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fluffy-leech · 3 months

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@immortaljailor jump scared me with this "9 People to Get to Know Better (Tag Game)" thing. How dare you perceive me. Will it stop me from doing it though? Of course not. So here, take my nonsensical rambles.

3 ships you like: I've never been big on shipping or romance in general, but I have, over the years, grown fond of a few relationships. I could absolutely go with popular ones that everybody knows, however to spice things up I'll go and add some very niche ones.

First up is Jenniver Aristeides and Snnanagfashtalli from Star Trek novel The Entropy Effect, by Vonda N. McIntyre. I'm positive neither were meant to sound as in love with the other when it was being written, but I was struck by the realisation that there's no fully platonic explanation for these two. Like, we are first introduced to them when they are beamed back in the middle of a bar fight that Fash started because a group of men were laughing at Jen's appearance (seven feet tall, all muscle, every part of her silver in colour, is equal in strength to Vulcans, but too shy to stand up for herself). She was fully prepared to kill them. And then there is a whole conversation where Jen is completely devastated she wasn't able to save someone due to being incapacitated and Fash comes in like the overgrown cat she is and rubs her cheek against and then cuddles Jen And then theres this quote.

"Snnanagfashtalli, she felt about as she had naver felt about another being in her life. Perhaps it was gratitude for friendship and consideration; perhaps it was love. But she never experienced love, as a giver or receiver, so she did not know."

They're always together when we see them, and when Jen wants to be transferred to botanical sciences instead of moving rank in combat and defense, Fash is only ever supportive. They play chess late nights in the rec room while smiling at eachother and laughing. They are the most relaxed in eachother's company. Like, please tell me how I could possibly be normal about them?

Tied in second is Siri Keeton and Sarasti, and Daniel Brüks and Valerie, both being human/vampire relationships from Peter Watt's Firefall series. "Oh, not another human vampi-" shush. Vampires are different in this one. It's set in the late 2090's where humanity has reached the point where it's borderline posthuman but also not and theres been first contact and it adheres to actual science instead of inventing things like warp drive and wormholes and hundred of species of humanoid aliens (sorry star trek). I cannot describe the worldbuilding any further than that because it's just so in depth but the point is humanity has brought back an extinct branch of humanity that's referred to as vampires because evolution left them only being able to eat human flesh. For science of course. They are described so terrifyingly viscerally It rewired by brain. What I really vibe with about these two ships is while the humans, Siri and Daniel, are fighting against the prey instinct to flee and hide so they can work with their vampire companions to slow the decent into ruin humanity is steadily marching towards, the vampires, Sarasti and Valerie, are trying to fight their instinct to rip them apart and eat them, knowing if they do they'll go extinct, and also try and navigate the fact that they have grown attached to their human crew (set in space for the most part) even though they don't experience affection while the humans are still terrified of them. I explained that poorly but please go read the books. The first one, Blindsight, has been published online for free here. Echopraxia, second book, unfortunately has not gotten the same treatment but your local library might have it, and if not you can always request it be ordered. They've been translated into other languages as well.

Third and last in line is Connor and Tina Chen from Detroit: Become Human. Tina has exactly no lines in the entire game and if we are lucky 5 minutes of screentime. There are, as of my last check, twelve fics on Ao3 of them, half of them being a single chapter in oneshot collections, and no art. A shame, but expected given it's obscurity. Anyways I just vibe with them, though really only the AU version I crafted in my fic planning daydreams.

First ship ever: I was about to say I couldn't tell you if the universe's existence was on the line, but looking back I'm pretty sure it was either SCP-049 and SCP-035 or Malicoda and Ererbus from the Gameknight999 series by Mark Cheverton that made me actual think, "huh, they seem... closer than just friends." Of course that ended up with me thinking "Oh! they're best friends!" because romance simply does not render in my poor little autistic aroace brain unless explicitly stated. Art I saw when looking up those characters of course helped.

Last song you heard: As I write this I'm hearing the lovely tune of more soup by Gerald Fried on loop. It's been four hours and counting.

Favorite childhood book: How dare you make me choose. uhhh.. uhhhhh,,,,,,,, hhhh,,,

Lets just go with The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien and The Days Are Just Packed: A Calvin and Hobbes Collection by Bill Watterson. I read so much during my childhood that I cannot possibly choose, but those two stand out as being some that I still come back too.

Currently reading: A lot of things but most recently Life in Ancient Egypt by Adolf Erman, published in 1886 and translated in 1894 by H. M. Tirad, with the copy I have having been republished in 1971 with minor notes to correct things that have since been proven false. Unless of course you want to count all the fanfiction. There's been a lot of that too.

Currently watching: Trying to get though all of Hermitcraft, starting from season 1 and working up to the current season while also attempting to not forget to document the time and dates each and every video was published.

Currently consuming: Lots of water :)

Currently craving: Ginger tea (I ran out of the kind I like)

Tagging: No thank you, but if you see this and feel like doing it then by all means go ahead. :)

[Apologies for misspellings, grammatical errors, and this rambley wall of text]

#fluffy screams to the void

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

#darksaber!din #dark!din #dark!din x reader #dark!din x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw fanfic #darksaber #Im so sorry #dom!din #haunted!din

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

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AHHHH Can you do something with being with Din and Mayfield when he takes his helmet off???

Summary: Din will not let you live with guilt, he offers you an alternative instead.

Paring: Din Djarin/female reader. But no use of Y/N

Chapter 15 spoilers, I tagged this post !!

Despite her protest Din slips past the pair, Mayfield's fingers digging into the flesh of her arm even though the layers of the stormtrooper suit it burns.

"Stop." He whispers close, only for she could hear. Her helmet was still on, he used that to his advantage by making it look like he was fixing the vocoder. "You're only going to attract attention to him."

Eyes drop from his own, turning slightly to insure the safety of her beloved. Din's back is facing them, messy curls surprise her. He took the helmet off?

It tickled his neck, she knew it was brown, he had told her on many occasions but it looked soft, pretty well kept despite always being always covered. It were times like this she wished she was closer, not to break his creed but to finally see what fingers look like running through the ringlets. Her mouth ran dry as a voice commanded him. Everything happened to fast, she gasps as Mayfield grips her wrist dragging her along with him.

The main reason being if Din knew he let her out of his sight, he would be no longer. She tries, really tries to look away but everything she ever wanted is right in front of her. It's a square jaw, soft pierced lips right below those a trimmed mustache. Eyes are warm, dark brown with hints of honey were the light illuminates through the windows. It's impossible to concentrate, the soft pout of his lips makes sure of that, having kissed those lips many times but they looked perfect.

He was beautiful, nothing she could have expected but everything she needed. Mayfield must have been thinking the same thing as words 'brown eyes' leaves his own mouth.

"And you?" The words go past deaf ears, but she quickly notices the words are for her the moment his carmel eyes meet hers back. He's caught her.

Suddenly she relieved the helmet is still on, embrassment is not easy to hide, it claims cheeks red makes skin blush up her neck. Mayfield answers for her, but the superior is still not happy.

"Take your helmet off trooper." Her eyes meet Mayfield's for any signs of run, or shoot but there is none. Din stiffs at his request, standing a little straighter, his panic clearly shown of his face.

Hair falls to shoulders, air instantly reaching her lungs quicker, more efficient. Valin stands a little straighter as well, a small hmmph with a sickly smile. "The empire allowed you to join? I thought one of the commanders would take you instead."

Mayfield's hand tighten around Din's hands to warn him not to move, luckily they are behind his back and out of sight.

"I'm a good shooter, sir." She answers loudly, Valin nods in response. When the attention is finally off she sighs to herself, now she can't hide the fact she can't take her eyes off of him. When Din's eyes meet hers again as Valin is tugging them towards a table, she can't help but notice the pure panic, uncomfortably shifting, scanning the room as if he's calculating how many people he's going to have to kill to keep his creed.

There's a problem with that, the problem being you. He could never... The thought never ran through his mind but guilt filled her instantly. Selfish, the only word that came to mind. She was selfish and greedy taking advantage of this moment for herself. Din could sense it, or take notice in the way mouth shapes, frowning. A large hand squeezes her knee under the table. Once again she couldn't pay attention, chewing on the fat of her lip nervously. The only sound that broke her from her trance was the sound of Mayfield's blaster sending Valin slidding across the floor.

Din and her eyes meet in panic, then at Mayfield who shot the surrounding officers. Quickly jumping into action until everyone was down.

Din first looks at his girl, accessing for any injuries but as Mayfield pushes the helmet into his reach he shakes his head, "I don't have to, I can't."

"You did what you had to do, I never saw your face." Mayfield everts his head from his direction, almost as if he never did. Din's eyes meets her again, his cyar'ika as she also turns her head.

"Put it on Mando." She remembered the talk they had months ago when he finally told her his name, that it was his own the one things no one would know and he wanted her to. She figured with his face revealed, that's the one thing he had left.

The mandalorian would claim she's wrong, he did still have something left, actually two things. One was her, the other stolen from him but soon to be returned.

Blasters filled the area of the roof top, Din's hands supporting her to the ship, "Jump!"

They all landed with a rough thud, instantly she retreats into the ship nursing a blaster shot that skimmed her arm. A small his falls from her lips as she tries to rip the material of the suit away, Din is on his knees in front of her in an instant, large hands cupping her thighs. "You were hit?"

"I'm fine." Din doesn't particularly like the short answer, only notices the way she averts her gaze. He ribs the cloth away from the wound, Cara already has the med pack ready but Din instead takes it, applying pressure with a cloth. Blood fills it instantly, Din curses under his breath. Did it go straight through?

"Are you doing okay cyar'ika?" She nods hesitantly, eyes hooded from the amount of blood rushing out.

"I'm sorry."

Din notices as she starts slouching, other hand pressed against the valley of her chest. "Stay with me, we're gonna put some becca on it and you're going to start feeling better."

"I'm sorry."

Din sighs, "There is nothing to be sorry for." The can is uncapped as he shakes it, "keep talking to me, you're loosing too much blood."

"I shouldn't have looked. I'm selfish." The words are slurred, "I just looked, I didn't think about how it affects you."

"It couldn't be avoided. Stop." It's a warning that it's a dangerous topic to be discussing right now.

"You're handsome." Din feels his cheeks warm, he would have smiled if she wasn't slowly loosing consciousness in front of him. Forehead presses against the metal one.

"Stay with me, it should start working soon. It only takes a few minutes."

A soft hum is all he hears, "Pretty eyes."

Din is blushing uncontrollably, suddenly the armour feels so hot. Slowly her eyes begin to flutter more, color filling her face once again. As soon as she's able to support herself he begins to clean it up.

"I'm sorry." This time he can tell she means the apology, small tears of guilt fill her eyes. "I should have looked away, you should be able to trust me."

"I do trust you, it's not your fault, stop apologizing sweet girl." Soft fingers angle her face to look up at his visor, she could picture the brown eyes under it, the sharpness of his jaw. "I mean it."

"I feel like I ruined something for you, I can't look at you without feeling guilty."

Din feels his throat dry at the thought that crosses his mind, he tried to say it but snaps his mouth close. If she was his wife then it wouldn't break his creed, she would feel more at ease.

He pulls her closer, "If you were my.."

"Your what?"

Din sighs softly, knowing that the guilt would eat her alive, she would never be able to look at him again. "Be my riduur, you would be apart of my clan, be able to see my face without breaking the creed."

"I don't want this to be the reason why you asked, I want it to mean something."

Din shakes his head, "It does mean something, you mean everything to me. It might have not been this soon but I always knew you would end up my riduur some day."

The words warm her heart but Din has other ideas. Now alone he picks the helmet up slowly, just enough to touch her lips with his own. "Please marry me, I don't want to spend another night with you blindfolded. I don't want to hide myself from you any longer."

She smiles, pressing her lips to his again, a silent answer.

#din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandolorian imagine #chapter 15 spoilers #the mandalorian spoilers

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tooweirdforyou · 3 years

Text

The OP Boys & Their Personal Dirty Secrets pt. 2

A/N : Hey hun! I hope you like this! ( i can’t tag you idk why ) I saw you wanted a part two to this and decided to do it because it was fun. I guess, lol. anyways hope you like this! :>

Soooo, don’t judge the gif I couldn’t find anything else. Also I’m kinda tired ;-; alsooo. these ones are a LITTLE bit dirtier.

Warning : NSFW AHEAD! PROCEED WITH CAUTION! ⚠️ ESPECIALLY W/ THATCH.

kid and mihawk don’t have specific dark secrets since I couldn’t think of anything that would yk connect to them. ;-;

Summary : All of these boys and their personal, hidden dirty secrets. PART TWO!

Doflamingo

Oh boy, this male, despite his possessiveness, has a bit of a voyeurism kink. He hasn’t yet, but he DEFINITELY wants to turn on the country wide announcement, ( like those screens whatever used in Dressrosa when he talked ) and just fuck you as everyone watches throughout the island. He dreams of it, and one day, HE WILL make it a reality.

“How does it feel?” The lick of his lips and the shit-eating grin was on display all over the island for the people of Dressrosa to see, the image of Doflamingo’s hips thrusting and making contact with your rear.

“Does it feel good to have the whole island watching you being fucked senseless, by me? Their king?”

You couldn’t respond, lost in the insane amount of pleasure that ran through your body, specifically your lower regions. You didn’t even care that you were being watched, basking in the euphoria you were given at the moment.

Doffy’s strings suspended you partially in air, the material binding your body so you couldn’t move in the slightest as he took you from behind.

Arms wrapped around your bare figure, one holding you thigh tightly while the other wrapped around your torso, his hand grasping your throat and his fingers, pressing itself onto the flesh of your neck.

If you were fortunate, your face was cut off from the screen to be visible but your exposed body was seen by everyone who watched.

Doflamingo felt glory and power, as he continued to fuck you for all to see, your sweet, melodic moans echoing through the island as he did this.

What a fantasy that will soon become a reality.

Kid

Literally anything but also nothing. I couldn’t think of anything.. so here’s a kink he has! Dominant Submission. (?) basically, he LOVES the submissive ones, but those who really fight back. Feisty bitches yk? But like, he knows you’re all talk because he’ll have you begging for him on your knees once the two of you really get started. ;)

You’re teasing the hell out of Kid. You’re being bad by ignoring Kid and disobeying his orders and the Captain has had enough.

He barges into your room, slamming the door shut with the lock clicking on and before you could react, he has his hand around your throat and your back shoved to the wall.

“You think you’re being funny?” He growls into your ear, instantly using his free hand to rip your clothes off in a swift pull.

Despite the lack of air you had, your face still formed a sly and cheeky smirk in response. “I..I think it’s.. hilarious. Ha.”

Kid scowls before slowly smirking himself and tightened his grip on your neck a little bit more, but not enough to actually kill you. ( he cares after all :> )

“Tch. Looks like you need a punishment.” He drags you over to your bed and shoves you roughly done onto him, unbuckling his pants and pulled the belt out from the loops and pressed the two ends together so he had an able whipping belt. ( make sense? )

You merely grin at this and tilt your head. “Oh? Is that for me?” You hum and sat up, legs up and spread for him to see your already getting wet pussy, arms over you knees.

The sight of it made Kid growl lowly before he walks closer to you. “Time for you to face the consequences of pissing me off.”

With one hand, he forces you down onto the bed, breasts against the mattress and your ass forcefully in the air.

