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monsterlover48 · 3 years

Text

Ink Stains

Fem!Orc x fem!Reader

Summary: She was a florist, and the other was a tattoo artist… what could go wrong?

Warnings: graphic smut, tattoos, needles, fingering, overstimulation, cunnilingus.

AN: sorry for taking so long to post things! I’ve been so caught up in my D&D campaign that I forgot to!

~~~

Y/N always wanted a tattoo. Her mother always told her the devils only got tattoos, but the human girl always found them beautiful.

It was convenient that her flower shop was next to a tattoo parlor. The only problem about that is the constant buzzing noises that filtered through the thin walls that separated them. However, Y/N never really minded. She longed to enter a store like that. But she was also afraid of needles. She had everything to go against it, but she didn’t live with her mother anymore, and she was willing to conquer her fears.

One day, Y/N was looking out the window, hearing the loud buzzing as the artists inside were creating a masterpiece on someone’s skin. She looked down at her drawing, a flower that she wanted to have permanently stained on her skin.

Fuck it. She thought. She was going to walk in there and get a tattoo. As she was about to lock up, a figure entered the shop, a large orc woman with fiery red hair and tattooed green skin. She realized that this was the artist that owned the shop next to her, and the buzzing had stopped. She had talked to her before, finding the strong woman very attractive. With a blush and a shy smile, Y/N greeted Glasha.

“Hello there.” She replied with a smirk; her long tusks reached her cheeks, a bone septum piercing in her nose.

“How may I… help you?” She stuttered, chastising herself on how she needed to get it together.

“I was looking for you, actually.” She spoke, cocking her head to the side and crossing her arms. She wore a leather brown shirt and traditional necklaces, probably from where her family was from. Her shorts were short enough to show her strong legs, much to Y/N’s pleasure. Snapping out of thoughts about this gorgeous orc, she coughed when she realized that she was caught staring.

“What-what for?” The human asked, rubbing her neck awkwardly. She wasn’t good with social interaction when it came to this kind of stuff.

“A little tiefling told me that you wanted a tattoo.” She stated. Y/N cursed under her breath. Of course, Nala told her, that pesky best friend.

“Yes. Actually, I would. But it’s getting late…” she avoided. Glasha shook her head and walked to the counter, leaning over it and placing her hands on the glass.

“I can make a spot for you.” She said.

“Really? I mean… if it’s no trouble.” She said with a smile. Glasha smirked once more, reaching over to the drawing between the human's hands and looked it over.

“Is this something you want?” She asked. Y/N nodded, looking down at the horrible doodle.

“Yeah. Maybe something much better than that.” She pointed with a chuckle. Glasha joined her and shook her head.

“I can whip you something up. Come, I’ll find you a chair. It’s only me today, so we’ll have the store to ourselves.” Glasha said. That idea seemed enticing. No one to judge her if she cried at the pain. But Y/N was good at not flinching, so she thinks she’ll be fine.

The two left her store, locking up with small conversation, Glasha placing a hand on Y/N’s lower back as they walked a little bit down the road to get to the other door of Glasha’s tattoo parlor.

The smell of ink and sterilization filled Y/N’s nose, a smell she welcomed and enjoyed. She was nervous, of course. Getting a tattoo by a gorgeous woman in an empty store with needles and ink, and… she was overthinking this. The woman was giving her a tattoo, and Y/N had banked back the money for one anyway.

“You nervous, sweetling?” Glasha joked, making the poor human turn even more flushed.

“Y-yes, to be honest.” Replied Y/N. Glasha chuckled and took the human's chin between her fingers.

“Well, Glasha will take care of you.” That proposition made Y/N speechless, biting her lip to suppress the squeak of surprise.

“Where do I sit?” She asked. Glasha pointed to a chair to her right before going to a back room. Carrying her doodle, an action she didn’t realize the orc had done.

“I’ll have your drawing done in a bit. You sit. Where do you want it to be?”

“My thigh.” She replied instantly. Y/N had put a lot of thought into what she wanted. A tiger lily on her thigh represented her favorite flower and her ties to nature.

“Good placing. However, you’ll have to take your pants off. Those skinny jeans won’t be able to roll up that far.” Glasha joked. Another blush filled her features. But the human did as she was told. She took off her tight jeans and folded them neatly in her lap, trying to hide her pastel pink, lace underwear.

Y/N waited patiently, watching the time tick by while listening to the music playing on the radio.

When Glasha had emerged, she was holding a stencil, the perfect drawing of what she wanted.

“This is perfect!” Y/N said gleefully. She was very excited, and it was clear in her expression. Glasha laughed and put the stencil on her skin, peeling it off on the perfect placement. It was like the orc woman knew exactly what she wanted.

After prepping and a lot of anxiety from the human, everything was prepared and ready to start.

The buzzing started, and Y/N watched in wonder as Glasha expertly drew on her thigh, creating a masterpiece once more. She barely felt the pain, the buzzing numbing her leg and all she could do was stare. She was amazed by how talented she was, and she realized how big Glasha was then. Her hand gripped her thigh. The digits could wrap around almost the whole thing. She was bigger than Y/N even while sitting, but not too big. Y/N’ s attraction grew at the sight of the concentrated woman, and she knew that she’d be seeing her again.

When the session was over and a lot of talking between the two, they were done, and the tattoo was magnificent.

“No charge,” Glasha said as Y/N grabbed her wallet.

“Please, you did such an amazing job. And you gave me a skirt to wear. Which fits beautifully, by the way. I have to repay you.” Y/N insisted. Glasha grabbed her chin again and shook her head.

“Not for a pretty thing like you. You can repay me by seeing me again. And coming to see me for another tattoo. Maybe then I’ll charge you.” She winked, walking the human to the door and seeing her out.

On the walk home, Y/N couldn’t help the smile from her face, feeling the eyes on her skull as she left the parlor.

~~~

Glasha and Y/N had exchanged numbers the next day, texting any chance they got. The human girl felt her feelings grow for the woman, a blush reaching her features every time she looked at her or got a text or even thought of her pretty, tusky smile.

Glasha:

Hey, would you like to meet me at the coffee shop at 2 today?

Y/N:

Sure!

Glasha:

Great! I’ll pick you up then. ;)

Y/N felt giddy at her phone. Is this a date? She hoped so.

When 2 pm came around, Y/N had smoothed out her dress and locked up her shop.

“Hey!” Glasha said happily as she walked up to the human, greeting her with a hug, though Y/N only reached her sternum.

“Hey! You look… very nice.” Y/N complimented. Glasha wore tight leather pants and a loose tank top that showed off her tattoos.

“And you look adorable.” She spoke back. Glasha took the human girl's hand and guided her to the car, opening it up for her and getting in the driver's seat. It was a car specially made for orcs. Taller with more space. Y/N felt tiny in the massive vehicle, but she was okay with that.

As she sat down, her dress rode up to show the healed ink on her thigh, and she smiled. She loved her tattoo and was glad she got to spend time with her orc friend. However, she did hope for it to be more.

Y/N was taken by surprise when she felt a large hand rest itself on her thigh, gripping it softly without a word. The human's breath hitched, and she caught the smirk on Glasha's face.

Y/N couldn't help the thoughts run wild in her head. The tension and the feeling of her calloused hands... she snapped out of her thoughts when Glasha gave a firm squeeze, signaling that they have arrived at the coffee shop.

"We're here." She said, getting out of the car and helping the smaller human. They walked into the coffee shop hand in hand, getting a few stares but nothing major. People were scared of the massive woman with tattoos anyways.

They talked for hours, ordering teas and coffees until the store was about to close. After leaving a generous tip, the two drove back to the parlor, a new tension rising. The grip on Y/N's thigh tightened and was higher up, the woman letting her legs spread at the feeling. When they got to the shop, finding out that Glasha lived below it, they walked inside, and Glasha put her things away. Y/N began to look at more of the artwork and waited for Glasha to finish, suddenly feeling her behind her, the massive shadow behind her, and the feeling of her pressing up against her.

"You're so small, you know that? I can wrap my hands around your waist so easily." The orc chuckled. When Glasha placed her hands around her waist and squeezed lightly, Y/N could feel the heat pool in her belly and wetness coat her underwear. She was so glad she wore her favorite panties, opting to not wear a bra like she usually did; the dress has built-in cups.

"I-" she started but didn't finish as she felt her hand go higher, cupping her breast in her large palms.

"Do you want me to stop?" She asked, moving the human's hair out of her face and planting a kiss on the side of her neck. Y/N felt the tusks scraped her skin, and she found out that she loved the feeling.

"No." She whimpered.

"Good. Don't worry, Y/N. I'll take good care of you." She promised. Y/N felt dizzy by the feeling of Glasha's hands dipping in between her legs, feeling the wetness of her underwear, and smirking against the human's skin.

"You're so wet already, and I'm barely touching you. How about we take this to my room, yeah?" Y/N nodded, and they quickly bounced down the steps, and Glasha manhandled Y/N onto her large bed, the woman bouncing softly.

Instead of taking off the dress that hindered her from seeing Y/N's body, she ripped the fabric with ease, making the woman's eyes widen. She was glad that it wasn't her favorite, not like she cared. The scene was too hot anyway. Y/N panted as she watched as Glasha took her own shirt off but left her pants on, crawling on the bed to reach Y/N, kissing her lips feverishly, and situating herself between her thighs.

"God, you're beautiful." Glasha complemented. Y/n blushed and hid her head in Glasha's hair, making the orc tsk and shake her head.

"Come on, Sweetling, let me see you." She cooed. Y/N laid on the bed, and she watched as Glasha ravaged her with her eyes.

"Please." Y/N whimpered, wanting something to happen. She needed Glahsa to touch her, to do anything to her.

"So impatient. Come on, let me see more of you." Glasha commanded and watched as Y/N spread her legs after pulling her panties off, giving the orc a full view.

Before she knew it, Glasha had wedged her head in between the softness of her thighs, large tusks scraping her skin once more and spreading her folds with her index and middle finger. She watched the wetness spread, coating her finger before she started. Y/N gasped at the feeling of Glasha's long tongue lap at her. The human gripped the orc's hair, tugging on the thick strands and making her moan, sending vibrations through her pussy.

Y/N moaned loudly when Glasha entered one thick finger, pumping in and out at a slow pace before speeding up, fingerfucking her until she became a blubbering mess. She entered another, curling them in a come-hither motion. The woman began to rock her hips into Glasha's face when she sucked on her clit, but was held down by one of Glasha's arms.

A white-hot feeling came over her when she came, the feeling intense and overpowering as her muscles tensed and her channel spasmed.

"Come on, baby, one more." She cooed, and Y/N writhed in her grasp, feeling a third finger reach inside of her, and the woman lost it. She couldn't stand the overstimulation, but she craved more still, chasing another orgasm that was approaching fast.

When it came, she screamed loudly, biting her arm to quiet herself. Glasha slapped her cunt lightly, gaining her attention.

"Let me hear you, sweetling." She purred. Y/N let go of her arm and moaned loudly, tears of pleasure rolling down her cheeks as she came for the third time.

She felt lethargic as Glasha withdrew her hand, licking her fingers and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Are you okay?" She asked, laying in bed with a sleepy Y/N. She nodded, clutching Glasha's arm and throwing a leg over her hip.

"I'm more than okay." She giggled.

"Good. Cause next time, you're getting more than just my fingers."

#monster #monster lover #monster smut #orc #orc x reader #monster x human #monster x reader #orc x human #wlw #female orc #wlw smut

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corysmiles · 3 years

Note

to celebrate the return of Michael the piglin in Ranboo's stream may we please get some hcs of Micheal growing up in the fg au?

Friendly Giant Michael Fluff HC’s

Notes: YES! I love this AU so much so I’ll take any chance to talk about it, and I love little Michael getting raised by two teenage idiots :”] have some fluff

Since Michael’s tusks grew in so fast he had a lot of trouble learning how to talk. His tusks got in the way of his lips so there were certain sounds he just couldn’t mimic. After one day of the piglin getting particularly frustrated Ranboo sat him down to help. He lifted the piglin up to his mouth and exaggerated each sound, so Michae could see it better. The two sat like that for hours with Michael copying every mouth shape his father made until he could make out a few words. Later, when Tubbo came to visit he almost cried when Michael called him “papa” for the first time

Once Michael was old enough to pass as human in a conversation (around 5/6) Tubbo started to sneak him into his town. Michael was ecstatic the first time he got to visit. First, Tubbo took him to nikis bakery to try her pastries, and while niki was a little suspicious of the kid snorting she let him have some free cake since he was so cute. Then Tubbo and Tommy took Michael to see Wilbur perform in the town center. Michael sat patiently until the end of the performance but as soon as Wilbur finished he ran up to tackle his uncle. Later that night before Tubbo had to take him back to the cave, Techno let him sit on his lap to read him a bed time story. He felt bad for hurting the kid when they first met so he tried his best to make it up to him. When Michael finally had to go back to the cave he excitedly told Ranboo about all the things he saw while his giant father listened happily

Michael wags his tail when he’s happy! Overall hes able to pass as a human child (as long as he’s wearing a cloak). However, he just can’t control his tail whenever he gets too excited. It makes sneaking him into the town difficult, but Tubbo never tries to make him stop since he finds it so cute. His favorite thing is when they all fall asleep together and Michael wags his tail in his sleep.

When Michael finds out that Tubbo likes pillbees he starts to bring him bouquets of wildflowers that the bugs like. Sometimes when Tubbo comes back to the cave he finds Michael excitedly babbling to Ranboo while he clumps up flowers in his hands. Even though his hooves always leave them a bit droopy, Tubbo still saves every bouquet he gets, letting them dry out and keeping them in a small book.

Since Michael spends so much of his time around Ranboo he starts to think he’s going to get as big as him. He draws chalk pictures where he’s the same size as Ranboo or where he’s holding Tubbo in his hands. While Ranboo does try to explain that that won’t actually happen it’s so cute that neither of them really argue when he says he wants to be giant.

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #friendly giant au #t!michael #g!ranboo #t!tubbo #corydrabbles #anon ask #fluff #PURE FLUFF #tooth rotting fluff

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letsfluxshitup · 3 years

Text

Technoblade Learns How To Relax (now on ao3)

Tommy's face became more and more contemplative as he guided Quackity to the ravine dubbed Pogtopia.

He led him down the winding stairs at a pace that had Quackity fumbling to keep up with.

On the last step, Quackity stumbled, heading face first into the dirt before an arm caught him around the waist.

"I told you we needed the guard rails." A voice huffed from behind him.

Quackity thrashed violently, whipping around and ending up on the ground anyways, staring up at the Blade himself.

"Oh! Technoblade-- Mr. Blade, sir, I didn't see you there--" Quackity stuttered, scrambling to his feet. He slipped twice on the gravel before Tommy took pity on him and offered him a hand.

Quackity took it, allowing himself to be dragged up before slightly frantically brushing off his jacket. He scrubbed at the mounting flush on his face, refusing to be embarrassed, and waved away Tommy's concern.

Tommy broke the silence, abruptly clearing his throat.

"Right- anyways, I was just showing Big Q around. He’s with us now, you know." Tommy nodded self-assuredly, glancing between Quackity and Techno.

Techno just nodded, making a noise half agreement half dismissive.

"I'll be in the--" Techno started before Tommy interrupted him, fisting a hand in Techno's cape.

"He needs a room to stay in! We don't have enough, we're going to have to share. I was thinking he could stay with Wilbur but he's a little uh..." Tommy trailed off, scratched at his chin before gesturing vaguely. "You know?"

"I know." Techno sighed, turning to face them. "He can stay with me."

"No that's-- that's not necessary, I can just-- I wouldn't want to inconvenience you--" Quackity started, praying the panic in his tone wasn't too noticeable.

Techno just gave him a leering smile, too much teeth and tusk to be considered anything other than threatening before Tommy smacked him.

"Quit messing with Big Q, he's an ally now, alright?" Tommy said, biting down on a laugh.

Techno snorted before shoving him in retaliation for the smack and Quackity backed away quickly before he got dragged into the rough-housing.

Finally, Techno ended it, sitting on Tommy's back effectively pinning him to the ground. Tommy flailed wildly before whining out a childish 'uncle', and Techno released him. Tommy got one last jab in before sprinting off deeper into the ravine, laughter echoing off of the walls.

Quackity wished he hadn't left, the stale air suffocating as Techno eyed him.

"You like what you see?" Quackity blurted out, before slapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry-- I didn't-- that was an accident I didn't mean to say that, sorry."

Techno just raised an eyebrow at him, and Quackity just knew he was laughing at him, on the inside at least.

Techno gestured in front of him, a silent request to start walking.

Techno followed close behind, managing to avoid stepping on his heels but still unbearably close. His hand was resting loosely on his sword, did he really expect Quackity to attack him here? In his base, all by himself?

Before he could think more about Techno's paranoid tendencies, like the fact that Techno hadn't turned his back to him once, they stopped at a simple wooden door.

The wood was pockmarked with arrow holes, centering around a makeshift bullseye on the door. Above the bullseye was a crude drawing of Techno, Techno's name carved into the door above it.

"Tommy decorated." Techno deadpanned, gesturing vaguely at the door's decorations.

Quackity just nodded mutely, following Techno into his room.

The difference between the rest of the ravine and Techno's room was jarring, to say the least.

The floors were meticulously clean, a broom propped up in the corner.

Everything was shoved to one side, except for the sole bed that was lodged in the far corner, the perfect vantage point to see the door and every part of the room.

There weren't any nooks or crannies to hide in, everything flush against the wall and on ground level, too short to hide behind.

Every corner of the room was lit up, no shadows to lurk in, no area left in the dark.

Techno's bed was frameless, mattress box directly on the floor. He wanted to make a teasing remark about being scared of the monsters under your bed but he swallowed it, all the details clicking into place.

Maybe it wasn't monsters but considering everything else, Techno must have considered the space under his bed a security risk. Part of him wanted to poke fun at his paranoia but another part just felt... Sad.

Did Techno relax? Ever? He couldn't imagine what it must be like, constantly keeping your guard up.

Even now Techno had positioned himself with clear access to the door, and with Quackity at hand’s reach. Well, more accurately, at sword's reach.

Quackity cleared his throat, trying to interrupt the uncomfortable silence they'd settled into. Techno had just quietly watched him look around, and Quackity desperately wished he knew what he was thinking about. His face was as blank and impassive as always.

Finally, Techno spoke.

"Do I need to feed you?" Techno was eyeing him up again, as if he'd be able to tell if he was hungry or not just from looking.

"Uh-- well, I'm a little hungry, but if it's too much trouble don't worry about it, I'll be fine!" Quackity squeaked when Techno abruptly moved forward, hands curling around his shoulders as he nudged him back into a sitting position on a chest.

One of Techno's hands moved from his shoulder to his jaw, forcing his head back slightly.

This was it, Quackity thought, This is where he rips my throat out.

Instead of ripping his throat out, Techno made direct eye contact with him, which was, in Quackity's humble opinion, objectively worse.

Techno broke eye contact first, mouth opening like he was going to say something before his eyes caught on a shallow cut at the base of Quackity's neck.

He'd gotten it on the way to Pogtopia, a skeleton getting a lucky shot on him from the shadows. Thankfully it had barely nicked him, and he hadn't bothered patching it up.

Techno leaned closer to it, forcing Quackity's head farther back, his other hand moving to lightly thumb at it.

Quackity's heart kicked into overdrive, because hey, what the fuck, Technoblade had his sharp ass teeth inches away from his jugular, but he didn't move.

After another uncomfortably long pause Quackity finally mustered up the courage to speak.

"Am I dying, Doc?" He blurted, twisting his head to try and see Techno's expression.

"Huh? Oh, no. You have a heart shaped mole on your neck." Techno huffed a laugh, warm breath ghosting across his neck and Quackity hadn't realized before how fucking cold it was in the ravine.

Techno moved away after that, and Quackity could breathe easier now that he was less worried about dying.

Techno still hovered close, though, nearly nose to nose and without thinking Quackity spoke.

"Are we going to kiss?" He mentally slapped himself afterward, but Techno let out a loud snorting laugh as he moved away more. Quackity was slightly proud he'd gotten a genuine laugh from the man but was still absolutely mortified.

As Techno moved away from him to dig in a chest, Quackity mourned the loss of Techno's warmth. He wondered if it had something to do with being half piglin, or if he always naturally ran hot.

Irrationally, Quackity worried that he had a fever, before squashing that down because the piglin theory made a lot more sense than the Great Technoblade catching a cold.

Techno moved around the room quickly, plucking two bowls out of a chest and giving him a look that silently screamed stay there, before he left the room.

He was back minutes later, and he handed Quackity one of the bowls of soup.

Techno plopped on to the floor and without thinking Quackity slipped down to join him. Techno side eyed him, but rested his back against a chest and started eating.

Quackity ate quickly, the food burning his tongue, and if you asked him he'd have no idea what was in it. When he was finished he carefully placed the bowl next to him, and Techno eyed him expectantly.

"More?" Was all he said, and when Quackity shook his head, a muttered no thanks following, Techno shoved bread at him anyways.

"You don't have to eat it now, but it should stay good for a bit. If you want to keep it on you." Techno went back to his soup, expression once again impassive.

Quackity scooped the bread up, tucking it away into one of his bags. He wondered what made Techno give him extra, if worrying about where your next meal would come from was as inherent to him as it was to himself.

Techno lay on his back, eyes closed and breathing even. He doubted Quackity would be able to tell if he was actually awake or not, but he also didn’t have a very good read on Quackity. It was the main reason he’d offered up his room to him, he wasn’t sure what Quackity was capable of so the closer to him the better.

He didn't know if Quackity could hold his own in a fight, and what if they were invaded in the night? He’d rather be there to protect their weakest link than leave it to the hands of Wilbur or, God forbid, Tommy. Tommy was an adept fighter, sure, but he still hadn’t quite grasped defense over offense, something that would leave Quackity vulnerable.

On the flipside, what if Quackity was a spy? It’d be a lot more difficult to snoop around if Techno was there to watch over him. He was a light sleeper, and his door creaked louder than the others, something he’d never bothered to fix considering it alerted him whenever anyone entered or left.

Quackity also wasn’t known for being particularly quiet, either. Techno was sure that if anything happened when he was asleep, Quackity’s loud panicking would wake him up instantly.

Speaking of his inability to be quiet, Techno listened to him roll over and shift again, his uncomfortable shuffling capturing Techno’s attention in the relative silence of the room. Techno tilted his head, looking at Quackity. He was curled up on the floor, on a thin mat that Tommy had produced from God knows where. He had the blanket stuffed around himself, shivering slightly. Techno hadn’t realized it had been that cold, his back was pressed against the wall behind him that was unnaturally warm due to the lava pool on the other side of it.

“Quackity?” Techno said into the quiet of the room, voice hushed.

“Uh, yeah? What’s up?” Quackity’s voice was high pitched, a nervous titter to it. “Was I bothering you? I can leave--”

He’d moved to a sitting position as he spoke, his shoulders tense and looking ready to bolt.

Techno sighed. Quackity being afraid of him was fun, but also very inconvenient. He gestured at Quackity, beckoning him closer.

Quackity shakily got to his feet, muttering under his breath, this is it, this is the end, this is where he kills me, curse my poor circulation, why do I get cold so easily.

Quackity stopped next to the bed, and Techno lifted up the blanket with one hand and patted the bed next to him with the other.

