. “That was marvelous. Absolutely fantastic,” he said brightly.

“Thank you,” Altair said humbly.

“What’s your name?”

Altair wasn’t sure why he was surprised Malik didn’t know his name but he was. He supposed it would have appeared beneath him to ask the masters the name of their human nanny. “Altair,” he said, “Altair Luthier.”

“Such a name hardly belongs here in the mountains like this,” Malik said. “Is your family from here?”

“Yes, sir,” he nodded. “Five generations.”

“And before that?”

“I... I don’t know,” he admitted.

“You look different from the other humans in the town,” Malik remarked.

“Yes. My family and some others in the valley are darker skinned,” he admitted.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Apologies,” Altair bowed, “Your driver named you when you first arrived but I forgot most of it. I know you’re the master’s guest, Malik,” he apologized.

Malik chuckled. “It is a mouthful for you so far north, I don’t blame you for forgetting. I am a member of the Sunfaire coven far to the south. William and I are... well friend is such a strong word among our kind. He and I have an understanding. I am visiting for a time.”

Altair wasn’t sure why he was being told this. But the vampire wanted to converse with him. How odd. “Is there a reason? If he’s not your friend then why would you come here? Especially as it will be winter soon and the winters are frigid here.”

Malik smiled slightly. “Yes. I have heard. But there is unrest in my homeland. I disagree with the direction of my coven and how they are dealing with the unrest. So I took myself out of the picture until it is over.”

“Oh. How long will that be?”

“Who knows? A year? Five years? A generation? Humans have such a hard time letting go of their petty squabbles. Now play something else for me.”

“Alright,” Altair said slowly. He brought the violin back up, thought about what to play and decided to just do the lullaby with some flourish. The lullaby made him feel better as much as Desmond. But he added a bit more to it. A pitch change, a tempo shift, the rearrangement of some notes. The familiar song made him feel more at ease even with Malik watching him so closely.

Malik didn’t stop him and he just kept playing. Eventually leaving the lullaby melody for something else. Just something his fingers did without much thought. But he didn’t let it get sad like he had a few days ago. The music soothed him and even though he was the one playing it he felt himself being lulled to sleep by the music. He was also very tired. Playing with Desmond and practicing all day made him so tired. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in years it felt like.

A hand grabbed his wrist and he realized he was about to fall over. “Oh— uh—“ he felt very foolish at Malik holding his wrist. “Apologies. I uh— I almost nodded off there,” he flushed in embarrassment.

Malik didn’t scold him or even seem upset. “I suppose it is well past sunrise.” He delicately took the bow out of Altair’s hand, loosened it, and put it in the case. He took the violin as well and closed it in its soft lined case. Then he picked the case up but didn’t offer it to Altair. “I will carry it for you,” he said and motioned for Altair to go. He was mortified. A vampire? Carrying his violin?

“N-no, I can do it,” he tried to reach for it.

Malik just put a hand on his chest. “You’ve provided me with beautiful music tonight. It is the least I can do is carry a bit of weight before you go to bed.”

Altair didn’t know what to do and felt trapped. Eventually he just nodded and headed for his closet. Malik followed behind. “You play so well. Does the coven know you play?”

“I don’t think so,” Altair said.

“A pity,” Malik scoffed. “Or maybe for the better. I get to enjoy it all on my own without their racket,” he chuckled. “Well, of course, me and Desmond.”

Altair just laughed awkwardly. “I can take it now,” he said outside his door and held his hand out for the case.

“This is where you sleep?” Malik’s brow furrowed even as he surrendered the case. The door wasn’t like the other doors in the castle to everyone else’s rooms.

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” he bowed. He waited for Malik to leave but the vampire didn’t. “Uh?” he looked up and Malik was just standing there. “Aren’t you also going to go to sleep, Malik?”

“I’m a polite guest. It’s rude to leave before someone you walk home has gone inside,” Malik said. Altair looked at him, shrugged, and opened his door. He was surprised when Malik put his hand on the door before he could close it. “This is where you sleep?” Malik asked again, sharper this time.

“Ah? Yes?” Altair said, swallowing, trying not to cower.

Malik said something in another language, he sounded very annoyed. He looked down upon Altair’s little cot shoved into the corner and the tiny stool and water jug and basin. Then he looked at Altair. “No wonder you’re asleep on your feet.”

“I was very busy today,” Altair said.

“You’re sleeping on a board with a furred rug over it and no pillow,” Malik said it out loud and Altair looked down, humiliated. He didn’t like to think of it like that. “I don’t know how William and Kaley expect you to look after their son in a state like this.” He seemed genuinely angry about it. “In my coven we’d never allow the humans to stay in such a place. Oh I am having words with them,” he growled.

“No, please don’t,” Altair grabbed his arm. “The mistress already treats me so coldly, please don’t speak to her of this.”

Malik’s black eyes were narrowed. “You deserve better than this, even if you are a human,” Malik said. “Even the cattle are more well off.”

That rattled in Altair’s skull. “What?” he asked softly.

“Have you ever been to the cellar?”

“No. I’m not allowed down there,” Altair said just above a whisper.