And with the raise of his other hand, it was only seconds before a loud whip was heard.

Tears stings the corner of your eyes but you still held strong, biting your lip. “Is that all you got? Guess you weren’t so angry.” You laugh and Kid didn’t respond, only whipping you once more, a little more force.

“Don’t you worry. I have all night long.”

[ I could write a whole OneShot about this, I had to stop lol ]

Marco

Little bit harder, buttt, come on. Sex in the air? Marco’s dream, for sure. And if he’s going to admit it, yes, he has done sexual activities in the air, where no one would be around.

The blonde doctor soars across the sky, a little ways away from the ship, not too far to lose sight but enough where he wouldn’t be seen, regardless of it being the time of night.

He’s only ever done it once or twice, but the no matter how many times Marco would do it again afterwards, the first time experience couldn’t ever be bested.

Sexual activities in the air.

Yet, that didn’t mean Marco didn’t love the thrill and excitement it brought him, especially when he did it so often in his younger days.

Extending his bright cyan blue wings out and around him, Marco palms himself through his pants, shutting his eyes before slightly lowering his pants enough to release his cock into the exposed cold air.

Marco shivers before reeling back and moving so he was laying down, his wings as support. One left propped up and his fingers wrapped itself around his shaft, his touch slow.

With nothing but the moon lighting down on him and the refreshing night breeze in the midnight sky, Marco felt at ease as he continues to rub his length in a teasingly slow motion, only increasing in speed seconds after.

Marco won’t lie, when it came to his release, he often did it into his hands and a bit dripping down onto his hips and chest,

but it felt good letting his cum spurt into the ocean.

Thatch

It’s pretty known that Thatch is a real perv with large sexual desires. ( at least to me because of @ honeybakedthatch lol ) however, this personal secret is his dirtiest one yet.

Thatch bit his lip as he grunted out a soft groan, feeling the rest of his warm, bitter cum shooting out from his tip and into the leftover mixture of cream and condensed milk he made for the cinnamon buns.

Pulling his pants up and zipping it tight, Thatch made sure to thoroughly mix the cum and mixture together with a plastic spoon before drizzling it over the cinnamon buns he left out just for you.

The plastered grin Thatch wore merely widens as he watched the ordinary looking cinnamon buns look identical to the others, but he knew the pleasant surprise in taste that differed.

Just as he finished drizzling the cream, the door opened, you having walked in. “Thatch, I smell something good! What is it?”

The cheery, innocent smile you had made Thatch smirk a bit, the imagination all too pleasant, the thought of you eating his delicious cinnamon buns.

“I made cinnamon buns. Here, I made these especially for you.” Thatch holds out the separate plate he had and walks closer to you, placing a sweet kiss on your temple before letting you take the plate and fork.

“Enjoy. If it’s a bit too bitter, let me know and I’ll.. sweeten it up for you.”

Mihawk

This stoic ass man is such an intimate, romanticist, he doesn’t quite have very dirty secrets.. but, one kink he secretly has is bondage and slight corruption. He won’t ever mention it but if you bring it up, he’ll voice his opinions on it.

“Now, now, love. You should be careful.”

Mihawk’s strict but amused tone was evident as he sat in his chair and watched you writhe in the tight black silk ribbons that bounded you on the ground.

Your arms were tied behind your back, your vision blocked by a silk blindfold and your legs were forced spread by a ankle bar, exposing your bare heat towards Mihawk.

You were leaning against a table/chair, and the only thing you could hear were Mihawk’s praises and warnings, along with the humming vibration that came from the vibrator strapped to your clit.

“You might loosen the binds, and you know you don’t want that, do you?” Mihawk sternly questions and you shook your head, biting your lip to prevent yourself from moaning out too loud.

“Oh? You aren’t responding?” Mihawk smiles slightly as he leans on his hand, elbow on the armrest of his chair. “I asked you a question.”

You gasp out in realization and stammered out, trying to close your legs from the shock and orgasm you keep receiving.

“I-I mean no.. h-hah.. ah.. I, I don’t want it to loosen.” Your blush darkens at the embarrassment you held, but you loved this, just as much as Mihawk did.

Shanks

I could come up with a bunch of things but the first thing my mind went to was — sex tapes. Shanks is all for EVERYTHING but I feel like sex tapes seal the deal. Especially since he hooks up with so many women, I’m sure.

Shanks watches as the woman below him arches her back and curls her toes in pure bliss and euphoria.

The loud moans escaping her lips and filling the motel rooms only edged him further.

His tight grip on the woman’s left thigh glides up to grab the soft mound flesh on her left, his fingers twisting the little perky bud as he thrusted his hips roughly into her, eliciting a louder pleasurable cry.

The sound of skin slapping was the only thing heard other than the heavy grunts of Shanks and the mewls of the woman being fucked into oblivion.

Shanks, despite having the time of his life and was nearing his climax as he continued to thrust into the two small and tight lips, it’s walls clenching around him, could only think about the recording camera on its designated position on top of the drawer.

As much as he loved the real experience at the current moment, he couldn’t wait to rewatch the recording of it and relive the experience that way.

A/N: here you go, hun! I know you wanted a part 2 with these characters and I hope this went out you expected and wanted! :>

A few don’t have proper endings but it’s gooddd enoughhh for me. :p

jus wondering, what do y’all think Kid has? Master, sir, daddy or captain kink? Or none and just his name?

Law def has a “doc/doctor” kink lol but since I’m at it, I don’t think Marco has that.

#tooweirdforyou #one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #x reader #op #one piece writing #dracule mihawk x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #one piece thatch x reader #one piece thatch #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #marco the phoenix x reader #marco the phoenix #eustass captain kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #ns.fw

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dissociativedaydream · 3 years

Text

Soft - Part 2

Pairing: Bossk x Vertani!reader (read more about Vertani here)

Word Count: ~2.3K

Tags: reader gets kidnapped, brief mentions of blood, protective & soft!Bossk toward the end

A/N: this is to help establish backstory, no smut in this one (probably will be in the next)

< Part 1

You stretched slowly, a sleepy croak leaving your throat. It was still dark out and you sat up, wondering what had woken you. Bossk had been gone on and off for the past few months, he was in the middle of a job right now and you weren’t expecting him back for another week.

Sitting there you strained your ears, the quiet ring of the apartment was all you could hear. It was unusual for you to wake without reason but you figured maybe it was the horror holofilm you had watched before bed.

Laying back down you closed your eyes. A few moments pass when you hear a knock on the front door. Your heart pounded. Of the few friends you’d made, they knew better than to show up without calling. Especially at night. And Bossk had the keycode to the door.

You grab your blaster from its spot on your bedside table and walk to the door. Glancing through your viewport you huffed. The hell was he doing here?

“Dad?” You asked as you open the door.

He pushes past you without so much as acknowledging you. You rolled your eyes as you close the door and put your blaster away.

“Where’s your husband?” Your father finally spoke.

What do you care?

“He’s working. Why?” You put on a robe over your PJs, feeling weirdly defensive for being in your own space but dad also did that to a lot of people.

“You need to come home.” His back was to you when you walked back out to the living room.

Fear hit you, he sounded scared. Something bad must’ve happened.

“Why? Is there something wrong with mom or sis?”

“No they’re okay.” His voice was emotionless, which wasn’t terribly unusual for him when he was sober but something about it now unsettled you.

Outside of them requiring help, you couldn’t imagine what he could possibly want you to return for. It’s not like he had acknowledged you even before your betrothal.

“Your marriage needs to be nullified.” He spoke in the same tone, still not looking at you.

You snorted. Yeah, no. That wasn’t happening. Even if you wanted it to, because of Vertani rules, you couldn’t divorce him until the three-year mark. Before you could reply though your father continued.

“That damned Cradossk double-crossed me.”

“Wait what? I thought you said he was supposed to leave you alone after your debt was paid.” Your eyes narrowed, for a man who liked talking shit about Trandoshans he was doing his best to be wrapped up in their business.

“Your marriage to Bossk was supposed to secure me a share of the Guild’s earnings.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags under them.

“I’m sorry that the other kids aren’t playing nice,” you couldn’t help but be snarky at your father’s entitlement. “But I’m happy and no longer belong to your family so you’ll need to figure out another way to piss off your investments.”

“No girlie, you’re coming home with me.” With that, your father turned around revealing he was holding his own blaster.

Shit.

You freeze, as shitty as your father was you didn’t see this coming at all. Your brain blanks out momentarily until he moves toward you which causes you to turn to retrieve your own blaster. Before you can grab it, you feel a tug on the back of your robe.

No, no, no. There was no way you were going back there.

You pulled at the robe’s tie allowing you to shrug it off and reaching your comm that was next to your blaster before your father was able to grab you and pull you away. Thinking fast you press the button to transmit to the last person you spoke with.

“Bossk, help-!”

There was a sudden pain in the back of your head that surprised you enough to release the commlink. He hit you with his blaster! Another crack came down and as you felt the warmth radiating from the impact you blacked out.

Coming to you were upset to notice that you were bundled in furs, your sister’s angry voice was loud and right above you. She was chewing dad out for kidnapping you. Your head was pounding as you tentatively opened your eyes to see unfortunately familiar surroundings. Damn it.

Groaning you push yourself to sit up, a wave of dizziness and nausea causing you to waiver. Your hand goes to the back of your head, you can feel warm wetness. Bringing your hand to your face you can see the dark red color of your own blood. That’s not good.

“Easy there, how are you feeling?” Your sister wraps an arm around your shoulders before you’re able to fall back into the bed.

Your voice is muffled by your hands as you cover your mouth, willing the bile climbing your throat to disappear. “You mean other than royally pissed off?”

Your sister snorted before turning back to your father who was standing by the entrance of the tent.

“You’re an idiot. A bonified idiot. You kidnapped her!” She continued berating him. “You said yourself that Trandoshans are dangerous. Now you’ve kidnapped the wife of one. A really well-known bounty hunter to boot!”

“She’s my daughter!” Father snapped back.

“You married her off!” Your sister snapped back.

You snorted, recalling what he had said back at the apartment. “Not really. He sold me.”

That caused your sister to pause. “What do you mean?”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. As fond of Bossk as you’d grown, the realization that your flesh and blood gave you to him just for a share of bounties from his father broke your heart. You really were better off with a feared bounty hunter than your own dad.

You recounted what your father had said and your sister’s eyes grew wide. While marriages were often used to create alliances and gain resources it’s very rarely done for just money. It was pretty insulting.

Your father tried to dissipate the tension, motioning to your sister’s belly which you just realized was swollen. “High blood pressure isn’t good for the baby, your husband won’t be pleased if you jeopardize it.”

A baby! Momentarily you forgot the situation you were in and reached toward your sister, stopping short of her stomach. She didn’t glance down, she was busy still glaring daggers at your father, but pulled your outreached hand to her belly.

“The baby will be fine. You on the other hand need to get out before I do something we’ll all regret.” She growled.

Your father took the opportunity to disappear back out of the tent. Both of you sat quietly for a little bit before you interrupted, hand still on your sister’s stomach.

“When are you due?”

She gave a bitter laugh, “that’s a great question. The doctors can’t tell if it’s more Clawdite or more Vertani so we’ll see.”

You smiled as you sat back on the bed, dizziness hitting you again. Clutching your head you glance around, hoping your stay here would be brief.

“Can you call Bossk? I think I dropped my commlink when dad grabbed me.”

“I already asked hubby to call when dad told me what he did. I’ll go check and see if he answered.” Your sister paused next to you, running her fingers through your hair like she used to do when you were little.

She traced a finger down your forehead and stopped at the peak of your nose. A brief pang of sadness hit you, as much as you hated it here you missed your sister something fierce. But now she had other priorities to keep her busy, you sighed as you watched her leave the tent.

Now that you were alone the fog that was clouding your mind seemed to get thicker. The nausea had subsided but you were tired. You didn’t know if it was a good idea but the cold from outside was seeping into your tent, encouraging you to bundle yourself and sleep. Maybe when you wake up Bossk will be here.

“Aye, wake up sunshine.”

Not Bossk. You groaned, covering your head with the closest blanket.

“C’mon, you need to eat something.” His voice held a chuckle to it.

“Where’s your wife?”

“I dunno but she’s going to kill me if I don’t get you to eat.” Your brother-in-law quipped, you glanced at him to see him glance over his shoulder. “Unless your husband beats her to it.”

“Did he answer?”

“Yeah, he was already on the way here, I guess you sent him a message before your dad knocked you out.” He sat on the edge of the bed, holding out a piece of food to you.

You hummed, you only vaguely remembered reaching for the commlink but you’re glad you were able to do something to alert him. There was no way he’d take returning to an empty apartment well, especially after your discussion about possibly joining him on future jobs. You wanted to join him to give your cycle a better chance at syncing with his but you didn’t want to openly tell him that was why. He was less keen on letting you tag along for obvious reasons so you had let it go.

“Anyway,” the Clawdite broke the silence, “he should be here pretty soon, your sister wanted to know if you wanted to borrow any clothes.”

You looked down, forgetting that you were wearing your PJs. No wonder you were so cold. T-shirts and shorts were not conducive to keeping you warm when this stupid planet was so damned cold.

There was a loud noise outside that sounded like a ship landing. Your brother-in-law popped up and checked.

“That’s him. Are you okay if I go get him?” He turned to look at you, concern knitted in his brows.

“Now that Bossk is here I’m probably the safest person on the planet.” You giggled.

He looks relieved before he ducks out of the tent. If it wasn’t for the foot of snow outside you would’ve just made for the ship.

You could hear shouting, your dad was really willing to get hurt over his own poor decision. A roar silenced the entire camp. Bossk was mad-mad.

The sound of snow crunching gave away his approach, it muffled his normally heavy footsteps but his gait was distinguishable. He stormed into the tent, wrapped in the cloak that you had given him the day you met. His eyes fell on you and his shoulder relaxed slightly.

“Come on little wife. Let’s get you back home.” His voice was more scratchy sounding than usual, probably raw from his angry roar.

You walked over to him, ready to embrace him but before you can he scoops you up into his arms. Bossk wasn’t one for much PDA so you were surprised as he stalked back to his ship still holding you.

“You’re going to regret that!” Your father was still going as the two of you approach the ship.

You were surprised to see three people and a droid standing between your dad and Bossk’s ship. One you recognized as the kid Bossk often looked out for, Boba Fett. The other two being you didn’t recognize, one looked like he was human and the other appeared to be a Theelin possibly.

“Get over it gramps,” Boba sneered. “I’m already pissed we had to derail this mission to come here. Keep threatening us and see what happens.”

You shrunk back as much as you could in Bossk’s arms. It didn’t occur to you that you had interrupted their mission, you just assumed that Bossk wouldn’t even check his messages from you until after all was said and done. His arms tightened around you as he passed your father but for once he made the smart decision and didn’t interfere.

“Let’sss go,” Bossk rasped, leading the small crew back onto the ship.

Boba glanced at you, concern flashing in his eyes briefly, he had followed Bossk to the living quarters while the others went to the cockpit. “Are you okay?”

You rubbed the back of your head, it was sore and throbbing a bit, you probably had a concussion but there was no need to worry any of them about it. You would need to shower to get the dried blood out of your hair.

“I’m alright.” You lied.

Bossk grumbled, bordering on a growl. “I can sssmell the blood. What did he do to you?”

