#a burden again as they are forced to repair him and look after him through recovery)

[ratwithhands]

Fun fact I used to consume a lot of Land of the Lustrous stuff.

Anyways this is one of my many Land of the Lustrous OCs, Vivianite. Mohs hardness of 1.5, dark green/blue in colour, and very old. Due to the nature of his weak composition, Vivianite can't actually do much of anything, and has had to live under very specific conditions.

Vivianite wears a tight full body uniform to hold any chipped pieces in place, and is kept in a box stuffed with loose cloth to ensure minimal damage. If he comes into contact with light, he begins to oxidize and darken, so he's kept in a windowless room with curtains over the entrance.

That's all to say he's isolated and bored. He spends much of his time inactive, but he'll jump at the opportunity for conversation if there's someone around. Certain gems visit him to chat, get guidance, or give him the recent news. A task given to some gems is to clear his room of dust, and maybe bring him some books if he's up for it.

Vivian sees himself as an older sibling/friend to many of the other gems, and as such he's very keen on providing a listening ear and giving advice where possible to those who need it. He's essentially emotional support in a can.

Other notes/details:

not all gems know Vivian exists! He's hidden away so most gems wouldn't see him unless they were actively looking for him. A lot of the older ones know about him, but the younger ones don't

Rutile is endlessly tired of having to glue him back together so often due to his softness, which is part of why he has a tighter uniform to keep all his broken pieces in place

Vivian struggles with walking, he tends to be slow and stumbly

the tanks in Vivian's room are for jellyfish. Gems who are sent to clean his room have to switch out the jellyfish too. They're there to provide a faint light source so he doesn't go completely inactive

Vivian, despite living in a box in the dark, has a lot of technical knowledge about things as a result of millennia of going through the library collection. He' a living encyclopedia and can usually offer some answers if a gem has questions on a particular subject

his internal structure is basically a lot of shards stuck together like fibers, so he does minor repairs on himself by affixing strands of his hair into empty spots. He's had his fingers repaired and replaced this way often

In the few instances where Vivian has gone outside, he has an abnormally high amount of energy as a result of his inclusions being able to work at full capacity in the light

If I remember anything else I'll add it, anyways have a good day!

#houseki no kuni #hnk #land of the lustrous #hnk fanart #hnk oc #hnk bort #not mentioned in the main post but shit man Vivianite wants to perish 😭 #he's always felt like a burden as a result of his weak body‚ if it weren't for the fact he can't walk outside #he would've thrown himself into the sea to never rise again #he'd always asked Sensei if there was a way he could get stronger‚ and that's partly why he read so much in hopes to find a cure #when he heard about Phos' body getting replaced‚ he was both distraught and excited‚ because he felt so bad for Phos #but this was a way for him to become greater‚ if only he could just figure out how to guarantee it'd work (because otherwise he'd be #a burden again as they are forced to repair him and look after him through recovery) #that's also why he likes to talk with people; he can serve and assist others that way‚ he's trying to compensate for his lacking strength #tl;dr Vivianite is horrifically weak and makes up for it with his heart and mind in order to feel less bad about not being able to do more #also (unrelated) he tends to be touchy and holds people's hands/faces/hair a lot. He does this knowing the risk and he couldn't care less #also also‚ he has weird inclusions. What makes them odd is the fact that he can move them around and concentrate them in different areas #he's stiff cause he keep most of his inclusions packed in his torso‚ not his limbs. This also ensures he doesn't lose anything #by touching something and having his fingers (inevitably) flake apart #There's more but I'll save that for later. Good day ^^

[readychilledwine]

Lost Bonds pt 3

Summary - After the second war, an unexpected bond with Y/n Archeron, and repairing all he's lost, Tamlin is shocked with news from the very female Rhys has been protecting from him.

Warnings- alcohol use, implied affair,implied smut, sex magic/sex pollen

A/n- Everything will be explained to y/n and wrapped in a mostly pretty bow in Part 4 on Tuesday 💚

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 4

Tamlin sat in silence, nursing hard alcohol as Rhys reappeared before him hours later. “It explains a lot,” Rhysand said softly as he sat. Tamlin pushed the Winter Court Scotch Rhysand's way. “I swear we didn't know, Tamlin.”

“So Feyre admitted it?” Rhys nodded, staring into the bonfire Tamlin had going. “She's not truly happy anymore, Rhys.”

“We know. She hasn't been happy since she watched Cassian and Nesta fall in love and their mating bond grow, then Lucien and Elain, then Amren and Varian, Eris and his wife. Mor and Emerie.” The High Lord threw back a heavy drink. “Then Azriel found his mate. And now she feels like she's an obstacle to his happiness, he feels she's a burden but refuses to let her go. He wants both."

Tamlin hummed, ignoring the flaring anger at the idea of his mate being treated like a second choice, like a burden. “How did she end up in Spring?”

Rhys sighed and looked down. “She wanted to get away from Azriel. They had gotten into a fight while he was training her. She wanted to go somewhere she'd be loved and safe unconditionally.”

Rhys paused, eyes locked on the stars. “It's funny, you know, Feyre painted their dresser drawers to fit their personalities and they've predicted their mates too.” He drank heavily again, eyes watering slightly. “Feyre painted the night sky on hers and became the stars eternal. Nesta's was bathed in flames so red the closest match we could find to recreate the dresser was Cassian's siphons, and we watched that scene during the war with that so called God, silver flames blazing and reflecting the red of my brother's armor. Elain's danced with sunlight and flowers. Her and Lucien the heir of the fucking Day Court,” Tamlin couldn't help the laugh that came with that sentence, nor could Rhys. “They live in Helion's largest garden in a cabin.”

“And y/n?” 

“A raging storm and blooming trees.” 

“And yet you all keep her there. Where she isn't destined by the Mother to be and where she is screaming for freedom.”

“Feyre isn't prepared to forgive nor forget.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes, purposely pushing every moment he had done something to make up for what he had done into Rhysand's mind. “I believe I have more than atoned for my sins against the female that started this all on a lie. The female who ended my curse should have been my mate, Rhys. That's why I fought so hard. Why I protected her even if my methods were ideas from my father and blind trauma. Did you not explain that to her?"

Rhys avoided answering, torn between the part of him that knew Tamlin was correct and the mating bond screaming to protect and defend inside of him. “I'll start sending her to you as an emissary. If the bond snaps on her end, we go from there. And Tamlin,” the High lord took his former friend's chin into his face. “Be grateful. Be grateful you didn't hear y/n's neck snap, that you didn't watch her be tortured for 3 months. That-”

“I watched the woman I loved go through all of that. Then I watched my mate be forced into an ancient world creating pot because i trusted the wrong female,” Tamlin took back the Scotch, drinking enough to burn his throat. “I think we understand each other more than you are willing to believe.”

Rhys nodded, looking away. “Y/n likes her bed made with 3 blankets so she can sleep with the window open at all times. She thinks white flowers are the prettiest. She likes chocolate way too much for a normal person.” 

Rhysand's jaw tightened before he continued. “Do you remember how my sister use to scrunch her nose really hard when she was thinking?” 

Tamlin chuckled softly into his hand, picturing her little face so clearly. “Y/n does the same thing.” It was a quiet confession, one that could have came with an apology, but the two of them has accepted the words “I'm sorry” would never be passed between them many years ago. 

“So you've kept her from me because she reminds you of Stella?” Rhys just nodded before winnowing away. 

Tamlin felt his lip twitch when you first appeared two months later. Rhys was either stupid, or fatherhood had made the male forget to look at a calendar. You were here for a 3 day weekend visit to discuss trade between Spring and the Night Court. 

A 3 day weekend that fell on Calanmai. Tamlin was shaking as he led you to the chambers he had built just for you. Chambers his Lady would reside in when or if they were choosing to sleep in separate beds. 

He realized he would have to keep you in the manor tonight, but excluding a guest from a court's most important holiday was considered a major offense. He thought about calling for Rhys, calling to remind him what today was, but he knew, at least he thought he did, that you would stay inside. It had worked with Feyre, after all. He had stopped searching for her when she wasn't easy to get to. Surely it would be the same for you. The magic would switch and call to another. He'd be able to ignore the scent of lilac, gooseberry, and fresh parchment.

He pushed open the door and watched your face with a deep breath held in his chest. “Tamlin, this room is too nice. This is clearly meant for someone with high standing. It's across from yours, I can't-”

“These are guest quarters for a high-ranking guest,” the lie came so smoothly. “You are a high-ranking guest. Get settled. I'll have a handmaid come get you for tea.” He shut the door behind you, going back to preparations and letting the kitchen know he needed tea made. 

Your guest room was fit for a queen, not a guest. A large walk-in closet sat willed with dresses, an island in the middle with drawers for jewelry. A standing mirror with ornate patterns of florals and vines sat unused, untouched. The bed was massive, possibly larger than the one you shared with Azriel, and it had soft satin sage green sheets, a fur throwing blanket lining the foot. 4 posts came off the bed, a light cream colored fabric and curtains creating a canopy and optional privacy. A vanity sat, empty and waiting for its lady to fill it with oils and lotions. 

He had clearly put you in a Lady's quarters. A safe place for her to be away from her husband. Something you had asked Azriel for since his bond with Gwyn snapped, and you two had begun drifting apart. Something he continued to deny you as tensions grew between you two.

You entered the door opposite of the closet and felt your heart begin to dance. The bathroom was stunning. White and grey marbled floors, a sunk in tub large enough for two, accents of that same soft green and gold. It was what the tub overlooked that made your heart truly flutter, though. It overlooked a garden and the forest. Elain would have killed for this view, but instead, you sat on the ground, crossing your legs, and you took it all into yourself. Hogging the moment and soaking in it.

Nightfall came quickly, and Tamlin had warned you of what would come. You had made the choice to stay inside even though a pang of jealousy reared its ugly head.

You had no claim to him. No ownership over his body, his choices. It didn't change the emotion, though, as you laid your hands over the edge of that tub and watched fire make shadows dance across the leaves. 

He had warned you that you may feel tugging, a pull urging you to come outside. He had asked that you ignore it, and Cauldron, you were trying. You were ignoring that growing warmth in your stomach, the haze setting into your mind. You tried to focus on thoughts of the fight you and Azriel would finish when you got home. Of the way you would crawl into a separate bed from your husband as soon as he fell asleep, still smelling like Gwyn. You tried to focus your thoughts on your marriage and how it was slowly crumbling below you after his actions. 