“They have beds, and chairs, and places to sit comfortably in their confinement. Hell they even have space for things, personal items and entertainment. They haven’t even graced you with a shelf,” he motioned angrily to the closet. “What have they told you it was like down there?” Altair repeated the words the Matron had told him often. “Hah. Hardly. This coven hasn’t hunted fresh food in decades because they take good care of their livestock. They keep them well fed and fat. I’ve seen what you eat. Cold food you bring from the town. I’m sure they wonder why you even go there when they bring hot food up here every day to the outer cellar door for the humans. Mocking them like the food they bring isn’t good enough?

“No. I will certainly be speaking with William and Kaley of this because this is unacceptable. Even my servants have their own shared rooms thrice as big as this and only two people sleep in it,” he motioned to the room angrily again.

Altair was about to have a break down. He let go of Malik and was just sitting on his cot, staring at him. He’d suffered this place for three years, taking care of that horrible pulsating chrysalis and then their little son and they acted like a closet and providing him a small amount of money to buy his own food was a kindness. First he’d been forced to leave his home, his life, his livlihood, and now this came to light? He put a hand over his face and cried.

Malik stepped into the closet and knelt by him. “Altair?”

“Please sir, just go away,” he said thickly.

“Yes but-

“I wish to be alone. Please. Allow me that,” he looked at Malik with tearful eyes.

Malik looked stricken. He didn’t even react when Malik reached up to wipe away his tears. “I think you’ve been alone enough,” he said nicely. “And I don’t want to leave you here. You don’t deserve to sleep here another night.”

“Where else would I go?” Altair asked with a mad smile. “The garden? I’ll just sleep under the rose bushes huh?”

“Not quite what I had in mind, no,” Malik said. “But there is an extra bed in my chambers.”

“Wh-what? No. No I couldn’t,” Altair said quickly.

“I insist.”

“But-

“Altair,” he said with some impatience. “I know William has told you to obey any vampire in this castle, yes?” He nodded. “Well, I am one. So you will obey,” he said sternly.

“I don’t wish to intrude-

“Get up,” Malik stood. Altair hesitated but did stand. Malik pushed him out of the closet and stalked him down the hall back to the hall where his and Desmond’s quarters were. Altair wrung his hands the entire time nervously, nearly wringing the skin clean off. Malik opened the door and bullied him inside. “You can sleep here,” he said, showing Altair to the bedroom.

“W-what? No. I couldn’t. That’s your bed. I couldn’t push you out of that.”

“You can,” Malik said. “I have my slab,” he pointed to the sarcophagus in the corner of the room. “It’s really quite comfortable. You won’t be putting me out.”

“Yes but-

“Altair,” he spoke over his nervous prattling. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night,” Altair said dumbly.

“Really slept. Slept well? Got an honest to goodness real night sleep where you didn’t wake up as exhausted the night before? Hmm?”

Altair didn’t answer at first. But they both knew the answer. “Since I came here,” he said softly.

“I thought as much. Now please. You do a hard, thankless, task, you deserve a good’s night sleep. Now I am insisting you take my bed for the night.”

Altair still hesitated. But Malik didn’t seem a bad sort. And he seemed genuinely angry about the closet. He was being genuine. “Alright,” he finally said.

“Good,” and Malik put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry your only interaction with vampires has been this coven,” he growled. “I assure you, we aren’t all like this. Most of us appreciate our human workers. This is why William and I have an understanding, but he is not my friend.”

“Oh. Thank you,” he bowed because he didn’t know what else to do. “You’ve been... very kind to me.”

“Only what you deserve,” Malik grunted. Then he released Altair and went to the sarcophagus. He removed his night coat and stretched out his arms and his glass-like strangely insectoid wings unfurled from his spine to also stretch out, straining to their full length. Altair had only ever seen Desmond’s tiny, useless wings. He’d never seen an adult vampire’s full wings. They were colored on the back like a moth or butterfly. Then they curled back up against Malik’s back and he climbed into the sarcophagus, closing the lid without another word.

That just left Altair in the bedroom of a vampire. He swallowed and took off some of his clothes. Just so he wasn’t sleeping fully dressed but more dressed than he’d usually sleep. Then he carefully sat on the bed, watching the sarcophagus like Malik would climb back out and call him a fool for believing such things and throw him out. But Malik didn’t. Altair inched his way further onto the bed and under the covers. They were the softest, most luxurious sheets he’d ever felt in his life. Even with the comforter he felt cool under them. And the pillows were great and plush, cradling his head gently.

Altair sank into the softness with a content sigh, eyes closing. He opened them enough to turn the lamp on the bedside table off before he closed his eyes. He slept better than he had in years.

#Assassin's Creed #AltMal #Altair #Malik al-Sayf #Desmond Miles #Moth Wings

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straykats · 4 years

Note

An other request only if you have time 💪❤ After discovering that his gf went to the hospital bc of eating disorders and extreme loose weight, Minho tries to help her out 🥺💕

I’m sorry if this is short and a little (kinda very) vague,, i tried to do my research but i’m still not 100% with everything.

please take care of yourself, everyone ♡

--------

It had been a snowy day, the curtains and walls around you a startling white. Looking outside had almost been the same as staying inside - everything was white.

Almost everything, anyways.