Boba shot you an apologetic look before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you with your still pissed-off husband. Bossk lays you on his cot before sitting next to you.

“I’m sorry for disrupting your job.” You whispered, genuinely feeling guilty.

His gaze softened as he reached up to stroke your cheek, a rare moment of unadulterated affection.

“Well, you’re getting your wish to come on a mission.” He chuckled. “We’ll talk about what happened later.”

“Bossk!” A female voice rang down the hall. “We’re landing, give wifey a kiss and let’s go!”

You giggled as he sighed. “Latts is getting a kick out of this. You’ll be happy to know that she thinks you should come with usss too.”

He stood and you sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Ssstay here. You’ll be safe on the ship.”

You pout. He’s right of course and you’re definitely not dressed to be of any help but you hope that if he does relent and let you come on more that this won’t be the reoccurring theme.

Bossk does pause, seeing your face. He leaned over you to nuzzle your hair, an action he’d adopted as a goodbye to you.

You sigh as he leaves, laying back down onto the cot. At least he kept his ship warm. You wrapped yourself in his blanket, inhaling his scent. He smelled like musk and the forest, it was calming and you felt safe. Safe enough to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

< Part 1

#bossk #bossk x reader #clone wars #star wars #bossk x you

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operation-619 · 3 years

Text

Siren’s lullaby

Geralt of Rivia x WOC/reader

Summary: (Y/N) seeks the Witcher to help her capture the woman that shed the blood of her family. She may have the voice of an angel but her intentions are far from heavenly.

Warnings: Blood, violence, murder, torture, language, nudity, discrimination, abuse/assault your media consumption is your own responsibility, you have been warned 18+

WC- 1.6K

Masterlist

I am hosting a little competition of sorts, I will pick five people to have their character be in my story just fill out this form- HERE.

The ocean flourished under the caress of the afternoon sun; waves lulled softly against the side of the ship as they foamed back into itself, the voices of the men drowned out the song of the birds as they ran about fixing sails and tying ropes. A man sat on the railing of the figure-head and watched carefully as the water rippled around them. His tanned skin glistened with sweat under the sun as he sharpened his knife, his eyes and mind were elsewhere.

A whisper of lust and flesh floated in the air, dancing around his head as he looked of into the distance, his hands worked independently – sharpening the knife on the flat stone he found in the hull of the ship, the motion came naturally to his body after years of repeating the same motion. The whispers grew quietly into a song of men floating to the treasure at the bottom of the sea, where gift beyond men were to be found. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought a ghoul was sat beside him, lips pressed against his ear and lulling him with unforeseen riches.

His eyes casted downwards, watching as the blues and greens mixed together creating an illusion of a fantasy that was always told in fairy tales. A lost city and civilisation of merepeople. He remembers the stories he use to hear from the elders, the upper-body that of a human, and the lower half was that of a fish with tails almost twice the size of their body, decorated in intricate scales and colours, with a fin at the end that helped them propel through the waters. Their hair a celadon-green and nipples of light-green. He remembered how many elders and others of his race were enamoured with their looks calling them nymphs of the sea, singing about their looks and the great power they hold.

But he was a child then, naïve, and simple-minded. Now he’s a man and the branding on his left forearm reminds those he crosses paths with that he is a dangerous man.

“You never think you are going to fall in sir?” his accent catches itself on the syllables, making it seem more pronounced and thicker. The man in question looked over his shoulder, throwing a hearty laugh to his crewman he put his knife back in it pocket and swung his body around before jumping back onto the deck.

“You insult me Mayarnde, all these year on this beauty and you still think I can’t balance myself right.” With a slap on the back, he moved towards the centre of the ship giving orders, joking with his men. The hour of peace brought clarity to his mind, something he needed from the past two moons. He thanked the stars for the peaceful journey, but deep down he really knew the reason, he would be foolish to deny it.

He made his way to back of the ship where the door to his quarters stood red wood splintering with age and the constant battle from the sea. It looked like it could do with a new glaze. The money he was getting paid after this trip would be enough to completely redo the entire ship and there would still be some left over.

“Maybe a visit to a brothel, the men could use the release.” He scratched his head as the thought occurred to him, he hadn’t laid with a woman for two moons. None of his men had, usually when they make a quick stop to grab some previsions, they have time to visit a whore or two. But their current guest was adamant on getting to their destination as quickly as possible. And god was he suffering.

He shut his door behind him and looked over his quarters, the desk was covered in parchments and writing utensils, the table in the middle of the room was completely covered by the map – markings plotting their course and other annotations that made little sense to him, his windows were open letting the warm breeze dance around. The parchments on the dark wooden walls fluttered as the wind gently swayed by, the sound of scribbling told him that someone had awaken.

Taking off his coat and throwing it onto the back of a chair, he wandered over to the map and observed the new markings, a thick circle marked out the city Cintra telling the man that was their final destination. It caused his eyebrows to raise, all this time and not once had he seen any city marked like this one.

“So, he is here then, the one you are looking for?” his violet eyes looked up to the woman hunched over the desk, reading new parchments that had only just arrived by raven. Her (H/C) hair was set free, coiling around her face and down to her navel, her deep-toned skin shone with a light sweat as she sat in the embrace of the sun. He watched her for a second noting the strange celadon-green highlights that would catch the sun every once in a while.

“Mhmm, Minoa told me that she heard talks of him in the area. Last, I know is that no one had seen him for weeks.” She shrugged her shoulders, not once looking up at the man in front of her. “But if Minoa said he was in the area that he is. It kind of her thing.” Her voice always brought a strange sensation over the man. He couldn’t exactly place it but, it felt relaxing almost peaceful.

“When do you want to dock because I saw land. So, we can reach there by the end of tomorrows light.” He rested his hip against the table, his sole focus on the woman. He only now notice that she was wearing his tunic with her trousers. It suited her, it suited her really well.

He really needed to visit a brothel soon.

“We can dock tomorrow, let the men rest, fuck a few whores and drink to get their shit back together. But I won’t leave the ship for a few days.” The language that came from her mouth never ceased to amaze him. When he first met her, he was taken aback by the way she dressed – tunic and trousers but the way she wore them made it seem perfectly fit for her. Her gaze was captivating and pierced his soul as she spoke to him. It trapped him in a trance. She had the air of a regal and noble lady, but the mouth of a sailor. It helped his men feel at ease.

The past two moons had been hard, the constant stopping and starting that only she knew the reason behind. But she helped his men through it, she had plenty of coin to keep their bellies happy throughout their trek across the great sea – meat and drinks that only the finest in life would eat. She was stronger than everyone thought too, she didn’t slink away into the quarter and stay there for the past two moons, she slaved away like the rest of the men. And her fighting skills were beyond anything he’d ever seen.

And he has seen some shit.

She finally looked up from the parchment and held his gaze, her plump lips spread into a soft smirk as she watched the man in front of her dumbly nod his head.

“Sorry Captain Saria, I forget you are not used to a woman using such language. I keep forgetting that, and I will most certainly need to fix my tongue once we land in Cintra.” She puffed out a laugh and bit her bottom lip. It had been some time since she’d been around people. Her life was normally quite and simple, in her term anyway.

She pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes, letting them rest for a moment. She didn’t even remember blinking in the last few hours.

“(Y/N), what exactly are you looking for?” his violet eyes bore into her figure, he waited with bated breath for her to answer. And when her eyes met his, it took everything in him to not falter. It always amazed him how magnificent her eyes were, they could be the most tantalising feature throughout her entire being. One eye a breath-taking colour of (E/C) and the other celadon-green. It did give him some comfort, knowing that there was another out there from an ancient race. Throughout most of his adventures around this world he hardly saw anyone who looked like him, his elven bredrin had become scarce on this harsh world.

He was lucky with the life he has now.

“This man, he.” She put the writing pointe down and stood up from the chair she had been in for the past hour. She came in font of the desk and swiftly pulled herself to sit on top of it. She watched as Captain Saria looked her over, his violet eyes gazed at the shoulders that became exposed when the tunic slipped down.

“We have a lot in common, we are two beings that aren’t accepted in this world, Saria, he is going to help me find the woman that killed my family, my blood.” She brought her left arm forward and used her right hand to slowly roll up the sleeve of the tunic. An angry, jagged scar set itself along the expanse of her forearm. she delicately traced it with her fingers, a light mummer of pain made itself known. She had ran from her past, detached herself from everything she knew and it had worked. She became something she never dreamed of, she doesn’t even recognise her own reflection. (Y/N) looked back up at Saria, his eyes were dull, the sympathy felt mocking to her.

“I am the only one left out of my colony, I had to flee my home and become something I hate because my own home is unsafe. She took everything from me, and I intend to make her suffer.” (Y/N) let her arm flop back down. Her eyes clouded with the memories of her past, the laughter and pain, the children, Her blood.

Her people.

“And the Witcher is going to help me find her.”

__________

Let me know what you think my darlings. if you wish to be tagged let me know in the comments.

#geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #woc!reader #siren #mermaid #revenge #death #yennefer of vengerberg #fuck #masterlist

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quitethepirategal · 3 years

Text

An Analysis in Threes

❥ TAGGED BY: @emcads like 30 years ago ❥ TAGGING: @riidcr @starsailingcaptain @covencrown @hookd @all-fleshed-out @evermxre @motherofredemption @bup1957 @conquistadoradelmar @seaprofound @tcthinecwnself @withinycu @windguided @daevilhorns @concordia-cum-sinistro and YOU and I spent like 8 hours on this so pLEASE READ IT PLEASE I AM BEGGING I NEED VALIDATION I’M-

repost don’t reblog. yall dont have to type this much.

MUSE: Captain Red Handed Jessica

Three Strengths:

Her adaptability and resourcefulness. Is she brave, yes. Is she lucky, also yes. But over all, she can roll with the cards she’s been dealt in a way that many would call inhumanly clever. Her intelligence, her perception, and her charisma are all different ingredients of this indomitable characteristic of hers. She can see the value in just about anything and anyone, can pick up on clues and tangents few others can follow, and can remember seemingly endless details, tho unfortunately not on command. But even then, her patchy memory seems to contribute to this adaptability as well, as it usually allows for detachment. If she can find resources everywhere, it means she can survive everywhere. There have been countless times where the wheel of fortune has suddenly turned on her and she’d lost near everything and her response was more or less Damn, ok I need food water and shelter lets go. No food? Grow food. No water? Ask someone if they have water. No shelter? Sleep outside. No money? Steal money. Can’t hear anymore? Cool I can use loud weapons. Crashed on an island? My island now. Shot? Free bullet. She knows when to push, she knows when to quit, and sometimes she knows when to gamble based on her ability ( what a man can do and what he can’t do and all that ). Strong she may be, she knows its foolish to rely on strength. Survival of the fittest actually rarely means survival of the strongest. ( edit; this is the theme for the entirety of her character. I will say it 50,000 times. I am very sorry ). And as a student of philosophy and biology, she understands that phrase better than most. Leading to our next point.

Her understanding. As I stated, her charisma is something unmatched, and is a key element in all three of her strengths. This charisma might not exist as prominently were it not for her ability to understand. She has limited ( I’ll get back to that ) but deep running empathy and while not terribly observant all the time, she is always perceptive. Not only that, but she’s personally known abuse, hardship, and uncertainty, and understands that hate or anger can be rooted in similar pain. She was schooled lightly in both Christian and Buddhist values before diving heavily into democratic philosophy, meaning she believes all being experience suffering and therefore kindness is a powerful sign of strength, but also that suffering while free and equal is better than comfort in oppression. And between her sweet words and beautiful face, she can get most people to open up in ways they themselves my not have expected. Being very good with people means she can learn from them, gain something from them, lead them, and/or use them. But Jessica isn’t a manipulator in truth; her intentions are almost always kind or healthy ones. She absolutely uses people from time to time but not EVER without them consenting to or being made aware of such because again, unlike a manipulative person, she understands that can ruin a relationship and therefore ruin a resource. What it makes for is an excellent leader, a beloved captain, and a trusted ally at most and an excellent conversationalist at the least. But her understanding isn’t just social, oh no. It’s academic as well. Armed only with his little library and the lessons of his own teachers, Jessica’s foster father tirelessly smithed her into a not just a girl who knew a lot of things, but a truly intelligent, thinking mind. He’d die before learning he’d succeeded tenfold. Jessica isn’t one to just except things as they are, facts or otherwise. She usually needs to prove it, experiment, see things from a new angle. Debates with her are fun! She has no issue admitting she’s wrong or confessing she’s never thought of it that way, and is actually wrong a lot of the time. It doesn’t bruise her ego, it excites her. It means there’s more to learn. And her ability to constantly understand new concepts paired with her ability to overwhelmingly understand people combine to make for a very powerful core idea of hers: We are fittest to survive because we all fit together. Our humanity, our empathy, our community are our strengths because they keep us united, which keeps us the fittest. No one is independent, no man is an island. People are power. And thus her final strength is just that.

Her power. While she and I still firmly state that strength isn’t everything don’t be disillusioned; its very goddamn important. And it’s something Jessica has plenty of. She is durable and clever because of her rocky early childhood, she is quick and versatile from her youth in a pirate port, she is physically strong and mighty from her years training in martial arts, and she’s an absolute crackshot after years of diligent practice with her trusty pistols. Her true strength may lie in her brains and in her allies yes, but even without them, Red Jessica is a powerhouse of a warrior. She can end fights extremely quickly or run from them without a prayer of catching her ( no shame in the later, both skills keep you alive ). And it may be in bad taste to say, but ever since loosing most of her hearing, Jess swears up and down it’s made her vision better, her reaction time faster, and her quick thinking even quicker. Yes of course she’s slowed down with age, but a bullet shoots at the same speed no matter how old you are. And you best hope she didn’t bring her firecrackers, because while sudden loud noises will absolutely temporarily discombobulate or debilitate an opponent with healthy hearing, it’ll hardly effect her at all and suddenly, you’re a sitting duck. You see those thighs? You see those calves? She can crush PINEAPPLES with them! People have seen her do it! Do you know how many micro-fractures broke and rebuilt those hands? Thousands! She can crush a trachea like a fucking beer can! She can kick you to death! One ill placed curb stomp and you are DECEASED. Sometimes she’ll just psyche you out because she KNOWS you know she can kill your stupid ass! But while her strength, mental and physical, have always been there, her power is relatively new. As stated before, people are power. Not knowledge, not money, not strength. People. She’s a fearsome warrior but she’d be useless if outnumbered. Shes a very successful pirate, but she’d never make it out of port without a crew on her ship. She found a gorgeous island, but it’d still be wild without those who built it’s piers and buildings. She manages orchards and tends to them and harvests them herself, but she would loose all of her crop without the helping hands of her employed farmers. And like I mentioned, she deeply understands this. Freedom is not independence or vice versa. Did you make the clothes on your back or the fabric that made those clothes? Did you write the books you read to make you smarter or teach you that skill? Did you plant the seed years ago that grew that orange you’re eating? No, of course not. Jessica didn’t either. Another human did. We all need each other to fill the holes in our lives that we can’t fill ourselves. Humans are puzzle pieces in that way, there is no bigger picture or prayer for survival on our own. And because of this, we can do anything we as a community, as a SPECIES work together to achieve. There is no knowledge if there’s no one to learn from, there is no money if a society don’t give it value, your money is worthless if those you’re paying decide to rise against you, your role as leader only exists at the consent of those you lead, and your strength won’t save you from a sinking ship. People are, and always will be, power. And as someone who is exceptionally strong and exceedingly smart, Jessica has slotted herself in the humanity puzzle thusly: The strong exist to protect the weak, the smart exist to educate, and the lucky exist so the unlucky may be given aid. And it is with this fairness and compassion that she has won the trust of so many. She has a great many friends and allies even outside of those in her crew or on her island. And she can make many more with ease. That kind of power is not a power to be trifled with, even if she can kick your ass six ways to Saturday without it.