He stared blankly back at him, looking between the spot next to him and his face, expression quizzical.

“Sleep with me,” Techno huffed, impatient.

“Woah, woah, woah, you seem like a really nice guy but c'mon isn’t this a bit--” Quackity stuttered, looking genuinely surprised and vaguely amused.

At least he doesn’t look afraid, Techno thought absently.

“Not like that. If you’re cold we can share, the bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Quackity studied him again, rocking back and forth on his heels before letting out a sigh and shrug in the personification of fuck it, and slipping into the bed next to Technoblade.

Techno studied Quackity, frowning before scooting closer.

“Climb over me, the wall gives off heat. You’ll be warmer over there.”

After a bit of fumbling and a push from Techno that was more of a drag, Quackity ended up on his other side.

Techno squinted at him again, before dragging Quackity back into his chest. Quackity huffed, offended that Techno could manhandle him so easily. He wasn’t tiny, it was unfair how strong Techno was.

Techno’s arms wrapped loosely around him, he hooked his head over his shoulder.

“Aw, I didn’t take you as the cuddling type,” Quackity teased, pressing his cold feet against whatever part of Techno they could reach.

Techno huffed again, and Quackity wondered how many emotions he could express with just a huff.

“It’s not cuddling.” Techno readjusted his arms, absently rubbing warmth back into Quackity’s cold fingers, “It’s a tactical advantage.”

“Oh? Well, sorry to say, buddy, but your tactical advantage is crushing my wings.”

“Wings?” Techno echoed, abruptly pulling away. Quackity’s face scrunched in displeasure at the rush of cold air that met his back as Techno sat up to look down at him.

Quackity sat up too, unzipping his jacket. Techno eyed him warily for a second, before impatiently tugging at his jacket, trying to lean around him to get a look. A wing hit him in the face then, fluttering slightly before folding back against Quackity’s back. Quackity squeaked, looking terrified but desperately trying to hold back laughter.

“You need to groom your wings,” Techno finally said, after Quackity’s laughter faded.

“Hey, hey, you don’t just comment on a man’s wings!” Quackity’s voice pitched upwards, defensive as he crossed his arms and his wings puffed up slightly, only accentuating the issue. They were small, smaller than Philza’s certainly, and Techno doubted that Quackity could actually get any air time from them.

They were kind of cute though, Techno thought. Objectively, of course.

“What if I spoon you--” Quackity started, only to be cut off by a petulant Technoblade.

“It wasn’t spooning. It was tactical. If someone came in here and saw me, they’d likely leave you alone. I doubt you made any friends when you defected from Manberg, and you’re kind of an easy target.” As if to accentuate his point he gestured vaguely at, well, all of Quackity, and Quackity’s wings puffed out again, expressive now that they weren’t trapped under a jacket.

“I resent that,” Quackity said in response, sticking his tongue out at him.

“Alrighty, if you want a tactical advantage what if we hit 'em with one of these--” Quackity abruptly flopped across Techno, throwing an arm across his chest. Without thinking Techno’s arm came up, catching him across the throat and shoving him backwards against the wall.

“Sorry-- I didn’t mean that, sorry.” Techno pulled away quickly, straightening Quackity’s shirt and fixing his hair, hands dancing nervously across his chest.

“It’s alright,” Quackity rasped. “You’re a bit jumpy, that’s fine, we can work with that.”

Quackity waved away Techno’s mother henning, before slowly lowering himself against Techno’s side.

“This alright?” He murmured, moving so he was laying across Techno’s chest, head on his collarbone.

Techno curled an arm around Quackity’s waist in lieu of a response, careful to avoid his wings.

Quackity opened his mouth to comment on it, but Techno beat him to the punch.

“This isn’t cuddling. It’s a tactical advantage. Now you can’t sneak away without me knowing, how do we know that you aren’t a spy? I don’t know if I can trust you, yet.”

“You don’t trust me, buddy? We’re literally snuggling in your bed.” Quackity snorted.

“It’s not snuggling, it's a--”

“Tactical advantage, right, I know.”

“Anyways, I know I could take you in a fight. You aren’t a threat to me.” Techno continued, as if Quackity hadn’t said anything.

“You don’t know that--” Quackity started before Techno moved to make eye contact with him, a single eyebrow raised. “Ok, you’re probably right, but I think I could get, like, one lucky shot in, you know?”

“Sure,” Techno said dismissively, patting Quackity’s hip placatingly. His hand moved to rubbing up and down Quackity’s back and Quackity realized how tired he was. It’d been a long day, with a lot of running and the fighting with Schlatt took a lot out of him.

Schlatt.

He was sure the man had already forgotten about him, labelled him a traitor and a coward, but Quackity couldn’t stop thinking. He tried to focus on Techno’s steady breathing, to ignore the rising memories from his earlier fight, but it was too much. He finally felt like he could think again, wasn’t panicking or in survival mode. Had he done the right thing? Had he made the right choice?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp tug to one of his feathers.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Techno murmured, smoothing the ruffled feathers back into place. “I’ll protect you from whatever’s got you all flustered, just go to sleep.”

Quackity huffed, but buried his face into Techno’s neck anyways, curling their legs together.

“Fine. Didn’t realize Grandpa had such an early bedtime,” Quackity mocked, earning him another warning tug on his feathers. He smothered his snort against Techno, before sighing out a quiet good night.

Techno just hummed, eyelids growing heavy, surprised that he was comfortable enough to sleep.

#technoblade #quackity #dream smp spoilers #just in case laskdjflksdjf #my writing #i have a lot of thoughts ok #many thoughts head full might make a seperate post talkin about all the headcanons here alkdsfjkldsfj <3 #lemme know if you liked this bc im ridiculously nervous abt posting this and im not really sure why aslkdjflskdjfdfskl #platonic intimacy is important to me so whenever i write it into smth my hearts like '!!!' because i dont want people to be shitty #pushing my political agenda of making everyone understand the importance of platonic intimacy and cuddling #this is ok to reblog btw #ALSO QUACKITY HAS LITTOL WINGS BC I L O V E THAT #quacknobros

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sp00kworm · 3 years

Text

Who needs lights?

Pairing: Durzub (Goth Male Orc) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warning: Suggestive Themes

This wonderful piece is based off a very lovely OC by @of-devils-and-drawings. Durzub belongs to her and I adored him too much not to make this for him. I’m a sucker for anything scary and/or orc.... and/or metal....and/or goth.

---

You’d always found a little bit of comfort being in the alternative scene, even when others stared and watched in the street as you went past, going about your business, bundled in black layers or flares and platforms. It was something unique and different and it was very much a part of your life. The bars were always better places too. You laughed at the bar at your friend as the bar tender tied his platinum, lilac streaked hair back and started to mix the cocktail for the jug. It was easier to order in large pitchers and watch the band playing from the platform the bar was on. You watched the alcohol mix as the Fae grinned at you, revealing incredibly dangerous, sharp teeth and placed two straws into the jug before sliding it closer to the two of you.

You paid for it before laughing and turning a straw to the Faun, “To our health! Well, and my new job!” You cheered.

“Oh, for sure, finally you’re not broke and can pay for drinks!” She jeered as she pursed her lips and leaned down to take a few long sips, “Jesus Christ, Flix!” She coughed, “You trying to get us drunk and make us easy, or something?”

Flix rolled his eyes as he flipped a cocktail shaker over and caught it, “You wish Pip. You two haven’t ever been my type.” He snorted as his lilac, gossamer wings fluttered behind his back in irritation. He laid his burning black eyes on a group in the corner, “Though, I like the look of those troublemakers.” A claw raised to point at the group of Orcs who were gathered in the corner.

Pip’s brown ears flicked before her hooves clicked against the black floor, the sparkly tiles reflecting the strobes from the stage. She grinned and flicked at the ring in her nose, her shaggy black hair flopping back over her dark eyes, “Oh,” She purred, “I didn’t know you were into the rowdy muscle-head sort.”

Flix flipped the cocktail again before giving her the middle finger and moving to serve the cocktail to a woman who had just come out of the crowd watching the band.

“Who are they?” You asked after taking a long drink of the cocktail, “I haven’t seen them here before?” You looked over at the group again before realising how perfectly they fit in here in the bar. All were dressed in a variety of fashion, from heavy leather, to chains, to netting. Others donned fancier items with flowing sleeves and long, tailored skirts and trousers. The majority were green in skin tone, but you looked at a few lighter coloured, grey toned orcs with interest as they were from the mountainous regions of the old country.

Pip clicked her tongue, “Muscle heads and trouble, the lot of them.” She took another few drinks before hopping back onto her bar stool and adjusting her net top over her ripped shirt. Around her waist was a thick leather belt, the studs dripping with thin metal chains that hung around her furry hips, “They come to shows like this and usually start fights.” She commented off-handedly.

With a frown, you looked from her, to the group again, “They just seem to be drinking and watching?” You commented.

Pip snorted a short bleat again, “Yeah, wait until this gig really kicks off, then you’ll see what I mean. Last time I was here with them one of them decided it would be a great idea to upturn tables, and by that, I mean, upturn my drinks over my new dress.” She hissed venomously, “They’re assholes, the lot of them.”

“They don’t look like it…” You uttered as one of the Orcs stood from the group and dragged his friend up with him to get drinks. The rest of them hollered their orders before some of the group split off to join the crowd watching the band.

“Oh great. Here they come!” Pip cheered before moving two seats down and dragging you along with her.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Pip.” Flix commented with a hiss and flutter of his wings, “They’re all lookers, I don’t see why you can’t look past that.” He shrugged his shoulders before smiling at the two male orcs at the bar, “What can I do for you two handsome fellas?” His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings at them and you snickered at the scent of lilac flowers that drifted from him like a thick perfume.

“Come on, Flix. Lay off it for one night will ya!” One of the orcs laughed before he elbowed his friend, “This guy’s new here. Don’t go scaring him off already. You lot need our custom.” The orc leaned back and scrubbed at his mohawk, adjusting his heavy cargo trousers. Fabric belts hung between the legs and down them and he wore a heavy half tartan kilt over the top. His face was littered with piercings and you could see why he looked like the sort to be causing problems.

“You know I love you all equally, Xurek.” Flix laughed, “But I was more excited for your lady friend over there. She’s new too huh?”

“Jesus, you never give up! Anyway,” Xurek took the other orc around the neck, “This is Durzub. He’s new in town. Just moved in from out from the sticks. He might look like a foul piece of work, but you’ve met Rakuh, so he’s not as scary.” Xurek laughed before he let the darker skinned orc go. The other male reached up to brush his black hair from his eyes. Most of his long black hair was braided in tight long threads, the braids sequenced with small beads along them with the rest straight and hanging over his shoulder beneath the wide brim of a black hat, emblazoned with a silver trim around the base. He turned, dressed in a black long shirt and coat, the end trailing behind him as he ducked out of Xurek’s grasp, brown eyes angry.

Durzub snorted and tossed his head, the braids sliding back out of his way over his shoulder before he reached up to move his tangled chains from the ends of his hair, the necklaces hanging with silver teeth, “Will you stop dragging me around like a child, Xurek!” He snorted as he dragged his arm out of Xurek’s grasp and adjusted his hat again before sighing and taking it off, “Any way I could get you to store this behind the bar for me? Its new and these lot have a habit of throwing beer the later it gets.”

Flix fluttered his eyelashes again, “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He took the hat and turned around to hang it near the aprons, “Just grab me before closing and I’ll get it you.”

“Thank you.” Durzub rumbled before pulling his hair back again, tucking the straight length on his left side behind his ear, revealing rings of silver and studs of obsidian, which matched the rings, linked by a chain, on each of his short tusks.

“Don’t be nice to him, Durzub, he’ll eat you alive given the opportunity.” Xurek snickered behind his hand as he flapped his band shirt, trying to cool himself down, “His family ate children back in the day.”

“That was five hundred years ago!” Flix scoffed as he slammed two, pint glasses down on the bar, “So, was it two ales or two lagers?”

“We were thinking mead actually.” Xurek stuck his pierced tongue out before he played with the bar, “And not that piss water Weldrick buys for the goblins!” Flix ignored him and turned for the taps down the other end of the bar.

Pip scoffed at the exchange, but you found your mouth opening at the sight of the long-haired orc and his scowl. He watched Flix’s wings before he turned away from Xurek’s chattering and pushed his hand over his mouth. You watched the exchange as Xurek stuck his tongue between the other’s fingers and couldn’t help but laugh loudly as Durzub cringed and recoiled.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting.” Durzub rolled his eye and took a napkin from the holder to wipe the spit from his fingers and the skull rings which sat above his knuckles.

“Mmm, you taste like fresh meat.” Xurek hissed like a comically bad vampire, and you laughed again, but this time louder. It was loud enough that the two orcs looked down the bar to where you and Pip were sat with your cocktail jug.

“Well done! Now we have their attention.” Pip hissed in your ear before she kicked at your chair with one shoed hoof, clanking the metal with a vicious bang.

Xurek’s smile made you regret everything, as you watched his gaze shift from your face to the larger orc stood next to him, “Looks like we have an audience, Durzub.”

The other male turned slightly on one heel, looking at you both with a raised eyebrow, looking over the two of you perched at the end of the bar, “Don’t mind this freak. He’s got a way of making everyone hate him.”

“Oh, that’s fuckin’ cold!” Xurek hissed at him, “After I introduce you to those bands too!”

Durzub rolled his eyes again as Xurek slinked around him to laze across the bar on one arm, his head propped up on his fist, “Bands which have given me nothing but persistent headaches.”

“Headaches but three magazine features!” Xurek wound his middle finger up before he smiled at the two of you again, “Ignore him. He was castrated at birth.” The statement earned him another gruff noise from Durzub.

“We don’t want your attention, Xurek.” Pip gave him a sardonic smirk, “Not unless you’re replacing those drinks from last time.” She leaned on her own open palm and bared her teeth at him, her hoof clicking against the bar stool.

“You’re a cold bitch, Pip. You know that was an accident.” Xurek whined, “Highlander honour.” He crossed his heart, “Anyway, why don’t I introduce you to my new friend here?” He wrapped his arm around Durzub, making the other spill mead down his fingers as he dragged him over to the two of you, “This is Durzub. He’s a music producer, and part time good looker.”

“You’re a music producer?” You asked in awe before you turned and looked at the stage, “Are you here for these guys?” You pointed at the industrial band on stage as the lights went low and they started the intro for their next song. At the back here it wasn’t as loud, and you could readily hear the two orcs.

“Yeah. They’re a new signing.” Durzub rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “I never really sign their sort, but it seems like they have a decent following.”

“Come on, mate, we’re here to chill out, not to talk work.” Xurek groaned and laid against the sticky bar top before recoiling in disgust.

“I know, you great oaf.” Durzub placed Xurek’s drink next to him, “Are you both here to see the show?” He asked, his voice slipping from ‘totally pissed off’ into something that was ‘gruff but polite’. Either way, his soft country accent made you smile before you took a few mouthfuls of cocktail for courage.

Pip answered before you could swallow, “We come on a Friday to wind down. The gigs are always just a bonus.”

She shot a look at you with her dark, goat eyes, warning you from speaking as she steered the conversation, “What about you guys? You here to bother people on their nights off?”

“Well, we know where we ain’t wanted.” Xurek shrugged his shoulders at Pip’s rudeness, “Sorry to harass you, but you don’t have to be a salty asshole about spilt drinks, you know.” He watched Pip’s temper flare and you ducked back as she slammed her hand against the bar top.

“You listen here you little asshole!”

“Little?” Xurek scoffed, “I tower over you, babe.”

Pip gave a bleat of anger before she swept her leg around you and cracked Xurek in the shin, “It was my new dress you ass for brains!” She hissed at him before she stood up to walk around you and face the orc head on.

“What do you want me to say, huh?!” Xurek goaded, “Oh I’m so sorry that my accident ruined something I couldn’t stop. Get over yourself thinking I did it on purpose!” He fumed with anger.

You leaned back before hopping out of your chair, taking the jug of cocktail in one hand and a tall glass in the other before you turned to Durzub, “Hey come on. They’re going to be screeching for a while. Want to go and sit on the balcony and watch?”

Durzub seemed a little taken back by the offer, “Oh, sure.” He uttered as he pulled Xurek’s drink away from him and then took his own in hand and following you towards the stairs, leading to the viewing area above the pit. You found two stools and a table and happily placed your drinks on it before leaning on the railing to look down at the band as they headbanged together on stage.

Durzub sat awkwardly for a moment before he coughed behind his head, “So, what is it that you do?” He asked as he leaned over the table, eyeing the mixture of liquor and fruit juice in your jug.

You turned from the show and smiled, “Oh nothing as interesting as music production. I just got hired at a new modelling agency.”

“Do you model then?” He asked with wide eyes, “Because you’re certainly…”

“Oh, God no. Nothing like that. I work with brands and secure deals and shoots. I work with Skull Crusher and Tombstone mostly.” You smiled and sipped cocktail through your straw.

Durzub tucked his hair back again with a sweep of his hand, “That explains the look then.” He smiled softly, “Do you get some sweet discounts?” He asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s never been cheaper to be a goth!” You cheered as you looked down at the rowdy beginnings of a mosh pit, then back to the bar.

You gave a great laugh, “Well, looks like their argument is sorted.” You pointed at Xurek with his bruised cheek. He slammed back his drink before storming away into the pit, rushing through a mosh pit before his eyes caught sight of a human among the others. You grinned at his expression. Dumb struck.

“Jesus. I hope they’re ready to be pestered.” Durzub chugged a few mouthfuls of mead before he scoffed, “Whenever he gets that look, he ends up heartbroken a week later.”

“Well, it might be different this time, you know?” You smiled back at Durzub, “Maybe this is the one!” You cooed.

“You’ve got fairy tales in your head and cotton candy to go with it. He’s going to have a one-night stand then not shut up about her for the next three weeks.” Durzub held up three fingers as he drank some more, “Or he’ll relay every little detail to us on our next outing. He has zero filter.”

“I can tell that much.” You laughed as you shuffled back in your seat, “What about you then, have you met your one?”

“My one?” Durzub scoffed, “Hardly. How old do you think I am?” He leaned on his fist and pointed back at himself, giving you a curious look.

You felt like this was a trap, “Are you doing this so you can get mad when I guess wrong?” You asked as you pushed the ice around in the glass.

“Hardly. I’m not sensitive.” He grumbled as his painted fingers tapped against the side of the pint glass.

“Hmm, if you say so.” You leaned over the table to squint at his face. You’d worked with a few orcs before, but most were young models, sharp featured and tall, broad in the shoulders. Durzub was the same, though his face had wrinkles in places which would suggest he was far over twenty years old, “Thirty-six.” You decided with a smile.

Durzub let out a low laugh, “Not far off actually. I’m thirty-eight.” He pointed to the stage, “And I used to do that. Played in a band until about five years ago. Started as a producer then. Never looked back.”

“Oh wow. Who did you used to play with?” You asked in awe.

“A gothic rock sort of deal.” He replied before he looked into your pleading eyes, and relented, “Zi Gijak.”

“No way.” You rushed to stand from your seat as you recognised the Orcish name, “Black Blood!?”

Durzub ducked his head, reaching for where his hat had sat before he realised, he wasn’t wearing it, “Keep your voice down, please.” He begged quietly, “I don’t need people in this place to recognise me.”

“How could they recognise you now? You look nothing like you did back in the day.” You stated before realising what you said sounded rude, “Not that you look bad now it’s just…”

He laughed at your awkwardness, “I know. I ditched the netting and bones a while ago.”

“You didn’t look half bad in it though, even five years ago.” You winked at him with a sudden rush of confidence, “Though I think this outfit suits you just as much.”

Suddenly, it was as though the intimidating exterior melted, and you watched Durzub’s face go flushed with embarrassment, “Thanks. It has been a change.”

Without making him any more embarrassed you changed the subject a little, “So what bands do you produce for now?” You asked.

“Quite a few. I used to work with SIREN before they got huge, but that sort of metal was never something I could do rather well, I thought.” He shrugged, “They’re with a more focused label now.”

“No way…This keeps getting better and better!” You uttered again.

“Better and better for you. They were a headache and a half for me!” Durzub chuntered into his drink before he swallowed the last bits of it, “I’m glad they’ve moved up. They were good for business.” He smirked over the edge of the pint glass.

“Only thinking of the money.” You tutted playfully, “That’s no way to treat your bands.” You joked.

“Oh no, but that makes me feel better knowing my weekly migraines are worth the agony.” Durzub chuckled as he watched the band on stage, “These guys ain’t half bad for a show though. I think I picked the best from the bucket.”

“They have an interesting ensemble.” You smirked at the leather clad demoness as she slinked along the stage before she growled from her stomach, a crop landing against the hand of a handsy looking fan in the front.

“Interesting but it’s the sort of thing that gets you recognised.” Durzub noted as he watched, “This place is a refuge for all kinds of people. I’m glad Cal has got this place running with Weldrick.”

“Who’s Cal? I’ve met Weldrick. Giant bright white minotaur, right? Build like a brick shit house with all the piercings?” You recalled.

Durzub nodded, “That’s him. He’s about eight foot tall too. Scariest mother fucker I ever did meet.” He shifted in his seat, “Cal is the co-owner, but he’s not around that often. He’s a vampire, but he’s not people fond.” The orc shrugged before offering you half a smile, “We all used to work together, believe it or not.”

“Wait…” Your mouth dropped open, “I’m actually stupid.”

“Cal was the singer of Black Blood. Weldrick ran our security back in the day.” He laughed at your open mouth before he leaned over to close your mouth with two large fingers. He brushed his fingers over your chin before leaning back and pointing to your drink, “Do you want anything else?”

“I’m okay thanks. I’ll keep your seat warm.” You joked as he stood up with a nod and grumbled about having something better than ‘shitty mead’.

“I’ve never seen Durzub ever sit and talk with someone in a bar.” A deep, gravelly voice rang out from behind you. You turned around in your chair to see a tall, human looking male watching you, his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose as he regarded you with a mild amount of curiosity from over the lenses. He reached out a hand awkwardly, “Cal.”

“As in…” You took his hand, and flinched at the stone coldness of his grip, “Co-owner of the bar, Cal?”

“The very same.” He shook your hand lightly before his hand disappeared quickly back into his pocket, “I just came to say hello. I was curious. He hates attention in these kinds of places…”

“Just like you then, apparently.” You observed as you turned on your seat to face him. He was a giant man, but stony cold, and overly pale, looking almost grey around his reflective, steel-coloured eyes. They shone red as he turned, the bouncing curls of black hair spilling over his shoulders before he reached for a cigarette packet and cursed, seeing it was empty with only his lighter inside.

“Cal?” Durzub returned with a large looking ale in his hand, “Weird time to show yourself. Unless you were planning to steal this one for a snack, hmm? As usual.” He scoffed.

“You know I’ve been off the blood for years…” Cal whispered as he rummaged in his other back pocket, before finding a small, slim packet of chewing gum, “I don’t…”

“Yeah. Save it. That’s what you said last time, Clarence.” Durzub huffed into his drink.

Cal’s back went ridged before he stooped over and unfolded the wrapper of his gum, “You don’t get to call me that.” He whispered again, his gravelly tone rumbling in the back of his throat before he slunk away, back into the shadows, and disappeared in a shadowy wave of his black hair.

“Sorry you had to see that.” Durzub rumbled from across the table, “Its…complicated.”