A vase of flowers sat on the table next to your bed, and you didn’t need a note to know who they were from. The warm tones resembled the first bouquet of flowers Minho had ever gotten for you.

Each morning you awoke, the world became less white. Eventually the grass was green again, and your surroundings became that of your familiar room.

The flowers sat on your bedside table even now, each morning gracing you with the reminder that you were loved and he was here for you.

“Babe, are you up?”

You let out a hum, rolling over to face the door as it opens. Minho walks in, a smile on his face. You scootch over and he takes a seat on the edge of your bed, a hand placed on your arm.

“I’ve missed you, y’know?”

You mumble a small apology, and he shakes his head. Pulling the covers tighter around you, you close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of his hand rubbing your arm through the layers of fabric.

“Hey, I was thinking… do you want to go out today-”

“Why haven’t you asked me why I did it? Why I let it get so bad?”

Minho’s hands freeze, and his mouth opens slowly. He blinks once, twice, and then speaks. “I… I didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it. I didn’t want to… corner you into explaining everything, if you didn’t want to.”

You nod your head slowly before sitting up. A hand is on your back in an instant, another on your shoulder. Minho helps you get up, even though you had enough energy to do so by yourself now. “I mean… Maybe not right now. I’m still tired.”

He nods understandingly and busies his hands with rearranging the blanket that had pooled around you.

“You know… when your mum called me, I was shocked. I kind of… blamed myself.”

“It’s not your-”

“I know. It was just my initial reaction, I guess. Of course I still think that I should have tried to do more for you, but… I’m sorry, anyways.” He takes one of your hands in his, and it’s cold - your hand is cold, but he curls your fingers up and covers your hand with his, like a clam holding its pearl. “I don’t want to see you like that again, y/n. It was scary - it was heartbreaking.”

You can only gulp, your eyes trained on his hands enveloping yours. “I’m going to try and get better, okay? But it’s- It’s hard.”

“I know, but I’m here with you, every step of the way. Okay, love?”

His smile isn’t large and bright. It’s small, it’s careful, and it’s loving. Always so loving.

You lean over and rest your head on his shoulder “Okay.”

He places a kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much, y/n, baby.”

#lee minho #lee minho imagines #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #tw: eating disorder #eating disorder

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ashleyisdeviant · 5 years

Note

I had a dream the other night where Arin was a sex worked and Dan hired him bc he wanted to experiment with guys... I would write a fic about it, but I’m afraid of writing smut owo” so you can use the idea if you want!

A/N————————————

First off, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING ME MY FIRST PROMPT!

Second, I’ve already gotten a little too carried away with this so I’m probably going to post it in sections because it will be at least 4 parts or longer at the rate it’s going right now. For some reason I’ve gotten so lost in this prompt.

I love the idea and I love you for sending it to me.

There isn’t any smut in this part of the story but there will be plenty in the next.

So without further stalling, here is the first part of what I’m calling...

————Finding myself in you————

(Part 1)

“What the fuck am I doing?” Dan questioned as he fingered the rim of his mug, fighting the urge to look up at every jostle of the bell above the door. He was in his favorite coffee shop, having some hot herbal tea, waiting on a man he’s never met before to come through the doors. Nerves were getting the better of him and he found himself slowly loosing the battle within as he wondered how the fuck he let himself get to this point.

He had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Everything was completely legal and he paid in full for this service. He felt an involuntary shudder at that word. “Service” made him feel like some kind of man whore or pervert. Still, that’s what it was. They were a company and they needed customers. He was just one of their customers

Another flow of hot tea passed his lips and warmed his throat as he thought about the man he had yet to meet. Dan wondered what the man would be like. The company he used had the option to request specific people based on their picture and a short description, but Dan chose not to do that. He wanted a genuine blind experience to really get an idea as to what he was feeling as of late.

Dan had always been one to try and be as truthful with himself as possible and lately he’s been feeling things changing about himself. Or rather, changing about what he was interested in. He has never be one to shy away from the thought of being gay or bisexual or anything like that, he had just never been interested in anything but girls so he always assumed he was straight. Lately he doesn’t know if that’s completely true anymore.

It started with a stirring in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of his band mate’s bare shoulders and back, broad and strong, muscles rolling beneath skin as he pealed off one shirt to replace it with another. He found he liked the feeling of a strong arm grabbing his shoulders. He shivered when a large palm pressed firmly on his lower back, warm and secure. It all got him thinking, got him wondering, got him wanting.

Dan bit his lip as a slow shiver worked it’s way up his spine. Glancing down at his cup he wondered what the man would look like? What would he sound like? The only pictures that would come to mind were very fit very muscular men, the kind that you would likely see at a male strip club or something. At that Dan felt his chest clench.

It’s not that there was anything wrong with those kinds of men, but he was having trouble seeing himself over top of one, or beside one, or maybe under one...

Dan was rooted so deep in that thought that he didn’t even hear the chime of the bells above the door, or see the figure of a man walking in his direction.

“Excuse me?”

Dan whipped his head up at the sudden voice.

“Yes?” He asked as his eyes were met with a warm brown stare.

“Are you Daniel?” The long haired man before him asked.