Three Weaknesses:

She suffers ADHD. Now before ANY OF Y’ALL SAY ANYTHING, I myself also suffer ADHD. And yes I do say suffer because well that’s what it causes for Jessica and I, suffering. Yes, it is ableist language to say ‘suffering from’ rather than ‘has’ or ‘is diagnosed with’ and yes it perpetuates a stigma against us but god DAMN IT in both Jessica’s case and mine, it make life much much harder than it needs to be. At the end of the day, Red Jessica is a fantasy of mine; I pour myself into her whether I mean to or not. She’s the adult I wish I was, the person I might be if I had no anxiety, or brainfog, or lived in a world were I didn’t need a credit score or a degree. And even then, I can’t say I know anyone else’s problems better than my own. So if my character has problems, by sheer osmosis they are going to reflect some of mine. Both of the characters I write have ADHD because I have ADHD and I couldn’t even begin to know how a non-ADHD mind works to write it properly. And no, I’m not being dramatic when I say it causes me suffering. I can’t drive, I can’t hold down a job, I nearly flunked out of school, I still cant read very fast or spell very well, I am constantly overwhelmed by mundane things, I’m a slow learner, I forget very important things or recent things, I forget about things that mean the world to me, I forget about people, I stumble through tasks, I procrastinate hobbies and basic hygiene, and everything I do takes all goddamn day and I can only really do one important thing at a time and in order of importance. If I have a date at 4pm, I’m dressed and ready at 11am because I’ve gotta do the important thing first or else I will forget to do the important thing. I started typing this at a little before 5pm. It’s 7;30. It’ll probably be 10 o’clock at night by the time I fucking finish ( edit: l m a o its 1am bitch you thought ). I’m 26 and am just medicated enough to barely function. So yeah. Suffering is the word. Though for Jessica, perhaps suffering is a tad strong of a word. Her ADHD affects her ability to function in far less debilitating ways ( though whether that’s a result of a less severe diagnosis than me or the result of the society, situations, and responsibilities she functions in and around are far different from mine, who’s to say ). For her, she has very consuming hyperfixations that can last anywhere between weeks to decades, a spotty memory that is detail and memento oriented, she’s scatterbrained more often then not but can focus with amazing clarity on her interests or in high adrenaline situations, is is ABYSMALLY bad at math and EXCRUCIATINGLY bad with numbers ( as opposed to me, who is good at numbers but shit at spelling or reading ), she can forget anything no matter how important it is to her or to anyone, she’s bad with names and dates, is COMPLETELY time-blind, has trouble prioritizing, and of course, wile not actually that materialistic, she absolutely has the ol’ magpie instinct. While her poor memory assists in her adaptability and ability to move on, it also means she forgets things she needed to remember, like when the last time she bathed was and who this person is and what happened between her and someone else or what conversation’s shes had. Unfortunately this means she’s a very good friend and leader... while you’re around and interacting with her on at least a weekly basis. It’s almost a lack of object permanence in both a social and very real sense. If something is not right in front of her, odds are she’s not going to think about it. And while its something she constantly kicks herself for and actively tries to be better about, it applies to people too. Face to face is the best way to interact with her; she won’t think to write you and in her modern verse she won’t think to ever call and she’ll text you back in perhaps a few days. She doesn’t value you any less, I promise. She’s just either distracted or overwhelmed. Also, for someone as understanding as her, she is surprisingly self-centered. Not selfish, self-centered. She’ll talk about herself more than she should, and will assume people understand that she’s doing so as a form of showing empathy rather than bragging when they may not know this at all. Actually she accidentally assumes all the time. It was far worse when her hearing was functional; she’d finish your sentence for you or guess what it was you were going to say ( again, not to talk over, you but to show she understands you and the conversation, tho it usually came of as annoying or patronizing ). Sometimes she mistakenly assumes you believe or know the same things she does without even realizing it. Maybe she perceives the right idea off of someone but isn’t observant enough to notice anything past that. And while she is willing to change her mind about things, she might change her mind a tad too quickly. She’s an over-sharer and is horrible at keeping any kind of secret. Romantic relationships tend to fizzle out. Her impulse control is improving but has a VERY long way to go. She’s always chasing something new. All and all, when you’re a pirate, a librarian, or even a captain, all of these things may be irritating and inconvenient, but are overall manageable in chunks. ...But as a governor to her island, as a leader of an entire population... oof. In the position of leadership that she’s in, she can’t afford to make too many massive mistakes, and she knows this. ‘There is no power quite like the power of being underestimated’ is a phase you’ll hear her say a lot but for her, there is a shift in connotation. If people expect less and you do more that’s a great upper hand in any situation but for her, it was a safety net. Having ADHD sometimes means going months or years being fine and then eventually you fuck up and everyone around you wonders how in the world you managed to do that. She has only barely avoided disaster more times than she’d like to admit. Even with the resourcefulness, the understanding, and the power she wields, she’s finally starting to realize that she’s bit off more than she might be able to chew, with the entire well-beings and livelihoods of others on the line. And she fears that one day she’ll play her cards wrong and everything she’d built, everything she’s done, will all come crashing down in ruin.

She is Hard of Hearing. This one is literally as simple as it sounds: she has moderate and degenerative hearing loss and tinnitus after years of canons, explosions, gunshots, and a definitive, scale tipping attack in her early 30s. Her ears just don’t work at all like they used to. The whole world sounds like it would if everything was underwater: she can’t pin point the location of sounds, how far off or close sounds are, and barely registers changes in volume. And it only gets worse the older she gets; one day she won’t hear anything at all. And while yes, again, it might be very harsh and ableist to say, the truth of the matter that being deaf a “ weakness ” more often than its a strength. That said, it very well can be a strength. I’ve already mentioned that trick with the firecrackers and let me tell you it is a DAMN EFFECTIVE TRICK. Shes around explosions and canons and guns all the time and now she can focus while being around them five times better than she could in the past! But unfortunately it also means she’s very easy to sneak up on, she sometimes isn’t aware of danger until it’s nearly too late, no one can get her attention or warn her across any distance, it’s very easy to escape from her, and it’s easy for her to be just... left out of things. She might hear you talking, but she has little to no idea what you’re saying without sign or lipreading. Some people don’t have the patience or even just the courtesy to speak slower, or clearer, or repeat themselves a lot. Though, those last too thinks aren’t weaknesses of hers so much as they are the weakness of others, but they still negatively affect her self esteem and her effectiveness as a leader. All of this has taught her to pick her battles carefully, and plan around the elements of surprise and discombobulation. And while communication was tricky at first, it only got easier, and now she can talk to you almost like anyone can, so long as she’s looking you in the face.

That damn bleeding heart. We have established a number of things that should easily add up to an overly empathetic, trusting, fight-the-good-fight, martyr-some, idealistic pushover; she believes humanity and kindness are strengths, she has taken on the role of leader and then a provider, she has known suffering and tasked herself with ending the suffering of others to the best of her ability, she lacks the clarity of mind to assume people aren’t just as good or capable as her automatically, she can have poor impulse control at times, she wants to have relationships, and ( while I never stated this outright yet it can be inferred ), she believes that being able to see yourself in others is the foundation of humanity and ( as i did say outright ) humanity is what keeps us unified and unity is what makes us fit and strong. Keeping up? Good. Here’s the curve ball: How can she whole hardheartedly preach and believe all of this, to the point of it being the foundation of her character, WHILE BEING A VIOLENT THIEVING AND BLOODTHIRSTY PIRATE?! HOW, MANGO? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!! Ok, fine, sure, I will. I’m sure about one half of you are looking up from the screen and going “ Oh yeah, wow I totally forgot that bit. “ and the other half got about two and a half paragraphs in before squinting and silently calling bullshit. So let me explain. In short, she’s a detached hypocrite and is well aware and unashamed of her hypocrisy while far less aware of her detachment. I’ll cover both: Western culture as a whole seems to be under the impression that hypocrisy, despite context or importance, is automatically bad. I don’t know where this comes from personally ( my bet is Christianity but I have exactly 0 evidence ) but its a very... flawed idea. Take the freedom of speech vs racism problem; say you owned a bar where all could speak their mind freely over cold drinks. Excellent concept without context, right? Sure. ....Then a die hard racist covered in slurs and symbols walks in and orders- what are you going to do? The correct answer is to throw him out instantly. Not let him sit so long as he doesn’t cause trouble, not just ignore him and hope he doesn’t return, you throw him out. Is it hypocritical? Yep! Sure is! But it is also 100% necessary to protect your other patrons because if you don’t, the racist starts feeling safe and bringing his racist buddies, literally everyone else starts feeling unsafe and starts to hang out elsewhere, and two months later, ta da! You now own a n*zi bar and there is literally nothing you can do about it. Jessica is in a somewhat similar situation. You as a pretend bar owner need to make a decision as who to let into your bar and who to throw out for the good of all of your patrons. Jessica too is faced daily with that decision. If she want’s to help as many people as possible, the only realistic way she can do that are by protecting those under her leadership... only. She is surrounded by hateful, angry, sneaky, traitorous, abusive, or otherwise evil people. Piracy as a profession and poverty in general can do that to a person. Of course there is a clear difference between those down on their luck and desperate, and the truly cruel and twisted, but unfortunately both types of people yield the same wrongdoings. It’s absolutely her nature to extend a hand to anyone and everyone but.... she just can’t anymore. Too many times has her trust been betrayed, too many times has she gotten in peoples business trying to be helpful, only for her to absolutely bite her in the ass. Too many time the extended hand is bitten and once or twice, she’s actually made things worse. Now, she will only help someone she loves, someone under her leadership, or someone who seeks her out. That’s it. And even then, sometime it manages to bite er in the ass. But she had to set that hard limit for herself out of necessity, one she does her absolute best to adhere too and... these days she adheres a little too well. That leads us to our next point; what I was alluding to at the beginning of her Understanding essay when I said she has limited but deep running empathy. That detachment again, courtesy of a very unattached mother and unchecked ADHD. ( It isn’t a strong enough characteristic to even rank as a strength or a weakness but damn if it isn’t an undercurrent to a lot of her motivations and experiences. ) Strangers are fair game that she tries to ignore, but if she even perceives you as a threat, you could be in danger. Like anyone used to violence or perhaps anyone trapped in an us verses them mindset, she can just... flat... turn her empathy off. Not on command, she’s not a socio or psychopath persay. But she has become totally numb to the horror of violence via her warrior upbringing that, in her mind, violence can actually be rather fun. Pair that with the fact that she purposely tailored herself to only be empathetic to her allies and boom. You get a kindhearted killer. Cops and soldiers in our world do it literally every day. Actually anyone can do it really, even you if you tried. You don’t have to be evil or even angry to kill or steal or lie... you just have to believe you’re right.

Three Secrets:

WHAT SECRETS?! LMAO this bitch is the oversharing queen!! I’ve been typing and pondering her character for literal hours ( its currently 11:16, fuck you adderall ), and I still can not think of a single goddamn secret. There is nothing about her that at least five random people don’t fucking know about!! The only secrets she has are secrets she knows about other people and even then she is!! literally the worst!! She spills her guts left and right and yet she wants to be a mysterious bitch SO BAD like BABE I love you, you’re precious, but you are a dumbass attention seeking validation chasing adhd CLOWN girl!! Stop telling random people about your hermaphroditism or your dairy allergy or your dead dad or that time you fell asleep in a barrel like that is literally your uber driver Jessica honey come ooooon. I’m skipping this section mom holy fuck.

Three Fears:

What if she does wrong by everyone who trusts her? As stated at the end of the ADHD essay, she’s terrified of failing those she leads. Where it as simple as personal failure, she’d be fine. Ever if her entire world came crashing down on top of her she’d either die or start back from square one. Death is a fact of life and her adaptability means she can just dust herself off and move on, so neither her death nor her failures really scare her... But it isn’t just her life and happiness at stake, is it? Not anymore, right? What started as a leader of a small gang of rebels became a full crew, then a crew became a slew of allies, then those allies built a town and now... now she’s the governor of the Crimson Isle and there are nearly twenty five HUNDRED lives at her mercy. HER mercy. One really, really bad mistake could ruin their livelihoods or spark disorder and disloyalty. And if she died? Would whoever it is that will take her place be as good to them as she is? Is she good enough to begin with in the first place? Every day the paperwork gets a little bit thicker, every year there’s a new baby or two. And the isle has fertile soil sure but will it last? Are they prepared for a raid or a hurricane? And if Jessica trusts the wrong people, where her people right to trust her? ...can I protect them? Can I protect them?! CAN I PROTECT THEM?!

Who am I if I’m not interesting? This is, literally, an entirely subconscious fear. She’s not at all aware it exists and therefor this entry is short. But between her short time with her very unimpressed mother, her own ADHD, she is constantly hungry for attention without even realizing it. She must be interesting and intriguing and engaging, and I did mention she wants to also be mysterious. She wants not so much your input or even your validation - but rather if shes not perceived then.... is she really there? Remember, she is unaware of any of this. And fortunately she’d never been starved for attention to act out over it in the first place, even when her disinterested mother was alive. Look at her; she’s radiant, she’s beautiful, and she’s 6′4 / 195 cm shredded and covered in cool scars. Without even opening her mouth, without even her colorful clothes, she’s kind of automatically interesting. So she’s never been so desperate for attention that she acts out because she’s never been without it for very long. But it’s there. Hungry, aching, silent. Those years after the M branding were horrible and she could never really explain why. She still throws parties, organizes festivals, and talks to damn near anyone who will listen. Look at my art! Look at my library! Listen to how much I know! Let me tell you how lovely you are! Look at my scares! Look at my hair! Look at me haha, please, please look at me.

GHOSTS. NOPE. No. NO. Fuck ALL of that noise. Stay dead, go to hell, eat a dick. Red Jessica is a scientist and superstitious atheist. As an academic and somewhat bi-cultural woman she simply thinks there are far too many religions with far too much history for any of them to be considered The One True Thing You Must Believe Or ElseTM and she tends to not truly believe anything until she finds some kind of proof. Shes not afraid of the unknown, shes thrilled by it. She’s not afraid of death or the afterlife, that’s beyond her control. She’s only superstitious because she does believe in and value luck, and also its a bit of a cultural habit. BUT IF SOME SHIT STARTS MOVING ON ITS OWN OR IF SHE SEES SOME BULLSHIT IN THE CORNER OF HER EYE THEN SHE IS OUT OF THERE. OUTIE 5000. She has heard the tales of lost souls from purgatory or the eternally ravenous Pret or dangerous Phi Tai Hong or the tragic and startling Banshees or the creepy Santa Compana and she wouldn’t believe a word of it where it not for one thing. SHE FUCKING SAW ONE. She’ll never forget it, it was the first and last time she EVER attempted to plunder a tomb all Skyrim style and at first she thought it was one of the crewmean being creepy as shit until she got a good look and he was SEE THROUGH AS SHIT AND SKINNY AS FCUK AND SHE GOT LITERALLY CHASED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT JOINT. She does not CARE that some ghosts are just apparitions she does not CARE that some are friendly and trying to warn her of something if you are MOVING and DEAD at the SAME time get FUCKED. If any of y’all cringe try-hards bring a Ouija board to the party you are getting SENT HOME and BLOCKED. NO CAP.