You span back around and smiled, “Don’t worry about it. I think Pip had more of a fight with Xurek.” You snickered as you turned to spy her sat at the bar, batting her eyelashes at Flix as he served, “Though I think she’s okay now. She’s turned her eyes on a certain someone.”

Durzub looked down at the bar and laughed as well, “Well I guess you know her type now.” He joked as he sipped at his ale.

“Yep. Scary pretty boys, who aren’t part of your friends.” You snickered as you sipped at the last of your cocktail and refreshed the glass.

The band on the stage purred their final song as you took another drink, and you looked at your phone with wide eyes at the time.

“I have to get up tomorrow for errands.” You lamented, looking at the clock. It was almost midnight, and you knew Pip would be here for hours if you left her to her own devices.

“So, this is where the night ends.” Durzub laughed before he finished the last of his own drink, “Here.” He tugged out his phone, “Let me give you my number?”

You nodded and took your phone out to exchange numbers before checking it was working and showing him the message came through okay.

“Thank you for tonight.” You smiled at him, “We should do this again.” You leaned over and carefully placed a kiss on his flushed cheek, “For an grumpy music producer, you’re funny to be around.” You took your bag and looked at Xurek, who was busy pressing a human against the far wall, “And look after Xurek, huh? Looks like he might just get himself into trouble again.” You descended the stairs just as the orcs started cheering for the male and shook your head.

After speaking to Pip, and confirming she had a taxi to get home, you exited the bar and shivered in the cold, before you felt a warm presence behind you, and a hand catch your own.

“Hey!” Durzub grunted as he caught your hand, “Let me walk you home?” He asked, “No way in hell I’m staying to watch those lot gawk at Xurek strip a human down.” He sneered. His sneer softened as you interlinked your fingers together and squeezed his hand before looping an arm through his own, leaning into his body heat.

“Sure. You can walk me home.” You leaned into his arm again and smiled, “I live three blocks away, so it’s a bit of a short walk.”

“Better to spend time with you.” Durzub whispered before he looked at the night sky, “I’m still sorry about what happened with Cal…”

“Honestly, it never happened, okay?” You patted the orc’s large arm, “We all have our differences and reasons.”

“Still. I was rude.” He huffed before he reached for his hat and tugged at the brim, “I’m glad I got to meet you at least tonight.” You tried to ignore the way he tugged at his bottom lip before he adjusted the decorative chain over his lip and smiled, still a little awkward.

“Me too.” You purred back at him.

The messages started off polite between the two of you, but it was quickly a regular thing for you both to message back within a minute or two depending on if Durzub was working in the studio or you were in meetings. You were both enamoured. It didn’t take long for you both to meet again, eating together in a restaurant which was a little bit too expensive for you. It was high end, and suited Durzub as he sat there eating, looking intimidating as he ate couscous and chopped vegetables before smiling and blushing with embarrassment as you complimented him and his outfit. For such a giant orc, with a bigger scowl, he was softened whenever you said something nice. Several nights together on dates lead to this one, finally going to his studio to see what he did, and to listen to something he had been working on. Excitement churned in your gut as you looked at the choker around your neck and touched the spikes around its surface before flicking the dog tag and grinning at yourself before you rushed for the door to meet Durzub.

“Hey!” You shouted at the orc. He was stood out on the pavement, dressed in an old print of a Black Blood shirt with a screaming orc and vampire on the front, blood dripping from both of their mouths. He was dressed in dark jeans, littered with pocket chains and a heavy leather duster to combat the cool breeze. He looked up from beneath his broad rim hat. Instantly, Durzub’s perpetual scowl turned into a small smile, and you took hold of his hand before leaning up to kiss his cheek before placing a soft kiss against his bottom lip. He was always a little slow to catch up, but he returned the kiss with a gentle rub of his tusks to your chin.

“Hey stranger.” He rumbled before he gestured to the building, “My studio is on the sixth floor.”

“This doesn’t look much like a record label building to me.” You hummed as Durzub led you into the reception. A naga waved him on up with you, looking back at her work with a hiss and a grumpy frown.

“Not yet it doesn’t. Wait until we get into the actual building. This is just the polite front for greeting people.” The elevator dinged as he pressed the button and the two of you climbed inside. He pushed the button for the sixth floor and you jittered with anxiety as it moved upwards slowly.

“I’m excited and nervous.” You whispered as the doors opened on floor two and let some more people in.

“Don’t be, baby. You’ll be fine.” Durzub soothed as you continued up.

The sixth floor was littered with records on the walls, gold, red, black and mixed dyes. You looked along the walls before Durzub tugged you down the carpeted hall. You followed a step or so behind, trying to read the framed records as you toddled behind him, little out of your depth. Durzub’s coat trailed behind him and you moved to not step on it as he stopped at his door. He unlocked it with a click of an electronic card and you watched the black door swing open to reveal the sound room.

“Wow.” You stepped inside in front of him and looked at the expensive sound equipment, keeping your hands to yourself to avoid being told off or ruining anything, “This is some expensive gear.” You grinned at him, “And pretty.” You peered past the soundproof glass to see the guitars and drum kit in the recording box and smiled at the pointed-v design one, knowing it was from when he played with Black Blood.

“I knew you’d spot that one.” Durzub said mildly before he threw his coat over a speaker and collapsed into his large office chair, the leather making him shiver with the cold against his arms, “This is where I spend most of my life, making kids realise that riffs are stupid in the wrong places.” He scoffed before tugging you a chair from the other soundboard and patting it, “Come sit. I have some things to show you.”

Carefully, you placed your coat on top of Durzub’s before joining him by the large computers, eyeing the two screens as he logged in, squinting at the screen.

“Fuck. Glasses.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled free a set of circle frame glasses, putting them on before cringing and looking back at you, “Not as young as I used to be…”

“You look cute in them.” You gushed as you scooted the roller chair forwards and made sure to sit as close to him as possible, “Being able to see is important, even if you don’t look as scary with glasses on.” You teased.

“Yeah…” He let the words drop off as he found what he was looking for and pulled free two sets of expensive headphones. Durzub leaned over and gently tucked them over your ears, holding them and holding up an ‘okay’ sign before he donned his own and pressed play. He leaned back in his chair and you sat impatiently before the noise of a gentle synth graced your ears, opening with a gentle melody before a guitar followed the same rhythm before chugging to life with slow riffs. It was gentle somehow still as the guitar started on a slowly moving rhythm along into the beginnings of a verse, sung by a vocalist you recognised as Durzub. The lyrics lilted about roses on a hill, growing in a graveyard around a forgotten tombstone before you grinned at the references to old vampire movies that the two of you enjoyed. The chorus was met with a litany of soft guitar and synth before a drum solo full of soft cymbal carried on. It was something made for the two of you, and you wondered just how long Durzub had spent making this song. Looking at the poorly hidden bags under his eyes, you figured it had been most nights after work.

In the closing synth of the son, you laid your head against Durzub’s arm, against the tattoo of the roses around the gravestone. You pressed your lips to his skin gently before smiling and tugging the headphones down to around your neck, smiling up at the orc. Durzub copied the motion with another small smile, reaching to stroke at the top of your head

“That was beautiful. It’s hard to believe you made that just for me.” You whispered against his warm skin as the orc flushed with embarrassment, “Did you mean the part about making love on graves?” You teased gently before you slipped from your own chair, and into his lap, your fingers sliding up over the tattoos on his arms, tracing the thorns of the roses down before you traced the edge of the stem curling over his collar bone.

“Maybe not. Stone gives you a bad back.” He rumbled as his pupils went wide, watching your fingers as they slipped under the collar of his t-shirt, “But I would worship you just the same.” His hands moved from the computer to your hips, his fingers pressing into the meat of your backside before he leaned forwards to kiss you. You gladly accepted the advance, kissing the orc back, your tongue licking at his lips before you traced the rings around his tusks and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

A soft moan escaped Durzub’s mouth as you pulled away. His lips were puffy and you leaned forwards to bite his lip, enjoying the second croak that escaped him as you leaned back on his thighs.

“What about this desk?” You asked under your breath.

Durzub grumbled, “There’s a lot of…” Your hand meeting his crotch shorted his brain for a moment, “I can make room.” He grumbled before he pushed the keyboard and monitor aside, leaving the desk free for you both. You laid back over the wood and grinned as you tugged on one of his tusks, forcing his face down so you could lay another kiss on his lips. Durzub moaned again as you reached up into his dark hair, tugging the braids at his scalp.

“Maybe you should make good on your song lyrics.” You purred as you kissed his cheeks and then bit at his neck before sucking a mark under his ear.

“Fuck.” Durzub hissed before he leaned over you, his fingers tugging at your clothes before he admired the collar around your neck and gave it a tug, “I hope you didn’t have any other plans.”

Neither of you saw the audio recording button flashing red.

‘Everything was recorded. I’m keeping it. See you at the bar. x’

#orc x reader #male orc x reader #orc x gender neutral reader #orc #orcs #monster x reader #monster bf #monster bf x reader #monster boy x reader #monster boyfriend #my writing #original works #reader insert

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Text

okay, this is very much a WIP but i am stressed for the finale and needed something fluffy so! wizard reward tickles!

(extremely mild episode 140 spoilers, no specifics)

He’s making his way up to the third floor of the tower, Fjord and Jester floating alongside, when Jester turns with cautious concern writ large on her face. “Essek, have you been crying?”

Essek is enough of a stranger to tears, until recently, that he cannot tell how she knows. “It is all right, Jester, I am…” He pauses, fishing for a suitable word. “Recovered.”

He looks at Fjord over her head, willing him to convey some kind of guidance. The reason for the aforementioned lapse, one he is hardly sure of his reasons for committing in the first place, is sleeping safe and whole just a floor below in this magical tower of Caleb’s - surely there is no reason to keep the matter open?

Jester beams at him, fangs on full display, and claps her hands together. “I know exactly what will make you feel better, Essek!”

“As do I, I would hope,” he rejoins, gesturing to the vast library that the three of them are currently hovering in the midst of. “I know it is a little late, but I have not had a chance to take the, ah, the full tour, and I am certain I can find something of interest-”

“Essek, no!” Jester interrupts, throwing her arms wide. “You need cheer up tickles!”

At the last word, he instinctively clutches his mantle closer. “Ah - what?”

Fjord snorts. Essek pointedly ignores him. “Jester,” he says weakly, “I am sorry, but frankly I do not think my heart can take any more strenuous activity today.”

“It’s not strenuous,” Jester insists, arms still brandished to either side. “It’s super gentle and relaxing! Caleb loves them!”

His disbelief must show on his face - Jester pouts, and Fjord shakes his head indulgently and steps up to wind an arm around her waist. “He does, truly,” he reassures. Essek watches Jester tip her head back and grin at him, two synchronized sweethearts, and smiles a little despite himself. “Ask him, if you like, I don’t think you’ve seen us do it to him before.”

Frankly, Essek is more familiar with the brand of tickling that sends Caleb scrambling to Teleport away when the Nein so much as look in his direction with particular intent. He’s particularly proud of that Counterspell. “I - I am not quite sure where he is, at the moment, and I do not wish to disturb him.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want to be in a room alo-one with him?” Jester wriggles her entire body suggestively and promptly returns to pouting when he refuses to blush. “Come on, Essek, we fought an evil flesh city together this morning, can’t you trust us for like five more minutes?”

Perhaps someday trust will stop seeming so new and fragile to him - but today, looking at both of their faces and seeing no trace of deception, he sighs and lowers himself slowly to the ground. “I suppose it cannot hurt.”

“Yes!” Jester cheers. She shakes Fjord’s arm off and digs his out of layers of clothing, towing him into the library and over to a cozy lounging section patterned in Zemnian reds. “You’re gonna feel so good, Essek, I promise. Take your cloak off!”

There’s little else to do but obey. He drapes it neatly over an adjacent seat, gestures questioningly at his boots and removes them as well when Jester nods authoritatively. “And now your shirt!”

He freezes. “What.”

“Kidding, kidding!” She flops down on the lounge, fluffing out her skirts, and beckons for him. “Come here - Fjord, go away, you’ll make him nervous!”

Fjord glances over at Essek, eyebrows raised in clear amusement. “He’s not a stray cat, Jes.”

“He’s a wizard, it’s practically the same thing!”

“Ah-” Essek starts. Fjord raises his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be over here.” He backs towards the lounge with Essek’s things strewn over it, mockingly cautious. “If I’m allowed to stay in the room, that is.”

“Of course you can stay!” Jester tells him. “You know, I bet this library has a copy of Tusk Love somewhere-”

She breaks off into giggles as Fjord grimaces at her. Essek watches the two of them, back and forth, and almost feels glad when Jester turns back to him with more instructions. “Okay, now you lie down in my lap.”

“Jester.”

“Essek.” She pats encouragingly at her knees.

Essek steps closer and - he doesn’t know how to get in a lap. He frowns, twisting minutely to one side and then the other as he tries to judge the best way of lowering himself-

Jester grabs him around the waist and yanks, pulling his back flush against her, then pushes his chest down with one muscled arm and scoops his legs up with the other.

He stares breathlessly at the ceiling. “Oh.”

A grinning blue face bobs into his field of vision. “I’m gonna tickle you now, okay?”

Essek closes his eyes and braces himself.

Seconds pass without the immediate zinging shock that he’s expecting. He cracks an eye open. “Jester?”

She’s frowning. “You’re so tense, Essek! Just-” She sucks in an exaggerated breath, cheeks ballooning, and whooshes it out. “Breathe.”

He tries. As he’s exhaling, Jester rests one warm palm on his belly and starts to rub gentle circles.

He sighs despite himself - it is a new feeling, but not an unpleasant one, and he can feel himself relaxing as she widens the circles to climb his chest. “Jester-”

“Shh,” she soothes, and trails her fingertips down his chest and back onto his belly. “Aw, does that tickle?”

His breath hitches as she draws her fingertips slowly from side to side, fluttering at his hips where the fabric of his shirt bunches. “I - hnnnh - nnnn-”

His belly twitches involuntarily as he tries to keep himself from laughing outright. Jester clucks in disapproval and goes back to her circles. “Ess-ek, don’t fight it, just relax!”

She stays at his belly this time for what seems like minutes, smoothing gently over an expanse of skin that warms with each pass. Essek feels his breathing slow, his eyes start to drift shut. The weight of heat and proximity press down on him like a blanket, and he thinks he might fall asleep then and there.

Then she tickles him again, that same light trailing of fingertips, and a laugh slips out before he can think to contain it.

She doesn’t stop, tracing light swirls of sensation over his belly and sides, and he can’t quite bring himself to try and stop snickering either - it’s pleasant, the waves of warm tingles radiating up into his chest and down to his hips, and all his muscles are loose and pliant enough that he doesn’t even feel the need to squirm away.

Jester coos at him through the haziness. “Aw, you look so comfy, are you having fun?”

“Mm - heh - mmhm,” he manages.

“Oh, good - I’m glad you like it, Essek. I wanted to do something really nice for you since you did such a good job in Aeor with us, you know?”

There’s a proper response to that, something about how much he owes all of them already and how no amount of good cheer now will see him through his uncertain future, but it’s hard to come up with words at the moment. Instead, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back even further as Jester starts to skim her gentle touches up to his ribs. “So many cool spells-”

Her fingers creep up into his armpits, a distinctly more ticklish spot, and he’s halfway through humming out a protest when she shushes him again and starts rubbing slow, careful circles in the hollows with her thumbs. “And when you broke that crystal to make sure we could all rest and heal up - that was really good, Essek.”

“Hnnnn,” he manages.

Every muscle in his upper body feels like jelly. He can’t even twitch as she repeats that same skimming swirl under his arms, just giggles a bit harder. “Doesn’t it feel nice to relax and not have to worry about all that anymore?”

Oh, that’s a question - he thinks for a long, liquid moment, trying to string together a sentence. “Hhh - hehe - mhmm, s’nice.”

“It is! You did such a good job, you should get all the tickles.”

“Tickles,” he nearly purrs. He can feel his ears flicking contentedly.

Jester shifts beneath him, whisper-shouting over to where he assumes Fjord is still sitting. “He’s so cute, Fjord.”

“Adorable,” Fjord whispers back. “And - hey, looks like we’re about to have two of them.”

And then, louder - “Hey, Caleb.”

Caleb? Essek’s eyes snap open.

He’s walking over to them, sans coat and scarf with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. “Ah, I did not expect to find anyone else here.” He turns to regard Essek. “I see they’ve gotten to you too, hm?”

Essek struggles for a moment, trying to wake himself with the realization that Caleb is usually the one receiving Jester’s attentions in this way - and this isn’t a conversation he wants to have while Caleb is standing and he’s flat on his back.

Jester makes a frustrated sound as he tries to sit up. Caleb looks a little surprised too - even more so, when Fjord walks over and wraps a hand around each of his shoulders. “Oh, don’t be jealous, you’ll get your wizard tickles too.”

Essek blinks. “Caleb, I didn't mean to take anything from you-”

Caleb’s ears go red, but he leaves Fjord’s hands where they are as he crouches down by Essek and pats his shoulder. “I did not mean to tease, my friend - please, relax and enjoy yourself.” He smiles, then, a little flick in the corner of his mouth. “Or Jester will make you, I’m sure.”

He blinks again. “You’re not - upset?”

Caleb shakes his head, sending wisps of red hair flying around his face. “Not one bit.”

Essek lets Caleb press him gently back down into Jester’s lap, watches blankly as she grins down at both of them and reaches out to tap Caleb’s nose.

He stands before she can, quirks a loose smile in her direction. “Not today, Lavorre, I think.”

He turns as if he might walk away, starting to lock his hands behind his back again, and Essek nearly calls him back, offers to let him take his place - but Fjord is just behind him, hands still on his shoulders, and he pins him easily in place. “Oh, I’d love to see you try to avoid this.”

Caleb opens his mouth to reply, snaps it shut again as Fjord’s hands slide off his shoulders and bracket his sides, fingers curling in ever so slightly.

Fjord’s a little taller than Caleb, enough that when Caleb starts to shrink in on himself he has to stoop to get his mouth next to his ear. “You’ve had a hard day,” he says, low and steady. “Don’t make us watch you hide from a little lightness, after all that.”

Caleb looks all of them over once, frantically, and then looks pointedly away. It’s a sentiment Essek is familiar with - looking for escape, and resigning yourself to none - and he’s surprised when Caleb gives a slight nod.

Fjord’s face splits into a relieved smile, tusks on full display. “Right, then,” he continues, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s waist and lifting him straight off the ground to carry him the few feet to the other lounge.

He sets him down and sits next to him, waiting patiently until Caleb huffs a quiet breath through his nose and leans over to put his head in Fjord’s lap. “Right.”

Jester reaches for Essek’s belly again, but he catches her wrist and looks up at her to shake his head.

She raises her eyebrows. He tilts his head ever so slightly towards the other lounge.

Jester’s mouth forms a silent O of understanding before pursing into a mischievous smirk. Essek frowns - he’s curious, there’s no need for eyebrow waggling.

She does draw her hands away, though, so he contents himself with a single stern look before turning his attention towards Caleb. “You’re healed, yes?” Fjord asks.

He starts patting at Caleb’s ribs as if to check them, but the way he starts massaging little circles into them seems distinctly meant to tickle. Essek watches, perplexed, as Caleb doesn’t laugh at all, just sighs a little and lets his shoulders lay flat. “Ja, Caduceus helped with that.”

“That’s good. Proud of you,” Fjord says approvingly.

Caleb looks more flustered at that than he has at anything else said tonight, a reluctant smile working its way over his features. Fjord smirks and bends down to whisper something else to him - Essek doesn’t catch it, but apparently it’s terrible enough to make him squeak and roll defensively onto his side.

Their eyes meet.

They both stare for a moment, and then Caleb’s eyes narrow - Essek has just barely seen him mischievous enough times to recognize the look. He flicks his fingers in a particular pattern even as Fjord rolls him back over with a series of nibbling little pinches to his ribs that send him squirming, and there’s a slight pop as an illusory feather appears by Essek’s bare feet.

He doesn’t even have time to protest before the damned thing wriggles up against his sole and he’s squealing. He bolts upright, clinging to Jester as he laughs frantically. “HAAA - ahaha - Caleheheb!”

“Cay-leb, stop that!” Jester cries, but she looks absolutely delighted as she cuddles him close with her own fingers wriggling mischievously. “Do you know how long it took us to convince him to let us tickle him?”

Fjord laughs. “ I think someone’s trying to tell me they want their feet tickled. Isn’t that right, Caleb?”

The feather switches to his other foot, and Essek presses his face into Jester’s shoulder and cackles loudly enough that he nearly misses Fjord’s next statement. “Oh, feeling shy? No, no, tell me - do you want feathers or fingers?”

Between one flick and the next, the feather disappears with another pop.

Essek pries his face up from Jester’s shoulder and turns to strongly protest this treatment, but it looks like Caleb’s been thoroughly distracted from him - Fjord’s taken his chin in one strong hand and tipped it gently back, leaving the thin column of his neck hopelessly vulnerable. He’s already giggling, hiccupy little things, as Fjord runs his fingers gently along a tendon. “Well, speak up - feathers?“

He switches suddenly to the other side of his neck. “Or fingers?”

Caleb whines, scrunching his shoulders as far as he can against Fjord’s thigh. “Ahaha - nngh - nein, mean! Mean!”

“I’ll be nice just as soon as you tell me what you want.” Fjord tells him. “Come on, you can do it.”

“I - heheheeeeh - I can’t!” Caleb pleads.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have bothered Essek, then,” Fjord scolds lightly.

Caleb makes a helpless little sound, still giggling. Fjord’s voice softens then, to something cajoling. “This is supposed to be fun for you, Caleb. Let me know how I can do that.”

Caleb whines a little more, squeezing his eyes shut, but he seems to relax a bit at the command. “Feathers,” he says finally. “There’s a writing desk around the corner with some quills.”

“Good boy,” Fjord says, letting go of his chin and patting his cheek. “I’ll be right back, then.”

He helps a heavily blushing Caleb off his lap and lays him back down, smoothing once over his ribs and getting the same blissful giggles Essek remembers himself echoing just a minute ago.

Caleb flops back, catching his breath, and looks wryly across at him. “If you run now, maybe you can get away before they learn too much about you.”

“Nope, too late!” Jester says cheerfully, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. Essek jumps as she starts to tickle his sides. “Aw, Essek, are you going to get all embarrassed if we tell you you’re a good boy?”

Essek scoffs, fighting the laughter and the blush that threatens to climb the back of his neck. “I have received many accolades over the years, I do not think so.”

“A good friend, then? One that we trust completely?” Caleb suggests. It’s more the way Caleb looks at him as he says it, like he already knows how much that means, but Jester still squeals excitedly at the dark purple gathering in his cheeks.

“Ooh, and what if we tease you about how ticklish you are?” Jester asks, worming her fingers onto his tummy and tapping them there until he’s giggling helplessly at the implied threat. “Cause Essek, you are really, really ticklish.”

“This is not what I was promised,” he manages through his laughter. A few weeks ago, he would have been fearful at this clear intrusion, a transparent search for weakness. Now he mostly wants to calm himself enough to trance in the next few hours.

“Oh, shitballs, you’re right,” Jester rushes out, and stops tickling in favor of rubbing warm circles up his sides. “Okay, okay, lie down and I will give you the best cheer up tickles.”