Oh shit, Dan thought as he realized who this man must be. He looked nothing like Dan would have thought a male sex worker to look like. He didn’t have rippling muscles or a short fancy hair-do. This guy was by no means chubby, but he had a fuller more delicate figure. His jaw wasn’t chiseled but rather soft and dotted with a thin layer of copper colored hair. His rich brown hair fell to just past his shoulders and he sported a light blonde streak. Full, pink lips curved into a humored smile as Dan finally snapped to attention.

“Uh, yeah.” Dan replied, wiping his palm roughly on his jeans before reaching across the small round table to offer up a hand. “And you are?”

The younger man hesitantly accepted Dan’s hand, giving it a small shake. Dan tried not to focus too much on how soft the other man’s hand felt in his.

“I’m Arin, I was sent by Evening Elation.”

“Right.” Dan said awkwardly.

A few silent seconds ticked by as Dan mentality cursed himself. He wrote music for a living. He studied improv. Why is it now, all of the sudden, Dan couldn’t think of a single thing to say?

Arin shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, then loudly cleared his throat.

“So, is that tea or coffee in your cup?”

Thank god they weren’t both idiots.

“Oh, it’s tea. This place has an amazing forest blend. Dan said as he picked up his cup and gave it a swirl. “Helps to fight off this cold weather.”

Arin nodded.

“Would you like something?” Dan asked gesturing towards the counter.

“Nah,” Arin declined as he made himself comfortable in the chair across from Dan. “Thanks though.”

The tightness in Dan’s chest eased as the conversation began to flow more naturally. He took a long sip from his cup.

“Oh dude, is that a mega man T-shirt?”

Dan glanced down at his oldish looking navy blue mega man shirt, the figure starting to peel off slightly.

“Oh yeah man, that games a classic.”

“It’s my all time favorite game.” Arin added as he shifted in his seat. Dan caught a glimpse of the shirt he was sporting beneath his grey jacket and couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Hey, your shirts pretty sweet too.”

Arin glanced down at himself and placed a hand over the print of two anime style girls in pink and blue fighting attire.

“Oh, thanks man.” He looked a little bashful as he added. “I drew them myself.”

“No way! Really?” Dan leaned closer to get a better look. “That’s so cool.”

He heard Arin give a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, I wanna create an anime for them one day. I think they’re really cute.”

Dan’s eyes flicked back up to Arins.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Arin shrugged a little. “I do a little bit of animation and I really wanna try it out.”

“You animate?” Dan asked as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s really cool. Me and my band mate Brian are thinking about getting a portion of our next music video animated.”

It was Arin’s turn to be impressed.

“You’re in a band?”

Dan chuckled a little and shrugged.

“Yeah. It’s a comedy band. Just a bunch of silly music and dirty jokes. Not what you would normally think of when you hear the word ‘band’ I’m sure.”

“That’s even better.” Arin grinned. Dan couldn’t stop the smile that split his own face. Arin really was kind of beautiful. “Do you mind if I look you up?” Arin asked as he pulled out his phone.

“I don’t mind.” Dan said truthfully. “Just don’t feel obligated to or anything.” Arin shook his head.

“No, I’m really interested.”

Dan placed his elbow on the table and laid his chin in his hand as he watched Arin. The younger man’s hair slowly falling down around his face as he leaned towards his phone. He heard the sound of his own voice singing as Arins mouth turned upwards into a smile. He bobbed his head in time with the beat and occasionally let out a small laugh.

“This is really good, Dan.” He praised. Dan felt his heart warm.

“Thanks so much.”

“Woah, check out that view count!” Arin snapped his eyes up to Dans overtop of his phone. “You’re a bit of a YouTube star, dude.”

Dan didn’t really know what to say to that so he nodded and dropped Arins gaze. He knew that Arin was still staring. He felt it like a hot iron on his skin. Eventually Arin slid his phone back into his pocket.

“So what other games are you into?” Dan asked to fill the silence. Arin took a moment to think.

“I like the first Zelda game pretty good. Recently played shovel knight and really enjoyed that.”

“Punch out?” Dan asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I haven’t actually played that one yet,” Arin confided. “But I really want to.”

“Oh dude!” Dan beamed, a smile spreading widely across his face. “That’s my favorite game! I have it at my place. You should come by and play it.”

That’s when Arin’s posture changed. It was only slightly but it still caught Dan’s attention. Arin’s smile slid into something more practiced as he nodded.

“Yeah man, I’m ready to go when you are.”

For just a moment Dan was confused in the sudden change in the air between them, then he remembered why he was even talking to Arin in the first place, why he was even sitting in this coffee shop right now.

“Oh.”

Dans stomach began to feel heavy again with nerves. He could back out right now if he wanted to, just tell Arin he changed his mind. But then he thought about how that might hurt Arin’s feelings. He really didn’t want to do that, and there was a huge part of him that still needed answers. Dan took one more steadying breath before standing and offering a unwavering hand to Arin.

“I’m ready.”

—————————A/N————————

There you have it. I hope you enjoy it and what’s to come! I will update within the next few days.