Three Goals:

She really only has one left. Listen its... almost 1am and ive been typing since like 5pm i think i covered goals somewhere in here but ive gotta throw in the towel but even then I’m kinda being serious. Her only remaining goal is to find a suitable heir of some kind. She wants what she’s built to fall into worthey hands but she could never seem to find a good parter and even when she did she couldn’t sustain a pregnancy ( you’d think that would be a huge deal but it hardly mattered to her oddly ). So at 50 the option of having kids is out but there’s still plenty of hope for either adoption or a protege. But then again, she’s so busy these days that she hardly prioritizes it like she wants to.

holy shit i need some water...

#i.... i did it.. its done.. its DONE #...this took my entire saterday #i will literally pay yall actuall dollars to read all of this please... it took so long i dont want it to be for nothing qwq #x; EVER PLAYED CRAZY EIGHTS? { dash games }#x; QUITE THE PIRATE GAL { portrait }#x; WHY AREN'T YOU A CLEVER ONE? { meta }

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what-the--curtains · 3 years

Text

Alliance

Chapter 8 – The Foil

(Mando x f!reader)

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

Summary: Outposted on Hoth while you heal, you, Cara and Grogu keep each other company. But your nightmares quickly return, and the dark forces sending them can no longer be kept at bay.

TW: Major character death (briefly), blood, swearing

Notes: Thank u all for reason still every like makes my heart go 🥺 and every reblog/comment makes me WEEP with joy! Hope y’all are staying safe! Two chapters left!!

Word count: 4.6k

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

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“What?” Din asks, noticing your face scrunch as your feet hit the ground.

“What is this?” you question, squatting down and picking up a handful of the white powder covering the planet's floor. The cold bites at your bare skin causing your hand to instinctively release.

“What never seen snow before?” he taunts, in a manner you had often used on him, as he and Cara stride ahead, each carrying bags twice the size of the average person. An impressive sight that left you feeling less than inadequate. You kicked at the snow turning around to grab a bag from the ship in an effort to demonstrate you could carry your own weight. In the meantime Grogu had managed to form the snow into a small ball which he promptly pelted towards the Mandalorian hitting him square in the helmet.

The thunk causes you to turn around in time with Din whose head was accusingly cocked towards you. You point to the kid who mirrors your movements causing him to grin underneath his helmet. He watches as you throw a bag over your shoulder, wincing in pain when you bend down to pick up the child. Anya bounds behind you, enamoured with the snow. The Mandalorian stops and begins tracing his steps back towards you.

“Here” he says reaching for the bag, any other day he wouldn't bother, he knew you could carry your own weight, hell you'd carried his literal weight before.

“If I can carry your ass, I think I can handle this bag” you roll your eyes, as the bag strap digs further into your shoulder causing you to quickly move past him. He watches you push through the snow and towards the concrete base a few feet ahead. He wished you’d let him help you. He knew you were strong; he wished you were a touch less stubborn.

“Well not the beach vacation I was hoping for, but it’ll do for now.” Cara say’s placing the sac carrying the medical supplies and food rations on a nearby table. You drop your bag the second you enter into the abandoned rebellion base. Slowly rolling your shoulder out attempting, and failing, to masquerade your pain. Din comes in behind you grabbing the bag you'd just dropped effortlessly tossing it, along with his own bag, up on the table with the med supplies.

“Looks like there's plenty of room here, enough bunks for us to have our own, amenities seem to work well enough, not sure about hot water, but at least its water.” Cara says appearing from a hallway.

“What about the camouflage? Is it still in place?” you ask as Din begins to type away into one of the dust covered computers. He grunts hitting the machine rather harshly while swearing under his breath.

“I can't tell, we need parts to fix it.”

“Should be some on the base.” Cara offers, more as a question than a statement.

“No, we need new technology to reinstate the old. I'll have to go out and get some.”

“That safe?” Cara asks

“If it's just me? Yes.”

“So I'm playing caretaker. You wanna tell her that or is that gonna be my job” she says, looking over at you as you unpack the preservatives into the kitchen area with Grogu tucked under your arm. The Mandalorian emits a low grumble. This wasn't going to go over well.

“We need food, I’m going to get some,” he states firmly, but from a safe distance.

“I'll come with you, you’re not much of a hunter” you say, placing Grogu down on the counter and brushing your hands off on your pants.

“Not hunting here, I'm going to get credits, I need to buy some parts to get the camouflage working again.”

“Alright, well I can help with that too” you say, confused as to why he was being so dismissive.

“No, you're injured,” he says, taking a cautious step towards you.

“I’m fine” you reiterate for what feels like the hundredth time since they’d saved you.

“Really?” He says rolling up your left sleeve, revealing scars still raw from the electrocutions. You push his arm away and roll your sleeve back down wincing when you graze the raw flesh. “When was the last time you slept? Really slept”

“No worse than it was before” you mumble out.

“You spent two weeks with the empire being treated like a caged animal, you need to rest.” he persuades, placing a tentative hand on your arm. The contact briefly causing you to shift away before settling into the gentle grip.

“And you’re leaving Cara here to babysit me?” you ask, eyes skirting to the side.

“ Yes. Normal circumstances you’d be fine, but you’re not in any shape to be fighting.” slightly taken aback by the honesty, but not surprised by his lack of bedside manner.

“This is crap you say.” shaking your head, if positions were swapped, sure you would be saying the same thing, but there's no way he would listen to you.

“If someone comes, you and Cara need to be here,” he states. Why he didn't just say ‘I just got you back, i'm not risking losing you again’ he doesn't know, but he’s sure it’s for the best. With no response from you he takes his leave. You watch his cape sway in the wind as he renters the ship and takes off leaving you behind once again.

“He’s infuriating.” You say to Cara who's hesitantly appeared by your side.

“Yup. But he’s also right. Common I want to see your light saber.” She says tugging on your elbow until you comply. You enter into one large open area of the base where various mismatched chairs littered the scene. You pull out the box containing the lightsaber as Cara burritos Grogu into a blanket propping him up on one of the strewn about chairs with a cushion.

“You're probably gonna want to hang back” you say, turning it on. The light purple aura shoots out vibrating softly. You move across the floor swingin it about a bit before finally closing it.

“Not bad,” Cara says, a smirk forming.

“We got anything disposable here?” you ask side eyeing her, eyebrows slightly raised.

“Ya. Want me to throw it at you?” she responds, seemingly reading your mind. You nod your head excitedly. What started as a relatively safe game of toss and slice had progressed into something slightly more dangerous. You were blindfolded, three beers deep and Cara was no longer throwing soft items at you. After another piece of food smacks you in the face you rip off the blindfold only to see Cara giggling like a schoolgirl.

“You know if I was smarter I'd say you were doing this on purpose.”

“Good thing you're not any smarter.” she laughs, waking up Grogu who immediately reaches for the saber.

“No,” Cara says, grabbing him in the knick of time. You both begin to clean up the mess you had made, well at least the half that would smell bad by the morning. What would have been a 15 minute job turned into an hour long ordeal with most of the time being spent preventing Grogu from eating the splattered food and opening up the lightsaber.

“He’s got a predisposition for danger” you say, grabbing him away from the saber for the 90th time that night.

“I wonder where he learnt that from,” Cara laughs.

The next morning you wake up from another nightmare, at least it had been of the no name variety this time, nothing quite as drastic as being suffocated in your sleep. You pull yourself up onto a barstool and lean over the counter clutching the back of your head as a plate of food enters into your eye line.

“You're chatty in your sleep” Cara says, watching as you take a bite.

“Sorry did I wake you up?” you ask scrunching up your forehead and hiding your face in your hands.

“No, don’t worry I’ve got my own demons keeping me up at night. You sleep walk as well, had to turn you around or you would have walked right out the front door.”

“Well, that's embarrassing. Thanks for stopping me from freezing to death, ill strap myself into the bed tonight” you say with a chuckle.

“So what are yours about?” she asks.

“Some weirdo in a cape” you say, taking another bite. “you?”

“The war mainly,” she says “if you ever need to talk”

“Thanks, you too” it was nice to have her in your corner.

“Sorry by the way if you know, what we did to you has caused any nightmares” it was the first time you’d seen Cara look remorseful and soft.

“Ya those stopped after a few months, around the same time the bruises did. Not sure if it was thicker skin or I just got better at fighting.” Cara nods, emitting a relieved sigh.

“Who do you think would win in a fight? Me or Mando.” she asks, stopping any further awkwardness from continuing.

“Tough call, doesn't matter though i'd beat you both.” You smirk.

‘Oh please I could drop you with my pinky finger!” She laughs waving around the frying pan she’d been cooking with.

‘I’m stronger than I look” you say pointing your fork at her with a mouthful of food.

“I know that but i'm a better fighter. At least at hand to hand combat. Though from what I've heard if I give you a spear or a bow you’d probably destroy me.”

“Games were more rigged than you think. It was largely a performance.” you admit.

“Killing the devaronian part of that?”

“No, that was a fun surprise. They like to pit fan favourites against each other. Who told you about that, or were you there?”

“No, I don't take pleasure in forced fighting. Mando told me, when I asked if you were a strong fighter. He was convinced. Also told me you saved him from drowning. How'd you do that his armour weighs as much as a ranakor.”

“Gods I honestly don’t know how, could barely move the next morning between the freezing water and unexpected heavy lifting.” you respond, shaking your head.

“How’d you survive it, cold waters a killer even if it doesn't drown you?”

“Fire, thank god his cape was fast drying or I think the hypothermia may have gotten him.”

“Just the cape that kept him warm?” She asks innocently enough

“What did he tell you?” you shoot back, your eyes telling her there was more to the story.

“I don’t know what he should have told me?” she says now increasingly interested

“Is this why you made me a delicious breakfast? To grill me? You laugh

“Oh you are not getting out of answering that question by complimenting me”

“Body heat” you mumble, quickly stuffing more food into your mouth to shut yourself up.

“So you guys have..” she starts.

“No, oh my god, I don’t even think he's allowed to. No in order to survive we had to maintain body heat. Which we did with our clothes on, there's nothing more to it”

“Well from what i've heard he's definitely allowed to, and has on multiple occasions, but if there's nothing to it.” she lifts her eyebrow.

“Survival was the only thing to it.” you stress.

“Oh im sure neither of you enjoyed being cozied up to each other”

“I’ll get the saber if you're not careful” you threaten stuffing more food in your mouth in an attempt to shut yourself up.

“Seriously, him lugging around that armour all the time, he must look pretty nice under there and I mean, you’re... you so nothing to not enjoy there.” she rambles on.

“I'm getting it” you say sliding off the stool.

“Threatening to kill me, won’t get you out of this” she hollers after you

“Oh no Cara don’t worry it's for myself. Gonna use it to burn out any remnants of this conversation.”

“I'm just sayin!” Of course she was just saying, of course he hadn't told her about that because it meant nothing. Would you mind being wrapped up in his muscular arms again no of course not, you're not blind, but your also not stupid. You know there was nothing more to it than a debt and a friendship, and that was fine. F-I-N-E, fine with you.

*************************************************

The Mandalorian walks towards the base sporting a bag holding parts he hoped would patch up the base's broken down systems. The sun had set and the white snow glowed a light blue from where the moonlight reflected down on it. The grey clouds forming above indicated that a storm was brewing and the last thing he wanted was to get caught out in a blizzard. The doors whir as they close behind him preventing any cold from seeping through. Placing the bag down on a nearby table he pulls out some food and warmer clothes he'd grabbed while he was out. He walks over to the kids room cracking the door and peering in. The sound wakes Grogu causing him to start fussing only stopping when he's picked up. Din follows the trail of inanimate objects sliced and strewn across the floor until he sees Cara whose on the couch carving a wooden stick into a point.

“Welcome back” she says, not looking up from her project.

“Got the stuff, he wasn’t too much trouble?” he asks, referring to the kid and tossing her a blanket.

“Nope” she smiles, catching the quilt and wrapping it around herself.

“You two have fun?” he asks, directing her attention to the various metals that she had meant to clean up before he got home.

“You know we should really get lightsabers, it's not fair only Jedis can have them. She's something else, I can see why you enjoy her company so much” Cara says, hoping to provoke a reaction.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he spits out.

“Well it wasn’t supposed to mean anything but, I guess it's more than her company you'd like to enjoy? I heard about the cave, interesting the details you left out” She says, eyes glancing up at him as a smile spreads across her face. He's about to respond, but the distinct sound of doors opening brings about a silent truce as they shift into action mode, blasters in hand maneuvering quietly towards the door. Noticing a figure, Din takes aim, but Caras hand stays his shot.

“What’s she doing?” he asks, reholstering the blaster and moving towards you

“Sleepwalking.” Cara responds “she didn’t do this when you were around?” he shakes his head, he knew about the nightmares but this, this was an escalation he didn't see coming.

“We should wake her up, she’s going to freeze” he says

“You’re not supposed to wake them up,” Cara returns

“So we just let her wander out and die?” Din argues

“No we just turn her back in the direction of her room smart ass.'' The argument ceases when they remember the door being opened. You had managed to make your way out into the blizzard concerning both Din and Cara. He hands Grogu to Cara and trudges through the thick snow, which you were moving through with ease. Cara, not one to be left behind, follows him out sheltering the kid under the quilted blanket.

“Someones with her.” Cara shouts over the wind. She's right; he watches as you reach out for the cloaked figure turning it around to face you.

“Y/N!” the Mandalorian calls out.

*************************************************

Your name being called pulls you back to reality. You look down seeing Anya whose ears are back and emitting a sound the likes of which you’ve never heard. Your name’s called again further indicating this was not a dream, despite the surroundings feeling uncannily familiar. The figure stands before you, unmoving, still present, what the fuck was going on. Your heart races as you reach out this time your hand makes contact with a bony shoulder. Your eyes widen as you turn the figure around to face you. Your eyes flutter side to side trying to piece together the situation playing out before you. You hear the Mandalorian shouting for you, but you don't turn away.

Your hand reaches up to pull down the hood as you do a familiar buzzing fills your ears as a scarlet flash lights up the sky. A burning sensation radiating in your stomach causes you to look down just as the saber retracts back into its hilt, the red light dissipating as it does. Your hand grasps at the cloak tearing a piece off as the figure disappears into the night. You fall to the ground, it's cold, you can feel your light fading, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

************************************************

Din makes it to you first, dropping to your side. He places a hand under your waist lifting you onto his lap scanning your body for the damage. Your hands cover your abdomen. He moves them away revealing a substantial hole where the saber had cut straight through you. There was no blood, there was no fixing this, there was nothing he could do. Too many vital organs had been hit. He watches as you try and fail to intake the surrounding air into your lungs. He can see the panic in your eyes as you try and fail to breathe. Cara’s run comes to a halt. She stares down at the Mandalorian as he cradles a body that would never heal. You’re trying to say something, but all that’s emitted is a series of bloody splutters as you cling desperately to life. You look at Cara and the child before looking back up at him. Your purple eyes bore into him as your body goes limp. Anya throws her head back howling loudly into the night as Cara continues staring down stoic as even, placing a hand on the beskar armour. The Mandalorian doesn't move, he can’t, he won’t let you go. Why didn't he say anything, why couldn't he offer you some comfort in your final moments. He had failed you. As the howl fades back into the wind the silence becomes deafening.