“I heard that,” Fjord says, rounding the corner with a feather dangling from his fingertips. “You two are going to have to compare notes afterwards and let us know who’s really better.”

“I don’t think-” Caleb starts. He yelps as Fjord pounces on his feet, protests for a moment before dissolving into soft laughter at the introduction of the feather.

Essek’s busy falling back into dazed, happy snickering as Jester trails her fingertips back up under his arms.

He feels very cheerful, at the moment.

#tickling #critical role #shadowgast #fjorester #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #fjord #jester lavorre #chocfic

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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

Text

Primrose, part Two

Rating: NSFW Length: 2124 Pairing: Male Orc x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Primrose is there the next morning as promised, and all the mornings after that. He brings a packed breakfast from each morning onwards, each more extravagant than the last. I complain that my poor grandmother will have to roll me outside by the time she recovers; he laughs and tells me that he’d be happy to help. He comes out of his shell the longer that he spends time with me, but I’m the one that takes longer to emerge. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m not used to the earnestness of Primrose’s attentions—least of all from a man I’m also attracted to. He likes my biting tongue and doesn’t mind my skittish nature, and after the first hour of sitting in the shade watching me work, he grows restless enough to roll up his sleeves and join me.

He’s hopeless at weeding the garden. I squawk like a plucked hen when he pulls up one of my grandmother’s budding azaleas on the fourth morning, and he’s deeply apologetic for the rest of the day until we find that he’s incredibly talented at floral arrangement. It’s only a shame that we had to find out with the casualties of his “pruning”. He’s much better at working the soil, and I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy watching his shirt come off before he pushes the plough through the dirt, trying his best to get even lines as his shoulders turn almost as pink as his hair in the sun.

It’s gratifying to watch him get dirt under his manicured fingernails, and I have to admit that I like his company. He’s a charming conversationalist and he never seems to run out of things to talk about, and I find myself drawn into conversation even when I’d been feeling reticent before. I learn that he’s the third child in a rich family—well enough off to do whatever he likes, and low enough in the pecking order to do what he pleases. I call him spoiled and he agrees with me, though that particular day he redoubles his efforts to learn how to tend to my grandmother’s flowers. I make him lunch and fresh lemonade every afternoon and we eat with our feet in the cool water of my grandmother’s fish pond, and every evening he packs himself into a carriage and heads home.

“Why do you keep coming?” I ask him after a few weeks of this charade, and I’m startled by the boisterous laughter that bursts out of the giant orc.

“You can’t really be that dense,” he says when he recovers, wiping tears from his sparkling eyes.

“I can be as dense as I like,” I reply with a touch of heat, though I suspect I know full well why the young orc is trying so hard. “Do you want to get into my pants? You won’t succeed.”

Primrose looks as though I’ve lashed him with a switch instead of my tongue. “Is that all you think I’m here for?” he asks, gesturing to our surroundings with a frown. “Why I’m learning how to garden?” He says my name in a chiding tone, and I can barely feel the condensation on my glass rolling down the top of my hand.

“Aren’t you?” I challenge, watching his face warily for any trace of malice or deception.

Instead, Primrose’s expression closes. “I think I’ll call my carriage now,” he says, and gets up to do so. I don’t stop him when he makes the call. I don’t stop him before he climbs into his carriage, and I don’t stop him after. He can go if he likes, I think. They all do, in the end.

The next few days, I find myself growing irritable. I’m upset with myself for letting him into my space, for letting him get under my skin, for thinking, for dreaming—but I stop myself before those thoughts can go far, growing all the more irritable for dwelling upon them, and then the cycle repeats. I find his ribbon when I’m emptying out pockets for laundry, and I have the irrational urge to burn it.

That’s when I know that I’m in deep.

That night, I decide to take a long soak in the bath, using salts and oils that I know have brought me peace in the past. This time is different; there’s a restlessness under my skin, an itch to touch and be touched, and I find that even the bathwater cannot calm me. I can hardly stand to be around myself, and so I pull on my bathrobe and march out of the house through the back door, intent on losing myself to the repetitive task of gardening.

“Whoa!” cries a voice when I throw open the door, and in the light I can see that I’ve slammed it right into Primrose’s face.

“Prim!” I cry, almost gasping around my words as I take in the position of his hands: one bearing a bouquet, the other cupped over his bloodied nose. “What the hell are you doing in my backyard? Get in here this instant! You’re bleeding all over the porch!”

“I was picking you flowers,” Primrose manages to say around his hand, following me into the kitchen and sitting down where I bid him to so that I can get a look at his nose.

“From my own damn garden? You’re lucky I didn’t break this,” I say, frowning and prodding gently at his nose; it will bruise, but it isn’t budging.

“They’re the prettiest flowers there are,” Primrose protests, lips bunching around his jewelled tusks—and that’s when I notice the way he’s dressed.

“Were you at a party?” I ask, incredulous, even as I wiggle a tissue up his nostril.

Primrose grimaces. “Some party,” he grumbles. “My birthday. But I wanted to spend it with you.”

My heart flip-flops in my chest like the day’s catch. “You don’t mean that,” I tut, keeping my eyes averted from his honest blue gaze. “You’ve had too much to drink again.”

Primrose draws himself up. “I haven’t touched a drop since we met,” he declares, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “I haven’t needed it.”

“Needed it?”

“To feel good,” he explains, taking my blood-stained fingers in his and looking into my face. “Not since I met you. Let me court you.”

“Court me?” I feel like an idiot, parroting his words back at him like some nincompoop, but I can’t help but feel as though I’ve missed a step on my way down the stairs.

Primrose laughs, and I ache at how much I’ve missed that sound. “Yes, court you. I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first day we met, but I know now that I want to keep you, too. Let me keep you.”

“I’m not one to be ‘kept’,” I say, bristling at the word that I cling to in the maelstrom of things being said.

“Then keep me instead,” Primrose begs, sliding from the chair onto his knees in front of me.

“Primrose,” I gasp, aghast, but he doesn’t let me speak, instead thrusting the bouquet up at my face.

“Say the word and I’ll never bother you again,” he says, eyes as blue as the summer sky looking up at me from his large, flushed face. “One word and all that I can give you will be yours. Kill me or kiss me, right here, right now.”

So I kiss him. I kiss him, and I touch him, and I climb him like that damn tree I found him under all those weeks ago, and he groans like I’ve just righted all of the wrongs in his life. I smell crushed flowers as he turns and presses me against the dining table, my limbs moving of their own accord to wend and wind around him and pull him close. There’s the distant clatter of buttons hitting the wood of the table as Primrose yanks his overcoat over his head, then the sound of fabric tearing as his shirt follows suit.

I haven’t giggled in years, but I do now, giddy and exhilarated. “Those looked expensive, you buffoon,” I scold, moaning as he takes the opportunity to kiss along my throat and scrape his tusks along my jaw. “Gods.”

“No,” says Primrose, his voice deeper and more guttural than I’ve ever heard it, striking a chord in me that makes a thrill rocket up my spine. “None home at the moment. Come here, you delicious thing.”

In an instant, my arms are woefully empty, but Primrose’s mouth is gloriously occupied. I shout into the rafters when he gives his first hungry suckle, hands gravitating to his hair and grabbing fistfuls as he works me like I hold the answer to his prayers in my balls. “I didn’t dare think about this,” I whimper, gasping when Primrose throws my thighs over his shoulders and settles in for the long haul.

“I’ve thought of nothing but this,” he growls when he comes up for air, tongue delving between my cheeks and finding me still damp from my bath. “You taste like roses.”

“Oh, gods, shut up,” I groan, dragging my hands over my face in mortification—I hadn’t even realised that I’d chosen the rose oil to soak in until now. I whimper and moan as he works me open with his tongue, but I’m not inexperienced enough to think that a little spit will be enough for what I’ve spied tucked in his trousers when he hasn’t been looking. “Let me get oil, at least!”

Primrose laughs and carries me as though I weigh nothing more than a limp kitten, which I suppose I don’t, to a man so large. We grab the rose oil across the house and make it about as far as the bathroom vanity before he has his fingers in me, and I find myself riding them with a lusty abandon I didn’t know myself capable of. “Fuck, you look so sweet,” Primrose whispers, and I watch him watch me through the mirror. “You’ll look so much better on my cock.”

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Hurry up. I haven’t got all nigh—ai! Oh, fuck, my legs.”

“Mhm,” Primrose chuckles, fingers once again working along the most sensitive part of my insides. “I saw that. Do it again.”

“Fuck you,” I manage to choke out, even if my knees do, in fact, wobble again. He takes his time, driving me crazy in fits and starts until he finally pulls his hand away and replaces it with his dick. I’d sooner eat dirt than tell him, but it burns going in even with all the stretching and preparation—a burn I hadn’t felt since the first time I was stretched open and fucked—but I wasn’t going to feed into his ego any more than my body already had; he’d be insufferable. “Prim,” I gasp, reaching back to steady him and slow his onslaught. “Easy.”

“I’ve got you,” he says behind me, and I know that he does. I feel it in my gut, and in the ache of my chest, and in the way he strokes along my quivering back. It feels like an eternity before he bottoms out, and I almost laugh at the way we both heave deep sighs of relief. When he moves a minute later, it feels like he takes my whole body with him, so he stops and adds more oil as I recover a second time and tries again. The second time turns out to be the charm, then, as he moves in me like he’s always belonged inside me, and then the rest is a blur.

I remember pleasure. I remember pleasure and the pain of my hips digging into the vanity, and of my fingers clinging to the edge of the countertop for dear life. He fucks me until my legs give out and we end up on the floor, his big hands guiding my hips as I ride him like our lives depend on it. I don’t remember how many times I come, just that I come until my vision blacks out, and then I come again, fingers tearing at the tiles beneath me as I writhe like a man possessed.

When my consciousness swims back into focus, I find myself in my bed with a blanket made of orcflesh draped over me, Primrose’s legs tangled with mine as the early morning light seeps soft and grey through my curtains. I watch him for a moment, taking in his sleep-soft features and the way his hair falls into his face, and I decide that we could both deserve a little lie-in.

I can always scold him about being too warm to cuddle later.

#exophilia #mlm exophlia #exophilia fic #gay exophilia #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster lemon #Primrose #happy birthday you beautiful bastard and fuck you for living rent free in my head all this time :)#My work

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movedtodykedvonte · 2 years

Note

Quick question: I got a liking to Cob pretty fast (who doesn't, let's be honest) and was wondering if you have some kind of physical description of him? (Yeah, I know he's a tall boy and boar but anything else noteworthy) Or a drawing or something cause I'm in the mood of drawing him for you. If that's ok with you that is. 👉👈

Drawing any scenario or character I create/describe is always okay with me bud! I guess this is the time to say I'm fine with any random submissions or asks of anything! I guess I’ll just drop the Cob lore and design post here tho.

Under the cut if ur interested

Cob physically would look like an animatronics Central European Boar with a lot of the cuter traits of a pig. Like he's the droopy pig ear and screw tail and a pot belly (pun intended) of the usual farm pig but then the hair type, tusks and longer snout of the aforementioned boar.

Design wise, he’d be built to appear stocky, wider build as he’d need room to store all the garbage he eats. Like his main body shape is if you turned an golden apple upside down. His fingers are like hooved fingers to keep the theme of him being a wild boar, so ig three pronged? Think of it how bird characters use their feathers as fingers. Color would be like dark greyish brown with black or white spots, mainly cause he’s not supposed to attract guests and it hides messes that get on him better. Either has his hooves out like a mad man or like tacky glamrock work boots.

Outfit is probably like a normal janitor uniform with the Freddy logo on the back, maybe a hat of some sorts to fit the chill vibe of the PizzaPlex. Various stickers on his pant legs though, kids love giving him them.

Lore/Mechanics

He was of course made to clean up major food messes that couldn’t go in the trash compactor and help the staff bots as they were falling behind. He was not made with the most adaptable A.I. so he can’t download things like the others can or be linked to things but that also means he can’t really be hacked.

During the testing of his functions the mechanics found that when hunting down messes he targeted everything and anything. He would wipe down guests and even try to clean off the bots when they performing, often having to be turned off until shows were over. Although this was patched so that he’d wait, if anything looks too messy he will prioritize it to be clean, sometimes making a bigger mess trying to get to it.

Cob is just kinda set to roam the PizzaPlex using his snout (scent tracker) to find messes and keep the place clean for guests. If nothing major is detected he’ll just hunker down in one area and wait.

Gameplay wise, he’s not an enemy or an ally. He’s like an obstacle in multiple areas as you would need to create a mess to get him to move out of the way or make a way for you as he tries to get to it. He’d also try to clean the animatronics which is just him chasing them if they get too close while he’s around. This also applies to Freddy which can knock you out of the suit.

Cob would only become hostile to Gregory if he saw Gregory making the messes as he’s programmed to also stop the sources. Usually he wouldn’t attack a guest to do this but you aren’t a guest now are you? Either scans Gregory as a mess and eats him or hits him with his broom which is bad as it is metal and he is way to strong. If you’re just getting in the way he may pick you up and move you or nudge Gregory away with the broom.

MISC

Would be most useful against Chica as she ruts around in the trash and he’d target her for cleaning

Least around Roxy as she can easily out maneuver him.

Weird mysterious and ominous fellow until you talk to him, then he’s just a workaholic charmer

Sounds like either Rag N Bone man sans the British or Louis from Princess and the Frog

Doesn’t have a green room as he’s not a performer, more of an experience, but he does have a giant storage closet that he made a bed in out of stolen plushes.

Doesn’t need a bed just thinks it makes the place look homey

#ask #drunknfirefly #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #fnaf #fnaf oc Boar #fnaf oc Cob

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

Old-Timer

Chapter 2 - A new friend

It must be testament to how vulnerable you're feeling that your first instinct is to try and scramble backwards and away from the maker as he carefully lowers himself down onto one knee, his eyes drinking in each little movement you make, as though he's convinced that if he glances away, you might disappear into thin air.

“Well now,” he muses, watching you back yourself up into the base of a gnarled tree trunk, “What manner of wee beastie are you?”

Your body turns as rigid as the wood pressed to your spine when he shuffles closer to get a better look at you, blocking your view of the trees beyond his impressive girth. He must notice the trepidation on your face because he suddenly hesitates, his once eager expression growing soft. Somehow, despite the sense of powerlessness you feel now that you're face to face with a maker who stands at least three heads taller than Thane, you find yourself easily disarmed by the dashing smile he throws at you, and when he speaks, his voice is as low and gentle as the rumble of a faraway thunderclap.

“You're a comely sight to see in these old woods,” he utters gently, his knuckles resting on the soft grass near your shoes, “What's a pretty, little thing like you doing in a place like this, ey?”

Thrown, you're almost inclined to protest to his observation. Covered in streaks of mud from where you'd rolled across the ground, leaves and twigs sticking out of your hair, red-eyed and wounded... You feel about as far from 'pretty' as it gets and even open your mouth to say as much, but the maker opens his first, a curious frown tugging at his sleek, golden eyebrows. “Don't reckon I've seen anything like you before...”

One of his enormous hands lifts to his beard and he gives it a few, thoughtful strokes. “Hmm. You're no demon. N'you're too small to be an angel. Well, that, and -” He pauses, gesturing at you vaguely. “- No wings.”

In contrast to the maker's pensive expression, you adopt a look of bafflement. Either he's been living under a rock and doesn't know a human when he sees one, or -

...Oh.

A chill runs down the length of your spine and you swallow thickly as it occurs to you that you might have travelled further back in time than you'd previously thought.

Wetting your lips, you suck down a lungful of the cool, evening air, not missing how the maker's ears instantly perk up in anticipation. “I-I'm a human,” you manage to croak.

All of a sudden, you find yourself jumping out of your skin when the giant bodily recoils and his eyes burst open, wide as saucers. “Maker's beard!” he exclaims, an enraptured grin pushing at the bristles of his moustache, “You speak Common!?”

“Uh...” Falteringly, you place a hand over your racing heart and raise one, cautious eyebrow at him. “I suppose? I mean, i-if that's what we're speaking right now, then... yeah?”

Huffing out a soft chuckle, the maker tips his head to one side and mutters, “Well, blow me down...”

For several moments, he regards you in silence until the corner of his lips begin to quirk into a coy grin. “S'pose that means you understand me when I say you're about the bonniest little creature I've ever laid eyes on?”

Now it's your turn to bark out a quick laugh. “Ha! You're charming,” you tell him honestly, noting that his very broad, very bare chest puffs out at the praise, “But while the flattery is appreciated, I'm afraid I'm a bit... um...”

'Preoccupied' is probably the most appropriate word for it, but in lieu of a better explanation, you reach forwards and brush your fingertips delicately over the cuts in your leg, hissing through your teeth when even that barest of touches elicits a blinding flare of white-hot agony.

You've never seen an expression shift from warm and amused to sober and serious so quickly before.

“He hurt you?” the maker growls dangerously, shelving any intrigue he holds for his enigmatic discovery, at least for the time being. You find it rather touching that he looks so perturbed on your behalf.

'Huh. Makers,' you muse fondly. Even here in the past, it seems that they're a protective bunch.

Bracing your hands on the ground, you try to push yourself up onto your boots, but the wounds make such a feat more painful than you'd expected and you let out a grunt as you thud back down onto your rear, huffing in frustration before you start to try again.

However, you don't manage to get far.

Movement catches your eye and you glance up, surprised to find yourself presented with the maker's titanic hand, held with the palm pointed to the tree tops and his index finger extended out towards you.

Rolling your gaze up the length of his vast, muscular arm, you meet his eyes...

...and very nearly have the breath knocked out of you by the earnest glow radiating from them. Long, golden lashes sweep gracefully up and down as he blinks at you, and softly, almost in a whisper, he asks, “Need a hand?”

You're so taken aback by the hypnotic pull of his blue stare that you can only nod wordlessly and lift an arm, slowly extending your hand towards him until you can rest your palm on the pad of his forefinger.

The moment your skin connects, the maker seems to buckle and he drops his mouth open, letting a shuddering breath roll out from behind his tusks. You realise that he's moved his gaze down and adhered it to the sight of your hand sitting daintily on his fingertip, looking woefully lost amongst the expanse of rough-hewn skin.

For some time, the maker doesn't utter a sound, nor does he move until eventually, you have to clear your throat, and with a jolt, he gives his head a brief shake, roving his eyes up to meet yours once more. “You're... so small,” he says incredulously, as though he's only just noticed.

One of your brows slants upwards and you level him with a cool smirk. “Yes, well... I'd say that you're so big, if I didn't think you were the type of maker who would let it go to his head.”

He appears appropriately startled by the quip and for a second, you have to wonder if you've perhaps stepped over some invisible boundary by falling back on humour as a defensive tactic, but then, the maker's fluffy moustache quirks up around a grin and he says, “Oh, I think I'm startin' to like you, little one.”

For good measure, he makes sure to flash you a wink that has you ducking your head to hide your face. Still sporting that dashing smile, he raises his hand and tugs you carefully onto your feet. Well. Foot. You make the mistake of trying to place weight on your bad leg and it immediately tries to collapse out from underneath you.

“Wheyup! Easy there.” A thumb and forefinger promptly catch you around the midriff and prevent you from falling onto your backside again. The pads of hot, calloused fingers press into your torso with just the barest hint of pressure, as though the maker is afraid that you'll break if he squeezes any harder.

“I'm okay, I'm good,” you try to reassure him, “Just... need to get my balance, is all”

He looks far from convinced and furrows his brow, giving you a skeptical hum as he begins to turn you around.

At first, you try to resist, perhaps due to some long-buried instinct telling you that having your back exposed to a complete stranger is a terrible idea.

You can practically hear the frown in his tone when he murmurs, “Stop squirming, let me see.”

Swallowing past an enormous lump, you force yourself to keep still whilst the maker drops his face closer to inspect your injury.

All is silent for a few minutes, and you're about to go and ask if it looks as bad as it feels when he suddenly blows a long, drawn-out whistle from his lips. “Shouldn'ta let that demon sod off so lightly,” he grumbles to himself, curling his free hand into a fist and then raising his voice to tell you, “Bad news is, you're still bleedin'. It's slow, but we'll need to stop it, soon.”

“Shit,” you mutter, “What's the good news?”

The maker's warm breath hits the base of your neck as he sighs softly. “Good news is, now we match.” He loosens his grip, prompting you to twist yourself around and raise a curious glance at him as he wordlessly lifts a hand and taps his left shoulder, drawing your attention to a trio of long, pale pink scars that start at the front of his clavicle and sweep over the bulging bicep before disappearing somewhere behind it.

“Ouch,” you grimace sympathetically, “How in the world did that happen?”

Eyes dropping shut, he looks about as proud as a peacock, sticking out his chest until it's almost obnoxiously swollen and replies, “Same way as yours did! Stalker got the jump on me 'bout two thousand years ago. He left his mark, but don't you worry – I left plenty of my own.”

“Glad to hear it.”

With a wistful sigh, the maker's chest deflates and his eyes blink open and return to your leg, a scowl immediately darkening his chiseled features. “Course, that was the day I learned never to give 'em the opportunity to get close..” As he speaks, you notice a few wisps of blue magic trailing off his fingertips like smoke, which he promptly flicks away with a grunt.

“Yeah, well. Believe me,” you huff, gesturing to the back of your leg, “If I could use magic too, I wouldn't have let it get close enough to do... this.”

“Wait. You can't use magic?”

You shake your head.

“None at all?” he urges.

“Unless you count that one card trick I know, then... Nuh uh.”

“Well, I'll be darned...” His blue eyes sparkle with boundless curiosity and his jaw falls open, ready to start bombarding you with an array of questions, but at that moment, a gasp gets stuck in your throat and your face is warped by a sudden grimace, despite your valiant efforts to hide it, and just like that, the maker's jaw snaps shut.

Finding out who and what you are will have to wait, it seems. Right now, no matter the depths of his intrigue, the most pressing matter is that there's somebody who needs his help. And Stonefather strike him down if he isn't a maker with a damn sense of gallantry. Pressing his lips together, he studies you for a few more seconds before suddenly giving a decisive nod. “Right. I've wasted enough time yapping. Before anything else, we need to get those wounds seen to. I haven't had much practice with healing spells myself,” he admits reluctantly, “But we have a shaman back in the village who's better at them than most.”

Wait... Your heart does a strange little buzz. Did he just say a shaman?

Could he be talking about Muria? You have to admit, you could really do with seeing her calm, familiar face right about now – even if she won't recall you. And besides, if she's here, then... perhaps Eideard might be too. You hardly dare hope.

The maker must have misconstrued your anxious expression for fear, because his fingers close around you a fraction more tightly, no doubt to discourage you from trying to flee. “Now, don't you start fretting,” he says in a rush, “You'll be sticking close to me, I won't let nothing and nobody hurt you, understand?”

His conviction is inarguable and for added measure, he thumps a fist against his broad chest, a clear demonstration of the promise he intends to keep. You find it easy to believe him. Death would probably scold you for being so trusting, but then... Death isn't exactly here.

And besides, for even the smallest chance at seeing Eideard again, you're willing to take a risk in trusting this herculean maker.

Speaking of whom... He's fixed you with what you assume is meant to be a stern frown, but the severity of the line between his brows is superseded by an underlying desperation that bleeds into his voice and his eyes, as though he really doesn't want you to say no.