💋

#egobang #story prompt #alternate universe

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izzyovercoffee · 5 years

Text

Prompt number: 14. “I can't come back.” Fandom: Republic Commando Rating: PG Warnings/Tags: none that I can tell, ask to tag if need Summary: Bardan keeps Parja company at the shop on a rainy day. Notes: if I get any details wrong... my bad. also if it wasn’t clear... a lot of my repcomm writing is set in an Etain-lives AU, mostly bc her death makes zero sense in the narrative

Bardan lies on an old, well-loved chaise stitched together with the itching fabric sourced from the local farmers. The lights overhead blink in periodic outages---in tandem with the crack of thunder outside and the brilliant flashes through a single window at the far end of the machine shop. One hand facing up, lazy, a device slowly rotates a few centimeters above his palm.

It’s not what he meant when he offered to help, earlier, but Parja insists he helps by lying there and “holding” the device.

To be honest, he’s not really sure what it does---and he doesn’t ask.

She stands about two arms’ length from the chaise, arms crossed over her chest. Her tightly braided hair falls over one shoulder, the braids adorned with polished, painted beads that match her usual armor.

“It’s not doing it,” she says, at length, after another two cracks across the sky outside. “Damn.”

“What’s it supposed to do?” he asks, curious.

“Shock you,” she says.

He looks away from the swaying, blinking lights, to the not-quite-cubed device in his hands.

“Ah,” he says. “Well, it’s definitely not doing that.”

“Is it doing anything?”

He frowns in the direction of the device, and raises his hand higher. A small effect on the force and it rotates a tad faster over his palm. He waits a few seconds, watching it spin, and turns his head to look at her.

“No,” he says.

“Damn,” she says again.

Parja moves forward to pluck the device from its rotation above his hand, and shakes it between two fingers as she walks back to her worktable. He watches her go, lowering his hand over his chest while he adjusts the one cradling behind his head.

“Need me to do anything else?” he asks.

“Just stay there,” she says, and sets the device down on the table. She reaches for something else---her toolbox---and appears to switch her attention to another project. “Maybe tell me a story.”

He’s not very good at stories. Mereel’s better at that sort of thing, and he’s a long, long way from Mandalorian Space.

“I don’t have any stories off the top of my head, Parja,” he says, and wonders at what else he could, should, be doing.

It almost feels like a waste, to lie here and do nothing when he could be outside, doing something. Filling up the time. Helping someone else. Helping Fi. Helping Etain. Helping the other Bralor, under whose care he placed Arla in spite of Kal’s disapproval.

She moves across the machine shop as the storm clouds outside finally open up, and the torrential downpour crackles over the metal roofing of the establishment. Parja stops at an old speeder, one in obvious and desperate need of TLC---as Mereel likes to put it, tender loving care---and kneels by the engine.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Parja,” he says, “You’re never this vague.”

“Bard’ika,” she says, imitating the way he says her name, “I know this is a touchy subject for you. I’m trying to be tactful.”

“Please don’t worry about my feelings.”

“Someone has to.”

He frowns, and tilts his head to look back towards the ceiling, to the source of the ungentle drumming of the rains.

The quiet drags on---broken only by the storm---as Parja begins her work on the speeder.

Bardan thinks about what she could possibly mean. Miss it. Miss what? The Order? The War? The Core?

Someone has to. And what’s that supposed to mean, too?

“That’s not fair,” he says. “You’re not the only one who cares.”

She sighs, and then sets down one of her tools noisily onto the open toolbox lying on the hard ground.

“I know,” she says. “But of the two of us in here, it feels like I’m the only one.”

Alright. He can’t have this conversation lying down.

He shifts, to groaning tired muscles, and sits up. His legs swing over the edge of the chair, and his feet touch the floor with a soft, barely-there scuffle. His fingers loosely interlace, hanging with his elbows at either knee and hands between them.

Parja reaches out, to gently tug a stool over to herself so she can sit, and face both him and the speeder.

“I just want you to ask me plainly,” he says, “because the Order only ever talked in circles.”

The look she gives him is… studying. Curious. He can feel the gentle tug of that curiosity, that need, that urge to take apart and piece things together. It’s the look she wears when she plans to work on and rebuild old broken things and restore them to new---or, as she often says to him, better than new. Different, not wanting to reach for the impossible---not aspiring to be unbroken---but to have that brokenness shine through in its new form.

It’s in everything she does.

It sometimes reminds him of how things could be, should be, but not how things were---in the Jedi Order, that is.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and means it. He knows she means it, even without the unintentional taste of it on the force. “I haven’t met many ex-Jedi. I don’t know what the Order was like.”

He feels the shrug rise his shoulders even despite not intending to do so---a bad habit he’s picked up from Mereel, maybe. Or Jaing.

“I do miss it,” Bardan admits. “In the same way I miss a place, or a memory, through the lens of nostalgia---and then I endeavor to remember what it actually was like, when I feel myself doing so.”

Parja hums in response, neither an interruption nor a comment but an acknowledgement she hears him as she returns her attention on the project. She’s still listening---he knows this, too, from experience rather than any crutch to lean on through the force.

So he continues. “But the Order was… there was a very real pressure, there, to adhere to standards that many of us couldn’t keep, or couldn’t reach. A standard that the… Masters, themselves, did not keep. And the consequences…”

He pauses, chewing on the thought, feeling the weight of the pain in his chest and focusing on that pain as it threatens to claw its way up his throat. He lets himself experience it, feels it consume him, and allows it to dissipate.