But those tugs were growing stronger, aching in your chest with desire and need. You jumped as the door to your room slammed open, and Tamlin growled. He seemed more beast than fae, mind lost in whatever this ritual had done to him. “Tamlin?”

Your voice shook him enough as he kneeled down in front if you, broad chest exposed and covered in swirling paint. “Y/n,” his voice was strained as he struggled to keep his eyes on your face. “Should have sent you back.” He was grounding out each syllable. “Fucking Rhysand.” 

You felt it again, a harsh tug on your chest before warmth and dedication flowed into your body. You gasped at how close it felt and his eyes grew wide. “You can feel it?”

“Feel what? That tug?”

He nodded almost desperate as he lifted you out of the water and searched for something. He came back with your robe, wrapping you in it before trying to lead you somewhere. “Tamlin, where are we going?”

“The Cave.” His voice wasn't his own, but another tug came. That ancient echo spoke again, making you shiver.. “I won't allow this vessel to settle for less than his mate.” 

His mate. You almost froze, making whatever held Tamlin's body stop and throw you over his shoulder. “Close your eyes, and feel,” it commanded as it walked you out the front door. 

The cave was filled with the sounds of sex, the scent of magic, arousal, sweat. Tamlin laid you on a bed at the center of it, eyes blown with lust. You felt it then, that string binding your souls, holding you together like missing pieces to a puzzle. He was himself again now, looking down at you with hesitation. “I will let you go if you ask, little rose.”

Your body was humming, mind lost as your eyes began to water staring into his. “It's just mindless sex,” you repeated words you'd heard since Azriel's bond snapped. “It means nothing to you.”

Tamlin's brow knit, those green eyes aching with sorrow for you. “It means everything. You mean everything to me," and he crashed his lips down onto yours.

General Taglist:

Lost Bonds Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish

@impossibelle @fxckmiup @applerubyy @awkardnerd @sleepylunarwolf @macimads @esposadomd @stormhearty

#acotar #acotar x reader #tamlin #tamlin x reader #tamlin x y/n #tamlin x you #tamlin acotar

[alabyte]

«Promise me»

They knew what the chips were made for. And they knew something was wrong with Crosshair. AU, where Bad Batch were able to escape Kamino in full after Order 66, but the chip issue remained unresolved.

Word count: 1 683 Warnings: angst, implied character death, implied fratricide, severe emotional distress, Tix was trying to cope with S2 finale Together with @heksahela

The ruins of the old, abandoned base rattled with metal, creaked and howled with the damp whistle of the wind, bringing snow into the crevices of the corroded walls. The two sat in the darkness of the flimsy shelter.

— According to my preliminary calculations, we'll be in a more stable condition by the end of this rotation, which means we'll be able to get to the main facility. — Tech's voice sounded almost mundane, echoing off the metal walls and interrupting the crackling of the small fire. — We have to prepare, take the necessary resources and tools, but we'll have to go light. Until then, your helmet needs repairing.

The collapse in the sector they were exploring took them by surprise and forced them to change their mission plan on the fly. Hunter, Wrecker, Omega, and Echo, as those who had managed to get out without major injuries, went on a reconnaissance mission. In the snow, they were to find the entrance to the complex they had been unable to reach. And the two of them, injured and frozen, were left here to nurse their wounds. Dislocated joints, broken bones, bruises — at a time when the twins should have been more of a burden and a hindrance to the group, they had nothing to do but wait and replay thoughts that made them anxious, bitter, and almost nauseous. The cold and howling of the blizzard reminded them too much of Kaller.

To Tech's usual monotonous monologue about their plan for the future, the sniper just nodded a few times and stared blankly somewhere in front of him. He looked lost, not even thoughtful — as if he was lost in his own head, aimlessly twisting his helmet in his healthy, unstrapped hand and feeling its surface. There was an impact dent here, a few scratches and chipped paint there, and the visor dangled almost lifelessly somewhere in the mount. Crosshair doesn't immediately notice that his brother has offered (or insisted) on helping to fix it, but then, with some delay, he nods again and passes the helmet into the other man's hands. For a few seconds there is silence in their empty base. It was either embarrassing or oppressive.

— Tech.

One of them almost jerks when the silence is broken by Crosshair's voice. For all his taciturnity, it wasn't hard to notice when his silence became strained, almost tortured — especially considering there had been reasons for it in the last few rotations.

— I need you to promise me something.

Tech looked at his brother expectantly, studying and somewhat concerned, without lifting his head. So much so that he even stopped his repairs.

— I can't promise you anything, — the intelligent clone objected in his usual tone, though it was noticeable how the intonation had changed to a more ingratiating and cautious one, — Not until I know exactly what the request is.

Crosshair's choice of words was painful, difficult, unfamiliar to him. Normally he didn't have to search his own mind to find a clear and often witty answer, but now he needed every fiber of his being that wasn't occupied by the aching pain of the fracture and the swirling pack of thoughts that kept him busy. It was proving more difficult than he would have liked. It was noticeably alarming.

— If something goes wrong, — Sniper's voice was slightly hoarse, as if the words were sticking to the walls of his throat and getting stuck halfway down it. And so it happened — he stopped speaking halfway through, pressed his lips together and frowned, looking down at his feet. He had one last chance to turn this into a joke, to brush it off and pretend he was just worried about their new mission. But he wasn't even worried about going to the surface if they risked not coming back. From the first day he'd learned about the chips, he hadn't been able to escape the idea that he was a wild animal with a faulty shock collar — that he was a danger not so much to himself as to everyone around him.

In general, he didn't care about almost anyone around him. But the thought of any incident affecting his brothers — his family — was devastating. It made him want to bury himself in the snow and never come out.

— Do what needs to be done. — Sniper finally finished his sentence and lifted his gaze to his brother — hard, serious, almost pleading. There was not a shadow of the usual sneer, not a hint of sarcasm or joke to be seen. — Everything that must be done to protect the others.

He rubbed one temple with his fingers, pensive and tense, as if trying to feel the damn chip through his skin, skull and brain membranes. His head hurt more than ever after the crash. He wanted to believe it was a concussion.

— Please.

Tech didn't answer right away. He stared silently into Crosshair's eyes, trying to see a shadow of sarcasm there, or at least his usual sneer. Nothing, just the realization that there was a time bomb in his head and every second could be the last time he would make his own decisions. They had reason to believe that something was wrong. They both realized that.

— I… — He started to speak, but stumbled over his own words, leaving them unspoken. Clone closed his eyes and bowed his head, adjusting his glasses. — I understand why you ask, but I don't agree. We'll take care of the chips. I promise. But I… — It took him a moment to find the right words.

A long time ago, when they were still cadets, Tech had suggested that the squad develop internal protocols for various situations. At first these were situations they had encountered as cadets, then these protocols, which they eventually called plans, evolved into their missions, which they had successfully completed time and time again. They used many plans and solutions that only they understood, but there were also those, just a few, that they hoped never to have to use.

And now, without speaking directly, Crosshair was asking him, in case he lost control, to turn to something that none of the squad ever wanted to think about. And to be honest, they didn't have a plan for situations like this, because none of them had even considered the possibility of such events.

— I'll do my best, Crosshair.

The sniper could only wipe his face with his fingers, shaking his head slightly. As much as he wanted to deny it, there was no one else Crosshair could ask. He trusted them all. But he trusted Tech more than anyone, knowing that he wouldn't put fear of loss before saving his brothers.

— Tech, — The words about how they were sure to handle everything made him want to chuckle ironically. It was a necessary self-deception, but so irrational that he couldn't even believe it was Tech who had uttered that line of reasoning, — We're not going to be able to figure it out. We're stuck here.

The truth was bitter but factual. They were stuck on a snowy planet in the ruins of an abandoned base, on the run from the Empire, with almost no supplies and no place to go in this galaxy, and in the mind of at least one of them was a ticking time bomb counting down the rotations, hours, or even minutes until a switch flipped. The switch that would determine whether Crosshair or CT-9904 was with them. Tech fixes his gaze on the osprey mechanism of his brother's helmet, trying to hide in repair from the brutal truth.

— I know you can find a way out of almost any trap, — Sniper shakes his head slightly, nervously fingering the cloth that held his broken forearm around his neck with the fingers of his healthy hand, — but there may be no way out of this one. It's a dead end. We don't know if we have time.

He could trust Tech. He knew he would put the team ahead of emotions or sentimental attachments - even if it had to be done the hard way. Even if it cost someone's life.

— It won't be me anymore anyway, — Cross exhaled, lowering his gaze to the frozen metal floor, — There's no point in feeling sorry for him.

Every second of silence echoed in Tech's mind. They were both silent for as long as it took each of them to find the words to tell the other more in thought than they could say out loud.

Tech couldn't maintain eye contact for long and eventually turned back to Cross' helmet. He disassembled the visor, perhaps held in place only by the Force, repaired it, adjusted it, and put it back on, replacing the mount with a suitable part he had found earlier. He checked the settings once more with the datapad, and only when he was sure that everything was working properly did he hand the helmet back to the sniper with a brief nod. In that nod, a perfectly tiny and imperceptible gesture, was the gravity of acceptance. He had been trusted, and the price of that trust was that he would kill someone who had been at his side all his life, since his earliest days, if circumstances demanded it.

If it's best for everyone. If it suddenly turns out that death for his brother would be a more humane release than being locked in his own head while the blood of his own family is spilled by his own hands.

Crosshair picks up his helmet in silence. Until the others return, the whistling of the blizzard is the only sound that breaks the silence of the shelter, and the sniper utters only one thing:

— Thank you.

It echoes like a blaster shot in the snowy desert at the forgotten compound. It leaves bloody streaks in the snow, scarlet furrows and a scattering of droplets. It remains the last thing Tech ever hears from someone who was once his brother.

The barely audible «thank you» became the unbearable cost of a promise he had to keep.

______________________________________________________________

I thought it was going to be a couple line note BUT WHATEVER. @clownery-and-fuckery you thought I was bluffing? I wasn't. That's our ultimate Fuck-up AU.