“Listen, m'not leavin' you out in these woods, not like this... I don't want to have to force you but... I'll not be takin' no for an answer.”

As if he really thinks you'd rather take your chances out here alone than go with him to Tri Stone.

Gritting your teeth through another, sudden wave of prickling heat that shoots up your leg, you heave a dramatic sigh. “Well, I guess if I really don't have any say in the matter...”

“'Fraid not,” the maker replies, drawing solace from the slight tilt of your lips, so much like the smile of a fellow maker.

With a final shrug, you take a step back and gesture to the west. “All right then. Lead the way, I'll follow on behind you.”

All at once, the maker's brows furrow so heavily that his luminous, blue eyes almost disappear beneath them.

“...What?” you ask after a few seconds of being frowned at. Again.

In response, he scoffs in such a way that you feel you must have personally offended him somehow. “You're not walking,” he declares, his hand reaching for you.

Caught off guard, you stammer, “Oh, I – I really don't mind,” retreating backwards until the titanic appendage inevitably catches up with you and he proceeds to wrap his thick, immovable fingers around your body, lifting you effortlessly off your bad leg and into the air.

Once he's holding you however, he seems to falter, his expression evening out as he peers down to where you're dangling, small and injured between his fingertips. The moment doesn't last long though, for he soon shakes his head and states, “If you think I'm letting you walk all the way back to my village on that duff leg, you've got another thing coming.”

“But I-”

“-Ah! No,” he cuts you off sharply, bringing you up to his eye-level as he cups a palm beneath your legs, lowering you onto it with a gentleness that shines right through the facade of his gruff tone, “You keep standing on that leg and you'll only hurt yourself more.”

Frankly, you're too weary to argue with him, and you can't say you mind that you're no longer standing on a leg that feels as if it could buckle out from underneath you at any second. Perhaps you should just be grateful that you're being spared a painful walk. Embarrassed to be so helpless, yet resigned to the fact, you expel a defeated huff and allow him to settle you down into his cupped hand, sliding the other one underneath it to keep you steady in a manner that reminds you of how you might carry a butterfly, mindful that every twitch of your fingers might cause it to get scared and fly away. He remains like for some time, hunched over himself with you caught in the hollow created by his palms and the breeze playing through his golden tresses. It suddenly becomes very difficult to keep your eyes from wandering down to his pronounced collar bones, so it comes as somewhat of a relief when he finally gets to his feet.

With slow, measured steps, he strides through the copse of trees and on towards the trail leading through Baneswood, but rather than lift you up onto his shoulder as you expect him to, he instead lowers you to press you flush against his bare chest.

The breath leaves your lungs in a tiny wheeze.

A veritable blanket of soft, silken chest hair instantly begins to tickle at the your face and you become painfully aware that directly in front of you is a half-naked giant, adorned in nothing but a pair of leather trousers and steel-capped boots, a fact that makes it very difficult for you to concentrate on the question he abruptly poses to you.

“So, what species did you say you were?”

You wonder if he has any idea that you can hear and feel every beat of his powerful heart as it thumps away just above your head. “Huh? What? Oh, uh, I – I'm a human,” you fumble, easing yourself backwards so that a tuft of his chest hair stops fluttering across your bottom lip.

“A... a hoo – man?” he echoes uncertainly, oblivious to the warmth blossoming across your cheeks, “Never heard of 'em.”

That, at least, is enough to distract you from the strangely intimate situation. “Huh? Wait, really?” With a grunt, you manage to stretch your injured leg out across his palm and peer up at the underside of his beard. “You've never heard of humans? Humanity? Er, homo-sapiens?”

The maker simply shakes his head once and replies, “Nope.”

Slowly, you draw in a faltering breath and venture one step further. “...Not even E-Earth?”

The anticipation of seeing him lift his eyes to the treetops in contemplation is unbearable.

Mouth hanging open enough for you to get a glimpse of his tusks, he utters a pensive, “Uuuuh,” and then lowers his gaze once again, lips pressed together into a grim line, “Sorry, haven't the foggiest.”

“I... oh...” You fall silent, peering down at your hands. “Okay.” So... Once again, you may well be the only human in existence.... You aren't sure why that fact turns the hole in your stomach into a bottomless pit - it isn't as though this would be the first time you've existed in a universe without humanity in it, after all.

You're too busy staring blankly at the gold-draped chest in front of you to notice that the maker's mouth is flapping open and closed repeatedly as he tries to find a word that won't cause the frown on your face to turn any deeper. Clearly, he must have said the wrong thing, and now the pretty stranger sitting in his palm is... sad? He guesses you're sad, or something of the like, provided your expressions and emotions match up in the same way that his fellow makers' do. Perhaps he's somehow offended you by claiming to have never heard of your species. 'Fix this,' a small voice at the back of his mind insists whilst he stares down at the crestfallen hunch of your shoulders.

“That being said, I, err...” He tries, glancing to the side when you look up at him expectantly, finding that he's incapable of meeting your gaze whilst you're looking so despondent. “Could just be I've never heard of you. I'm not... precisely what you'd call a worldly maker. Hardly been far out of Tri-Stone, 'cept on a few occasions. And, heh, well. I think I'd remember meeting someone who looked like you.”

“Ha.” Though you offer him a polite smile, your mind only half on the maker's soothing timbre. The other half is busy puzzling over how in the world you're ever going to get back to your own time. Even if you didn't have your fellow humans, you at least had Death and the friends you've made on your journey across the universe. At least there, you were closer to home. Here, separated by countless eons, you can't help but feel more lost than you've ever felt before.

Meanwhile, the maker watches your chest rise and fall with a deep sigh.

Damn. Still a frown. No matter, he can be nothing if not persistent. Not many have been able to resist his charm, and there's still a way to go before he reaches the edge of the Stonefather's Vale. He keeps trying. “You know what? I'm betting our elder will have heard of you.”

“Elder?” Like a flipped switch, you bolt upright in his palm, ignoring the spear of agony that tears at your wounds because you dared to move too quickly.

The maker raises an eyebrow at your sudden exclamation, perplexed by the jarring and unexpected shift in your demeanour. “Uh... Aye?”

Noting his bewildered expression, you make a conscious effort to reel yourself back, but deep down inside, your heart is jumping apprehensively. So far, he's mentioned a shaman and now an elder, and there's only one elder maker you know of.

“Eideard,” you breathe, too softly for him to catch.

Tilting his head to the side, he twitches his ears forwards and asks, “What was that?”

You very nearly open your mouth to say your old friend's name a little louder, but something gives you pause and you slowly let your jaw click shut once again, uncertainty creeping in to settle over your brain. How prudent would it really be to let on that you've technically already met this elder and shaman? Do the rules of time travel apply outside of science fiction novels and theoretical physics? How will the knowledge that you're from a different era affect the flow of time? How will it alter the universe, if it does so at all? What if you change something now that has a drastic effect on the future?

Just trying to make sense of it all is starting to give you a headache, so you decide upon the option that won't raise too many questions that you, quite frankly, don't have the energy to answer right now.

Besides, better to be safe than sorry. Offering the maker a casual shrug, you finally say, “Nothing.”

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

Night has almost entirely fallen by the time you emerge from the gorge that leads from Baneswood into the Stonefather's Vale. It's just dark enough now that you've begun to see tiny pinpricks of stars sweeping across the vast horizon and as your gaze rolls over the valley, you suddenly come to a pause when it lands upon a hill to the north, just poking out above the cliffs that form a hem around the vale. At first, you're puzzled, tilting your head and squinting through the dim light. 'Where is Stonefather's Peak?'

The towering mountain that once cast its shadow across the entire village is... gone? But how? You could have sworn it used to be standing right where that hill is.

“Oh. My. God,” you whisper, letting your mouth drop open as the realisation hits you.

'That hill is Stonefather's Peak!'

“You must be a long way from... wherever home is, eh?”

Tearing your gaze off the distant, juvenile mountain range, you card a hand through your hair and chuckle dryly, “Oh, buddy. You have no idea.”

“Buddy?” he echoes, tipping his head sideways so that his hair falls smoothly over one, bulbous shoulder.

“Buddy? Oh, it means, uh, like a pal, or a friend.”

“Friend?” he asks hopefully as a small smile begins to emerge from underneath his moustache.

Exhaling in amusement, you wave your hand dismissively and sigh, “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

The maker raises his chin high into the air, sporting a proud grin and picking up his gait.

#darksiders #old timer #reader x maker #ha uh oh #Eideard #fluff #whump #oh boy

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

93. I hire your matchmaking services but all the people you set me up with are horrible and I’m demanding a refund and you’re asking me for one more chance??? what are you going to do? be my date?

Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I was inspired by @kriskukko's incredible art for the orc designs in this, and I highly recommend checking them out!

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t forsee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austens daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Praytell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“....were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

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

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help--they unsettle everyone who sees them--but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American--an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc--but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself notecards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“...You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

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

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and--once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him--it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it's still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th--awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

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

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you.”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

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

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I...I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

#indruck #meet ugy #indrid cold/ duck newton #orc au #victorian au #trans duck newton

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haru-sen · 3 years

Text

SW/IAL Mandalorians

Thanks to the usual suspects for their interference. Less dark than Imperial Forces, still with the usual amount of sex and violence. Feel free to let me know which Star Wars AU is making you happier. I’m playing with both, IAL, and finally actually working on the original piece. Same disclaimer, set during vanilla SWTOR, Knight Strike is not the PC Jedi Knight, but is adjacent to PC storylines. I still haven’t played SWTOR in awhile, so some details may be wrong. Don’t come at me. I’m too tired.

“Woman, if you’d come dressed correctly, I might have been more inclined to hear your suit,” the Orgo the Hutt, stretched out on its massive throne. The massive slug-beast crammed a handful of screeching fish into its maw. “But I have no interest in Jedi or Republic politics.” He yawned loudly. “Maybe ask Palaya to find you a nice dancing outfit.” He gave a gurgling laugh and gestured to the blue Twi’lek woman lounging beside him. “Maybe then I will be more interested in meeting with you.”

You gritted your teeth, feeling the numerous blasters aimed at your back. There was nothing wrong with your gray and white robes. You were here on official business. “Wise Orgo, I apologize if my attire has given offense,” you said, trying for your best serene and unbothered expression, the one you used when dealing with the Council. “But this is not politics, this is business.”

“And it is bad business to be entertaining pretty Jedi,” he laughed. “Pretty Jedi should be entertaining Orgo!”

He was dead. Everyone here was dead. They just didn’t know it yet. Orgo the Hutt? Grease paste. The handsy Gammorean bodyguards? Pieces, that’s all that was going to be left. The swaggering mercs, snickering in the shadows, thinking their numbers would keep them safe? You could make a pyramid of heads when you were done with them. You were tired of this nonsense. You had tried diplomacy, now you could go straight to violence and-

Palaya stared blankly ahead, adorned in a blue and gold mesh dancer’s outfit, a gold chain around her neck.

You inhaled slowly, remembering that there were slaves, bystanders, innocent civilians on site. You could not kill everyone, rather you damn well better not kill everyone, and the fact that your mind was going there was a very bad sign. In fact, if Master Amari found out, she’d lock you in the temple meditation chambers for the next decade.

“I would be amenable to a private business meeting, Great Orgo,” you said, sounding absolutely calm.

A shifty-eyed human man leaned over and whispered something to Orgo.

“A warrior Jedi? With such a high bounty? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Orgo laughed, rolls of skin shaking. “I would be happy to accommodate such a gift! What good business!”

You shifted instinctively, preparing to start cutting down guards.

And then the floor dropped out from under you.

Orgo laughed as you fell into the pit below.

Snarling, you somersaulted downward, torches lighting the sandy area, another seven meters down. It stunk of rotten meat and feces, but worse was the festering corruption that hung over the sand like a miasma. It was nauseating, and your vision went fuzzy for a moment. You landed in the soft sand, in a holding cell. The wall behind you was solid stone, but the ceiling was open. The sides were four meters high, thick, metal grates with very narrow openings. You drew your lightsabers, preparing to cut through the walls.

“Filte says you are worth more alive,” Orgo called down. “So don’t try to escape, little Jedi. Or Teteta will have to eat you, and he is very hungry.”

The trapdoors slammed shut, leaving the room barely lit by torchlight, and you caught sight of the thing lumbering around the other part of the pit. Howling, it lunged at your cage, clawed hands too thick to reach through the bars.

It was a spiky bipedal creature, thickly-built and easily two and a half meters tall and meter and half wide, with massive horns and spines coming out of its head and back. It charged forward, trying to ram down the door. That was all bad enough, but the thing oozed dark side energy. And then you knew exactly what it was.

Orgo the Hutt had a pet terentatek. They were mutant Dark-side monsters with a taste for force-sensitive flesh and a strong resistance to your powers. Allegedly created by Exar Kun, they hunted Jedi, and were very good at it. Theron hadn’t said a damn thing about terentateks!

Backing up, you pulled your comm unit out of a robe pocket. “Hey, it’s me. Things went bad.”

“Query: Oh? Are all the other meatbags dead? Did something similar happen to the little meatbags? Are they even littler meatbags now?” HK’s hologram popped up.

“...No,” you sighed. “I have to deal with a terentatek now. And don’t you start on me, HK. I was supposed to do this peacefully. Remember? The Jedi Council, potential impending suspension, kidnapped children. We went over this already.”

“Evaluation: It is as you say, Master,” HK-53 said snidely. “But the Jedi Council isn’t trapped there in the cage facing a terentatek.”

“...I’ll be sure to put that in my report,” you said, squinting at the droid over the connection. “If you can try to discretely clear the secondary route, I’m going to get out of here.”

“Encouragement: Don’t forget, those spines and tusk are venomous, Master,” HK-53 said a little too cheerfully. “But I’m sure you’ll do fine. If you don’t, I will definitely kill everyone in the building to avenge you.”

“HK-” You shook your head. “At least don’t kill the civilians.”

“Evasion: I can’t hear you, Master! I am too busy discretely killing everyone in the way!” And with that, the comm link cut.

...Sithspit.

Give the fact you had just entertained similar thoughts, you could not really judge him. You were supposed to know better, the bodyguard/assassin droid was just programmed that way. Maybe you had been spending too much time with your droid, but you didn’t have any other backup for these situations. Not any more.

Looking around, you studied the room. There was another empty cell adjacent to you, and on the next wall, there were two more cells, and there was a heavily-armored man in each of them. The terentatek had stopped slamming into your cell, and was now pacing furiously in front of it.

“Hey,” you shouted.

They turned, and you recognized those T-shaped visors on their Beskar helmets. One had bright blue armor, the other black with a white skull face painted on it. Mandalorians. Hmm.

You flicked your sabers on, the silver beams casting eerie shadows.

“What do you want, witch?” Skull asked, his voice strangely smooth behind a vocoder.

“Do you want out?” You asked.

“Might be smarter to stay in here, away from that thing,” Blue said, with an easy laugh.

Caution? From a Mandalorian? What were the odds? Today was really not your day.

“It’s more interested in me than you,” you said. “Do you want out or not?”

“What’s your plan, witch?” Skull asked.

“I get you out of your cells, you get that main door open, and hopefully that hall narrows to a chokepoint so it can’t follow us out.”

The two men muttered quietly between themselves. You gathered your energy, aiming for the wall that divided your cell from the one next door. It was not high enough to get a normal person to the trapdoor overhead - you could jump, but you probably could not force it open from this side. Better to take the exit across the pit. You leapt, propelled upward by the force, and you reached out, gloved hands catching the top of the wall. You pulled yourself up. It was only a handspan thick, so you balanced carefully, watching the terentatek throw its head back and roar.

“Have you come to a decision yet, gentlemen?” You shouted.

“Fine,” Skull said. “We can group up, for now.”

“Do you know where the keys are?” You asked.

“Do we look like we know how a Hutt arranges his torture dungeon?” Skull snapped.

“...Maybe?” You shrugged. Mandalorian mercs weren’t uncommon. They would have fit right in with the other riffraff in Orgo’s throne room.

“Most of our weaponry is on the other side of the gate,” Blue told you, gesturing to the exit.

“Don’t tell her that,” Skull growled.

Well, you had not actually expected them to be much help against the terentatek.

“Stand back,” you told them, waiting for them to move away from the front of the cages. And then you threw a saber, the bright light arcing downward through the shadows. Cutting precisely through the grate took focus. The saber hovered in front of Blue’s cage, cutting a meter high circle in the metal. Already, sweating, you hissed as the terentatek -likely feeling your power draw- charged your cage, rattling the grate.

The lightsaber dropped, the circle not quite formed. Teeth clenched, you reached out, hand shaking a little as you lifted the saber from the ground and finished the hole. Panting, you had to drop it again, making sure to shut it down so no one got hurt. Blue then pulled the cut-out portion into his cage, grabbed your saber, put the grate back, and gave you a thumbs up.

You squinted at him, wondering if the Mandalorian thought he could collect your weapon that easily.

He deployed the saber, nearly jumping as the beam shot out. Chuckling, he began to slowly cut through the wall between his cell and Skull’s.

“Be careful with that,” you said, watching his hands shake. “Where can I get one of these?” Blue asked, as he cut an unsteady shape.

“If she dies, you can keep that one,” Skull said, sounding almost happy.

Charming. You rolled your eyes.

Blue stepped back, and Skull kicked the metal, knocking it out.

“Let’s move out!” Blue said, waving at you.

“Just stay out of my way.” Skull went first, heading to the wall, looking for a way to open the door.

The terentatek was still banging against your cage, not noticing the men emerging from their cells. You flicked sand at it, trying to hold its attention. It shrieked at you angrily. You scanned the darkness, hoping to find a pile of poo to fling...

“I got this,” Blue muttered, as he started using your saber to start cutting through the door.

At the sound of a human voice coming from a different space, the terentatek whirled, roaring.

“Din ferrik, Ja’ak!” Skull hissed.

“Shab!” Blue muttered as he dragged the blade through the metal, trying to go faster, but not entirely able to control the lightsaber.

Skull started kicking the portion of the door, metal clanging.

The terentatek lumbered toward them.

They were going to die. Yes, they were dumb, and it was their own damn faults, but in recruiting them, you had signed these idiots’ death warrants. Mandalorians or not, you should not have involved them.

You took a deep breath, running through your options. You were not equipped to take down a terentatek today. You could try Ataru form – but you would be drained afterward. Niman would have been better to keep it distracted, but that idiot had your other lightsaber and the Sixth Form required two lightsabers. Ataru, then. The Fourth Form was meant to be used against a single opponent: the stance took a lot of energy, but you needed to move fast. You opened your mental channels, drawing more power from the force. Strength began to pour into your limbs.

You threw back your head and roared – to get its attention- before diving off the cage walls at the monster. You drove your saber into the terentatek’s spiny back, before kicking off the shoulder plate, narrowly avoiding a spiked elbow. You flipped backward, senses ablaze.

Blue was almost through the door. Skull was standing there staring up at you.

The terentatek swung, with claws as thick as your forearm, and narrowly missed your head. You landed in a crouch and rolled sideways as it stomped toward you, Mandalorians forgotten.

This was not a duel. This was a battle of attrition. You had to whittle it down, and you had to be fast. Swinging your single saber, you sliced across its left arm, chitinous spikes dropping into the sand. Blood and ichor spurted from the wound. Shrieking, it charged you again, that thick darkness assailing your senses. You dodged, still managing to keep away from its claws. But the terentatek was still between you and the door.

“Get to cover, witch!”

Bright bolts of blaster fire tore through the room. Sithspit, Ataru was not a defensive form. You could try to deflect bolts, but your focus was on the abomination. Still, you went low, hoping to avoid friendly fire.

The terentatek screamed as it lunged for you. Blasterfire was not enough to stop it. Even as you rolled through the sand, those talons sliced through your robes and into your back, your blood already burning.

“Fall in!” Blue shouted.

You scrambled forward, teeth clenched as Blue grabbed your wrists and dragged you through the broken door and into a stone hallway, Skull on your heels, still firing through the hole in the grate at the beast. It was too small for the creature to get through

“That door is compromised. It won’t hold it for long,” Skull said.

“Back exit,” you muttered. “Should be unguarded-”

“His usually isn’t,” Blue laughed, as he handed you your other saber.

“Shut up,” Skull said, and you could hear the scowl through the helmet.

You just shook your head, trying to focus on the venom already pulsing through your veins. You needed to cleanse your blood, but you weren’t much of a healer. Still, you could push out the poison. Panting, you leaned against the wall, unclean blood pouring out of your back.

“She’s hit,” Skull said. “Hurry up. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Time to heal up,” Blue told you, hitting you with a kolto shot. “You are going to have some impressive scars.”

You shuddered, still feeling some of the poison in your system. But you could move. “Escape tunnel should be in the southwestern corner.”

The Mandalorians nodded, and the three of you started running down the hall.

A Gammorean stepped in your way, but Skull raised his two large scatterguns, and suddenly there wasn’t anything in your way. There was a large messy puddle to run through, and you kept your mouth closed, a bloody mist still hovering in the air.

There was more screaming behind you, as the terentatek smashed through the pit doors. You stumbled, but Blue grabbed your arm, pulling you along.

There were more screams in front of you, and Skull raised his scatterguns.

“Query: Maaaaaaaster, are you dead? If you’re dead, I get to kill everyone else!” HK-53 called out, his voice echoing through the halls. More shots fired, screams abruptly cutting off.

“No, I’m alive,” you shouted back. “And don’t shoot the men with me.”

HK-53 rounded the corner, blaster rifle raised. “Excitement: Oh Master, I am relieved to see you in one piece,” he said so stoically, it couldn’t be anything, but sarcasm.

“Why does a Jedi have a Hunter-Killer droid?” Skull asked, his voice low and suspicious.

“Intimidation: Because before my last master expired violently, he willed me to her, and we have been very active ever since,” HK-53 said. “Now, if I can’t shoot them, can I use-?”

“HK, leave them alone. I need to find those kids and get out of here,” you sighed.

“Explanation: Oh, bad news, Master,” HK-53 said with exaggerated sympathy. “They’re already gone. Orgo shipped them out last night. This whole trip was a waste of time!” He cackled.

Scowling, you grabbed HK-53’s arm. “Where?”

“Master, if you insist on clinging to me, I can’t fight properly,” HK-53 said. “They’re off Taris and on their way to Nar Shaddaa. I sliced the records for you – we can look at them later, when we’re not killing our way through a Hutt’s basement.”

You followed HK-53 through a cleared path, seeing over a dozen smoking bodies along the way. The Mandalorians kept you between them and your murder-happy droid.

The sunlight was a relief as you stumbled out the door. It didn’t smell like death and rot out here, and you were far enough away from the corrupt influence of the beast that you could breathe comfortably again. Of course, you would have to come back here and finish it off. You could not let a terentatek live. But that was a problem for later. “Come on, this way,” Blue said, tugging your arm.

“Master, we can get to the spaceport-”

“She’s been poisoned,” Skull said. “We can try to fix her up at camp, or you can cart a dead Jedi off to Nar Shaddaa.”

HK-53 looked you over. “Smuggery: I told you they were venomous. If you die, can I kill these meatbags?”

“No HK, and I do not have the patience for this,” you growled, staggering forward. “We need to get to Nar Shaddaa-” You said, before falling over, your legs no longer responding to your orders. “Sithspit,” you muttered, twitching in the dirt.

“Stupid witch,” Skull said, bending over you.

And then everything faded away.