Parja waits, reaching down for another tool as she works.

“...they were severe,” he says. “They always spoke of support, of acceptance, of love. And yet, those who needed it the most---the ones who couldn’t grasp the force easily, or what they were asked to do---were denied it, and dismissed.”

Parja pauses in her ministrations to look at him. “Dismissed?”

“No longer able to become Jedi,” he answers, and then frowns. He corrects himself: “Sorry. No longer allowed to become Jedi. Instead, they were sent to work elsewhere, under the supervision of the Order.”

“Work?” she asks, tense. “They failed, and they weren’t sent home?”

He feels a bitter smile infect his frown and doesn’t fight it. “Too dangerous, when touched by the force, to be let loose on the universe. And because we were all taken as young, young children---many didn’t know they could simply leave.”

He almost laughs.

“Many,” he adds, “Even if they knew they could, had nothing to their name, and no way to contact the family they were taken from. We’re not allowed possessions, in the Order, and absolutely no contact with family. I still don’t know if mine are alive. I wouldn’t know how to contact them, if they were.”

A bitter anger runs under that thought. A hurt, like betrayal, in his heart---but he also understands. He wants to think, to believe, that his birth family had no choice---that they sent him to The Order for a better life. Many were taken because, no matter what, it guarantees a better life.

Or it did, before... before the end.

Parja sets down her tool, and shifts on her stool to look at him fully.

“You have a family now,” she says. She looks down, to the ground, and back up at him as another crack of lightning, then thunder, booms outside. “But I’m sure if you asked Mereel…”

“I don’t want to,” he says, firm. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to.”

She purses her lips and nods, and doesn’t say whatever it is she’s thinking though he can see she’s thinking something. She’ll probably gnaw on it for a few days, and then blurt it out the next time he visits the shop, and…

And Bardan finds he’s perfectly happy with waiting until then.

“I’m free of the manipulation,” he says, unable and unwilling to hold the bitterness from his tone. “Free from having the phantom of failure wielded as a whip. And free from simply accepting that the death of good men should not somehow weigh on my conscience.”

Free, he thinks, from having the threat of attachments being found out, used against him, to keep him isolated and placid and content. Complicit.

Parja places a hand on the speeder beside her, and beckons him look at it. He rises from the chaise to join her.

“This speeder,” she says as she gently pats the top edge of the dented, rusted metal, “once belonged to a well known racer in the underground circuits, in Nar Shaddaa.”

“It’s a long way from Nar Shaddaa,” he says, surprised.

She smiles at him. “This racer pushed this poor speeder beyond its limitations. Do you see this damage, here?” Her gloved hands trace the places where the metal curls outwards, as if burst from the inside out. “And here?”

Bardan looks at the damage. “I do.”

“Sometimes,” she says, “when pushed too hard, too far, for too long---with no stops in between---the speeder will respond in any way it can to release the tension.”

She doesn’t explain, and he doesn’t need her to.

“The driver died,” she continues. “This speeder would have been left in a junk pile, if not for someone who saw its beauty, its real potential, under all its supposed failures, and rescued it. She brought it here, to me, and asked for me to restore it in whatever way I see fit.”

Parja, proud in her talents, in her ability, and her side projects, gently pats the speeder. “But I’m not fixing it up to race, because it was never meant to race. It was meant to ride, and to duck in and out between the trees.”

And she looks at him. “And there are no trees on Nar Shaddaa.”

He looks at the speeder.

There are no trees on Nar Shaddaa.

“Am I really helping,” he asks, “coming here, and lying on your couch while you work?”

“Yes. More than you know.” She reaches out, and gently takes his hand in hers. “More than you can know.”

She squeezes his hand, and then lets him go.

He lingers, unsure, but stands after a moment passes and returns to the couch. He sits down, first, and watches her attention pull away from him to return to her project. He watches her begin her work, sensing it’ll be some time before she’ll want to talk again, and takes a moment to breathe. To think. To settle.

And then he lies back down, one hand behind his head and another on his chest, and watches the ceiling lights sway as the storm outside rages on.

#writing: fictober19 #writing: repcomm #c: Bardan Jusik #c: Parja Bralor #writing: mine

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fireheartblackthorn · 5 years

Text

SPOILER REVIEW OF LORD OF SHADOWS

* This is my second time reading Lord of Shadows

STARTED: 12/01/19 FINISHED: 21/01/19

I have so many feelings, probably too many feelings on this book and I gotta get them off of my chest, holyyyyyy. All I’m saying is that I would sacrifice myself to save the Blackthorn family, they deserve the entire freaking world, I adore this series so much. Honestly one of my favourite series I’ve ever read, it still doesn’t beat TID (Cassie Clare went above and beyond on that trilogy) but its deFINITELY UP THERE. These characters, this plot, everythinggggg about this damn book got me. I have bookmarked and sticky-noted specific parts of the book that hit me right in the feels ( Both gOOD AND BAD EMOTIONS) and here they areeeeee!!