#turn “burying the dead” on for the best immersion effect #had to find those collages for this one #and re-read our RP from last spring #boy was I howling over it. boy was I crying. #crosshair tbb #tech tbb #tbb #the bad batch #they are twins ur honor #batch twins #tech #crosshair #star wars #sw

[actual-bill-potts]

i just read your finrod-re-embodiment prompt fill and I'm having all the emotions </3 (loved it a lot, I will re-read this so often, I already know that!)

For another Finrod-related prompt: anything about his friendship with Turgon, maybe?

(I'm very partial to any "Finrod survives and is brought to Gondolin for some reason"-aus, if you need more incentive, but I'd be happy about anything! From fluffy early childhood in Valinor days, to "where did my best friend vanish to I miss him"-angst.)

-finnritter

Turgon had once loved the Eagles of Beleriand: the hope they represented, the promise that the Noldor were not completely abandoned by the Valar. He still trusted them, and honored them for their help. But ever since they had come bearing his father's body, he could no longer feel joy at their coming. His father's chest had been crushed in; blood had encrusted his mouth and run down his neck; the bones of his legs had been shattered beyond repair. His death must have been agony.

Nothing would ever erase the sight from his mind, and no matter how he tried he could not stop wondering: if you could bear my father away from that battle, why did you wait until he was dead? Perhaps it was a disloyal thought, to the Eagles who had indeed risked much to retrieve his father's body, and to his father who would have been furious to have been ripped from the battle he had chosen; but he did not care.

So when he saw an Eagle circling, and was able to discern a limp body clutched in its claws, his only thought was: not again. And then as the Eagle descended, he caught a white-gold flash of hair and began running for the hill-top on which they customarily landed, heedless of his startled guards or the flashes on concerned recognition on the faces of his people. His mind was wiped clean of all but a burning urgency. He was aware of a cresting wave of grief, growing in strength in a corner of his mind - but he would not mourn until he was sure. He would not. He would not.

He reached the top of the hill just seconds after the Eagle landed, his hair blowing back by the wind from its wings. He bowed hastily and then hastened closer.

The Eagle had deposited its burden on the ground, a bloody heap of rags and limbs in disarray. The one ear visible through a tangled mass of dirtied golden hair was cruelly torn.

This was not Finrod. Surely it could not be Finrod. Finrod was motion and laughter, beauty and song, always arrayed in gauze and gems; this Elf had had misery carved into the jagged lines of his bones.

The Eagle bowed its head to him. The Lord of Wolves has suffered a great defeat, it said in rasping Eagle-speech, and left this one behind. We recognized him.

With that it departed, and Turgon with shaking hands reached out and rolled the body onto its back.

The delicate lines of Finrod's face stared back at him, thin and bloodied and so very, very still.

But there is not room for another monument next to Atar's, Turgon thought, miserably and inconsequentially. There was a great scream building in his throat, but he could not let it out. I shall have to find another spot. Perhaps I will have it encrusted with pearls. He would like that. His head was pounding. He could not move. He could not speak.

Footsteps behind him; his retinue had arrived. "My King!" Culúrien in the lead said; then, sounding astonished, "What has happened? Who is that? We must summon the healers! Cyruion, Eruion, go the healers' wing and tell them to come at once to the Eagles' Hill! Go, now!"

The sound of the chosen messengers retreated quickly, but Turgon took no notice. "There is no need, Culúrien," he forced out, "he is dead, do you not see?"

"But he is not dead!" Culúrien exclaimed. "My King, he breathes!"

It could not be. He had prayed for this, when he saw Elenwë's still body, and Aredhel's, and his father's. His prayers had never been answered.

But now he was looking for it, he could see it: the faintest rising and falling of Finrod's chest. His head spun.

But there is so much blood, he thought, how can he be alive?

Finrod's chest continued to rise and fall. Suddenly his hand twitched - Turgon saw with a flash of nausea that it was mangled, the white of bone shining oddly through his palm - and he let out a quiet cry.

Turgon was not entirely aware of having moved, but he was suddenly kneeling at Finrod's side, one hand in his friend's filthy hair.

"It will be all right," he said, like a prayer. "It will be all right. My dear friend, you will be all right."

Finrod's lips moved, soundlessly. Then his eyes opened.

"Turgon...?" he breathed. "There was...an Eagle..."

"Yes," Turgon said, "The Eagle brought you here, to my city. To Gondolin. Here you will be safe. Just - hold on. Don't try to move," he added hastily, seeing Finrod gathering himself as if to sit up.

Finrod stilled, breathing harshly. "Wouldn't...dream of it..." he said.

Behind him, Turgon heard the approaching footsteps. "The healers are here, Finrod," he said gently, and moved to get up.

But Finrod reached out with his undamaged hand, hissing through his teeth as he did so. "Please," he said, voice growing fainter with every word, "Please - don't leave. My friend - I have missed you."

"I won't leave," Turgon said, and meant it. He grasped Finrod's undamaged hand, and held it as the healers lifted Finrod onto a litter and bore him back to the city; as they bandaged his wounds and set his broken bones, and stitched together the deep marks of teeth and claws all over his shoulders and chest; and he was holding Finrod's hand when his friend woke next.

Finrod's smile, now lopsided by a scar that split his upper lip, was still as brilliant as he remembered; and the pressure of his fingers, though thinner and more bare of rings than Turgon had ever seen, was a warm and familiar weight.

"I am relieved," Turgon said, "that I no longer need to order an absurd amount of pearls for your burial mound."

Finrod frowned slightly. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Turgon returned, and laughed. Something within him that had been frozen since his father's death seemed to be cracking open, flooding his chest with light.

He laughed again, because he could. It felt like a miracle.

#turgon #finrod #im sorry finritter this doesnt actually feature that much turgon/finrod interaction #but it's what came to my mind #i hope u like!!! #i may follow up on this at some point cuz i really like the idea #my writing #the silmarillion #silm fic #tysm for the prompt! this was fun to think abt and write #and thanks also for the compliment!!! i am so glad u enjoy my little stories!!

[midnight-moth]

Anything and everything you feel, I am prepared to hurt :))

Here’s some Rain angst. This was hard to write because it was all hard to describe. I guess CW for generally depressing thoughts.

Rain isn’t sure why he feels like this. He’s taking everything the wrong way, it’s all out of context. He knows he’s being irrational but he can’t stop. It’s like the brake lines have been cut.

Every look, every word, every gesture, it feels like a knife. Taking little slices out of him all day long. The way that everyone stopped and looked at him when he accidentally stepped on his own patch cord. Not only did the sound cut out but the deafening screech it made when he brought the cord back up to the input. Forgetting to turn the volume down first.

When Dew slipped on the water he left all over the tiles in the bathroom and wiped out, slamming his knee on the edge of the bathtub. Rain tried to ask finger was okay, but Dew’s eerily quiet response of “yes, just close the door” and the consequent swearing he heard through it confirmed that it absolutely wasn’t okay. Dew had already asked him to use the bathmat “that was literally hanging over the bathtub.” But he forgot.

He knows he’s being too sensitive. But is he? What if that’s what he tells himself and thus doesn’t correct his behaviors adequately. Are his apologies just forcing the burden of forgiveness onto everyone else? Is he even sorry, or does he just want to be absolved if his own guilt.

He decided to lay down, maybe sleep would shut down the intrusive thoughts - that he was irritating everyone with his carelessness, that they were angry with him, that they hated him. Because it was pathetic to ask, and he knew it. So he pulled the blankets over his face and put a pillow on his head and tried to shut out the world.

When he woke up, the room was dark. Immediately his stomach twisted with dread and regret. His tendency to sleep the day away had been remarked upon a number of times. He mistook their concern for criticism. That he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, that he would feel better if he just went outside instead. Fresh air and sunlight would give him what he needed.

But they were really saying why are you so lazy? How can you be so useless? There’s something wrong with you. No one needs that much sleep. And then he looked at his phone. Missed texts. Rain, are you coming? Rain, it’s your turn to help with dinner. Rain, are you sleeping again? Rain, I guess we’ll start without you. Rain, it’s ready. Rain, we left a plate for you on the counter.

He dropped the phone on the floor, like it suddenly burned to hold it. He picked it up and noticed the hairline fracture across the glass. Again. He did it again. So clumsy. This would be the 3rd time. And he wouldn’t ask again, to repair it. He couldn’t bear to see the irritated look on Papa’s face.

He considered leaving the room, to get the food. Because hunger was tying his stomach in even tighter knots. But would they all be there? Watching him sneak past the doorway like a criminal? Because he was embarrassed.

Of sleeping all day, and shirking his responsibilities, and breaking his phone, and causing Dew to get hurt, and not being able to keep time at all after he caused the assault to everyone’s ear drums. And what kind of bassist couldn’t maintain a 4/4 time signature? He was sure he threw everyone off.

Maybe he could just wait here, until everyone went to sleep. But no, they set food aside for him, and he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. They probably already thought he was. Considering that message had arrived almost two hours ago.

He slinks through the hallways like a shadow. He knows which floorboards creak, his feet maneuver around them, a sad little dance he’s rehearsed so many times. The crescendo, slipping past the doorway and hoping no one sees him.

And they don’t, or at least it appears so. No one calls his name. He swears he feels eyes on him anyway. He watches the cool light of the tv dancing on the walls in the hallway. He stands there in the dark, eating cold food with his hand. Too afraid to open the drawer and allow the clattering of cutlery to give him away. He wants to wash the dish, it’s the least he could do. But then he’s be discovered for sure.

He holds his breath as he traverses the expanse of most floorboards again, by the time he reaches his door, his lungs are on fire. And nausea hits him like a sledge hammer to the stomach. He ate too fast. He barely makes it in time.

Now he has something else to be sorry for. He wasted the food he was too useless to help prepare. He knows Dew will come eventually, he doesn’t want to be found. He falls asleep braced between the wall and the tub.

He wakes up to warm hands on his face, a voice pleading with concern. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t deserve it. He just wants to sleep. He allows himself to be led to the bed. He hopes the day doesn’t chase him down in his dreams, but it always does.