** “How can they just sit back and do nothing?” You snarled, pacing in front of the fountain. “No, this is worse than nothing. Not only are they doing nothing, they’re arguing over whether or not they should punish me for doing something!” You threw your arms up in frustration. “They’re the ones who sent me to Alderaan!”

“Yes, to Alderaan, not to Balmorra, nor Nar Shaddaa, and certainly not Corellia,” Master Amari said, sitting back on the bench, expression dangerously placid. With her striking blue robes, gold jewelry, and tattoos, she looked more like an elegant noblewoman than a Jedi Master. “You were just supposed to find out what happened to Master Nomen Karr, not follow in his footsteps.”

You squinted at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He always had a hard time staying away from the war,” Master Amari said. “I am not saying we cannot be involved in conflict. I agree with you, we have an obligation to use our powers responsibly. But Nomen Karr loved to fight, and he held a deep hatred for the Empire. He could not let that go, and it ruined him.”

That she didn’t just come and say the obvious thing both reassured you and infuriated you. No one wanted to talk about what happened, not even you, but seeing your Master shy around the topic made you angrier than you expected.

You had to remember to breathe. “I don’t hate the Empire,” you said. “It’s too broad a construct.”

“Semantics, Strike. You know you’re not supposed to be in contact with certain people. But still you obsessively track Lord Talon. You repeatedly undertake unsanctioned missions for SIS in exchange for data on him. You keep that abominable droid in your living quarters,” Master Amari’s voice was gentle. “That may not be hatred, but given all that has happened, it certainly is enough to make me worry about you.”

“HK can’t help the way he was programmed,” you muttered, because she wasn’t wrong. HK-53 was an absolute bastard to everyone. “And I got official approval to embed with Delta Squad.”

“...After you ignored three summons to return to Coruscant,” Master Amari said, shaking her head.

“Must have gotten lost in transmission,” you muttered. “Still not enough to warrant an entire meeting about my conduct.”

“You know that isn’t the only thing on the table,” Master Amari said sternly.

“I was cleared of any wrongdoing months ago,” you said sharply.

“Yes,” Master Amari nodded. “And I agree, what happened was not your fault in the least. I just wish you could see that and step away for a moment.”

You flinched. “I’m the one with the best chance-”

“Of getting dragged under with him,” Master Amari said. “You’re already struggling, we both know it.”

You inhaled deeply. You wanted to go back to the front. You couldn’t sit here in the temple, meditating on peace, while Lord Talon and his apprentice were out there slaughtering more people. But now that you were back on Coruscant, the Council seemed damn keen on keeping you there.

“You did a lot of good and made some important allies during your military tour, Strike. If you want to go back out in the field, it is not out of the question,” Master Amari said, adjusting the hood of her robes. “And I don’t disagree with your reasoning. I also think you are the one with the best chance to stop him. But you’re not in the right spot mentally to do it yet and I am very worried about you, as my friend.”

You groaned, because she was right. And when she was this honest, you couldn’t be mad at her. This wasn’t her mess. She was the one who taught you that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, but Master Amari had a finesse that you lacked. She certainly didn’t get a whole Council convened because of her “questionable conduct.”

“They’re trying to make an example out of me,” you said, with a scowl.

“Which will backfire, as long as you behave yourself,” she said sternly. “You are a decorated war hero. There’s an entire subset of delinquent padawans who want to be the next Knight Strike, and it is infuriating several of my peers. On top of that, they have to sit there calmly, pretending like they aren’t outraged. Plus the Republic military is impressed with your work and is pushing for even more joint operations,” she laughed softly. “And because of that, this has become political. I am just reminding you to be more diplomatic with the High Council. You have allies there: don’t alienate them.”

She was right. Master Lacroix had requested a meeting beforehand. He was not on the High Council, but he likely would be some day soon. And he was the one who warned you about the potential pending disciplinary charges. He was also the one who might have suggested rotating comm frequencies and upping your encryption standards during your travels, so the official High Council summons to return to Coruscant never reached you.

“You’re not alone in how you feel, and you’re absolutely right, they are indecisive, cloistered, and afraid: I don’t blame them. They’re responsible for the future of the entire Order, and all the lives in their jurisdiction. We are weak right now. We can’t afford to just throw good Knights into a meat grinder. We’ve lost enough already. We can’t afford to lose you too.” She leaned forward. “And this war has taken its toll on you, Strike. The violence, the death, the guilt, our losses: you’re balanced on a knife’s edge, and we both know it.” She looked at you, solemn as you had ever seen her. “If you fall, I will be the one they send after you.”

You blinked. Because of course Master Amari noticed. You wondered about Master Lacroix. The consular was a subtle man, shrewd and political as any SIS operative. He had to see the signs too.

“...Master Amari,” you said, giving a formal bow. “If I fall, it will not be because of anything you or the Council did. It will not be something you can prevent, unless you plan on locking me up for the rest of my life. If I fall, it will be because there is something out there worth saving, that is more valuable than myself and the Jedi Council’s ideals.”

Master Amari nodded. “I know you see it that way, but if you fall, will you still be able to protect that thing that matters so much to you? You saw how it went. I doubt that was the expectation at the time.”

You thought back to that terrible day on Corellia. “I don’t know. I wasn’t able to last time.” You stared up at the sky. “I suppose that’s why I keep HK-53 so close now.”

You stood in the Council Chambers, shoulders square, in your gray and white robes, your twin sabers on your belt. You bowed your head respectfully to the Council, gaze flicking to Master Lacroix who stood by the door. He sat there, hood up, face inscrutable, as always.

“Knight Strike, it is good to have you back on Coruscant,” the Barsen’thor told you, with a smile and a wink. She had been one of your fellow padawans on Tython, and had fought on Corellia. She had spoken in your defense at the first inquiry. She had dealt with similar issues in the past, though of a more exotic and conspiratorial nature than your own.

You allowed yourself a smile in return. You knew whose side she was on.

“It is always nice to see you,” you told her.

“This is a High Council meeting, not a class reunion,” Master Nobil said coolly.

“It is good to see you too, Master Nobil,” you said, politely.

You didn’t actually hear the Barsen’thor laugh, but you could feel it.

“I’m afraid we might have to skip the opening formalities today, Knight Strike. But rest assured, we are all pleased to see you standing here in Coruscant, in person,” Grandmaster Satele Shan said. She stood there in her plain brown robes, dark hair pulled back in her customary braids, those pale blue eyes piercing your mask of civility. Shan knew exactly what you were about, and she would only tolerate it to a point.

You bowed.

“Today, we have convened to discuss the appropriate outcome for your nontraditional approach to acquiring intelligence on Master Nomen Karr. While we appreciate you finding out the actual details, you certainly took a...circuitous route.”

“Are we not going to talk about-” Nobil began.

“No,” Grandmaster Shan said firmly. “That issue was settled months ago. Knight Strike bears no fault there, and there is no need to rehash that.”

Nobil did not quite sulk, but he crossed his arms and stared very hard at you, like you were a padawan who was lifting extra desserts.

“Now, what do you have to say about your...unorthodox method of intelligence gathering, Knight Strike?” Grandmaster Shan asked.

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” you said, with a bow.

Grandmaster Shan sighed. “Don’t be coy.”

“My apologies, Grandmaster,” you said. “I do not wish to deflect from my own responsibility in the matter, but I do wish to state that I did not simply go rogue. I-”

“-Had tacit support from a number of Masters, some of them in this room? I am aware,” Grandmaster Shan said archly, giving numerous people hard looks. “And that issue has been discussed as well. And I agree, it would not be fair to punish you for taking poor counsel from your superiors.” She looked around the room, expression severe.

“What would you have me say then, Grandmaster?” You asked, because of course she already knew almost everything. Most of it had already come out in the first inquest. “Why am I here?”

“Originally, we had considered issuing consequences for your unsanctioned foray. However, in light of your honorable service and your resilience in the face of darkness, I don’t believe any further disciplinary measures will be necessary. So no, that is not why I have asked you here today.” She leaned forward. “How familiar are you with the Tarisian branch of the Exchange?”

You blinked, not expecting that question. “Orgo the Hutt is in charge of that sector. He has alarmingly friendly relations with the Empire,” you said, raising your head. “He especially likes exporting Sithspawn, rakghouls, and other abominations for the private menageries of Sith Lords. His personal habits are...not fit to mention in polite company.”

“What about the Balmorran branch of the Exchange? Where do their loyalties lie?”

“That’s more complicated. Breaking the blockade is a lucrative business, and they’re happy to play both sides,” you said with a shrug. “They import much-needed food, medicine, and other basic commodities in exchange for a cut of the weaponry produced on the planet. Then they sell it to the highest bidder. Balmorra is a competitive market: no one who wants to stay on top can pick a side. Profits are the driving force and their black market goods are integral to the population’s survival.”

Grandmaster Shan nodded.

“What about the slave markets of Nar Shaddaa?”

“...I have been,” you said tightly.

“Could you go again?”

“If it is necessary, I could go in quietly. I could also go in...less quietly.” You smiled slightly at the thought of letting HK-53 loose on the slavers.

Grandmaster Shan gave you a disapproving look, like she had picked up your exact thoughts. Which, given her powers, she probably had. “...And what would you say of the criminal known as Rogun Matt’rik?” She asked you.

“For a man called “the Butcher,” his sandwiches aren’t very good.” You shrugged.

There was a low murmur.

“You have...shared meals with Rogun the Butcher?” Grandmaster Shan’s expression was too calm. You knew, from experience, that meant you were getting to her. Which was an accomplishment, though of dubious value. You did not need to get slapped back down to Tython. You needed to stop taunting the Grandmaster.

“Nothing fancy, obviously. We have worked together on occasion. He is a crime lord and not really someone you should eat with, unless you’re stuck in the trenches and can’t really get out because there are Imperial forces strafing you, and you’re the one reinforcing the shield that’s keeping everyone alive,” you said, after a moment. “But he’s one of the few who is loyal to the Republic, and puts that loyalty a little bit ahead of his profits. If the SIS-” you paused, wondering if Satele knew how often you worked with her son. “-doesn’t know something, Rogun can often find it out.”

“You admit to associating with criminals of that notoriety?” Master Nobil asked, outraged.

“He says, I’m a good influence on him,” you said. “For the record, I have talked him out of killing several people.” That was true. If they were useful, he turned them over to the SIS. It was a moral grey zone, you understood. But Rogun knew better than to do certain things in front of you. And if he had a Sith problem, well, you could help him out with that. It was mutually beneficial for you, him, and the Republic.

“Well then, this has been very enlightening, Knight Strike.” Grandmaster Shan touched her forehead, like maybe she was getting a headache. “I have to agree with Master Nobil, you are walking a dangerous line.” There was concern in her tone. “But I am afraid we have no choice, you are the best candidate for this mission, and it is an urgent matter.”

You straightened up. “What?”

“That isn’t to say that we can condone your unorthodox behaviors, Knight Strike. I think you know that we have been very close to taking disciplinary action,” Grandmaster Shan said sternly. “But as you said, the Force works in mysterious ways.” She leaned forward. “As you are undoubtedly aware, the Sith Academy on Korriban is always taking in more force-sensitive individuals, as they kill them at an alarming rate.”

You nodded.

“There have been a string of child abductions in Republic space– Exchange thugs killing entire families to abduct the younglings before we can get to them. We’re not exactly sure how they’re finding them first, but we’ve lost over a dozen juvenile candidates before they are ever properly assessed or invited to Tython. Some of them have been spotted in the markets on Nar Shaddaa, in the company of Orgo the Hutt’s men. We need this to stop.”

You stood there for a moment. Orgo was middleman. If Orgo wasn’t doing the trade, someone else would step up. Whoever was picking the younglings was force-sensitive or had access to the candidate lists that the Council kept. Given the fact, the children were being taken before any official assessment was done, it was likely that you were dealing with a Sith with an eye for talent. The mission parameters were clear: Find the Sith, destroy the relevant Exchange infrastructure in the process, and retrieve the children.

“I understand,” you said with a bow.

Once you had the details, you sat down in Master Lacroix’s office, making several calls. You would be heading for Taris tomorrow.

“I realize you’re frustrated,” Lacroix said, sitting down at his desk, lowering his hood. He was a slender middle-aged human, with a ridiculous fondness for his mustache. “But it was unwise to antagonize her like that.”

“I know,” you said, tilting your chair back. “But I’ve been rotting here for over a year-”

“You haven’t been locked in the temple. You’ve been going down to the lower levels and picking fights,” he said with a frown.

“Gotta keep my skills sharp,” you said with a shrug. “There are too many gangs. Law enforcement can’t keep up and sometimes they’re just as bad.”

Lacroix sighed heavily. “That isn’t the point, Strike. You and I both know that.”

“If I’m such a danger, why did you nominate me to take this mission?”

Lacroix chuckled, because he knew that you would figure it out. “Because you have the skills and the contacts, and a deeper interest in the perpetrators,” he said, pouring himself a drink. “But also, I have been thinking on your personal problems, and I may have a solution.”

“Which one? How I have a slew of moralistic busybodies probing and questioning my every action?”

Lacroix rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly. They aren’t aware of half the things you get up to. Do you honestly think you would be getting away with this slap on the wrist if they did know?”

He had you there. You waved your hand, for him to continue.

“I think you know, Lord Talon is likely involved,” he said. “Though perhaps you should wait till you’re off-world to give any evidence of that connection. They won’t send you if they suspect his presence.”

You nodded. “I wasn’t enough to stop him last time.” You stared at the floor for a moment, feeling sick. “But I’ve been training harder. I’m better than I was a year ago. I don’t know if it’s enough, but it will have to be.”

“I know you’ve improved, but I don’t think killing Talon should be your priority,” Lacroix said. “I think we both know that.”

“...Obviously. But I don’t know if there’s any way for me to get through to-”

“There might not be, and you need to go in there knowing that you can try, and there may be a miracle, but it’s been a year. If things were going to change, they would have already. He hasn’t contacted you. You don’t bear any more responsibility in this, other than to stop Talon.”

“It’s not that easy and you know it,” you growled.

“It’s not, but that’s the truth.” Master Lacroix stared off to the side for a moment. “You and I have both seen people fall. The change is often so drastic and immediate, it is understandably terrifying. People who were compassionate, funny, and logical suddenly become vicious, cruel, and homicidal. It is hard to see a fall as anything but a catalyst for madness.”

You closed your eyes. “I know it’s not something we can magically reverse.”

“But it is something we might be able to guard against. I have a hypothesis,” he said, eyeing you shrewdly.

“And I’m your test subject?”

“You are the one who might benefit most from this knowledge,” he said. “The cause of this massive reversal is likely because certain Jedi have spent so long being a conduit for the force, for the lighter half, that they are overwhelmed by the sudden imbalance. It is like...wine rushing into an empty glass.” He set one in front of you to demonstrate. “It splashes and forcefully displaces the air. Whereas, if you already have some liquid within, the result is not so volatile. I wonder if dealings with the darker aspects could play out similarly. And since you have some experience managing these situations, perhaps you would not fall as hard.”

“This is heresy,” you said, as he handed your cup. “Tell me more.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? You have heard of Gray Jedi?”

“Aren’t they just Jedi who don’t like how restrictive the High Council is?” You asked. “They get married, they go to war, they wear gray…”

“Maybe “Dark Jedi” is a more accurate term,” Lacroix said, clasping his hands together. “But yes, depending on practices, they are viewed as a heretical offshoot, even a danger to the order of the Order. I have met a few in my travels, on both the Sith and Jedi sides.”

You studied his thoughtful expression as you sipped the wine. “I have also met Light-leaning Sith.”

“Then you understand how...the balance of the Force is not always so clearly delineated,” Lacroix told you. “We are taught to be vessels of light, not how to manage our own darkness. It is a mistake, in my opinion. But Gray Jedi walk that line, and more interestingly, they can tap into both light side and dark side abilities.”

“So are you trying to get me to prove your thesis?”

“I think you are a very capable knight going into some very trying and uncertain circumstances. I think you are off-balance, and that this is a dangerous time for you, for many reasons. But I also don’t think we can accomplish anything by keeping knights like you locked up in temples.” He regarded you gravely. “I wanted to remind you that your choices are not binary. That you can always forge a different path, no matter what the Order has told you. If you fall from grace, you don’t have to land in darkness.”

“And yet, you still want me to go out there, knowing the Council would disapprove if they had more details and knowing that I’m in rough shape,” you laughed. “You’re a real bastard, Master Lacroix.”

“You’ve always known this.” He raised his cup, smiling sardonically at you. “And yet it’s my counsel you sought out.”

“I’m known for my questionable decision-making and unorthodox behavior. What’s your excuse?”

#SWTOR #In Alio Loco AU #In Alio Loco #overwatch fanfiction #reader insert #Crackfic Crossover

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frostsinth · 4 years

Text

The Secret We Keep - Pt. 1

*bangs head against wall* .... Soooo I should be working on my ‘Deals with Demons’ Story. Or maybe on some of the art I have around. But I just COULD NOT get this idea to leave me alone until I started writing it down.

Slow burn, sfw, Orc x F. Human. Back to my roots. I hope you like it! I’ve got a great surprise in mind for this one. :DDD

MasterList

The first time I saw him, I thought a storm cloud had passed over the sun. The light streaming in from my window was suddenly snuffed out, and I looked up from my place behind the counter in surprise.

He was so big, even looking directly at him I still couldn’t quite make sense of what I was seeing. His torso filled the window frame from edge to edge, and I even squinted my eyes trying to figure out exactly what was going on. With a huff, I bustled over to the door, opening it with my shoulder.

“Excuse me!” I said, exasperated, placing my hands on my hips and looking up.

And up. And up. And up a little more, until the base of my skull was nearly flat against my back. The man before me must have been well over seven feet tall, with a body that looked more like the broad side of a barn than anything a living person could possess. He wore thick knotted and worn leather armor over his broad chest and legs, with a wide belt probably almost as big as I was. Each leg was as big as a tree trunk, and his arms bulged with muscles. His skin was a dark, washed out green that looked more grey in the shadows of his huge body and he had thick, messy black hair pooling about his shoulders and down his back. He had an equally messy scruff of the coarse black hair on his jaw and cheeks and down his neck, with two thin little braids dangling from the point of his chin. I snapped my open mouth back shut once I had fully assessed him, and cleared my throat noisily. It was rude to gawk.

“Excuse me!” I said again, louder this time.

At first, he hadn’t noticed me. Even when I had spoken. He seemed to be drawing big, deep wuffs of air in through his broad, flat nose nestled in between two massive tusks. A smaller set rested near the base of the first, and his thick bottom lip wobbled a bit as he turned to face me when I spoke a second time. He had to drop his chin to his chest to look at me directly, and one big, bushy eyebrow raised up. Perhaps it was surprise there, I wasn’t sure. I wondered how often tiny humans addressed the behemoth without preamble.

I jerked my head at the window. “You’re blocking my shop!” I told him, not perturbed in the least by his size.

His large, slate blue eyes rolled to look to where I had gestured. I saw them skim over the sign, perhaps even study what could be seen beyond the window. One big meaty hand came up and rested on the huge ax at his hip and he gave a deep grunt. I sighed, shaking my head slightly. Apparently I wasn’t going to get through to him with subtleties. I didn’t recognize him as one of the regular orcs that ambled through town occasionally. Perhaps he was new.

“I can’t see anything with you standing there. You block out the sun!” I explained, but gave him a friendly smile none-the-less. “You lost? Looking for something in particular?”

He still didn’t answer, dropping his hand and giving another mighty wuff with his nose. I saw his nostrils twitch, then his heavy brow furrowed a little. I decided he looked intrigued, and my grin grew by a few more inches.

“Ah! You’re hungry!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. “You have a good nose, sir, that you do! I’ve got a fresh pig on the spit and a fair large sampling from the last one on salt!” I turned, shoving the old creaky door to my shop open. “Come in! Come in! I’ll get you a sample! I’m sure you’ll love it.”

I stepped inside and held open the door behind me. The big orc paused, frowning deeply. His slate eyes ran over me, sizing my stout little 5’4” frame from head to toe. I couldn’t quite read his expression, but had already decided it didn’t seem remotely aggressive. I gave him another warm smile, waving him in.

With a shrug of his big, meaty shoulders, he ducked his head and scrunched up his bulk. Following me into my little butcher shop. I squeezed against the wall to be sure to make space for him, letting the door close on its own squeaky hinges and bustling back over to the counter. Once inside, he was able to stretch out a little, thanks in part to the high rafters and wide support beams. I saw him looking about when I glanced over my shoulder. I had a few pheasants hanging on the wall, and a good mess of rabbits and squirrels waiting to be skinned and prepped from the hunter who had come by that morning. On the opposite side, I had stag horns mounted for display, amid shallow bins of salted fish already smoke dried and waiting for sale. My jerky I kept at the counter, to avoid sticky hands grabbing at it when I wasn’t looking. A fresh roast sat on the cutting board alongside my favorite knife. It also happened to be my only good carving knife at the moment. There were some lamb chops on the low burning fire in the corner by the counter, and a few dripping cow haunches smoking overhead.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, making my way over to the counter. The orc was eyeing the lamb, and I saw his nose twitch again. I shook my head, waving him to the barrels that I used as makeshift tables in the back and pulling some of the salted pork from another near me.

“It smells good, but trust me, it’ll be a tough chew!” I told him, sighing as I brought the pork to the counter. I picked up the carving knife and easily shaved off a few sample pieces, placing them on a smoothed piece of wood. “Old man Carver was near desperate, selling off those scraggily little things. Barely any good meat on them! If I manage to slow roast them properly, I might just make them passable for food.”

I followed him over to the opposite corner with my little platter and set it on the barrel. He looked down at it, and I saw him lick his lips. I smiled up at him again, placing my hands on my hips again.

“But you look like a traveller! The salted pork keeps well, and you won’t find better flavor, I can promise you.” I assured him, bustling over to the small keg I kept by the water trough. “I’ll give you a good price if you like that; and I’ve got beef jerky and fish besides if you’d like to add some variety! Let me get you some ale to wash it down.”

Just as I was pulling down one of the cracked old mugs from the shelf, the door of the shop banged back open. I jumped at the loud sound, spinning about. I felt suddenly cold and my heart sank through my chest at the far too familiar sight.

The gnarled looking man gave me a gap toothed grin, sauntering in with his two mates behind him. He was not very tall, but fit as an old war dog with a scratchy beard and lopsided ears to match. His leathery skin was wrinkled from a life sleeping outdoors and working in the sun, and I swore a few flies always seemed to cling to him like he was shit haven. He grabbed his scruffy, beaten cap off his head, mashing it between dirty, calloused hands. His men spread out, effectively cornering me as their leader came over.

“”Ello again, lil lass,” Grinned the ruffian, tucking his hands behind his head to stretch out his lean chest beneath his filthy tunic. “Ye pourin’ us a drink? How ver’ thoughtful.”

“What do you want Erlif?” I pressed in a soft voice, hoping it wasn’t shaking as much as my knees beneath my skirts.

“Ye got yer taxes ready?” Erlif replied, sauntering even closer.

I quickly backed away, until my backside bumped into the counter. “I already paid you this month.” I told him breathlessly, nervously brushing my hands down the front of my apron.

His front tooth wiggled a little when he sucked in his breath, shaking his head. “Well, ya see lass, that was yer father’s tax. An’ we charge different by the head, ya kno’.”