Cara sees them first, Dins hand moves to your chest where small palpitations seemed to be occurring. His head swivels around staring up to see Grogu’s small green hand reached out, head wrinkled and eyes squinting in focus. As quickly as it had stopped your breathing begins again punctuated by a loud cough and several gasps for air which launch you upwards. The Mandalorians arm braces your shoulder as you do. He pulls up the hem of your shirt running a hand over skin that was beginning to smooth over. Grogu collapses back into Caras arms. Din breaths out for the first time in what felt like forever, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat back down. Your hands found their way up to his helmet tracing around its edges in an attempt to ground yourself.

“It’s okay, I’m here, you’re alive, you’re safe.” he whispers, as he brings his helmet down to your forehead pressing them together lightly. Your arms quickly wrap around him as you bury your face in his chest. The metal suddenly feeling like the most comfortable thing in the world.

“Makers get a room” Cara shouts. He hears you mutter something which he eventually makes out as “the child”

“He’s fine,” he says, watching the relief rush over your face as your arm reaches out to pet Anya before your eyes start close again.

“We have to get her inside, and warm, she’ll be fine, but we have to move quickly.” Cara says as Din lifts you up carrying you back inside.

The following days blur together for Din he left shortly after you were secured back in bed in search of supplies and medicine that would help ease your recovery. In all truth it helped keep his mind off the fact that you may not wake up. Despite Grogu’s best efforts you had been dead for a solid five minutes, that's not something many people recover from. He took up a few extra bounties along the way hoping they may have some answers as to who was with you in the blizzard that night, but nothing turned up. The killing helped him feel better, and coming back with supplies made him feel useful. No matter where he was, he always made sure to return with blankets and warm gear, especially after Cara had said you felt cold to the touch. He couldn't have that.

“I think we’re good for blankets, Mando anymore and she’ll sweat to death” Cara says with a small laugh unpacking yet another massive sheet made from some type of animal hide.

“You said she needed to be kept warm” he states, as if his actions were completely normal and reasonable.

“Well why don’t you just crawl in there with her that'll keep her nice and toasty” she teases “or you could just wait until she wakes up then you’d be able to keep her really warm, at least based on what I’ve heard from some of your past lovers” she laughs, as he leaves the room embarrassed.

*************************************************

Your mouths dry, that’s the first thing that alerts you to the fact that you were still alive. You open your eyes slowly permitting the fluorescent lighting to creep through causing a dull ache to pulse in your forehead. Closing one eye you move up in the bed causing multiple blankets to cascade down from your shoulders pooling in your lap. You turn to the side reaching for the glass of water precariously placed on your bedside table. A sharp pain shoots through your body as you reach out causing your hands to jolt down to the source of the pain. The scar tissue reminds you just how lucky you were to be alive. Your hands positioning is quickly changed as Anya nuzzles her snout underneath it. You scratch her ears, smiling as she licks at your face. You're distracted by the sound of footsteps inching closer to your door. You sit up and straighten your shirt, suddenly aware of how you must look and smell. Your fussing with your hair as the door clicks open.

“You're up!” Cara exclaims “wait here there’s someone who’ll want to see you. “

“Like I can go anywhere” you respond, shifting slightly as you do. She re-enters with Grogu who she places in your arms. He stares up at you with his big eyes, his hand reaching out for your chin. You lower your head so he can touch it eliciting a small contented gurgle.

“Thanks for saving me,” you say, as he worms his way underneath the blankets.

“Mando’s off getting supplies, mainly bringing back blankets for you though” Cara remarks causing you to roll your eyes.

“Five bounties so I’ve been out what? a day?” you ask shuffling through the thick fur covers which were, to be fair, keeping you nice and toasty.

“How are you feeling”

“Like a shish kebab”

“You looked like one. Do you remember anything about that night?”

“What apart from dying? I remember taking this” you say pulling out the small swatch of fabric you had torn from the figures cloak. “Nothing after that. I figured the only way this hole was closed was because of Grogu. Did something else happen?” Cara contemplates telling you about the tender moment she had witnessed between you and the Mandalorian, but opts to let him tell you himself.

“No, nothing. Get some more rest, you look like shit.” she laughs leaving the room allowing you to fall asleep with Grogu tucked neatly under your arm.

“Fuck” you shout, shooting awake. Your eyes water and your chest heaves. Another nightmare. Whoever this figure was, it knew it had not succeeded in killing you. Whatever it was you, and your friends, would not be safe until they, or you, were dead. You maneuver out of bed, careful not to wake the child as you do. Your feet hit the floor with a light slap, the sound being enough to rouse Grogu from his slumber. He blinks sleepily watching as you grab some clothes, a blanket and the ripped fabric tossing it all into a small leather bag. You whistle for Anya who begrudgingly hops off the bed and makes her way over to you. The child, now awake and apparently savvy to your plans scowls.

“I know, but we’ll be back once it’s dealt with” you say leaning over the bed to stroke his ear.

“Once what’s dealt with?” the familiar modulated voice asks behind you. “You’re leaving.” he continues, noting the rucksack tossed carelessly over one shoulder.

“Just for now.” You say, offering him a reassuring smile as you turn to face him, “I have to deal with something.”

“We can help.” He responds. You turn back to face the wall, not wanting to meet his gaze.

“Not this time I can’t put the kid at risk. It’s too dangerous. Whatever came here, it’ll come back once it feels I'm alive. I’m going to find it. See what it wants.” you unpack and repack your bag making sure everything you need is there.

“How do you know this isn’t what it wants you to do.” he poses, causing your hands to stop shuffling around inside the bag.

“I don’t.”

“And how do you think you’re getting off this planet.” he asks, a touch too smug for your liking. Especially considering you had not figured that part out yet.

“Gotta be some spare parts around here, maybe even an old ship.”

“Can you even fly?” Was that worry you detected in his voice, or amusement at the notion of you piloting a spacecraft.

“I'll be fine.” You say closing your bag.

“Let me help you.” he takes a step towards you, closing the space between you both.

“I’ll be alright” you say, turning and haphazardly throwing the bag over your shoulder. He steps in front of you, not willing to let you pass without a conversation. Not wanting to put him in danger you stand on your tiptoes and place your hands on the helmets sides, causing him tense up. You pull his face down to meet yours planting a kiss where his mouth would be.

“You’ve helped me enough” you say staring into the visor and slowly removing your hands. He remains where he stands, giving you enough time to skirt around him. Entering the kitchen you grab some preserves and a knife out the cupboards tossing them into the bag.

“Tell her she’s not leaving,” Din asserts to Cara, who had witnessed the previous events from a nearby chair.

“You can’t go by yourself, you’re smart enough to know that. Let us help.” She says. Realizing this isn’t a fight you can easily win you agree.

“Someone has to stay here with the kid. He won’t be safe where we're going. Din you should stay with him ” you say.

“I can’t fly a plane.” Cara lies in an attempt to force you both to confront your feelings for eachother, though she wasn’t entirely sure either of you knew how deep said feelings truly ran.

“I’ll take you.” Din says without hesitation

“I know you don’t like to be away from him.” you whisper quietly, your actions from before suddenly creeping to the forefront of your mind.

“We won’t be gone long” he says, evidently unfazed by the kiss. “You know where we’re going.

“No, but she does.” You nod in Anya’s direction.

#the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x y/n #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #din dijarin x reader #din x y/n #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din dijarin #din djarin x you #star wars #mandalorian fanfic #alliance #chapter 8

34 notes · View notes

b1ksh88p · 4 years

Text

Be Mine ⛏

Plot Plot: You’ve been in a few relationships, unfortunately all ending in tragedy. You had a reputation for being a bad omen. Truly you were a sweet girl but it seemed like every single one of your lovers ended up dead or horrendously disfigured in the long run. This Valentine’s Day your boyfriend decides to jump ship for some blonde crushing the little hope you had left for your love life. In a slightly drunken haze you sneak into the mines for a rant about the cursed corporate holiday and to drown your sorrows in the solitude of the mines. But it seems like you’ve got a listener.

Tags/Warnings: Lots of cursing | Sprinkle of angst | Fluff

The cold air of the abandoned labyrinth did nothing to cool you down as you ventured further into its clutches. To put it lightly you were on fire. Every part of you wanted to tear someone apart. The auburn liquid sloshed around as you clumsily stomped past heaps of forgotten debris. If not for your drunken stupor you would’ve turned back. Everyone knew the horrific tale of the pickaxe cannibal murder. Although you were sure the story was somewhat embellished you’ve heard worse. Poor fuck did what he had to do to survive. Anyone else would’ve done the same, it’s human nature to do anything no matter how gruesome to survive.

“Give a girl a box of cheap chocolates and a fucking bouquet of withering roses and she’s supposed to repay ya by sucking your fucking dick and acting like yer the best thing since sliced bread.” You grumble.

The deeper you go the darker it gets. Stone walls become suffocating and everything looks like the enemy. A fight or flight response may have kicked in but you were in no place to think rationally. When your heel broke you fucking snapped.

“Stupid Roses, fuck ass chocolates, fake relationships for fake people who wouldn’t know love if it fucking stabbed them in the face!” You yell throwing the broken heel piece deep into the darkness. “A corporate holiday with no fucking insignificance! Just a money plot and a excuse to fuck and act like you like that worthless pathetic fuck you’re dating that you like them. When all 364 days you’ve been with em ya fucking loathe them!” You continue on tearing up the damned holiday in partially incoherent babbling until you hear glass break.

Despite your conditions you aren’t stupid. “Fuck is that?” You call out whilst backing up. At first you’re sure it’s a group of horny teenagers but through the gritty lights you see a single foreboding silhouette. This was where you run. Or at least you should’ve. Instead you squint your eyes like some tourist taking in the sights and step forward. “Bud y’know the mines are abandoned cuz of the poor guy who had to eat his friends right?” You call out. “I mean do you if this is your thing I support it but it’s kinda weird since you look exactly like the serial killer guy. Spot on cosplay.” You compliment. The figure doesn’t move. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. You feel your hairs start to stand up and goosebumps pepper you skin. It seems your liquid courage was fading.

“Welp I’ll leave you be, don’t wanna bore you with the details of this fucked up holiday.” You let out a wry laugh before turning your back on the figure. You get about 12 good steps in before the stride of death crescendos behind you. Now you were running. Your broken heels doing wonders at making this chase the easiest for your attacker. In the midst of running you take them off and throw them off behind you. Now look you weren’t aiming for the guy but when you heard the hit connect and a surprised grunt you got the feeling you were fucked. Instead of running in a straight line you dip into a little crawl space. Maybe he’d give up and fuck off you. To your horror the man crouches down and starts to crawl his way inside.

Without thinking you take the whiskey bottle and crash it on his head. “Leave me alone I don’t even like this fuckass holiday you fucking weirdo!” You cry. He looks up at you and stops trying to fit.

“Why not.” His voice was eerily calm. As if he weren’t some insane pickaxe murderer but a man.

“Well because it’s stupid and to lovy dovy. And because it feels wrong to celebrate it when such a tragedy had occurred.” You explain. “And...and I got dumped today so there’s that.” You huff.

“...You pity me?”

You shake your head. Words weren’t really your strong point and you didn’t need him thinking you were coddling him or anything. Instead you just stare into the glossy eyeholes with your own praying he’d just fuck off. You practically shit yourself when he continued to scramble through and stand up. You grab a rock and stand ready to knock him upside the head with it only have your wrist harshly grabbed mid throw.

“I don’t want your pity.”

This was it. You were gonna die. And it was gonna be painful and super fucking lame. On your headstone it would say:

“Loser girl no one cares about got dumped on Valentine’s Day...also got murdered lol”

Even though you wanted to sob and cry your eyes out you were way to stubborn to go out pleading and begging. “I was being empathetic you weirdo! We do what we gotta do to survive, and you did just that. You aren’t some crazy murderer. You’re just angry and traumatized and that’s ok!” The grip on your wrist only tightened. “Gah! Th-the system failed you dude. The whole fucking city failed you and still is failing you! You ha-have a right to be mad! I’m not excusing what you’ve done b-but shit I would’ve done the same!” You squeal feeling the blood flow completely cease as he tightened his grip.

Suddenly the pain stopped. You open your eyes and rub your poor wrist hoping the feeling would return. He seemed more docile. It was as if his entire aura had changed. The man sat down on a hunk of rubble, his weapon clenched in his grip. If you didn’t know better you could’ve sworn he was crying. It was a silent sob. Nothing overtly dramatic, kind of how like you’d expect a man who’s rarely cried to cry. It was unnerving. The only man you’ve ever seen cry was your dad and that was when he laughed to hard. This...this was gut wrenching.

This monster that was hellbent on killing you seconds ago was now a sad man huddled up in a corner like a child. You could never feel the pain he’s felt, relive the days of utter darkness and skewed rations. Never could you imagine the gritty taste of human flesh. The depravity one must have for themselves. The survivors guilt. The nightmares he must relive. He kept muttering something about the dark and the how he wasn’t a monster. How he just wanted to see the light again.

“It’s ok.”

You weren’t sure you could touch him so you just sat in front of him. He was still shaken up but the sound of your voice seemed to get through to him. “It’s ok and you’re safe. I’m here. I won’t go anywhere I’d you don’t want me to...” You could bare the cold for a night. You’d rather be frozen to death then brutally murdered.

Both of you sat there for what seemed like ages until he moved. You were on the edge of slumber before seeing a gloved hand slither towards yours. You wanted to move it. Make haste and dip but your body had become heavy. Your eyes seemingly weighed down by stones. Before you knew it he was oddly holding your hand. You saw him looking at you intently. Probably waiting for you to scream or pull away but you stayed put. One hand held up your head whilst the other was his to experience. It had probably been awhile since he’s been so vulnerable so you let him have this. It wasn’t like you had anything else to do tonight but sleep and pray that the hang over didn’t beat your ass in the morning. Before you could fall asleep he pulls you into a really awkward half ass embrace against the cold stained suit. It was far more comfortable than the back straining position you were in a second ago but man this guy was bad at ‘snuggling’. You felt like he was gonna smother you! When he found a comfortable position he rested that stupid ass mask on top of your head with a satisfied grunt before you gave up on protesting and fell asleep. How the hell were you gonna get home

When you wake there’s no cold embraces or odd masked men. Instead you find yourself wrapped in some dusty old quilt at the entrance of the mine. For a moment you think everything that occurred was a mere fever dream. A whiskey fueled hallucination. You scramble to your feet and notice a little note that had fallen from the tattered cloth. The paper, or what you hoped was paper and not dried human skin, had fairly neat handwriting. It was short and morbidly sweet.

Thank you.

There was a part of you that was absolutely mortified. The note solidified your suspicions of what had taken place last night. But the other part of you was strangely elated. You turn to the mine and put your hands to your mouth to amplify your words. “THANKS FOR NOT KILLING ME ILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU!!!!!!” You yell happily before heading back into town. You were pretty sure he didn’t hear you but it calmed you to know that he not only spared you but someone actually appreciated your presence.