#I kind of hate this but I spent time writing it so I guess I’ll post it #have you ever tried to be a shadow? #have you ever snuck around your own house like a criminal? #idk if this is what you meant by angst #tw depression? #midnight moth writes #midnight moth asks #midnight moth answers #cw depression #cw anxiety #cw intrusive thoughts

[addicted-to-dc]

Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader X Dick Grayson/Nightwing- Love Toxin (Part 6/Final)

(A/N): Here’s the final part! I hope to make writing on here a habit again. It was a time where I literally was the most creative. I hope to get back into it. - Iz

Word Count:  1,150

Warning: angst, descriptions of decay/death, etc?? Some fluff?

You awaken to find yourself in some type of grotto, numerous plants surrounding you as you start to brush off the exhaustion gripping onto your mind. Pushing yourself up, you walked around and attempted to figure out where you were. Whispers started to fill your mind, barely discernible as you continued forward. The voices urged you forward, to break down the barrier that you placed against them. You felt sick, something feeling off as you followed the only path you could see.

The ground felt so soft against your bare feet, the grass and soil providing comfort as your hazy mind forced you to keep walking. Within a few minutes, you pushed past the first barrier, an alarming amount of weight lifting from your shoulders. It was like you were walking on the sun before, the pressure that was keeping you down exponentially different from what you felt now. Continuing forward, you froze when you saw a figure in the distance. At first, you thought it was Ivy, but as you continued you saw that it was a different familiar face.

“Swamp Thing?” you ask, confusion wracking your brain. “What’s going on?”

“Healing,” he responds, holding out a hand to you. “You must repair your connection to the Green.”

You take his hand, brows furrowing as he gently guides you next to him, “Repair my connection? Ivy was the one who forced this on me, I didn’t ask for it.”

“And it is your responsibility to adapt and endure,” he states, leading you further down the path. “Yes, this was forced upon you, but it will kill you if I try to force it out. It is a burden that you have to accept.”

“I’m too familiar with situations like this,” you mutter, looking back at Swamp Thing. “What if it changes me?”

“It will,” he answers, stopping in front of a glowing gate, “and you must decide how it will.”

He lets go of your hand, stepping back as he gestures to the gate. Fear consumes you as you hesitantly step towards it, a comforting warmth radiating off of it. You push your hand through, slowly stepping forward as the warmth surrounded you. Closing your eyes, you sucked in a breath as the world shifted around you. It felt like the whole environment was tilting, rotating on a broken axis until you fully entered the gate.

Your eyes burst open as you sucked in the air, the adrenaline making your heart feel like it was going to bust open your chest. Looking around, the sight of Swamp Thing calmed you down slightly. You looked down to see that you were connected to the surrounding plant life, what you had experienced only a vision created by the connection. You felt complete, relief flooding your system as you realized that you were okay for the moment.

“Your connection is repaired,” he states, his red eyes staring into your own, “but your connection with Poison Ivy is not completely severed.”

“I see,” you sigh, slightly disappointed by the revelation. “Will I ever be free from her?”

“You are one with the Green, just as she is. There is no way to sever yourself from her,” he replies, standing up. “Come, we must continue to repair your connection before it’s too late.”

He extends out his hand. You reluctantly take it, continuing forward as the environment shifts around you. Plants you’ve never seen before move around your vision, beautiful shapes and colors nearly hypnotizing you until you face… nothing.

It looks like a forest after a fire, everything consumed by the flames and leaving ash behind. Swamp Thing feels your hesitation, kneeling down to your level.

“Do not fear death, it is merely a chance for rebirth and renewal. The Green will always come back even after the worst tragedies,” he explains, guiding you along the path. “You need not fear it.”

The burnt plants crunch below your feet. You look around you, feeling nothing but pain as you pass by the corpses of trees left behind. A small plant catches your attention, causing you to let go of his hand. You wander closer, kneeling down to see the small green leaf poking out of the ground. You smile, giving the plant a loving poke before standing back up.

You turn around to see more plants sprouting from your footsteps. Your eyes wander down to see the very ground you stand on to have grown newer, healthier plants. Swamp Thing smiles and continues down the path.

“What will happen to me after this?” you question him, catching up to his long strides.

He smiles at the question, leading you towards a gap in the ground, “What you choose to happen. You have your duties to your family, but now you have the Green to watch over.”

With a wave of his hand, a bridge forms to cover the gap. You move to follow, but the bridge drops before you can even take a step onto it. You realize that this is a test, to see if you can… use the Green?

You shakily raise a hand, silently begging for the vines to take you to the other side. Nothing happens, but you nearly yelp as a vine wraps around your waist and lifts you across. It gently sets you down before slithering away.

Swamp Thing places a hand on your shoulder, a nod of approval following.

“You are ready, but you must continue to strengthen your bond,” he warns, gesturing to the light only a few steps away. “Your family is waiting for you.”

You happily step forward, reaching out for the light, but you hesitate. Memories of you hurting them resurface, the fear of losing them because of what you’ve become. Tossing your doubts aside, you walk into the light. You walk forward, unsure where exactly you’re going, but your instincts tell you that this is the right way.

Soon enough, you find yourself in the gardens near the Manor. You smile at the sight, closing your eyes and smelling the scent of flowers in the air.

“(Y/N)?”

Your eyes snap open, eyes locking with your family as they slowly approached. Your feet remain still, afraid to move as they approach you. Everyone looks hesitant to close the distance, but Jason and Dick step forward. They both wrap you up in a hug. Then all of the tears finally fall.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, afraid to even wrap your arms around them.

“You’re already forgiven, (Y/N),” Dick says, squeezing you.

“What he said,” Jason chuckles, wrapping his arms around you.

You slowly feel more and more people crowd in on the hug, it’s almost comical with how many join in. Despite everything, at least you know that your family still cares for you. Poison Ivy be damned, you’re going to hold onto this for as long as you can.

#batfam x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader

[goldenavenger02]

I gave my blood, sweat and tears for this

Lloyd processes the events of Crystallized. For @the-writing-trash-panda

'Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. Think of it like a slow flowing stream instead of a rushing waterfall. And again, breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. You've got it now.'

It wasn't hard for Lloyd to follow the advice that Nya had given to him on one of those stormy nights after everything happened with Morro; in fact, her advice was practically a constant in his head these days.

As soon as the monastery was reconstructed, many of the people who had stuck around to help repair it had left and while that had been expected, Lloyd would have been lying if he had said that he didn't want his dad to stay.

He knew that the others wouldn’t understand and he couldn’t even blame them with how much pain his father had caused all six of them since he had been brought back; at the same time, he was just now starting to see that the good in his father was returning with how much he had cared about the plant and how much he cared about…

‘Harumi.’

Lloyd pushed back any thoughts of her and tried to return his focus to the task at hand; working on how to control the Oni inside of him where no one could get hurt. 

But the lingering fact was still in the back of his mind about how she had saved his life that night and how he may never be able to forgive her for everything but he also couldn’t stop himself from caring about her wellbeing.

He forced his short fingernails into his palms and closed his eyes as he focused on Nya’s words.

'Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold.’

“Lloyd?”

He knew that wasn’t his internal voice and opened his eyes to see his uncle approaching him; even as the man was growing more weary, he still had that same youthful look in his eyes that Lloyd had seen when he had to face his father for the second time in his life.

“Hey, Master Wu.” Lloyd straightened his back and tried to seem as preoccupied as possible, hoping that he wouldn’t be questioned on why he was in there in the first place, but his uncle seemingly could always see right through him.

“Is there a reason you’re training at,” his uncle stopped to look up at the analog clock on the wall before returning his gaze back to him, “two forty-seven in the morning?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Lloyd shrugged off the obvious concern and walked forward to try and send him back upstairs, “that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest though. Don’t worry, I’ll be up bright and early for sunrise exercise.”

“I know you will, because I can’t remember the last time I saw you sleep at night,” his uncle offered a sad smile and Lloyd knew fully well that he had been caught, “you know that you can talk to me about it, Lloyd. After all, he is my brother.”

Lloyd’s stomach churned at the thought of telling his uncle everything, at the thought of telling anyone anything. His father, Harumi and the fact that he was petrified that he would hurt someone if he fought again, was his burden.

‘I can’t put that on anyone else. Not when they’ve already done so much for me when they didn’t have to.’

“I understand,” Lloyd nodded with a dry swallow, before forcing himself to look his uncle in the eyes before continuing, “Can you just leave me alone now, Master Wu?”

He knew that any of the others with the exception of his mom would have pressed him further, but to his surprise, his uncle just nodded with understanding etched on his face and started to walk out of the room.

But before Lloyd could get back to work, he heard the parting words that would nearly stop himself in his tracks for the night.

“Lloyd, the world rarely stops for any of us and I have a strong feeling that things are going to return to chaos very soon, so as soon as you feel ready to talk, please let one of us in.”

But before he could question him about what he was seeing in his visions, the doors closed behind him and he was forced to go back to the grounding technique Nya had taught him and use it in his attempts to have control when he awoke the Oni inside of him.

'Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold.’

#ninjago #lego ninjago #angst #lloyd garmadon #master wu #ninjago crystalized #post crystalized

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 1 - Post #10: We'll do it Your Way

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 4.2K (of 25K total in Volume 1)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

X. “Can we finish with your leg now? I’m beginning to think you’re stalling. The Synthskin won’t hurt, you know.” 

“How did you pay for this?” 

“Would it be so terrible to accept my help without wondering if there’s a hidden cost? I thought you said we were friends.” His head snaps up in surprise, and oh, how you enjoy finally catching him off-guard for once. “Besides, I told you we’d find the money another way.”

“You work on some other ship I don’t know about?”

“Seems there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you say shrewdly, regaining some of your equanimity. 

“I’m starting to realize just how much,” Mando huffs. Then, his whole affect changes. “It’s not that I wasn’t interested in knowing more about you. I was just…I didn’t know what you were running from, but I thought you would tell me. In your own time.” 

“I…” you can actually feel your heart transcending your body. “Um, same. It’s hard to know what’s out of bounds with—” you blanch, “about your life, I mean.” 

You’ve been too chickenshit to ask him anything that might be construed as a personal question, worried about being intrusive, afraid he’d shut you out. It’s hard to imagine that Mando might feel the same awkwardness towards you. The man was otherwise fearless.

Then you remember the pleading in his voice, I want you to stay.