I stiffened at the mention of my father, and my lips tightened. Erlif laughed, tucking his thumbs into his belt. He took a few more long strides, closing the gap between us.

“But dun ya worry, lass,” His grin had returned, and his calloused hand snapped out, snatching the mug from my hands. He seemed amused at my tiny gasp, and leaned closer. “I ‘ave another way ya can pay yer taxes if yer a lil’ short.”

There was the soft scraping sound of wood against wood, and Erlif’s companions shot an angry eye over to my sole patron; they must not have noticed him when they first came in. He had been tucked into the shadows of the back corner, but now he straightened to his full height, head nearly scraping the rafters. As they took him in, I saw the blood drain from their faces. They even took a nervous step back, eyes going wide. One frantically began shaking Erlif’s shoulder, still staring as the big orc took one menacing step closer. Unwilling to tear their eyes away.

“Waht, ye-?” The rogue’s angry words jerked to a stop with a small hiccup in his throat as he turned.

I thought his eyes might pop out of his sockets. His jaw dropped open and I saw that loose tooth dangle dangerously. He even dropped the cup in his hands, and it clattered loudly in the sudden silence in the shop. I found myself tickled at the sight, and almost smiled. The sound seemed to break the sudden terror that had settled upon the trio. His two companions didn’t waste another moment, quickly spinning on heel and darting out the door so fast one smashed his shoulder on the way out.

“S-sorry! Sorry!” Stammered Erlif, backing towards the door as well. He quickly smashed the cap back on his head, clutching his hands before him and hunching his shoulders anxiously. “P-please forgive me.”

Then he too spun and bolted. I stared after them, surprised. I had never seen that stubborn old thief move so fast or back down so easily. But a grin quickly returned to my face. I laughed, shaking off the last of my nerves. I ran one still trembling hand through my hair and turned back to the orc.

“Well, you certainly come in handy, don’t you?” I was still smiling as I bent to pick up the mug the lowlife bastard had dropped.

The orc turned his slate gaze back to me, and one thick brow twitched up again. His meaty hand was still on the head of his ax, and I supposed he might look quite imposing. Standing there with his huge frame filling the tiny shop and his hair a thick black shadow around his shoulders. But I was surprised to find it didn’t particularly bother me. I laughed again, looking down at the mug in my hand.

“I can’t serve you that piss poor excuse for ale after that. Come out back, and let me get you a real meal.” I looked back up at him, “As a thank you.”

He gave another deep grunt, shaking his huge head. He even started to open his mouth but I raised my hand to silence him.

“No sir, I won’t let you accept anything less. It’s the least I can do.” I moved over, shouldering the shop door firmly closed and sliding the mostly broken latch in place before turning to the door at the back behind the counter. “Come on then.” I told him, placing the mug on the counter. I didn’t wait to see if he was following me, slipping out the open back door.

Behind the shop was a tiny, open aired square, which is where I kept most of my in-progress work. It was nestled between the clay and wood walls of the tiny shop front and the little one room building set behind the tavern that had been my home for as long as I could remember. The two buildings were almost perpendicular to each other, making the square yard uneven. Alongside the largest wall, there was a good sized cow skinned and hoisted by its hind legs, and three great spits over a coal burning fire off to one side of the courtyard. Fats sizzled in the hot stones, dripping off the two pigs I had roasting there. The third spit had four whole chickens sizzling, and as I passed by I inspected the meat’s progress with a practiced eye. There was a small shambling stable on the opposite side, with a half stone wall in disrepair on the outside facing the main square. It was currently empty; I’d had to sell the old horse to manage rent last month, and the chickens were now on the spit. The wall beside my homemade smoke pits had a large wooden gate set into it to allow carriages and fresh product to be brought in. It was hanging off its hinges and had more holes than wood, but it managed to do the job still. There was a small pile of scrap wood and nails leaning on the wall. My father had intended to make repairs before he had passed, but I didn’t have any time or ability to even think to make the same attempt.

I half expected the man not to have followed me. He had certainly seemed reluctant at best. But when I glanced over my shoulder, he was there, looking around. I smiled cheerily when his gaze settled on me again, and jerked my head towards the door to my place. Again, I didn’t wait, making my way over. I had to put most of my strength into heaving the ancient door open, and gave a little grunt to emphasize the effort. The door complained loudly at the abuse, scraping heavily along the dirt floor.

“Make yourself at home.” I told him, quickly moving a pile of furs off the table and bench in the center of the room.

I dropped them onto my bed in the corner, then bustled over to the water bucket against the back wall. The house was wide, with the same high post ceilings as the shop. At one time, this had been the storage room and the main house had been the small tavern at the back. But I couldn’t remember a time when my family had owned both. Due to its original intent, there were no windows to speak of, save for a makeshift opening in the roof with a trap door made from a barrel lid propped over the top. I didn’t mind. I had hung herbs and various plants to dry amid the rafters, and the worst of the hot air filtered out through the trap hole in the roof. I lifted the old worn pitcher full of wildflowers to run a damp cloth underneath it over the worn, patched wood of the table, smiling as I saw the orc manage his last hurdle and scrunch through my tiny front door. I gestured to the bench, replacing the pitcher and turning to drop the cloth back in the water and open the tiny larder in the corner by the little stove. I had set a few big barrels alongside the little clay stove, and my sole tin pot waited on top of one. I pulled out a large helping of cheese, and an old bottle of wine, bringing both over to set at the table.

“Here, something to wet your pallet while I get a good chunk off the pig on the spit.” I told him, smiling again as he slowly eased himself onto the bench.

It groaned beneath his weight, and I worried it might not hold. But the old wood managed, and I sighed with relief. I hummed quietly to myself as I took the cloth off the basket of bread I had made that morning, picking the crispiest roll to bring to the table.

I took up a plate and ducked back out the door to the pits in the back. I considered the pair, poking one thoughtfully before tearing off most of one haunch to plate. I brought it back in, still humming to myself, and wiped the juices off my hands as I set it before him.

“You’ll have to tell me what you think,” I told him, “You can be my taster! Let me know if you think it needs a bit more vinegar, or maybe another few hours on the spit.”

The burly orc looked over the simple spread in front of him, then at me. Then back down. I noticed his thick, bushy brows were still raised as he gingerly reached out, ripping off a small piece of the pig. As if he was surprised. I wondered how often people treated the big guy just like anyone else. At least without getting to know him first, as he seemed a nice enough sort. He brought the dripping morsel of meat to his big mouth, feeding it slowly between his tusks almost hesitantly. As if worried it was rotten. His eyes widened with delight as his teeth worked at the meat, and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.

“It’s good.” He rumbled, sounding pleased.

It was the first time I had heard him speak, I realized. His voice was as deep and heavy as a boulder, and seemed befitting to his huge body. The big orc hunched over with his elbows on the table and began to dig into the haunch. He dwarfed the old beaten table, which would have comfortably sat at least four humans. This close to him, I could see a deep scar over one cheek, and a notch missing from his ear as well as a few flat iron rings in the remaining cartilage. His armor covered the cap of his shoulders, but his big muscular arms were also dotted with scars. I could see his meaty hands looked rough. Likely a laborer, I decided. Especially due to the shape of his body; more square than triangular.

“I’m Madara, by the way,” I told him, sitting at the bench opposite. He glanced back at me as he took up the roll and tore off a piece.

“Hanste’kosh.” He grunted, his slate blue eyes studying me. He looked down at his plate, then over at me again. One big meaty hand shoved it closer. “Eat.”

“Has.. Hanshet… Hankos…” I tried, fumbling over the long name. I reached over and peeled off a little of the pork, bringing it slowly to my mouth.

“Hanste’kosh.” He repeated, his voice rumbling in his chest like thunder over the mountainside.

I laughed, shaking my head as I chewed. “I’m sorry. That’s quite the mouthful!” He grunted, taking a larger bite of the pork and draining back a fourth of the bottle of wine. “Would it be alright if I called you Hans?”

His eyes turned to settle on me again. Seeming to really take me in. I tucked back a loose strand of hand hesitantly behind one ear under his scrutiny. I wondered what he was thinking. The deep scrunch of his brows made me think he might be questioning my motives, or wondering if I was making fun of him. I was certain most humans didn’t treat strange orcs nearly so nicely as I. But they had never bothered me. In fact, I found their blunt, straight to the point manners rather refreshing from most human’s passive aggressive behaviors. Preferable even. Finally, he shrugged his big shoulders, pulling the wedge of cheese over to himself and breaking it into pieces.

“Sure, why not.” He sounded almost amused, but it was hard to tell from the rolling timbre of his voice.

I smiled cheerily at him, tearing a small piece from the bread. “You can call me Maddie, if you’d like.”

He looked up at me from his hunched position, considering me again through long dark lashes. He chewed slowly for a moment, working his square jaw back and forth almost thoughtfully. I tilted my head to the side, curious but knowing better than to pry.

“Those men,” He began, his thick tongue snaking out to clear his lips, “They bother you much?”

I hesitated, and my face must have fallen a little, because I saw a scowl settle on his features. I quickly raised my hands and shook my head.

“Don’t worry about me. I don’t want any trouble started on my behalf.” I smiled at him, my eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can manage.”

He gave a long, deep ‘hmmm’. But returned to his meal without further comment. I watched him eating quietly for a moment, propping my elbow on the table and resting my cheek in my palm. I decided he was probably younger than he looked underneath all that hair. I wondered the last time he had given it a good wash and comb. Perhaps I might find someone not much older than myself if he did. I suddenly longed to take a stab at it myself, and moved to cupped my twitching hands on my lap under the table.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” I mused, “Are you just passing through? Or do you have business here?”

He licked the juice dribbling down his chops.

“Business.” He replied, sucking the last of the flavor off his thumb.

I smiled. “Well, you are certainly welcome back anytime... Hans.”

He grunted again, flicking his tangled black locks over his shoulder. He flexed his arms, stretching out a little before giving a sizable snort.

“I should be going.”

I jumped up, smoothing down the front of my apron. “Of course! I don’t mean to keep you.” I craned my head back to look up at him as he slowly stood. “Thank you for everything.”

A non-committal grumble answered me this time, and he turned, making his way out the door. As he ducked his head back into the shop, I scuttled after him, heading over to my stock of jerky.

“Perhaps I can pack you something for the road.”

He shook his big head, his meaty hands shuffling about his belt. “I’ve enough.”

I looked up right as he dropped a small pouch on the counter. It clinked as it hit the wood. I started to open my mouth, straightening from behind the counter. But he was already making his way out.

“Hey, wait!” I cried belatedly, still in a little shock.

Hans already had ripped open the stubborn door with a single flex of his big arm. I thought I heard the sound of wood splintering, but didn’t fully have time to register. I took up the bag, rushing out to the marketplace square.

Despite his size, or perhaps because of his long stride, the orc moved fast. Before I had time to even make it to the doorway, he was already halfway across the square. The people seemed to give him a wide berth, shooting whispers under their breath and glancing sidelong at the behemoth orc. It made me glad that I had invited him in; it must be tough to have people instantly judge you so harshly. But then I merely sighed, slumping my shoulders slightly. The tiny bag of gold coins felt strangely heavy in my hand, and I looked down at it. I gripped my fingers about it more tightly, then turned and made my way back into the shop.

...

Hanste’kosh was nearly to the outskirts of town by the time his lieutenant caught up to him. The smaller orc smacked a fist across his chest respectfully.

“Hey boss. Where’ve you been?”

He scowled at him, heavy brow knotted ferociously, making his second wince and take a wary step back. He put up his palms, patting the air as if trying to smooth over the situation. Hanste’kosh flexed his mighty shoulders, as if he meant to take a swing at the other man. His armor creaked in protest. Ready to remind him how disrespectful it was to pry.

“Sorry boss.” He mumbled, dropping his gaze. “Everything’s ready if you are.”

Giving a snort, the larger orc nodded. “Good.” He turned to make his way to the rendezvous point, but then paused, his heavy brow squinting. “Bar’tok, I have another job for you.”

...

UPDATE: Part Two HERE

#orc #orc lover #orc boyfriend #orc x human #slow burn #romance #dnd #terato #exophilia #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster x human #the secret we keep

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what-the--curtains · 3 years

Text

Alliance

Chapter 3 - The Revelation

(Mando x f!reader)

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Summary: After agreeing to help the Mandalorian, you land on Tatooine. Joined by an old friend the three of you locate a potential informant and a secret is revealed.

Notes: everytime I get a lil notification sayong someone has liked this post my heart gets so full so thank you all❤️❤️ I hope you continue to enjoy the story as much as I enjoy writing it!

Tw: Mentions of Alcohol/blood, Swearing

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

Word count: 3.2k

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R-16, Geonosis, Outer Rim Territories

Your POV

“Pretty swanky” you say, taking note of the Mandalorians newly acquired ship “who’d you steal this off of.”

He boards it stopping at the top when he realizes you hadn’t followed him up. “Are you coming? They’ll notice you’re missing soon. Your client didn’t look like the kind of guy to last a whole night.”

“How do I know you’re not going to sell me off again?” you ask, currently rethinking this whole situation.

“ If that’s what I was here to do that, you’d be handcuffed already”

“Really? Because if I remember correctly had it not been for your counterpart hitting me in the head last time, you’d have been on your way back empty handed.” He shakes his helmet evidently getting aggravated.

“Where is she by the way?” you ask.

“We don’t have time for this.” he interjects, walking back down and grabbing you by the arm. You shake free “I’m not going anywhere with you if you’re going to treat me like a prisoner.” A clatter from up above draws you attention away from the conversation at hand. “You sure the kid’s not just roaming around upstairs.”

“Wait here” he exhales, disappearing briefly before returning with an unmistakable bundle.

“Anya!” you exclaim under your breath, eyes lighting up. “Impossible” you whisper as the small creature wriggles out of Mandos' arms and rushes towards you. “How?” you ask looking up. “Answer me Mandalorian” .

“The child” he responds “he brought it back to life. What?” he asks, noticing your forehead wrinkle in confusion.

“Nothing, I just thought the only people that could do that were long gone.” Perhaps you owed this child more than just a thank you for saving Anya. If he was able to give life he too was able to wield the force, your grandmother would not be happy if you left a Jedi in the arms of the empire. Knowing this you climb onto the ship with Anya.

“They’ll be a bounty on me now.” You state, sitting down in the co-pilot seat.

“Welcome to the club,” he says, jumping the ship into hyperspace.

“Let’s get a few things straight. I now understand why you traded me, and why this child must be returned safely, but do not get me wrong, we are not friends, I do not forgive you and I definitely do not trust you. I am here to repay a debt. Once I have we go our separate ways, and I never have to see beskar ever again. Got it?” He nods shifting into auto-pilot. “Good. There a shower on this thing?” you ask, your smell becoming increasingly offensive.

“Downstairs to the right.” You drop down scoping out the ship, not too shabby. You hear a clang, turning around to face the Mandalorian.

“What?” you say, concerned he’d caught you snooping.

“Here” he says, handing you a set of clothes, “should fit.” You take them, but he doesn’t move, and he’s blocking the door to the shower.

“What are you waiting for? A kiss?” You ask as you push by him into the bathroom having flustered him enough to knock him off balance. Closing the door you breathe a sigh of relief, as you lock it behind you. You get into the shower letting the water hit your face and run slowly down your body. It’s not warm, but it’s better water pressure than you’ve had in months. Looking down you see a puddle of burgundy pooling at your feet, caused by the admixture of blood, makeup and various other fluids currently coating your body. You rinse the blood and guts out of your hair scrubbing at that which had been there long enough to crust over. You wince in pain when you brush up against an old scar that must have reopened in the fight earlier today, oh well, you think, it will heal. The various wounds on your body were proof of that. After about a month of being in the rings you stopped bruising, but scarring was still a part of day to day life. They covered the markings and tattoos scattered across what was once smooth skin. Turning off the water, you step out of the shower and dry off before pulling on the black pants and long sleeve provided to you. Walking back up to the cockpit and placing Anya onto the seat you lean over the dashboard.

“Where are we going.” you ask. No reply. “Hey beskar head I asked you a question.” You say not realizing he had been staring at you. He points at the tracker sitting on the dash. “On another hunt?”

“ This was on the guy who sold me and the kid out, started beeping again while you were showering.”

“You gonna give me my weapons back?” you inquire, unsure of what the plan was.

“Still downstairs, I couldn't sell them. No one wanted them” he says locking in the coordinates and beginning his landing.

“Well I guess I was wrong Mandalorians can’t tell jokes after all. Where are we by the way”

“Tatooine home of the moisture farmers, and not the nice part”

“Think they’d choose a wetter planet to farm moisture” you say, looking out at the planet's arid landscape through the windshield. The two of you exit the cockpit and head towards the armoury.

“Careful” he says, as you reach your hand in.

“I just spent several months in combat I think I’ll be fine” you say sarcastically. You reach into the armoury, quickly pulling your hand back when the security system zaps you. “Fuck” you say bringing your hand to your mouth, as he turns off the protection. “Shut up”

“I didn’t say anything”

“But you were thinking it. So same goes.” You remove a bow and arrow, quickly realizing they weren't your originals.

“Real ones were lost in the incident, picked these up on the way to get you” he says leaning forward and removing the Anbam sniper rifle and standard issue blaster.

Anya follows the two of you out of the ship burying her nose into the sand pulling out a large bone. The Mandalorian was a man of few words so you have no idea where you were going, or what the plan was, but you were happy for the peace. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been in complete silence.

“Well, well, well.” A voice echoes. You draw your bow and the Mandalorian unholsters his blaster.

“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon and with someone so pretty.” the voice says as a figure of a tall man appears from behind a large sandstone.

“Cobb” the Mandalorian says, lowering his blaster

“Mando!” The older gentleman exclaims locking arms with the somewhat reluctant Mandalorian. You keep your bow aimed, as Anya approaches him sniffing his boots.

“And who might this be?” he asks looking at you while bending down to pet the critter.

“Ask her yourself.” Mando says, almost annoyed. Cobb was handsome, more so than most which makes you almost immediately untrusting of him. Anya seems to have taken a liking to him though so you drop the hostility for now. You lower your weapon and take his extended hand. “Cobb Vanth, i'm the marshal round these parts, Nice to meet you” he says

“y/n, and likewise” you respond, pulling your hand back.

“Where’s the kid?” Vanth asks and you see the Mandalorians' demeanor change guilt radiating off him.

“He’s gone, we're trying to find him. She’s a tracker” he says, pointing to you.

You look over at the Mandalorian, how did he know that? The two men walk in front of you, discussing the events that had unfolded a few days prior. As you make your way into the town you find yourself relaxing slightly. None of the locals looked like the kind to recognize you.

“Glad to see things have picked up since I was last here.”

“Well Mando, turns out less giant snakes makes for happier people.” Cobb says

“Funny how that works”

“C’mon, you look hungry and like you need a few drinks,” the Marshal says with a smile. “Might just run into your bounty if we’re lucky.” He throws two fingers up at the bartender, as you enter, leads you to a nearby empty booth. You thank the bartender as he brings out the food and drink.

“So who are we looking for.” The Marshal asks

“Ugly guy” Mando starts

“Well that narrows it down” you mutter earning a chuckle from the Marshal. Before he can continue describing the guy, the tracker starts to beep more consistently.

“Must be your lucky day” the marshal says coolly as an Aqualish enters into the establishment, tusks and all.

“Put your hood up” you say to the Mandalorian “he’ll recognize the armour, switch seats with me.” He obliges, pulling up the hood of his cloak as you shift over top of him so his back is now facing the door and you're sat between him and the Marshal.

“Alright looks like we’re in need of a plan” Cobb says.

“Give me 20 minutes with it, I’ll get the information” you say standing up.

“No way. Not happening. If this falls through you’re our only shot at finding the kid.” The Mandalorian says tugging you down by the back of your shirt, much to your dismay.

“Well there's always option B.” you say, pausing for a moment “you get up and he runs a mile then we're really gonna be screwed.” Seemingly having convinced the Mandalorian you were capable of getting the information needed, he agrees.

“Fine. 20 minutes, then we're coming after you.” He says. You stand up passing by the marshal and make your way over to the bar.

Mandos POV

He watches you head over, scanning the crowd for any potential threats. Even cloaked you stood out, and the odds of someone recognizing an ex-gladiator was high, especially one as successful as you. He tenses up when a Nikto approaches you. His hand subtly moves to the blaster, but not so subtly that it didn’t catch the marshals attention.

“You should relax Mando, it seems like she’s got it under control.” he says, nodding his head in your direction . He turns seeing you utter a few words to the Nikto causing it to continue on seemingly in a trance. His hand eases off the blaster and he relaxes back into his seat.

“Awfully protective” Cobb says, the Mandalorian ignores this comment, of course he was being protective, he needed you to find the child. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a glass being dropped off at the table. Cobb throws his hand up nodding to you in thanks, the target had been acquired.

“So, where’d ya find her?” he asks, taking a sip of the drink.

“Long story.”

“Well we have twenty minutes.”

“Traded her for the child a while back she was fighting in a gladiatorial ring until about 25 hours ago.” He says as Anya settles down on the Marshal lap.

“This is quite the creature.”

“The kid saved it.”

“So that’s why she’s hanging around with your homely helmeted ass. Seriously, she looks like a fallen star.” Cobb pauses looking to his friend “Ahhh, but you’ve already noticed.” With no response the Marshal continues “Well if there’s nothing there then I’m in luck.” The helmet turns ,“A joke Mando, a joke.” The Marshal says lifting his hands up. Before he can respond the Mandalorian feels something bump against his shoulder causing him to look up just in time to see you pass by with the target in pursuit. As he watches him exit the bar he catches a glint of a small sphere, a bomb.

“dank farrik” he says, standing up and moving through the bar in pursuit.

“What happened to twenty minutes?” the Marshal shouts after him.

Your POV.

“Thanks for the drink sweetheart” the Aqualish says as you turn around, this was not your first time dealing with one, but you did hope it would be your last.

“If you’re looking to repay the favour you may be able to help me find something, I believe you’ve come across. A child. Small, green, big ears.”

The Aqualish laughs reaching its hand back for the bomb. Using the force you stay his hand a few inches away from the weapon.

“Answer me, before my patience wears thin.” You say. Patience, already wearing thin.

“Look lady I was hoping for some fun, let me go and no one has to get hurt.”

“You’re not in much of a potion to be negotiating.” You say. The unmistakable sound of a blaster going off suddenly echoes and you feel something cold and wet hit your face. You look up as the Aqualish drops to the floor standing behind him you see the Mandalorian.

“Seriously!” You say angrily, wiping the residue out of your face.

“It had a bomb.”

“I know I had it under control. Clean this up you say” pushing past him.

“Why do I…” he starts,

“Because…” you say turning on your heel to face him, “if we had done things my way there wouldn’t have been a mess to clean up at all.” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air, before returning to the bar.

You slump down in the booth next to the Marshal.

“How long did you put up with him for before you lost it?”

“Went well I take it.” He says offering you the remainder of his drink.

“Could have, if someone had just showed a modicum of trust.” You say taking a swig of the blue liquid.

“Seems like he trusts easy. He trusts you enough to ask for your help.”

“He doesn't trust me he needs my help, there's a distinct difference.” You say downing the rest of the drink causing Cobb to raise his eyebrows slightly opting to change the course of the conversation.