This was definitely not your final encounter ⛏

#⛏

#slasher #horror #slashers #harry warden #my bloody valentine #slasher x s/o #slasher x reader #im not good at writing lmao #potential series maybe idk #i really loved writing this 🙈#harry warden x reader

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pensivetense · 3 years

Text

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

#tma #the magnus archives #fic recs #long post #i'm not kidding you guys it's long #so be warned before you click read more #pinned on my blog

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 4 years

Text

Flesh & Blood | Part Three

Series Summary: A mysterious stranger with ties to your past shows up in your small village

Chapter Summary: now you know the truth about the mysterious stranger, but there's still more to learn

Pairing: Count Dracula x reader

Word Count: 2493

Warnings: mentions of blood, death

A/N: as always spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :) if you want to be added to the taglist let me know (please note I cant reply to comments using this blog)

Masterlist | Part Two

- - - - -

“I will never understand why he spared me, but I feel this is not the last I will see of the count”

You finish reading Sister Y/N’s story and close the journal, moving it back across the table to Zoe without saying a word. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to, this was a lot to take in.

You both sit in silence for a moment, Zoe allowing you to process what you had read. After a few minutes you finally speak.

“Do you know where he is now?” You ask quietly.

“not exactly no” she admits “the last we saw him he was on the beach last night. We had him, well we thought we had him but he killed a young lady and escaped. We haven’t seen him since.”

“What does he look like?” You twiddle your thumbs nervously, afraid that her answer will confirm your suspicions.

“Tall, pale skin, black hair. Nothing to suggest he’s anything other than a normal man, but his eyes. There’s something about his eyes, they’re just so…”

“Dark” you finish her sentence and look at her “he was here, this morning he was here in the cafe. He knew my name. I convinced myself he just read it off my name tag but I don't think he did. The way he said it, it was as if he knew me.”

“Have you seen him since?” Her face is serious.

“No…” you shake your head but then remember “wait yes, yes while I was eating my lunch he was there. Outside, he was watching me from under the tree. I saw him for just a moment but then he was gone. I thought I had imagined it”

“Right okay, we need to get you away from here. I thought we’d have longer before he found you-” Zoe says as she starts typing fast on her laptop.

“Why did he find me? What does he want from me?”

“I don't know. But he’s a murderous vampire so chances are he wants your blood.”

“Oh my God I feel sick” you rest your head in your hands, trying to take deep breaths as you feel your heart pounding in your chest. Zoe’s phone rings and she answers.

“Hello? Yes. Where? Okay I’ll be right there” she hangs up the phone and quickly packs her stuff away, standing up. “They’ve found him.”

“Where is he?” You shoot your head up to look at her.

“In a house not far from here, I’m going there now. A car will be here soon to pick you up and bring you in”

“In where?” You ask as she heads to the door.

“The research facility where I work. You’ll be safe there.”

“No I cant go, what about my job? What about Maggie?” You ask frantically and Zoe walks over to you and takes your hand.

“It’s you he wants. Maggie, and everyone else in this village will be safer if you are not here.”

You look into her eyes, searching for answers but she turns and leaves you standing in the middle of the empty cafe. You bring your hands up to your head, running your fingers through your hair as you try to make sense of all this.

Five minutes later you see a car pull up outside and a man steps out, walking into the cafe.

“Ms Y/L/N?”

You nod your head.

“I work with Dr Van Helsing, she sent me to collect you.” He walks back outside and opens the back door waiting for you. You walk out the cafe and you're about to climb into the car when Maggie comes running down the street.

“Y/N? What’s going on? Where are you going?” She shouts as she gets closer.

“It’s okay Maggie, I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. I promise.” You walk over to her and give her a hug “if you see the man from this morning, I need you to run. Okay? Promise me.” you whisper in her ear before pulling away. She looks at you confused but nods her head. You get in the car and watch her from the window as you drive away, leaving her stood outside the cafe alone.

“Excuse me, where are we going?” You ask tentatively and the driver looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“The Jonathan Harker Foundation”

— — — —

About an hour later the car pulls up outside a magnificent old stone building surrounded by what looks like the remains of a castle. The driver opens the door and you get out the car, following him through the main entrance of the building.

The interior of the building doesn’t match the outside, its too modern. The corridors are busy with people in lab coats, some look anxious while others look excited. You’re led through them till you arrive at a set of doors where a smartly dressed woman is waiting for you.

“Y/N. I’m Dr Bloxham” she holds her had out to shake yours and you notice her other hand is bandaged up “we’re just about to start, come through”

She pushes the door open and holds it for you. You walk through into a big room set out like a lecture hall, no more than 20 people sat dotted around all dressed in the same medical looking outfits. She gestures for you to take a seat and you do, choosing to sit near the back. She walks to the front of the room and gives a brief introduction before a video starts playing on the screen. Two divers are seen looking at a box amongst what looks like a ship wreck under the sea. The box is opened to reveal a man lying dead. The camera gets closer to his face and your heart skips when you realise that the man in the box is the same man who came to the cafe this morning. As the video continues playing Dr Bloxham resumes talking.

“As you can see, even after 123 years the body was perfectly preserved…” she pauses as the diver on screen lifts the man’s lips to show his teeth “or so we thought.”

Suddenly the man’s eyes move and he bites down on the diver’s fingers. Gasps and groans of shock murmur through the room as blood is seen spreading in the sea. You clasp your hand up to your mouth suppressing the urge to scream. You don't want to watch but you cant take your eyes off the horror on the screen.

“The body was not preserved. Dracula was in fact alive, though dormant. Apparently in some kind of restorative coma, in which he would have remained if I hadn’t have been stupid enough to feed him. So in case you're wondering, yeah…” she holds up her bandaged hand “vampires bite.”

Your heart is pounding and your head is spinning. You feel sick.

You stand up and quietly leave the room through the same doors you entered. You start walking quickly through the corridors, trying to find a way out but as you turn a corner you bump into Zoe.

“Ah Y/N. Just the girl I was looking for.” She notices the look of panic on your pale face “Are you alright, what’s wrong?”

“I, I just. I cant, I cant…” you try to talk through your frantic breaths “I need to go”

She takes your shoulders in her hands and turns you so she’s looking in your face.

“Listen to me. Y/N. You are safe. We have him, he’s locked up. He cant hurt you” she continues looking at you as you slowly start to breathe normally. “Come with me” she leads you off in a different direction and you end up outside a large metal door with a big circle handle in the middle, like the ones you would find on a submarine. Above the door are three clocks. One shows the current time and the other two are labelled as sunrise and sunset.

Zoe opens a small window in the door and takes a quick look inside before gesturing for you to have a look. You peer through the window and there he is, the man you now know to be a centuries old vampire. Count Dracula.

He is stood in the middle of a large glass box, looking rather confused at the toilet that is in there with him. Around the room multiple armed guards are placed, all closely watching his every move.

“You see? He is contained, there is nothing to worry about.” Zoe reassures and you let out a small sigh of relief. Suddenly Dracula tuns and looks straight at you, lifting his hand to wave as he smiles charmingly. You take step away from the window and look at Zoe.

“Does this mean I can go home now? If he’s here then I can go right?”

“Well, we would like you to stay. We think you could really help us. But we can’t force you to do anything you don't want to do”

You look down for a moment thinking then slowly raise your head to look back at her.

“I want to go home”

Zoe looks slightly disappointed but nods in understanding.

“Okay, I’ll get the driver to take you back. But if you do want to come back at any time, here’s my number” she hands you a small piece of paper with her number on and you put it in your pocket.

— — — —

The car pulls up outside your home and you thank the driver before getting out and heading straight to your door. As you take your keys from your pocket and unlock the front door you take a look back at the village. It’s evening now so from the top of the hill all you can see is a sea of lights in the darkness. You head inside and crash down onto the sofa. You're exhausted. Then you remember Maggie and you go to grab your phone but remember you left it in your bag which is still behind the counter in the bakery. You groan and stand up, pulling your coat and shoes back on and leaving the house.

After the day you’ve had a walk in the fresh evening air actually feels really good. You reach the bakery and pull your key out which thankfully you kept attached to your house keys which you always kept in your coat pocket. You find your bag exactly where you left it and pull out your phone. 51 missed calls and a whole lot more messages, mostly from Maggie. She must be worried sick. You close up the bakery again and begin your walk back home, typing a text message as you walk.

‘Hi Maggie, I’m so sorry about this afternoon and I’m even more sorry that I made you worry. I’m okay. I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow once I’ve had a good sleep. Love you xxx’

As you're about to send the message your phone starts ringing, the caller ID is a number you don't recognise so you decline the call. Almost immediately it rings again, so you decline again. Your phone rings for a third time and you decide to answer just to get them to leave you alone but before you say anything you hear Zoe’s voice on the other end.

“Y/N! Where are you right now? Are you in your house?”

“No I’m walking home now, I had to head back to work to get my phone-“

“Get home right now and don't answer the door, do not invite anyone in. Do you understand?” She interrupts, sounding worried.

“Yes… but why? What’s happening?” You ask and you can hear shouting in the background, Zoe doesn’t respond. “Zoe? Whats going on?”

“He’s out. Count Dracula we let him go.”

Your heart drops to your stomach and you begin walking faster.

“His lawyer showed up and threatened us, we had no choice”

“his lawyer?” You question but she ignores you.

“Just get home now. I’m on my way to you” she hangs up the phone and you stick it back in your pocket, again picking up your speed while also trying to remain as calm as possible. But you cant help but feel on edge, the hairs on the back of your next standing up as every little noise and shadow makes you jump.

You swear you can hear footsteps behind you but every time you turn around nothing is there. You walk even faster. You hear a noise behind you and glance over your shoulder as you begin running. Then bang. You run into someone and hear a glass smash.

“you should watch where you're going” the bloke slurs. You try to just push past him and carry on running but he holds you in place “where do you think you're going, you owe me a drink” and leans in close. You can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Look I’m sorry about the drink but I really need to go” you break free but he grabs your wrist, pulling you into the dark alley next to the pub “Get off me!” You protest and he pushes you hard against the brick wall, his booze drenched body pinning you in place as the back of your head starts to throb from the impact.

“You owe me for that drink”

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow I promise-”

“I can think of a way you can pay me back right now” he presses his disgusting mouth against yours and you try your hardest to push him away but he’s at least twice your size. His hands wonder and he starts lifting your top up.

You lift your knee up to make direct contact with his balls and he stumbles back in pain, clutching himself as he doubles over. You take this opportunity to make a run for it but he grabs your arm just before you’re free.

“You're gonna regret that, bitch!” He spits, pulling you back to him.

“Actually…” a familiar voice interrupt “you're the one who’s going to regret your actions”

In a flash of movement Dracula is stood behind the drunk holding him still as he releases his grip on your arm “then again, you're not to be alive long enough to regret anything” he swishes his hand across the man’s neck and blood behind to pour out. You jump backwards in shock. Dracula releases him and he slumps to the floor, his eyes fixed on you as he bleeds out. Dracula starts to walk towards you and you try to run but you trip and fall to the floor, banging your head once again. You roll onto your side, clutching your head with your hand and groaning in pain. In your blurry vision you see Dracula slowly approach you before crouching down so he’s close to you.

“Don't worry Y/N, I’ll take care of you”

Part Four

Taglist: @agent-smulder @kandomeresbitch @a-dorky-book-keeper

#dracula #bbc Dracula #Dracula bbc #dracula netlifx #Claes Bang dracula #dracula imagine #dracula fanfic #Dracula x reader #Claes Bang x reader #Claes Bang imagine #Claes Bang fanfic

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littlespaceporgs · 3 years

Text

The Clone Wars Reacts - Part 5

Or Leah loses her shit at Jar Jar, thirsts for Aayla Secura for an episode and a half, and then swoons for Riyo Chuchi.

Welcome once more to the Reacts series! I’m a busy woman for now but I am setting up a schedule for this series which will be

Today we’re covering episodes 12, 13, 14 and BONUS! 15. This is because I got super bored during episode 14 and basically didnt write anything so, here you go! As per usual, major spoiler alert for season 1 of the clone wars! If you haven’t read the previous parts to this series, I suggest you do so that you can follow along!

Part 1 - Episodes 1 and 2 Part 2 - Episodes 3, 4 and 5 Part 3 - Episodes 6, 7 and 8 Part 4 - Episodes 9, 10 and 11

Tags (if you want to join, my taglist can be found on my page!): @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @girlvader @simping-for-fives @littlevodika @hounding-around @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @onabouteverything @acciokenobi @catsnkooks @captainrexstan @roseofalderaan @fractiouskat

We’re well past the half-way point, so there is 2 parts left of season 1, and then onto season 2! So lets get into it!

Episode 12: The Gungan General

> heheheheheheheh jar jar I am KEEN

> I get hondo and jar jar in one episode

>> this’ll be funny

>>> actually no scratch that, this is gonna be hilarious

> oh and they woke up in a cell this will be fun

> HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA AND THEYRE BOUND TO DOOKU

> DISASTER I TELL YOU

> “if I keep my mouth shut you’ll devise a plan so get off the god forsaken planet?” “YES”

> this dude seems traitorous as fuck (im referring to one of the pirates, not dooku shockingly)

> I wish Ahsoka and Yoda were in this too, I want more disaster lineage

> ah he is indeed a traitor

> “HEIDY HO CHANCELLOR”

> JAR JAR WHOO

> “stop messing around, we’re landing. Secure yourself” “MESA TRYING ITS STUCK”

> promptly followed by jar jar falling everywhere

> oh and now he’s in the cockpit

> oh shit that senator guy is definitely dead right?

> “do control tour protégées insolence” “anakin, control your insolence, the count is concentrating”

> “do we know where we’re going?” “Ssh anakin” “DO we know where we’re going?”

> is it safe? Of course it i- riiiiiight

>> I forgot this was the clone wars for a second, this is gold

> FRIENDS DONT DRUG FRIENDS HONDO

> y’know, dooku’s quite amusing when he’s not trying to kill my favourite characters

> “are you now in command” “uh no, binks is the highest ranking” ooooohhhh boy

> ooooooohhhh and some mind tricks too, nice

> I hate to say this, but jar jar is actually smart

> holy shit

> beasties are nearby too, we’ll be fine. they run, we run

>> Dayum jar jar actually making good decisions?

> I present a real and accurate image of my reaction to this statement

> Mesa be having an idea oooohhh booooyyy

> obi wan that is no way to speak to your grandmaster

> be patient master the count is elderly and doesn’t move like he used to

> I would kill you both now if I didn’t have to drag your bodies

>> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH this is the only reaction I’ll accept

> then falling all over each other is the only thing I’ve ever needed to see

> “ this is not going well” no shit

> my question is why did obi wan not drop Dooku?? Does he actually still care about this man?

> you’re right, I don’t think youre going to be friends 🤦‍♀️😂

> sneaky lying snake

> bruh they don’t even know you’ve got the Jedi captive??????????