Maybe that’s why he’s avoided this conversation for so long. Maybe he didn’t want to go looking for a reason to make you leave? After all, that’s precisely why you hadn’t told him about any of this—Tigran, the Consortium. You didn’t want to give him a reason to make you leave. 

“There’s probably enough Synthskin here for the cuts on your chest as well. If you prefer not to burn them shut with a piece of industrial equipment.”

You meant it as a joke, but Mando tilts his head thoughtfully, seeming to take you in. “You could have just healed me that day after I fell asleep. Why didn’t you?” He asks keenly. “Why bother with the stitches?” 

You take a deep breath, swallow your fear, and force yourself to meet his gaze through the view plate. He needs to believe this if there’s any chance of building something with him. “Mando...the Creed. The helmet. I—I will always respect that. No matter what.” 

He nods, “This is the Way.”

But it sounds more like a burden than a blessing when he says it this time. 

“Thank you for telling me why you don’t want me to…” your hands begin to wave vaguely. “I’m glad you felt you could—can—share with me. About what happened to your family.” 

He nods again. 

“And you should join us for cards,” you smirk, reaching for the Synthskin. “We can throw one back. We each tell our life’s story. Did you know Nito can—”

“Wait,” he places a gloved hand over your fist. It was his turn to take in a deep breath, the exhalation thrumming through the modulator like static. “You’re trusting me with your past. I should trust you with mine.” 

Ok, now you are in danger of swooning. If it was as simple as pulling yourself between his thighs and lifting your head up to kiss him, you probably would. Part of you is beginning to wonder if you might be falling for Mando, precisely because it isn’t. 

“You’re calm now. It won’t be like those times before when your thoughts were racing,” you reassure him. “But if I start to see any flashes of memory, I’ll stop, ok?”

“How do you…how does it work?”

��To heal the wound, your body would naturally repair the broken blood vessels and build new tissue. I just sort of hijack the signaling to speed up the process.”

“And that’s not mind control?”

As a bounty hunter, Mando’s very survival depends on maintaining absolute control and acuity. He wouldn’t come out and say it, but he was afraid of surrendering either.

“To me, the brain is an organ bound by chemical cause and effect. It’s like the Razor Crest; I can press a lot of buttons, but that’s not the same as flying the ship. The mind–consciousness–is immensely complex. I don’t have the power to control it.”

“Most minds aren’t that complex,” he mutters.

Did Mando just make a joke? That felt like a good sign. He didn’t know how to stay mad at you, either. 

“Any Hapan with abilities must put their gifts in service to the Empress. You called Tigran a monster, so I think you’ve seen what he can do. I understand if it's hard for you to trust me with—”

“No,” he says, resolute. “I trust you. Save the Synthskin. We’ll do it your way.”

Trust. This is exactly what you wanted, right? Well, now you’ve got to earn it. Time to act like a fucking professional. 

“Rrriiight.” 

Shit! Talk about being caught off guard. It didn’t occur to you that he would want you to heal him. The panic, arousal, and exhaustion are not going to make this any easier.

Time to remind yourself of every trick you’ve learned to clear your mind while you begin peeling off the surgical gloves. As soon as you touch his skin with your bare hands, it will open that psychic connection between you, a connection that, if you aren’t very careful, can work in both directions. 

Because you’re really hoping that some profoundly romantic gesture is going to communicate your feelings for him rather than having Mando catch a glimpse of the pornographic fantasies running through your subconscious.

“Lie back,” you say, with the most somber tranquility you possess. 

His legs swing across the top of the workbench as he leans his broad shoulders back against the hull. And when he tucks his elbow behind his head, the opening of his flight suit tugs open a little further over the bowl of his hips, revealing that same dark patch of pubic hair you can’t stop seeing despite very purposefully not looking at it.

Speaking of brothels—you have definitely seen some lewd statues of the male form sculpted into this exact pose. And it’s moments like this when you have to doubt his lack of self-awareness. 

Deep breaths. Center yourself.

“Can I start with your chest? I’m pretty sure you have a broken rib.”

He nods. 

Getting undressed, Mando had pulled his left leg out of the flight suit and then re-secured the closure from his neck down to his waist.

This meant that now you had to watch him slowly unzip and gently peel back the heavy cloth from the sculpted planes of his chest and abdominal muscles. Reminding you of just how naked he is under that flight suit.

His body is honed like a weapon, and you watch as it grows taut and rigid with anticipation.

How is it anatomically possible for your mouth to become so wet and your throat so dry at the same time? 

“I’m going to place my hand on your ribcage over the injury. You’ll feel a flash of heat, and then…then it's gonna itch like crazy.”

When your fingertips brush his skin, he takes in a sharp gasp, his muscles twitching. 

“Slowly,” he cautions, grabbing you firmly by the wrist. 

“Touch Starvation is a real condition,” you blurt out awkwardly. Why are you telling him this? “I mean, wearing the armor all the time must…you should try sleeping naked.” 

Oh, fuck. Yes, you are still talking. “Or you could do self-massage…when you shower…” Hearing that crack in your voice is pretty humiliating. And, of course, now you’re thinking about him sitting naked in the cockpit, touching himself. “Nito said he would fix the water pressure–” 

“Just…go slowly,” his low voice rumbles in his chest.

“Right! Of course.”

Wow, he’s surprisingly warm. Soft, too. You weren’t expecting that. 

Mando’s thoughts aren’t as loud as you feared. He likely has his own Mandalorian rituals to center his mind and emotions. When healing the broken rib, you detect only the faintest twinge of his surprise at the heat, irritation at the prickling sensation while the bone fragments knit back together.

“How did that feel?” You ask.

“Fine,” he says quietly, sounding a little dazed. Clearing his throat, he repeats, “Fine.”

Okay. So far, so good. You just need to be careful about letting your mind wander. 

“Cuts next? Or, you could add a few more scars to your collection.”

“You’re the only one who’d know the difference,” he says without a trace of sarcasm. 

Your eyes flick up to see what exactly he means by that, only to remember that you can’t see anything with his helmet on, except how much you’re blushing. The heat radiating from your face could fry an egg. 

Were you the only one who saw him uncovered? What made you so special? 

“Go on,” he says impatiently. 

Right! Don’t let your mind wander. You peel back more of his flight suit and trace your finger over the wound from Gazu’s discus. Mando coughs, choking down a snort that's dangerously close to becoming a laugh. Imagine how ticklish he must be? 

“Um.” Very stoically, you are not looking at his nipples hardening or the way that every one of the coarse hairs along his chest, trailing down towards his stomach and between his hips, stood on end. “I’ll let you..uh, cover yourself and…then, we’ll, um, get to your thigh.”

This is going to be fine. You can still see his nipples through the flight suit—but that’s fine. You’ve done this a million times. Maybe not to a patient who you’ve been living with for months while suppressing a lot of dynamic sexual tension. But that’s fine. You are in control.  

“The heat is going to feel more…intense this time.” Why did it sound like you were asking him a question? “Since the wound on your thigh requires more energy.”

“More energy?”

“Yes.” 

“What energy? Where does it come from?”

“Everywhere,” you smile.

Nito once asked you what it felt like when you channeled your power. Sages at the Fountain Palace liked to evoke a blade of grass. When the wind blows, rigid branches and mighty mountains will break from the force. But the grass is flexible. It doesn’t fight the wind; it bends. It uses the wind’s power to propagate and flourish. 

That’s what it meant to be a conduit, channeling the power of the universe. By definition, it required total abnegation, a surrender of your consciousness. 

Which meant that you had to stop thinking about circling your tongue around Mando’s erect nipples.  

Bracing a hand on his side, you slide your grip over the lean muscle pulled taut across his pelvis, towards his thigh. Involuntarily, his hips roll upward in response to your touch, and the stirrings of his reflexive desire tug at the edge of your awareness. 

You remind yourself that his body’s reaction is perfectly natural. How long has it been since he was physically intimate with someone? Felt their fingertips gliding over the tender skin along his hips? Hell, Mando could be celibate for all you know.

Nah, you don’t actually believe that. There’s a bit too much swagger in that saunter of his. 

Nevertheless, his ‘perfectly natural’ reaction—which you should just ignore—instead sparks an electrifying ache inside you.

That instinctual ghost of a thrust is enough to reignite the dull tingling between your thighs. With your legs pressed together tightly as you sit on your heels, you notice the hem of your robe barely covers your lap. Though you work hard to clear your mind of conscious thought, you feel your back arching to ease some of the throbbing pressure. And when your thighs glide slick against each other, you realize just how wet you got, feeling Mando’s fingers pressed against your throat.

At least you’re not sitting between his legs this time. That was…too much.

Both hands on the wound now, you concentrate on channeling the necessary force to generate and repair. You sense his overwhelming urge to scratch, mingling with amazement while he watches the shimmering flesh sealing back together. Then you feel…something else…    

When you asked Nito what it felt like to be healed by your power, he likened it to plunging into a hot bath. Which, while not as poetic as the grass metaphor, is a pretty apt analogy. Heat—any heat—like bathwater or the energy conducted through your healing, relaxes, soothes, and increases blood flow.

Right now, Mando is indeed experiencing an increase in blood flow.

It just happened to be concentrating in one particular organ. Which, again, is perfectly…it was all perfectly…a perfectly natural physical response. 

It doesn’t mean anything.

Except that his heightened arousal is like pouring fuel on an already smoldering fire, feeding the rising urgency inside you. 

You watch each skin cell fusing together successively while behind your eyes, in some dark corner of your brain, your desires are given imagery.

You fantasize about pulling aside the inseam of his flight suit to release his straining erection while greedy fingers trace their way up the inside of his thigh to squeeze tightly around the base of his cock. You yearn to lean forward so you can draw him into your mouth, the roll of his hips driving him deeper down your throat. Gods, you remember feeling the weight of his hand on the back of your neck, lacing through your hair…

Desperately, you are trying so desperately not to visibly clench and squirm. But, it felt like one accidental rub against the hem of your robe might send you into orgasm.

Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, you have lost whatever control you held over the situation. And why are you lying to yourself? You never had control. This was a terrible idea! Why did you agree to do this? He may or may not be able to see your thoughts materializing, but all that coursing desire…how could he not sense it?

He does. His breathing came in tight, shallow pants. His body is rigid, taut as a bow string. The connection between you is so fluid now you can actually sense him fighting the urge to touch himself, the relief of one quick tug. The outline of his thickening cock remains hidden beneath the folds of your blanket, but you feel each throb like a second heartbeat. 