“Well I have to say you are just about the prettiest thing to show up here.” You roll your eyes, it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. Despite this you find yourself smiling Cobb was quite charming after all.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on her, she doesn’t usually take to strangers.” You say moving in to scratch behind Anya’s ears.

“Got a way with all living things, though I find humans easier than animals.” He laughs.

“Well I’m sure that has something to do with your charm and face” you say. He’s about to respond when you both see a flash of armour leave the bar.

“Guess we’re leaving” He says offering you a hand, you take it and exit in pursuit of the Mandalorian.

“Mando!” the Marshal calls after him.

“Don’t leave on my account. I’ll be on the ship. If you’re not back by morning I'll find the child on my own.” he says continuing on his way.

“Oh don’t be jealous Mando we were just talking.” Cobb, says not making the situation any better.

Assuming you couldn’t piss him off anymore than he already was you pick up a stray rock and throw it at him. It hits the back of the helmet causing him to stop and turn around.

“Nice shot” the Cobb whispers to you looking impressed.

“Thanks” you say walking over to the Mandalorian.

“You okay Mandalorian?” you ask

“We should be looking for the kid not relaxing in a bar.”

“You’re not the only one who owes this child something, and don’t act like this wasn’t the first moment of freedom I’ve enjoyed in months.” with no reply you continue “What now? You killed our last lead.”

“I don’t know that’s why you’re here to figure it out.” He says sharply, the two of you now staring each other down.

“Well that’s my cue, Mando, always a pleasure, (y/n) lovely to meet you, if you’re ever looking for work I’m always in need of a deputy.” Cobb says, patting Anya on the head and heading off back towards town. You interrupt your glaring contest and wave goodbye to the Marshal. Having calmed down slightly, you turn back to the Mandalorian.

“Do you have something of his?”

“What?” the voice asks, even with the modulator you could tell he was frustrated.

“Of the child’s anything belonging to him?” you say suddenly feeling equally as irritated.

“It all went up…wait.” he says reaching into his pocket pulling something small and silver out.

“A toy of his” He says. You stick your hand out and he drops the small silver ball into your hand. As it makes contact with your skin you feel the emotion enveloping it. He cares greatly for this child, perhaps you had misjudged the Mandalorian. With this in mind you begin to gather stray stones placing them in a pattern on the ground using a nearby stick to trace lines in the sand.

“Are you going to summon him or something?” He asks.

“Not a witch.” you reply unsure if he’s joking or not.

You close your eyes, breathing deeply. The Mandalorian watches in awe as the rocks and sand begin to rise recreating a map of the galaxy. You open your eyes and walk over to Anya, bending down, you offer her the small metal ball which she sniffs. She begins circling the base of the galaxy stopping on the outer rim. Pulling more rocks forward you create a series of steps which Anya begins to ascend, sniffing the planets in front of her. She stops, sitting down so as to indicate she had located the scent.

“You know where that is?” you ask, looking up at the T visor which was still fixed on the map you had created. He hadn’t said anything in a while not that he ever really did, but you’d asked a question and needed an answer.

“Anyone home” you say, lifting your hand to knock on the helmet. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“No, I don’t, but I can get us there.” He says, gently releasing you. You drop the map to the floor leaving a small cloud of dust in its wake as you re-enter the ship.

“I hope you appreciate the delicacy of what I just did and the possible danger I’ve put us in.” You say, taking your seat, hoping you had made the correct choice in trusting him.

“How long have you known? That you have powers?” He asks, you smile at his choice of words.

“Since I was a child. My grandmother trained me in the way of the Jedi until she passed.”

“I’m sorry.” He says as he takes off.

“For what? you didn’t kill her.” After a prolonged period of silence you speak again. “I trust you’ll keep this between us, man of few words and all if it was to get out I'd take it very personally.” Taking his silence as understanding you breath a sign of relief. Leaning back you settle in for the upcoming journey.

#the mandolarian #mando x you #mando x reader #din dijarin x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #din dijarin x reader #din djarin #star wars #alliance #chapter 3

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drazzilder · 3 years

Text

A Hellish Encounter

Chapter 35: Family pt 2

The man you ran into looks just like you, minus the claws, horns, tusks, tail and your new hair. As you look at him, memories of your childhood come back. “Alan?” Is all you manage to say in astonishment.

“(Y/N), what’s going on?” Enji says like he sees a ghost.

“I….I…. I think that’s my brother….”

“(Y/N), is it really you?” Alan says as he gets up and walks towards you.

“Ok, this is freaking me out a bit.”

“Calm down, Zaheer. Alan how did you find me?”

“I saw the fight with the demon on the YouTube and you looked just like me. I remember when I was 6, I had a twin brother but he disappeared one day. Mom and dad never spoke about it but I knew you were alive. I looked up where you were to try to meet you. I have been here about a week.”

“The earliest memory I have is when I was 6 and Zaheer was put inside of me. Anything before that is all a blur; they wiped my memory. If you looked me up, why didn’t you just come to the hero agency?”

“I didn’t want to bother you if you’re busy. Plus, I wasn’t even sure if it really was you but it is! I convinced mom and dad to come to Japan too. Did you want to meet them?”

You head begins to spin at the thought of not only having a brother after all this time but even a mom and dad. You never had a family until you met Enji but now you might have your original family. All you can do is stand there until Enji places a hand on your shoulder.

“Alan, why don’t I give you my home address and we can meet there, how’s about 3?”

“That sounds great! I’ll go tell them right now!” Alan says as he goes running off.

“Are you sure about this Enji? I don’t even remember my childhood before the facility.”

“He looks just like when I first meet you. Everything tells me that he is your twin. We will be safe at home, I promise. Plus, Zaheer can always scare them away if you don’t want them around.”

“You think I’m big and scary?”

“I don’t, but some do. Just make sure (Y/N)’s emotions stay in check. We don’t want another interview incident.”

“I always do.”

The rest of the day’s plans changed so you head home and just eat something quick and relax while waiting for the visitors. It feels like forever but Enji keeps you calm as the time approaches. You jump at the sound of the doorbell and Enji answers. “Please, come in.” Is all he says as he brings the 3 into the living room. Once you see them, you clench the right side of your face.

E: “Are you ok, (Y/N)”

(Y/N): “I’m ok it’s just some memories are coming back right now.”

Mom: “Oh my god, it really is you! I’m sorry…I hope me being here isn’t hurting you.”

(Y/N): “It’s ok, sometimes the memories hurt other times they don’t.” You say lowering your hand.

Dad: “Don’t worry about it. He is a hero; he can handle it.”

Alan: “I’m sorry if I rushed you into this but I’m just so happy to finally to know you’re alive.”

(Y/N): “It’s fine. I’m happy to have a family. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

D: “Go ahead.”

(Y/N): “How do you know I am your long-lost son?”

M: “A mother always knows their children and you look just like Alan, well before your….um …. transformation.”

(Y/N): “He does look just like me, it’s a little weird seeing someone who looks just like me.”

E: “How you think I feel?” Enji says patting your shoulder.

(Y/N): “How did I end up at the facility?”

D: “Honestly, we don’t know. You ran away at the age of 6 and we kept looking for you for years. I will be honest and say we gave up a few years ago.”

M: “We waited so long to hope you would come back but the police said you either were dead or didn’t want to be found.”

(Y/N): “Why did I run away?”

M: “It was 20 years ago; I honestly don’t remember why.”

A: “Don’t look at me, I was just a kid.”

E: “If I may, why did you wait till now to come? That video of (Y/N) went up over a year and a half ago.”

A: “I saw the video almost right after it happened, but it took till now to convince mom and dad to come.”

(Y/N): “Why?”

M: “We were scared that it really wasn’t you or that you might hate us. I don’t remember what we did for you to run away but maybe you would still have hated us.” She said tearing up.

(Y/N): “I would never be angry for something you didn’t do. Come here.” You motion mom and dad into a hug. The hug breaks after a moment. “Oh, I’m sorry I must be so rude. Did you want anything to drink? Tea?”

M: “Tea sounds nice.”

You go off the kitchen by yourself while Enji stays and talks to your parents and brother. They ask how you two met, when you got married and a few other things. Enji notices that it is taking a long time for the tea. That’s when a red flash comes from the kitchen.

“Excuse me.” Enji says while quickly heading towards the kitchen. “(Y/N), are you ok? I saw Zaheer come out…. what’s going on?”

Zaheer is on the floor while you are sitting in his lap. You are quietly crying into his chest as he holds you, trying to calm you. “It’s his parents.”

“What about them? What’s wrong? Is this too much?”

“It isn’t the memories of his childhood, it’s their memories and what they aren’t telling him.”

“Did they say something? Are they not your parents?”

“He couldn’t help himself when he hugged them. We both saw what happened. I can’t believe what they did, how they call themselves parents I will never know. They are his parents but…I don’t know how to say this without upsetting you.”

“What is it?!” Enji says getting more anxious.

“They sold me….” You whisper.

“What?” Enji says in disbelief.

“They sold me to that man! They sold me to get money to live. It was rough for them and they didn’t have enough money for food. They couldn’t afford both of us so they did what they could so one of us wouldn’t starve.”

“WHAT!?” Enji’s rage begins to build as he starts losing control of his quirk. He storms out of the kitchen, steaming. “YOU SOLD HIM? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE PUT (Y/N) THROUGH?!”

D: “What are you talking about?”

E: “He can read minds; he saw your memories! How DARE you call yourselves parents!” He says as his quirk begins to go into overdrive as flames build around his face.

A: “You sold my brother!? Is this why you didn’t want to come here?” He says beginning to panic.

M: “I never wanted to tell you that! We were going to starve! We did what we thought was best!”

E: “SELLING A CHILD WAS BEST?”

M: “I regret that every day of my life. If I could go back, I would have done something different.”

“HE WAS TORTURED, HE WAS AWAKE DURING SURGERIES, HE ALMOST DIED ON MANY OCCASIONS! HE WAS ALONE IN A ROOM FOR TEN YEARS! HOW CAN YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF DOING THAT TO A CHILD?” Enji is practically foaming at the mouth with rage as his emotions have completely take control.

Your mother begins to cry. “He went through all of that? I didn’t know. He promised he was going to take care of (Y/N).”

E: “Get out of my house.”

D: “Please, just let us talk to…”

“GET…… OUT!!” Enji’s flames start to grow and threaten to burn the house down. The three of them leave and Enji goes back to you in Zaheer’s lap.

“I’m so sorry you had to see me like that. If I would have known this would have happened…”

“Why me?” You manage to whisper.

“What?”

“Why me, why not Alan? Why was I picked to be sold while Alan got to stay? Was he better? Was I sick? What did I do?” You begin to cry more as you bury your face into Zaheer.

“Zaheer, let me take it from here.” In a flash he goes back inside of you and Enji picks you up. “Come on, let’s go take a bath.”

Enji draws the bath and uses his favorite soap, the one he uses after you make love, to try to calm you. After he gets in, you follow and are quickly in-front of Enji. You’re facing him as you lay your head on his chest. The only thing you hear is the sounds of his heart beat and breathing. It’s so calming hearing a familiar sound, the sound of someone who cares for you, someone so close to you, someone who would never hurt you. He just rubs your head as you let the tears run down his chest. “Let it out.” Enji says with the softest tone he can muster. Tears flow for a while until you manage to speak up.

“I…I want to ask them why they chose me but I don’t want to know the answer. I didn’t get a chance to read that part of their memory before it got too much for me. I don’t know if I can ever face them again. They are the reason that I ended up in that place. It’s because of them that I had to suffer so much, the years of torture and loneliness. I can never forgive them for what happened.” You say as your claws start to digging into Enji’s skin. Not enough to cut but enough for Enji to know what you’re going through.

Looking down at you. “That’s ok. You don’t have to forgive them.”

Your eyes meeting his. “What? I thought you always said don’t let the anger consume you. Your anger is what made you lose your kids.”

“I did, you don’t have to forgive them, but come to terms with it. Fuyumi told me that the reason she could move on from my past is because she can’t do anything about it. She never forgave what I did but she knows that I won’t do it ever again. She said that you can’t change your past but you can change the future.”

You lay there still crying as you think about what he just said. “I can try.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“I still want to have a relationship with my brother. He had nothing to do with it and I can tell by his reaction, he had no idea.”

“Keep his number, contact him when you’re ready. Don’t rush into it. If he cares, he will understand.” He says running his fingers through your wet hair.

“I will say one thing that makes me feel better. If they didn’t do what they did, I would never have met you. I know it’s impossible to predict the future but you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“That’s a good way to think about it.”

“And I would do it all over again if I had to, just to be with you.” You say with a goofy grin looking up at Enji.

“(Y/N), now you’re going to make me cry. Why do you always have to be so sappy?” He says as he starts blushing.

“Is my big Enji a big ol crybaby?” You say as you kiss him on the lips and tousle his hair.

Now with his hair down and his face completely red. “Alight. Let’s stop sulking at get out of here. I wanted try your favorite restaurant’s new menu. It’s Sakura themed.”

“Enji, did I ever tell you that I love you?”

“Every day. I love you too.” He says as his hold on you tightens a bit. You finish up in the bathroom and you head off to finish the rest of the day. You do your best to put your parents in the back of your mind and by the end of the day, you manage to not dwell on the memories.

Next Chapter

#A Hellish Encounter #endeavor x male reader #endeavor #enji todoroki #enji x y/n #enji x reader #mha enji #my hero academia enji #mha todoroki #todoroki enji

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letsfluxshitup · 3 years

Text

we're like a family of divorce (ao3)

Techno dragged up the metal tub from his basement, setting it in front of the fire. He filled it with warm water, setting out clean warm pajamas and a towel on a chair. He laid out all the fancy soaps he had, gifts from when he first arrived.

He saved the shampoo and conditioner, setting them aside for later.

Tommy entered the house, loud and abrasive and a lot.

"What's up, Big Man?" He shouted, tugging at Techno's loose braid, poking at his tusks, forcing Techno to witness him.

He was always so high energy, demanding attention, positive or not. Techno didn't understand it but it made Tommy happy to be the center of attention, something Techno more frequently than not shied away from.

He blinked back into the present, gesturing vaguely at the tub.

"You stink." He deadpanned, and it wasn't necessarily true, but the kid needed to sit down for a second.

He'd been high energy since he arrived, and seemed perfectly fine. But Techno knew Tommy, knew his quirks and his tells. Saw the dead look in his eyes, the way he flinched away, his fear and sadness.

Techno didn't know what happened, but he knew something did, and he needed to protect him and care for him.

So he guided Tommy towards the tub, nitpicked at him about his hair, and disappeared upstairs.

"Do you need a haircut?" He called from where he was sitting in his rocking chair, glancing through a book Philza had handed him when they last met.

It was a potions guide, and he was quietly happy that Philza had taken the time to carefully draw out visuals and diagrams, tucked into the book at relevant intervals.

He glanced towards the stairs, catching the tail end of a mumbled response.

"What?" He called, looking at the stairs so he wouldn't get distracted again.

"Are you gonna cut it?" Tommy shouted back, punctuated by a splash. Techno flinched, there was no way the kid wasn't making a mess down there.

"No." He responded, looking back towards the book.

Quackity could cut short hair, he knew. They weren't exactly on talking terms but surely he'd set that aside to help out Tommy?

Maybe? Probably?

It's not like Techno couldn't just make him cut Tommy's hair, but threatening him was probably not the best fix for their already rocky relationship.

"Then why'd you ask?" Tommy shouted again, "And where's the shampoo?"

"I have the shampoo," Techno said, eyeing the bottle where it sat across from him, "and Quackity can cut your hair."

"Quackity? Isn't he trying to kill you?" Tommy's voice sounded muffled, sloshing denoting him getting out of the tub and Techno cringed again thinking about his floor.

He wasn't sure what to say to that, actually.

"Are you… Ok with Quackity coming by?" He asked instead, maybe it wasn't the best idea to invite someone with so much... Violent intent into his home with the kid.

"Big Q's great! I mean, he tried to kill you and stuff but I'm not, like, scared of him. As long as you're ok, y'know?" Tommy fumbled up the stairs, hair still dripping and fluffy pajamas noticeably damp.

Techno didn't comment on it.

"You don't have to worry about me, Tommy," he said lightly, hoping his tone conveyed comfort.

Tommy really shouldn't have to worry about his brother's potential murderers, he was just a kid and Quackity wouldn't try to start anything if he was around.

"Anyways, I'll message Quackity, see what he says, alright?" Techno pulled out his communicator, picking at the layers of stickers on it. Tommy had helpfully redecorated it after his previous one had gotten destroyed in his execution.

Attempted execution, that is.

It didn't take much to convince Quackity to come over. It didn't take anything, actually.

Quackity? Techno typed, and almost instantly got a reply.

Tommy needs a haircut

fuck off

You remember how to get here?

yes

"Well? Where's Tommy?" Quackity huffed, shivering as he rubbed his arms. He should have worn a heavier coat but he didn't have any because he didn't live in the middle of the fucking Arctic.

"Big Q!" Tommy shouted as if on cue, barreling down the stairs at full speed. Quackity's wings flared out to steady him as he caught Tommy, squeezing him tightly.

He didn't say anything about Tommy's clinginess, chalking it up to the exile and the only other source of comfort around being Technoblade.

Fucker probably didn't even hug Tommy.

He was almost instantly proven wrong when Techno cleared his throat slightly, the hug lasting a second too long, and Tommy disappeared from his arms and tucked himself under Techno's.

He firmly reminded himself it was stupid to be jealous of Techno's little brother, but also he was really fucking cold and he knew Techno was really fucking warm.

"So!" He hoisted his bag, "You need a haircut?"

It took some finagling but he finally got Tommy to sit in front of the sink properly, and went to work on washing his post haircut hair.

The water was a soothing backdrop as Quackity lathered shampoo into his hair, absently asking Techno for a hairbrush.

Tommy was quietly amazed at how easily Quackity bossed Techno around, his brother instantly responding to any command.

He'd successfully bullied Techno into handing over one of his capes, at Quackity's insistence that it was fucking cold. Techno was now tending to the fire at Quackity's request, and it seemed almost natural.

He knew Techno was more than happy to help the people he cared about, but he'd never really considered that Techno cared about Quackity.

"Are you and Quackity broken up or something?" Tommy blurted out without thinking, interrupting Quackity's soft chirping.

Quackity made a choking noise before accidentally dumping water on Tommy's face, sending him into a fit of painful coughing as it went up his nose.

"Sorry, Toms," Quackity cooed, carefully running his fingers through Tommy's wet hair.

"Is fixing people's hair like a bird thing or some shit?" Tommy asked, leaning into Quackity's hands, "Philza does the same thing and he's like a bird."

"Yeah, kind of. I think so." Quackity stuttered slightly, straightening Tommy's pajama shirt and dabbing away the spilled water on his face with a towel.

Tommy's face scrunched up in concentration for a second, before he let out something that sounded pretty close to a happy coo.

Quackity cooed too, and they cooed back and forth. Techno couldn't help his pleased snort, happy they were getting along and safe and content.

Tommy's head snapped towards him, instantly reciprocating the snort, and while still unnatural for him he managed to replicate it a lot better than the coo.

Techno watched, vaguely amused, as Tommy nudged his head against Quackity's chest. Growing up around hybrids gave him a weird mix of behaviors, but Quackity was quick to catch on, and he lightly nudged Tommy back.

As Techno set up for dinner Quackity and Tommy sat at the table, heckling him and generally being a nuisance.

"You're burning the fucking bread!" Tommy shouted, far too loud in the small space, but his energy seemed slightly more subdued. Less manic, more... Genuine.

Techno rolled his eyes, tugging open the oven door.

"No, see, look it's fine." He squinted at the bread. It did look a little too brown around the edges but he definitely wouldn't tell Tommy that.

Instead, he reached into the oven and grabbed the bread pan with his bare hands, smirking slightly at twin panicked shrieks from behind him.

"Techno what the fuck! You're going to burn your fucking hands, dumbass!" Quackity appeared in front of him, snatching his hands to check the damages after Techno set the pan down.

Quackity blinked at his unharmed hand in confusion, wings settling from where they'd flared in his panic.

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" Techno deadpanned, prompting Quackity to look up.

They were nearly nose to nose and Quackity was staring directly into his eyes. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable, but didn't look away.

"Are you two going to kiss?"

Trust Tommy to ruin the peace, Techno thought as Quackity shrieked.

"No we're not going to fucking kiss!"

Quackity was leaning against the arm of the couch, Techno sat on the other side, Tommy flopped across the two of them, trapping them.

"So, you're in exile, right, Techno?" Tommy said, lifting his head slightly from Quackity's lap.

"Yes," Techno sighed, shifting slightly under Tommy's bony legs.

"Huh." Tommy said, before saying more quietly, "I like exile with you a lot more than when I was with Dream."

Techno tried not to let his expression shift, he'd picked up bits and pieces of his exile but nothing concrete. He still didn't know what happened.

"Oh?" Techno said, voice carefully even.

"Yeah." Tommy responded, tilting his head away from Quackity to stare at the fire. "He- I- he wasn't as nice as you are, y'know?"

Techno didn't, didn't think he'd been doing a good job of taking care of him, but he nodded anyways.

"He..." Tommy sniffled suddenly, furiously scrubbing at his eyes.

Quackity quietly ran his fingers through Tommy's hair, a comforting croon soft in the air.

"He was a real dick, y'know?" Tommy said, desperately high energy, like he could forcibly will away his bad feelings. His voice gave him away, though, thick with tears.

"Tommy?" Techno said, voice soft, "what happened in exile?"

And Tommy broke.

He flung himself into Techno's arms, burying himself in his arms, as he babbled about what had happened, incoherent and a mess.

Quackity tucked himself against Techno's side, curling his arm around Tommy's back and stretching a wing out to cover them both. He pressed himself close, face carefully neutral, but Techno noticed.

Noticed the twitch of his eye, the tension in his shoulders, how he barely held back a snarl.

Finally, Tommy cried himself out, face tucked into Techno's neck as he fell asleep. Techno carefully scooped him up, Quackity a step behind him as he walked up the stairs and laid Tommy in the bed.

He tossed Quackity a pair of pajamas, and before he could turn away to change into his own Quackity grabbed his arm.

There was a long moment of silence as they stared at each other, dying fire throwing Quackity's features into sharp relief, fury evident.

"You'll help me take down Dream?" Quackity said finally, leaning closer.

"I owe him," Techno warned, voice soft as he studied Quackity's face.

Quackity blinked, then leaned ever closer, noses touching this time.

"When it comes down to it, no matter what Dream says or asks for, you'll be on my side? On Tommy's?"

Techno sighed, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.

"When you put it that way, how can I say no," he deadpanned, arms coming up to wrap around Quackity's waist, comforting and solid.

Quackity snorted, holding up a pinky.

"Pinky promise?" He murmured, and Techno linked pinkies with him, foreheads pressed together, swaying slightly in place.

"Are you two actually going to kiss now?" Tommy whispered loudly, voice slurred with sleep.

Quackity jerked away, startled, as Techno snorted loudly.

Tension dispersed Techno quickly got ready for bed, putting out the fire and flopping onto the side closest to the stairs. Quackity was forced against the wall, Tommy sandwiched between them.

Techno fell asleep with Tommy's head tucked into his neck, his arm thrown across Techno and his gangly legs sprawled across Quackity.

#technoblade #quackity #dream smp #dream smp spoilers #if the formattings bad im Sorry im on my phone smfh #flux writes #ok to reblog

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