>> so how does that work you dumbass

> no shit, you will look like fools obi wan

> “there be some bombad clankers” 😂😂

>> “huh YOURE right, bombad clankers” I love the shock

> YOURE RIGHT HE IS SMARTER THAN HE LOOKS, GIVE JARJAR SOME CREDIT

> oh boy anakin, just keep your mouth shut genius

> man electrocution doesn’t look like fun

> HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAH

> The next few lines of confused joy are me reacting to jar jar somehow single handedly taking out 3 tanks

> what the fuck

> JarJar I I’m what-

> JUST DID A GOOD THING, I DONT REGERT THIS THING AT ALLLLLLLL

> fuckin JarJar was great

> “KILL HIM HES NOT A REPRESENTATIVE, HES A PLAGUE” I’m ded 💀😢💀

> serves you right you snake, now dooku gonna choke your ass

> oooohhhhh that’s how these two twits (hondo and obi-wan) became friends

> “and... he knows where you live” Oof the subtle threat is real

> hem I love obi wan very much and his sarcasm

Episode 13: Jedi crash

> I JUST SAW AAYLA I AM EXCITED I AM ALSO ATTRACTED TO HER VERY MUCH

> SHES HOT

> I LOVE HER

> AND HER VOICE JUST MAKES ME ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

> I wish I was bly, not gonna lie

> I have a quick question - the 501st colour is blue right? Then why do they have a gold squad, doesn’t the extra colours just confuse things?

> I love seeing anakin and Ahsoka in action coolest thing to watch

> And anakin

>> I am also quite attracted to him

>>> imagine dragging your hands through that hair as he- wait no I have minors in my followers not gonna finish that

> Uh oh

>> Oh anakin you twit

>>> HE LOCKED HOMSELF IN WITH AN EXPLOSION JDGKJDJFKFKFKFKFF

> HES INSANE

> Are all Jedi so reckless? Just the good ones - love this by the way

> Oooohh shit for a STAR

> I mean like? I know anakin doesn’t die, but this shit is concerning

> Perfected the art of destroying ships and getting master almost killed? Sounds familiar

> I hate it when they just call them “padawan “ it just feels very impersonal like bleh

> Like I love aayla but god the Jedi preach some bullshit

>> God forbid someone raises a child and gets attached to it

>>> Like for fucks sake

>>>> Can you tell this is something I’m passionate about?

> Anyway, moving on

> Oh hi anakin! You’re alive!

> That bird lookin thing is tryna eat my boy 😤

> Oop - well that dudes dead

> Aawwwwwww aayla looks so sad, this makes me sad too

> Can we just appreciate this?

> Well these little critters are cute

> Ooooohhh I think I agree with this little dude

> You can skip the paragraph if you like, its just me going off about ‘peacekeeping’

> Alright gonna get mildly into it for a second, the clone wars really gets into it with episodes like this, displaying how the entire galaxy was starting to lose faith in the Jedi and their peacekeeping ways, in the movies we just got that people just started hating the Jedi because they became part of the war, but this really fleshes it out and shows just how slowly and gradually the loss of faith is. Because he’s right, the Jedi aren’t peacekeepers anymore, they bring as much destruction with them that the separatists do and have become symbols of war. They’re fighting for a good reason yes, but they can no longer claim that they are peacekeepers or that they played no role in this war.

> ANYWAY BACK TO REACTS

> AH MY TWO FAVOURITE WOMEN AND A PRETTY BACKGROUND AGAIN!! They really do be doing me a great service

Part 14: Defenders of Peace

> I’m really not into this episode, just saying it now

> Anakins just as bad as obi wan, like honestly just chill bro, fucking REST

>> MY BOYS DESERVE SOME GODDAMN REST AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL OK-

> Okay but is it taking a life if it’s a droid?

> Ugh this dudes ugly as fuck

> What did you think was gonna happen?? Of course your village was going to be ransacked

> I could go on forever about the pointlessness of this war like it just makes me mad palpatine you slimy git-

> My reacts this episode are really boring huh, I’m not into it 😭

*fully I didn’t write anything for about 10 minutes here because it’s just a little boring*

> HOLY SHIT NOW THATS A FUCKING WEAPON

> Yep sorry that’s it for this ep, I’m so bored 😂

>> Anyway, bonus episode because that one was short!

Part 15: Trespass

> YES OBIWAN WOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO

> AND IS THAT RIYO CHUCHI I SPY?????

> Hahahahahahahhahahaha it’s not tatooine, you got that right

> Oh god this dude already sounds like a dick (its the chancellor dude but not palpatine)

> Why’s he so defensive over it?

> Oh yikes, that does not look good

> Seppies don’t do that though - this is... odd

> Ah and the same thing has been done to the droids

> Off topic, but I think I’m going to make a clone wars drinking game that I can do while I do my reacts, so I’m going to make that this week, send me your ideas in the comments or dm me!

> Back to ep - pfffffffttt obi wans little taps and then anakin really goes WHACK

> Anyway I’m going to do this in the next couple days and then every Friday night I’ll watch a few eps and drink away

> Alright back to the episode once more

> Abominable snowman????

>> Definitely

> This is gonna go well isn’t it?

> “Well? Say something”

>> “Just shut up” *visible eye roll*

> What the fuck is their mouth

> Okay really obi wan, I think it’s pretty clear they don’t speak basic

> YEEEEEEAAAHHH THATS MY BOI ANAKIN

> Awwwwwwww that shits cute, fucking bear huugggg I want to be hugged like that

> I’m not fussed if it’s anakin, obi wan or kit fisto but please someone love me

>> Preferably kit fisto

> Anyway this dudes a dick (again, its the chancellor dude)

> They obviously have intelligence, and this dude has issues

>> I’m thinking he’s trying to compensate for something 👀

> Oof you really gonna tell a Jedi what to do?

> HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA the other people’s were there already

> Ugh he reminds me of my very racist grandparents oh boy

> You’ve been told like 4 times that it is not your jurisdiction anymore and you still can’t take it?

>> BRUH

> She’s so tiny and adorable and her voice is just 🥰🥰🥰🥰

>> Oh no

>>> I’m simping for another character

> Surely this guy dies

> HAHAHAHAHAH HE JUST GOT SPEARED SERVES YOU RIGHT MOTHERFUCKER

> What a dick, he shall not be missed

> She’s just, so pretty??? And smart????

>> FUCK MY BISEXUAL ASS CANT HANDLE THIS

> he’s seriously not dead yet?

> AAAHH RIYO YOU SMART GIRL YEEEEESSSS NEGOTIATE THAT PEEEEAAACCEEEE

> THATS MY GIRL SENATOR CHUCHI YEEEESSS

Welp that’s it for today folks, it was lovely, see y’all at some point this week where I say the drinking game rules and then next drunken Friday (even though these are gonna be released on saturdays but I write them on fridays?)

#the clone wars #tcw #the clone wars reacts #reacts series #star wars ahsoka #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #kit fisto #riyo chuchi #jar jar binks #basically a leah simp fest #fucking sigh #it took one (1) ep for me to simp

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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 5 summary: Ivar and Aldreda’s new agreement is put to the test.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1860

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare (let me know if you’d like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 5: Your stupid bread god

Some weeks had passed since the wedding and Ragnar’s departure, and Aethelwulf had to admit that although the situation with his daughter was far from ideal, things had not gone disastrously so far. They had settled into something of a routine, with Ivar training daily with Aethelred, playing chess with Alfred, taking meals with the family, and occasionally getting hauled into Ecbert’s library to explain some obscure point about heathen ways. The question of religion was still an issue and there had been no further lessons as Father Wilfred had somewhat suspiciously pleaded illness, but Ivar’s English was quickly improving and he and Aldreda seemed to at least be polite to each other in public, if not exactly friendly.

Though Aethelwulf still didn’t much like the boy and the feeling was obviously mutual, a kind of equilibrium had been reached between them. It was therefore only a matter of time before Ecbert destroyed it.

“The Mercian border has been unsettled of late,” Ecbert noted idly over dinner one evening. “Some light trouble stirred up by an errant cousin of the late Princess Kwenthrith, nothing to be overly concerned about, but best to handle it before it becomes a problem for us. Aethelwulf, you will lead on this.”

He nodded. “Of course, Father.”

Ecbert set down his cup and motioned for the servant to refill it. “I have a mind you should take the boys with you. They should have the opportunity to see the border and learn from your example.”

Judith frowned even as Aethelred and Alfred’s eyes lit up. “They are rather young, aren’t they? It could be dangerous.”

To everyone’s surprise, Ivar spoke up. “My father took my brothers to Paris at their age,” he said. “Now they are strong warriors.”

Ecbert beamed at him. “You see?” he said to Judith. “It will be good training for them. Oh, yes—Ivar should accompany you as well.”

“What? You can’t be serious, Father.” Aethelwulf stared at him in horror. “Aethelred and Alfred, I certainly understand, but…”

“I want to go too,” Aldreda cut in.

He gaped at his daughter. “Absolutely not. As your father, I forbid it.”

“She can come,” Ivar said forcefully. “As her husband, I allow it.”

“You—you—” Aethelwulf sputtered, leaning across the table as Ivar glared back. He knew he needed to control himself, but after weeks of being forced to accept and accommodate this boy, he had finally reached his boiling point. “You don’t get to allow anything. If it were up to me, you would be back among your own kind, far away from civilized people, and far away from my daughter!”

“Enough!” Ecbert snapped, pushing back his chair and standing up. “I want everyone out except my son.”

Ivar looked ready to lunge across the table at Aethelwulf, but then he sat back and actually grinned at him. You little shit, Aethelwulf thought to himself as a pair of guards helped his son-in-law out of the room, trailing behind the others. Once the door was closed, he turned back to his father, who was running his finger around the edge of the cup and gearing up for a lecture that would no doubt begin with I am very disappointed in you, Aethelwulf.

“I am very disappointed in you, Aethelwulf,” Ecbert began. “I suppose I must make myself plain, since you still fail to understand my reasoning. A daughter-in-law is a blessing, for she brings land and wealth when she joins your household, but a son-in-law can become a rival and challenge your own sons. You believe my choice for Aldreda was made out of disrespect, but nothing could be further from the truth. I chose a son-in-law who poses no danger to you, whose family connections strengthen us beyond our own shores. My aim—as it has always been—is to protect all your children and their inheritances.”

“A daughter-in-law is a blessing,” Aethelwulf repeated flatly. “That has certainly been true for you.”

A man with any sense of shame would wince or look away, but Ecbert was not that kind of man. Instead he took another sip of wine and then set the cup down on the table with a thunk. “I tire of this, Aethelwulf,” he said abruptly. “Ivar is your son-in-law, whether you like him or not. If Aldreda can understand this then so can you.”

“Oh, I understand well enough what you have done.” He was practically shouting by now, gripping the edges of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I have suffered this insult, just as I have suffered every insult of yours because you are my father and my king, and you expect me to thank you for it? You force Aldreda into this marriage without my permission, and now you want me to tow this boy and my daughter all over the countryside for the people to laugh at, and I am supposed to be...what? Grateful?”

Ecbert gazed at him coolly, entirely unmoved by the tirade. “I do not expect your gratitude, Aethelwulf. I do expect your obedience, always, just as you would expect obedience from your own children. So, yes, you will go to inspect the Mercian border, and you will take Alfred and Aethelred, and you will take Ivar too, not so that people will laugh but because he is your son-in-law and he should be with you to see it.”

“I will not play nursemaid to this boy.”

“Do you think that is what I am asking you to do?” Ecbert shook his head in amusement. “Bring a carriage. Bring extra servants. Figure it out. You are making this more difficult than it has to be.”

“And my daughter?” he said desperately. “Surely you will not permit this. It is far too dangerous for her.”

“Ah, well.” His father gave him a sympathetic look. “It is not an idea that would have occurred to me, but...the boy is her husband, after all, and if he allows it, then that is his prerogative. I am sorry to say that your authority as a father only extends so far.”

“Fine,” Aethelwulf snapped. “But rest assured, should any of my children be harmed because of this ill-advised adventure, it will be on your conscience, not mine.”

“I have every confidence in your ability to keep them safe,” Ecbert said blandly. With the lecture finished, he leaned back and gave Aethelwulf a satisfied smile that was oddly reminiscent of someone else. “You may go.”

“I think you’re enjoying this, Father.”

Ecbert chuckled. “Oh, I haven’t had this much entertainment in years.”

***

The carriage ride to Mercia was bumpy and uncomfortable, but Ivar had to admit that it was a much faster method of travel than crawling or getting carried by his father. He glanced over at Aldreda, seated across from him. She had pulled back the curtain and was watching the scenery go by, but dropped it when she noticed him looking at her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “This is what we agreed to. So I am holding up my end of the deal, that’s all. I don’t know why you wanted to go to Mercia, though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She raised the curtain again, toying a little with her necklace. She didn’t bother trying to make further conversation, which was fine with him.

For a little while, at least. Then he started getting bored. They had already been traveling for several hours with nothing to do, and there was something he had been meaning to ask about anyway. “So...your god is made of bread?”

She dropped the curtain and frowned. “What?”

“You eat him, right? Is that so you can take some of his power?”

“You mean...the Eucharist?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

She gave him a bemused smile. “During the Last Supper, Christ broke bread and shared wine with His disciples, saying: ‘This is my body, which is given for you’ and ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you’,” she explained. “Therefore, when the priest consecrates the bread and wine, it becomes the flesh and blood of Christ.”

“So your god is made of bread and you eat him,” Ivar concluded. “Ridiculous.”

Aldreda looked irritated. “Well, you don’t have to believe it,” she shot back. “Just like I don’t have to believe your silly tales of how your dead warriors go feast with Odin and then go out and kill each other again every night. That sounds so dull. Why would anybody want to go there after they die?”

He stared at her in outrage. “At least Valhalla is real, unlike your stupid bread god.”

“Oh, so now my god is stupid?” She flopped back in her seat and groaned. “I can’t believe my grandfather married me to a heathen. What did I do to deserve this?”

Ivar snapped, “Well, at least your grandfather didn’t take you to a strange country while promising some grand adventure, marry you off, and then leave!”

Aldreda looked taken aback by his outburst and fell silent. He suddenly had the urge to throw something, but there was nothing at hand, because he was in a stupid carriage headed to Mercia with his wife and her stupid family.

He had a wild thought for a moment of himself slipping away from the group after dark and somehow talking his way onto a ship bound for Kattegat. He would just have to crawl through the forests without getting lost or starving to death, scrape together enough gold to pay a captain who didn’t mind risking treason, and avoid either getting killed or caught and sent back to the palace in humiliation. If he made it home—and that was a big if—gods, his father would be furious. Abandoning the marriage would doom the trade agreement and risk war. He would have to come up with a good lie. He certainly wasn’t about to tell them the truth. But at least his mother would ensure that he would not be sent back to Wessex.

It was too far in the future to think about what he would tell people when he got to Kattegat, though. And as impatient as he was to get away from these people, he knew his odds of surviving the woods of Mercia on his own were very, very low. He would have to wait until after they returned to Ecbert’s palace in Wessex and prepare a better plan. He needed to play along with Aldreda and try not to make fun of her bread god.

“Sorry,” he mumbled somewhat grudgingly. “I shouldn’t make fun of your bread god.”

She gave him a suspicious look, but then she gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment. “I’m sorry I said Valhalla was boring. But at least I didn’t eat a page from a prayer book.”

He wanted to offer up some devastating retort, but he couldn’t think of anything. After all, he had eaten that page. Evidently word had gotten around. So he said nothing and Aldreda went back to looking out the window. They didn’t speak again for the rest of the day.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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