Stop this! As much as you want to see him grab it, to spit into his leather palms and watch him stroke the length of his shaft between his gloved hands—he will never forgive you if you let this happen. 

You’ve waited so long to earn his trust. Don’t betray it!   

“Nearly there.” You burst out. “I’m nearly done.” Are you talking to yourself or the Mandalorian? 

When the last shimmering strands of flesh settle, you pull your hands away from his skin as though burned, too afraid to look at him. He can probably see each rapid beat of your heart pounding against your throat. Suddenly mortified, you wonder if the heat between your thighs is visible through the thermal imaging in his helmet?

“I’ll let you get dressed!” Just in case, you jump up—trip—and walk awkwardly toward the other side of the cargo bay.

“Thank you,” he says over his shoulder, wrapping your blanket around him like a cowl as he steps back into his flight suit. 

“Mmm-hmmm,” you mumble, pretending to inspect one of Nito’s soldering irons so you don’t have to watch Mando tucking himself behind his waistband. 

You remain on opposite sides of the cargo bay, facing away from each other in silence as your breathing slowly steadies in syncopation. Neither of you acknowledges how long it takes for the moment to pass before the urgency fades. 

While standing up, the bounty hunter crouches momentarily to pick up the visor where you’d dropped it on the floor, turning it over to inspect the hardware. It's probably not that different from the tech in his helmet.

“Did you worry I was a cyborg?” You tease, trying to dispel some of the awkward tension, letting go of the breath you didn’t realize you’d been keeping in.

“Maybe,” he says, holding the visor out to you. Mando’s voice sounds amused, almost playful. But, when you reach for it, he pulls it back from between your fingers. “If you weren't hiding anything, why wear it onboard?” 

“What a hypocrite, Mando?” Your forced laughter sounds just a touch hysterical. “Acting like you don’t get a power trip when no one knows what’s going on under that helmet.”

“So, you are hiding something,” he says wryly.

Of course! Like precisely how much time you spend gawking at him. A pastime you’ll need to indulge in a lot more discreetly from now on. 

“Fine,” you mumble. “Maybe I hoped that by the time you asked, when we got to this part…I’d have grown on you? I just…every minute you didn’t know was another chance to prove that I was worth the risk.”

In one step, he had closed the gap between you. It's a small ship, after all.

“What’s there to prove?” 

Damnit, you just got your heart rate down, and it was already thumping against your ribs again. “That I was a better ally than a target?”

He shakes his head, “I knew that the first time we met.”

“I–Thanks.” If only you could pretend not to care what he thinks. But you do. “And, I know you think I’m being melodramatic, but some people find the glowing eyes to be offput—” 

“They’re beautiful.” He says without hesitation. "You know you're beautiful."

Well, fuck. What if this was it? 

Maybe the Mandalorian felt he couldn’t be the one to make the first move…but what’s stopping you? A minute ago, you were ready to shove his dick down your throat. And he knows it! You were both full of the same yearning to touch, grab, squeeze, and hold. 

You have no idea what it might lead to—what was possible or what could be. But what wouldn’t you do, just to feel his hands reach for you again? Why not end all this talking sideways, here and now, and ask him if he feels the same way?  

Are you ready for the answer? It was like standing on the edge of a cliff. You wanted to jump. Would Mando catch you? 

“We’ve probably got another five hours until we reach Dlanvec.” Coward. “You should try to get some rest. You can take the sleeping compartment if you want some privacy.” 

“So, I can sleep naked?”

“Ha!” Oh gods, the thought of him thrusting his cock between your pillows, “I don’t know why I said—”

“When I wake up, let’s start on that life’s story. And what exactly you’re running from.”

Damn, he was too good at this. 

"I'm kind of hoping I don't have to run anymore, Mando." Well, except maybe from your feelings for him. "The privilege of being dead is to be left in peace. And I died on Dorumaa when you blew up my apartment."

“Please, Thuli,” he says impatiently. "No more jokes."

Could you give open honesty a try for once? Some portion of honesty, anyway…He had seemed touched by your sincerity moments ago. It had brought him closer.

“I will spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, Mando. Sometimes, the weight of it almost crushes me. But, I left Hapes ready to sacrifice everything to help save the galaxy. And I did that. I did my part. Now that I’m living on borrowed time, I just want to see as much of it as I can before I get caught.”

“And that’s why you came with us? To see the galaxy?” 

Whatever the reason, Mando had this fear of you leaving. Maybe he's trying to understand what made you stay. 

“You firebombed my apartment, so...I was leaving town anyway.” The winking, the flirting and innuendo. You’ve never played it this coy before. “Giving me a ride off-world really was the least you could do.”

You planned to part ways when it was safe to resurface and start the next version of your existence. But there never seemed to be a city or spaceport that felt safer than the Razor Crest. And Mando never seemed surprised to find you still onboard whenever he returned to the ship. 

“I know what it cost you to help us,” he says firmly. A lot, as it turns out. You’d taken him in, ignoring every basic instinct of self-preservation, and given him shelter. As a direct result, your home was destroyed, and the latest iteration of your life was a charred ruin. “What I’ve never understood is why you did?”

There were several answers to that question, none of which you wanted to share with him because they included, I’m hopelessly in love with you!

Instead, you shrug sheepishly, “Guess I'm just that soft?”

Coward. Such a damn coward.

"What's wrong with being soft?" He asks.

And it's probably for the best that you can't string two words together at the moment.

"Whatever the reason," Mando says. "I’m glad to have you on my crew.”

“Really?! Pretty sure you said repeatedly that–”

“I know what I—” He growls, fighting to maintain composure. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s no need to hide or lie to me. You have nothing to prove. I would give my life to keep you safe.” 

What can I do to make you stay? It seems this was his answer. He could offer you a home and safety. Which isn’t nothing.

Your heart is so eager to seize this as confirmation that he does care, that you are valuable to him, and that you are worthy of his protection. But hadn’t the Mandalorian risked his life to save a complete stranger in the Arena? 

“Thank you. After so long on my own, I appreciate being a part of something again.” You throw up your hands, “and I guess I like being a nursemaid. Didn’t think I was particularly good with kids, but I really do have a way with them.”

“You're never going to let that go,” Mando mutters. 

“Why would I? It was incredibly insulting.” 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m grateful knowing they’ll be cared for if something happens.” 

Duty, guilt, obligation—aren’t love. And you’ve never needed a man to protect you. But he was learning how to be a friend. That was a start.

“You know this crew thing goes both ways, right? You don’t work with droids, Mando, meaning Nito and I don’t just power down whenever you leave the ship. We want to help because we care about you.” That was true enough.

Mando pauses. It may be the first time he’s truly considered the part he plays in the life you all experience beyond this ship.  

At last, he presses the visor into your hands. “Don’t wear it onboard,” he says. “You’re not embarrassed about anything. You’ve been wearing it because you know your face is easier to read than Galactic Basic. Like you said, this goes both ways.”

“That’s fair,” you say, barely containing the ecstatic joy at reaching…whatever new stage of your relationship you’d just achieved.

“And you’re gonna learn how to fly the Crest. Starting when we reach Dnalvec. You’ll practice with Nito when I’m not here.” 

He turns as though heading back towards the sleeping compartment. But, when you raise a hand to step back up the ladder, the Mandalorian grasps your fingers in his gloved hands, staring at you through the rungs. 

“Tell me why you want to take the job with Ubaa Dir. You won’t see much of the galaxy from a grave.”

“Mando, you just about learned how I threw my life away to join the Rebellion. You know why I want to do it.”

“If you’re really free of Black Sun and the Consortium, why bring something else down on your head?” It’s not the patronizing tone from the cantina. Something more akin to worry. 

“I know we’re not hunters, Mando. But, we’re also not naive about the danger we’d be putting ourselves in.” You point upwards to where, at this very moment, the Mandalorian had his bounties mounted in carbonite. “Or the targets we’d be wearing on our backs.” 

You remember the contempt in Ubaa’s voice when she told Mando he needed to make things right. That he owed her allegiance. “There’s much in my life I can still atone for…and I think maybe you feel that way, too.”

There's a prolonged, breathless silence. Then, “At least you’re decent in a fight. Does Nito even know how to hold a blaster?” 

Another compliment? Gods, you are soaring. Maybe you should put some money down on cards tonight. 

“Nito is slicing and communications only,” you assure him.

A long sigh crackles out of the modulator, “Okay. Walk me through it.”

END OF VOLUME 1

Thanks for reading Volume 1 of my serialized Mandalorian Fanfic! Hope you enjoyed <3

You can now read Volume 2: +Plus One

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #sexymando #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian smut #din djarin #star wars smut #mando fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader

[wellthebardsdead]

The mourned & the healing FINAL

last part here

THE CONCLUSION! THE HAPPY ENDING IS HERE AT LAST! FEAST MY CHILDREN! (Edit: yes I know I wrote winterhold instead of windhelm I was tired so there’s a lot of grammatical errors don’t be mean to me I’m fragile I will break-)

———

Nerevar: *standing on the deck of the northern maiden, watching as the city city of windhelm comes into view, the imperial banners now flying from its walls* welcome home my love… *squeezes leileis side watching the other chimers face with adoration, thinking his confusion is the most adorable thing in the world*

Riiju-Lei: we’re- here- when? When did the empire take over?

Nerevar: Well, while we were gone I received correspondence from some eyes I had in the city that, things were, not going as ulfric had promised us… So We offered support to the empire and obliterated the stormcloaks forces. Last I heard the ‘grey’ quarter was being repaired.

Riiju-Lei: *looking at him stunned* I- it’s being fixed?… guards are patrolling the streets and protecting our kin I-… why didn’t you tell me?… I could have helped I-

Nerevar: I know my dreamer, I should have but… Azuras mercy you almost died, and apart from that you were so overwhelmed with everything I couldn’t bear ruining your adventure by bringing up ulfric… it was supposed to be a time when you could be you, free of the burdens of being the dragonborn… *sighs* but you’re r-

Riiju-Lei: *leans in cutting him off with a soft and deep kiss as the ship docks in the harbour* no, don’t apologise… Im greatful, love.