THINGS I LIKED (in particular):

* Christina, Mark and Kieran’s relationship. I was a sucker for Mark and Kieran in lady midnight + was super conflicted about mark falling for christina but woahhhh is it weird to ship them all together?? Lol idc, i still do. They all just fit together, so nicely. Ngl I’m low-key worried about whats going to happen to Kieran, I feel awful for him. Now that he know’s the truth, and he didn’t even testify but he’ still being hunted by the unseelie court, he can’t return to faerie nor can he stay in Idris and he wants things done with Mark. That gets me!!! I love how Christina is able to calm both of these angsty faerie boys ;)

* The low-key (but kinda not even low-key) throwbacks to TID and Will’s generation (JUST ALL OF THE WILL + Jem bits). I love how Clare kept referring to Jessamine in the London Institute, and the small will bits. No character as ever affected me the same way will herondale has, and how Kit was talking about “some idiot called will” who wrote in all the first editions and how Emma was looking at a picture of jem and will together. I feel like i’m dying whenever their relationship is mentioned. When tessa was advising Emma on getting someone to stop loving you, I just realised she was referring to what Will tried to do in TID. :( Alsooo, um how tf is Bridget still alive!!!!!!! She’s actually ancient and I’m confusedddd. When Bridget giggles at the plate of scones + she’s thinking of Sophie and Gideon aw

* Gwyn Ap Nudd! (+ Diana’s relationship) Those two have single-handedly made me believe in love. I love how Gwyn Ap Nudd may be the ancient leader of the wild hunt and yet he’s still a good “man” who shows kindness to Mark, and has honour. I wish everyone was like Gwyn. My favourite part of this freaking book was Gwyn being all cute and shy to Diana when he asks her on a date. Adorable!

* Diana’s back story. She deserves the entire freaking world, I hope she’s able to sort it out with the clave, I don’t want it to be used against her in the future. And I’m so glad she found someone like Gwyn who likes her and doesn’t care that she was born in a man’s body.

* The gayness in this book + the LGBTQ+ representation. We loving raging bisexuals, lesbians, gays, pansexuals + transgender peeps. AND I STAN A WOKE AUTHOR

* Lol all I could think of when kit, ty and livvy went to blackthorn manor was how it was originally the lightwood’s house and thus the worm house. All that was going through my head was HAH ITS THE WORM HOUSE

* Freaking mark + kieran’s language, + post-faerie talk + actions (if that makes sense). Like when Mark was staring distrustfully at the garden gnome, equally parts hilarious and cute

* Emma’s talk, easy-going nature: she reminds me of will lowkey and wow I’M CRYING AGAIN. Her ability to difuse tension in situations and her wit made me enjoy this book so much more. Maybe she even reminds Jem of his parabatai aw.

* TIBERIUS BLACKTHORN AND CHRISTOPHER HERONDALE AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP. THE END

* The poetry that was Julian’s feelings and words towards Emma. It was beautiful, and he’s such a soft boi. Especially when he talked about how they were made from the same stardust, how freaking adorable!!

THINGS I DISLIKED:

* How believable it was that the cohort was plausible and full of facists and bigots, I bloody hated Zara Dearborn (to the point of swearing at my book). Its too realistic that a group like that can exist within the nephilim, and how it can exist in the real world. I read fantasy books to escape reality, and suddenly I feel so attacked by these characters. If I wanted this bullcrap I’d just read the news omg. (how do you make me feel this way cassandra)

* People (namely bridget) being rude to my girl Dru about her weight, she cute and curvy

* Dru lying to Jamie about her age, well not exactly lying but hiding it from him. I kind of just wish she had let him know who she was. I mean I get that she wants to be treated like an older person and not as a baby but ughhhh.

* FREAKING LIVVY DYING OFC AND PUTTING HER LIFE ON THE LINE LIKE THAT. I knew this part was coming and yet I still sobbed and dampened the pages with my freaking tears. I know that it was in Livvy’s nature to stand up and go to help her brother like that, but it doesn’t make it any better. Ty’s reaction as well, after he just agreed to be her parabatai. It was just after their family got reunited also :(. It kills me that to Julian its like he’s lost his own daughter, his baby sister and when he was cradling her and calling out for her to wake up :((((((( But then I think of how Livvy said that legend has it, when the clock chimes the hour the gates of heaven open for a moment. Livvy died when the clock chimed the hour + now I know that she’s up there at peace

* The fact that at the ending, Kit still doesn’t know what’s happened to Livvy, he just thinks something bad has happened in the chamber

* NOW THAT I’M REREADIng I know that Julian thinking about future life watching everyone growing up with Emma by his side is not gonna happen bc livvy is dead and it cuts my heart out at the hope he has that his family will be happy and reunited and safe

* I thought at first that Christina was a pretty boring character, kind of there to be able to patch up the loose ends and hold the team together but in hindsight, she’s pretty freaking incredible and I think this book more so shows that off and her qualities, than Lady Midnight does. It's a freaking talent to be that understanding and empathetic, her ability to do that beyondddd impressed and shook, kind of like how Keiran is feeling about her

* I don’t like hOW MUCH I FEEL sorry for Malcolm, He was so warped and caught up in his love, his need for vengeance, his hate and grief to be able to mourn Annabel, let go of the past and move on. I mean I’d have a pretty tough time doing that too but how his love for her eventually killed him was so awful. I couldn’t believe it the first time I read that part.