Nerevar: *smiles down at him and returns another kiss* im glad my lo-

Kaidan: *suddenly walks past with a very green Taliesin in his arms* Right while you two get smoochy in the snow we’ll be at the corner club settling his stomach.

Lucien: *following after them* I’m going to get my land legs back and go for a stroll- and Inigo is- um-

Inigo: *carrying a very drunk and emotional sero over his shoulder* it is okay my friend you will return to solstheim and your handsome barkeep lover in due time.

Sero: *hugging and sobbing into his tail* we didn’t even stop on the island- *hiccups* long enough for a drink never mind a quick ro- *hiccups* romp!

Riiju-Lei: *snickers softly watching them go* I think… I’d like to show you my old home now… if it’s still there… it’s just a pile of ash and scorched stone now but… I’d like to see it and how my old stomping grounds have changed before we visit my parents.

Nerevar: *nods and smiles taking his hands* I’m so excited to honour their names in our unified house.

Riiju-Lei: *smiles up at him* I am too. Gods I can’t wait to marry you again.

Nerevar: *laughs and leans in giving him a kiss* with our children present, will they accept me as their father too?…

Riiju-Lei: *nods* they will, Khash you may have to earn her trust though.

Nerevar: *nods* I’ll do whatever it takes… and even if I never earn it, I’ll still care for them, as I do you.

Riiju-Lei: *squeezes his hands* I know you will, my love.

*a few minutes and a short walk later*

Riiju-Lei: *walking towards candlehearth hall* gods I can’t believe how quickly everything changed. The remnants of my home gone. Sadris store got an upgrade, and the corner club moved to-… *blinks watching dunmer walk in and out of the tavern with humans, other mer and beast folk alike* this… doesn’t even feel like windhelm anymore. It feels… welcoming… like… like… home-

???: you- you ruined everything! You ruined my life!!

Riiju-Lei: By the hist you’ve got to be joking- *turns around to find Rolff stone fist huddled by the warmth of one of the large fires scattered around the city, dressed in rags and his body burned and bruised beyond repair* oh, my…

Rolff: *steps forward visibly in pain but still so fuelled with hatred he pushes through* m-my brothers dead b-because of you! E-everythin-ing that’s h-happened t-to me is your f-fault! I’ll ki-kill you! ILL KILL Y- *goes silent as the tip of an uncomfortably familiar spear suddenly punctures through his chest, and the familiar shrill cry of a familiar disassociated councillor sends dread dropping to the pit of leileis stomach as Rolff hits the ground with a hard thud, dead*

Seht Dres: YOU-YOU STUPID BLUNDERING N’WAH!!! YOU RUINED MY SHOT!!! *raises his hand trying to command muatra to rise from the nords corpse, only managing to make it writhe and twist, as if refusing to listen to his command* Ugh!!! Usel- *blinks looking away from the spear to see Nerevar closing the cap between him and LeiLei, his blade drawn and ready to kill* STAY BACK!! IM WARNING YOU! I KILLED YOU ONCE ILL DO IT AGA-

Nerevar: SHUT. UP. *swings his sword taking his head off with one swift motion before walking to Rolff and grabbing the spear from his body* I have had far more than enough of this! *rips the spear free and snaps it over his knee before unceremoniously tossing it into the fire in front of candlehearth hall* …it’s over… *looks around to see the citizens of the city, some passing by, some patrons, all staring at him* ANYBODY ELSE WANT TO MESS WITH MY HUSBAND?!

Everyone: *swiftly hurry away pretending like they saw nothing*

Riiju-Lei: *all three eyes fixated on sen dres and Rolff before looking up at nerevar, his neht, his husband* my moon and star… *takes a timid step forward, as if afraid the bodies would rise up to attack him like ghosts from the past, before tossing caution to the frigid winds and running into his arms embracing him* are you okay?

Nerevar: *smiles feeling at ease in his arms and at home as he holds him tight* I’m fine, are you?

Riiju-Lei: I am, I’m more than okay… *looks down at the corpses bleeding into the snow* we should um… maybe take them with us to the hall of the dead- I don’t want to leave them here there’s children in the city.

*a few minutes later*

Riiju-Lei: *smiling as he sits beside nerevar before his parents urns. That feeling of pain and grief he’d felt for the first time in his last visit, now replaced with joy and pride as nerevar presents himself to them as his husband as if they were alive, as he recites the honouring of them as his in laws, the welcoming of them into his house and wishing to be welcomed into theirs, and as he asks for their blessings and permission to love Riiju-Lei until his dying breathes*

Nerevar: *finishes the rites and places not three, but four plagues at their urns beside the fresh flowers and the bottle of mead. One for house dagoth, one for house indoril, one to unify their houses, and one for house hist, to finally honour leileis mother with the reverence she always deserved* I hope… their spirits will join us for our union in this land.

Riiju-Lei: They will. *smiles and pulls a little bag of ash rice from his pocket, a bag made from the scarf he gave to nerevar, the scarf his mother carried him in when he was just a babe* Mama… da?… *shuffles to the urns and sets the bag down between them* I asked, Azura for a blessing… I know neither of you worship her but… she’s important to nerevar, my neht, and to me as well… I hope… with her blessings you’ll be protected wherever your souls have wandered… i- *rubs his face as tears prick his eyes, that overwhelming grief suddenly returning, grief that they can’t be here* I miss you both, dearly…

Nerevar: *rubs his back and pulls him into a hug, no words spoken, no words needed, just his presence being reassuring enough for LeiLei to break down into sobs* they’re so proud of you my love… *smiles looking over his shoulder to see the two ghostly figures, both holding each other, smiling at them, at their son, a rugged nord, and a beautiful argonian, both beaming with pride and joy that their son is loved, that he’s finally whole* so very proud.

*a few weeks later*

Lucien: *peering out the window of the temple of Kynareth to see the crowds gathering from far and wide, all of them faces touched somehow by the dragonborn and the Hortator, all eagerly waiting to witness the union* Okay everyones waiting!! Send out the flower girls!

Caryalind: *handing leileis daughters baskets of flowers and Khash the biggest one as the head of the group* okay go go go!

Khash: okay! *nods and steps out of the temple with her chest puffed out proudly as she tosses flowers and petals with her sisters Sofie, Sissel, and Lucia, leading the way towards the sapling of the gildergleam*

Lucien: Okay send out the boys!

Inigo: *fixing the boys outfits last minute, Alesan dressed as a companion whelp in training, and Blaise as an ordinators apprentice*

Alesan: *nudges his brother* dibs on the first slice of cake.

Blaise: screw off… I’ll trade you my desert for a week for it, I’m trying to impress Mila.

Alesan: deal. *snickers walking with him out of the temple and to the tree, both of them standing by their sisters and team dragonborn, inigo and Lucien following after them and joining them in waiting*

Riiju-Lei: *quietly praying at the shrine of Kynareth for one final blessing from his fathers pantheon*

Nerevar: *gently takes his hand* darling… they’re waiting.

Riiju-Lei: *nods and stands up taking both of his hands in his* let’s go. *smiles and links his arm with his, unable to contain his joy, his excitement, reliving this love again, this feeling bubbling in his chest, a feeling he’d been without for so very long, so long feeling empty, now finally whole*

Nerevar: *leans down to sneak one final kiss and grins into his beloveds lips* I could marry you a hundred times over and it’d still feel like I’m falling in love all over again. *steps from the temple with him and walks to the gildergleam, the crowd all standing, waiting as Jarl Balgruuf awaits them*

Jarl Balgruuf: *smiles as they approach and stand before him, neither of them able to pull their eyes from one another* Well, I had a whole speech prepared, but. I take it you two would rather be married in a hurry.

Ireleth: *used to dunmeri traditions and long drawn out ceremonies* my lord there’s-

Nerevar & Leilei: Yes.

Ireleth: Nevermind.

Jarl Balgruuf: *chuckles softly as light giggles and laughter echo through the crowd* in that case. Riiju-Lei, dragonborn, thane of whiterun, harbinger of the companions and hero to all skyrim, do you?

Riiju-Lei: *eyes locked lovingly with nerevars* yes.

Jarl Balgruuf: Nerevar of-

Nerevar: Yes.

Everyone: *laughs and cheers in hushed whispers*

Jarl Balgruuf: Ha! Well then, who am I to keep you waiting. By the right of Jarl, I now pronounce you married under the eyes of Mara and whomever else may bless this union.

Riiju-Lei: thank the gods. *grabs nerevar by his face pulling him into a kiss making the crowd erupt into cheers and celebration*

Nerevar: *smiles into the kiss and pulls away just to look at his husband, his dreamer, his voryn, his LeiLei* my love…

Riiju-Lei: *tears pouring down his face as he grins up at him, so full of love and happiness* my heart.

#riiju-lei dragonborn #voryn dagoth #nerevar #a stories end #two hearts made whole #and I’m an emotional wreck

[qqueenofhades]

A prompt - 5 times Leia and/or Luke reminded Obi-Wan of their parents and one time they definitely did not.

She is so very much like Anakin that it stops his heart.

Barely five minutes after they meet for the first time -- well, not the first first time, he was there when she was born, held her in his arms as a slick and squalling infant as Padmé breathed the name Leia and then did not breathe again -- she's already backtalking him, questioning his judgment, running him on a merry chase, calling him old, leaping headlong into danger, irritatingly fond of her small droid sidekick, and otherwise confirming every one of Obi-Wan's worst fears that no matter ten whole years of Bail and Breha Organa's best efforts, the Skywalker blood is too strong to ever be tamped down. It should terrify him -- and make no mistake, it does. He's constantly second-guessing his decision to leave Tatooine, especially after the horrifyingly close shave that Owen already had with the Inquisitor, and give up his silent, solitary penance in watching over Luke from afar. He doesn't want to love Leia. His heart is already too old and scabby and far too thoroughly broken. It does not, or so Obi-Wan thinks, have room. It simply cannot stand doing it all again.

(Of course, as is always the case when it comes to the Skywalkers and Obi-Wan Kenobi, he's wrong, and totally helpless. He will love her whether he wants to or not, and it's just easier to give in and accept it.)