* How Annabel killed Robert, his death was like meh at first, okay. But at the same time, Alec’s reaction broke my heart + he was going to help Emma and Julian!! I don’t know if he had the time to start preparing for her exile but probably not and now the next inquisitor probably won’t react the same way

STILL 5/5 OVERALL, I LOVE THIS BOOK SO MUCH.

#lord of shadows #this v long #lord of shadows review #book review #LoS #lady midnight #the dark artifices #TDA #LoS spoilers #QOAAD #cassandra clare #tda review #blackthorns #goodreads #julian x emma #shadowhunters #fuck you zara Dearborn

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voidedlaf-blog · 7 years

Text

Mic Help

Daveed Diggs x Reader

Part One | (Lemme know if you guys want a part 2 :’)

A/N: Some spicy Diggs for you on this fine evening, hope you guys enjoy! Also let me know if you guys want a part two with,,, i dunno,,, thyme and aragon ?? LOL get it bc thyme and aragon are spices,, ok i’m done luv u guys <3

T/W: swearing, intense makeout session, grinding

Word count: 796

Masterlist

- “Y/N, Can I have some help with my mic? I kind of messed it up doing the Lafayette bun.” Daveed popped his head out of his dressing room.

“Yeah, sure! Hold on, let me see.” You walked into the dressing room, shutting the door behind you since you wouldn’t be able to focus with Lin and Alex’s overly loud singing. You walked over to Daveed and reached up to adjust the mic that rested on top of his head, which was difficult considering he was pretty tall.

“Could you tilt your head slightly down?” You were unaware that this brought the both of you two closer than ever, almost closing the gap between your faces as you fidgeted with his mic to adjust it. You bit your lip, something you often did when you were in deep concentration which also drove Daveed mad, especially with you this close.

“There you go! All set!” You smiled before shifting your gaze from the mic on the top of his head to his face, which was much closer than it had ever been. Your voice audibly hitched as you two stared each other down.

“Y/N..” Daveed whispered before pressing your lips together.

The kiss was like liquid fire, burning with passion and left you needing more. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his arms snaked around your waist. He tugged you closer, eliminating any distance that existed between you two. There was kiss after kiss after kiss, and it wasn’t long before your tongues made their way to greeting each other.

His hands trailed down your lower back and rested on your ass, squeezing gently, resulting in him drawing a small moan from you.

“You’re incredible.” He groaned during a quick break to catch your breath. You smiled and attached your lips together once again, melting into him.

Everything was perfect.

Not breaking the kiss for a moment, he stumbled the both of you over to a wall, pinning you against it. You gasped into the kiss when you felt his hard member press up against your thigh.

“Shit, D.” You whispered, loving the way he made you feel.

“Fuck, Y/N, Jump.” You did what you were told and soon your weight was being supported by his arms and the wall. Your legs were wrapped around his waist as you continued to make out.

You lightly grinded your against his dick, moaning lightly while doing so.

“Holy shit.” He let out a low, almost inaudible, groan into your ear.

Both of you had forgotten where you were at but were soon reminded when there was knock on the door.

Your eyes had shot open as Daveed hurriedly put you down and you rushed to make it look like you were fixing his mic. Although you were still panting from the heated makeout session the two of you just had.

“Yeah?” You called, your voice hoarse and raspy from the kiss. Daveed smirked when you cleared your throat to call out more clearly.

“Help?” The door had opened to reveal Anthony with a broken hair elastic.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You let out a loose laugh, still panting slightly. Your mind was still frazzled from the kiss.

You took your hands off of Daveed’s mic, looking him in the eye before you started to walk towards Anthony, sliding an elastic off your arm and tying up his hair into a low ponytail.

“Okay, you’re set.” You smiled at Anthony, secretly mad at him for breaking your intimate moment with Daveed.

“Everyone’s chilling in the main room, you guys coming?” Anthony questioned.

You mentally cursed, knowing that you wouldn’t have a moment alone with Daveed for a full two hours.

“Sure.” You followed him out of the dressing room, Daveed trailing behind.

“Y/N, are you okay? You seem flustered!” Pippa came to greet you.

“Y-yeah, it’s just hot.” I made up an excuse.

“Y/N, it’s like seventy-eight degrees.” Anthony commented.

“Well-”

“And what’s with you Diggs? You’re way too quiet right now, earlier you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.” Anthony turned to his close friend.

“I- Uh,” Daveed began, stuttering on any word that found its way out of his mouth.

“Ooh-Hoo! What happened back there?” Anthony teased us in front of the rest of the cast.

“Nothing.” Daveed and I said in unison.

I facepalmed as the rest of the cast whistled and started to make innuendos.

“Places!” The stage manager called. Everyone scattered to get to where they needed. I let out a breath of relief before plopping myself onto the couch, closing my eyes.

“Don’t get too comfy, I’ll need more mic help later.” Daveed whispered into my ear before walking off like nothing happened.

You were in for a hell of a night.

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #hamilton fic #daveed diggs #daveed x reader #daveed imagine #fanfic #hamilton fanfic #daveed fic #daveed danfic #hamilcast #hamilton imagine #hamilton imagines

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