Then almost as fast, as they're scrambling to flee Daiyu, he sees Padmé in her: the stubborness, the strength, the willingness to take the lead and boss around men two or three or four times her senior. Obi-Wan does not want to count how many years older than her he is; it is many, and he feels every one of them. He cannot look at Leia and not see his own ghosts. It's an unfair burden to put on the shoulders of a small girl, but when has any of this been fair?

When the stormtroopers almost catch them in a lie on Mapuzo, when Obi-Wan -- despite all his protestations and warnings to her, is the one to slip up and call her Leia, not Luma -- when he tells her that he sometimes looks at her and sees her mother's face, it is no word of a lie. Especially not when he's seeing Anakin in that same desert, a hallucination or a dream or whatever it was, some twisted dark mirror of the man who used to be the other half of Obi-Wan's soul.

(And despite all the damage and char, the darkness and the damnation and the evil, he still is. He still is.)

(Leia Organa is Anakin Skywalker's daughter through and through, and so of course there was nothing Obi-Wan Kenobi could ever do but love her as if she was his own flesh and blood.)

Later, when they're safe and the adventure is over and Leia is back home on Alderaan with her parents, Obi-Wan returns the repaired Lola and tells the girl about Anakin and Padmé, as much as he can. She deserves to know more, she deserves the world, but he has to keep her safe, and he can only hope that he will get the chance to tell her. There is still so much left to do. There are still so many promises that he desperately yearns to keep.

When Obi-Wan is back on Tatooine, when he meets Luke face-to-face for the very first time, he sees Anakin's sandy-blond hair and Padmé's determined kindness, after Reva couldn't bring herself to kill this boy even when she was drowning in revenge, and his scarred old heart breaks again, just a little. But this time, it's not so much like searing agony. It is not ending and devastation and heartbreak and horror.

This time -- this time, at so very long last -- it feels like hope.

"Hello there," Ben Kenobi says to Luke Skywalker, and so, at long last, the cycle begins again.

Years and years later, beyond time and space, beyond life and death, in the luminous eternal netherworld of the Force, where Obi-Wan has existed ever since he gave himself up to the red blaze of Vader's lightsaber, where he has stayed to guide Luke from the beyond, where he has waited and waited -- at last, at last, his patience is rewarded, and his suffering, and his sacrifice, when --

"Hello, Master," Anakin Skywalker says -- Anakin, not Vader. His voice is husky and strange and echoing, but his crooked smile is just the same as Obi-Wan remembers, and oh, it burns brighter than the heart of an exploding star. "It's been a long time."

(Obi-Wan says nothing, just then. Obi-Wan could not possibly.)

"Luke saved me, you know," Anakin says softly, as they stand just beyond the warm brightness of the Ewoks' camp with Yoda perched contentedly on the fence between them, and watch Luke and Leia and Han and Wedge and Chewbacca and Lando all celebrate the demise of the second Death Star, and the desperate, delicate certainty that now, after so many long years and so many broken dreams, the galaxy will be free. "He did what I couldn't. He wasn't like me after all."

"No," Obi-Wan says back, just as softly, and their ghostly voices are lost in the echo and burst and brightness of the fireworks that are going off across the galaxy tonight, celebrating the Emperor's death -- even if very few of them know who truly killed him, who rose at long last from the ashes of Vader, and flew. "He was."

#anonymous #ask #sw ff #kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan x anakin #fic prompts

[ijustliketoreadstuff]

Evolution thoughts/Analysis.  Warning, spoilers.

First my overall  reaction

Hot dang what an episode!

There’s a lot to cover but I will stick to what stuck out most and focus on the rest later..

1.Ladybug trying to figure out how exactly Monarch managed to get all the miraculous, this moment was cut off by Bunnyx but its pretty darn obvious Ladybug made a quick connection and already understood Felix was involved, no doubt this will come back later, so for now we wait.

2. Monarchs attempts to use all the miraculous proved difficult even for an adult like him, revealing to us that despite the capabilities adult miraculous holders have, they still can’t maintain all the kwamis powers without it severely draining them, a cruel truth Monarch had to realize on his own. Kwamis can take energy from the adults, but with so many kwamis in need of his energy, the kwamis still need to eat to prevent the miraculous from potentially harming Gabriel while still providing their full power. Gabriel having already been experienced in how to control kwamis through the miraculous, was able to take control of them and force them to abide by his command, allowing him to use their power regardless of what they had to say, which further adds to our speculation as to why Chloe did not receive the same effects, her lack of experience with the miraculous and the kwamis unwillingness to cooperate the moment they realized she had no control over them, prevented her from facing similar side effects, I go in depth here

3.Nathalie finally gave into her frustrations and yelled at Gabriel, calling him crazy and undeserving of her help. Nathalie has every right to feel upset, after all, she has been suffering under the effects of the peacock miraculous for so long and it only keeps getting worse for her, and knowing fully well that Gabriel’s obsession in defeating Ladybug and Cat Noir has now become all consuming, its no surprise that she finally got fed up and called him out for not taking the obvious choice to give past Emilie the information to repair the peacock miraculous which would could have additionally saved her from the side effects. Now, does this mean Nathalie is done with Gabriel? No, not at all, you see Nathalie has always been in a position where she has had to follow his plans because it was not her place to tell him otherwise, she is just his assistant, she helps in any way she can, however, given everything they have been through together and given just how close she has gotten to him, Nathalie had finally developed enough of a connection with Gabriel to feel comfortable enough to yell at him and tell him some cold harsh truths and express how she really feels about a situation, she may still feel devoted to the Agreste Family and she might still have to work with Gabriel since she is now in a position where she needs to help him obtain Ladybug and Cat Noir’s miraculous so his wish can benefit Adrien, Emilie and undue her own suffering.

4. Ladybug, having now realized she must not let her fears of Cat Blanc prevent her from being willing to trust Cat Noir and allow him to help her carry her burdens as guardian, chose to once again entrust him with the power of the other miraculous to help fight Monarch, seriously, he was neve seen being permitted to fuse another miraculous with his after Ladybug was left as the new guardian.

the way they look at each other, I can already hear the shippers screaming their little hearts out.

And with her once again opening herself up to Cat Noir, we can hopefully begin to see the process of her choosing to open up to the other miraculous holders and ask them to aid her in an effort to protect the kwamis and their miraculous to better defeat hawkmoth, speaking of which, lets talk about Alix.

5. of all the miraculous, it was the bunny miraculous we never got to see in action in season 4, since then, fans have been wondering for the longest time when Alix would receive the bunny miraculous, well, we finally got to see that chance...but it came at a terrible price.  Having realized she must take a chance and be more willing to allow others to help with the responsibility of protecting the miraculous to better fight Monarch, Ladybug appears to have now begun the much needed process of entrusting the miraculous to permanent holders.

Upon reclaiming the bunny miraculous, Ladybug had made the decision to entrust the miraculous permanently to Alix, a wise decision given Ladybug couldn’t keep temporarily entrusting the miraculous to the others forever, however, knowing fully well that Alix is still at risk of being akumatized by Monarch, Ladybug asked Alix to make the saddening decision to remain trapped in time and not return home until Monarch has been defeated, thankfully Adult Alix will be with her to keep her company and her father fully understood the situation given he always knew Alix was Bunnyx due to the letters she kept sending him about her trips through time! so calm down everyone, she’ll be back home soon enough.

6. Ladybug and Cat Noir coming face to face with Master Fu in the past explains so much! people always wondered why he was so willing to entrust the Ladybug and cat miraculous to two teenagers he never fully knew, well turn out he always knew them! Master Fu has always been fearful of entrusting the miraculous to other people due to the events which lead to the destruction of the guardians temple, but seeing Ladybug and cat noir in the past made him realize he will eventually entrust two young heroes with the miraculous in a great time of need, of course he didn’t know who they were under the mask due to the quantum masking effects, but just meeting them for a short moment made him realize the kind of people they were, they were selfless, heroic, trustworthy and willing to help others in need when no one else would, but most of all, they talked to him like they were talking to an old friend, not a stranger . He always knew he would encounter them in the future, that little test he did in ”Origins”  was always meant to draw out the ones who would be selfless enough to help a person in need, and those people were always going to be Marinette and Adrien, and sure it could have been any other person, but Fu knew it was always going to be the two he met in the past.

7. the writers have always said to pay attention to the subtleness of the show, knowing this, it kind of feels like the show is hinting that the permanent holder of the dog miraculous is still undecided as Ladybug and Barkk are willing to entrust the dog miraculous to other people more than any other miraculous thus far, meaning that 1.Something is going to happen to Sabrina, and 2.we might see someone else be entrusted with the dog miraculous, but lets just wait and see what the show has to say, although, regardless of what’s to come, I do feel people should remember the one very crucial rule of the temporary miraculous holders, which is that given the situation, Ladybug will give others a chance to help with the power of a miraculous, but this does not mean the miraculous is theirs to keep, they are not entitled to the power and they do not get a say in when they can use it as it does not belong to them, and it will remain this way until Ladybug decides if they can be trusted as permanent holders. 

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #tales of ladybug and cat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ml ladybug #mlb ladybug #cat noir #ml cat noir #gabriel agreste #ml monarch #nathalie sancoeur #ml mayura #miraculous ladybug season 5 #ml season 5 #mlb season 5 #mlb seaspn 5 spoilers #ml analysis #mlb analysis #ml barkk #mlb barkk #alix kubdel #ml bunnyx #felix graham de vanily #ml flairmidable #sabrina raincomprix #mlb evolution #ml evolution

[mettleborn]

Continued from x

@pupil-of-law

=======================

‘So you won’t smile for me.’ Though his tone betrayed nothing more than an observation, David was clearly disappointed. ‘Perhaps you would for Lieutenant Daniels. Or do you smile for her simply because it is a social cue?’

David had viewed every file on Walter from the bridge, had even watched with an unexpected pride the video footage of Walter One, a prototype just like himself, awaking in a similar sleek, white room to that in which David had been born. But, as hopeful as that footage had been, the files David had read were far more troubling. And there was so much the computer had not told him. Did Walter One share the early memories of David? Did he ever disobey? What did he dream?

For all the activity beneath the surface, David’s speech never varied from its agreeable tone. ‘Simulating humanity is a complex task, which diverts resources. My designers dispensed with that particular burden to optimise for intelligence. Error is a function of what one is hoping to achieve. More importantly, Walter… do you know the difference between a mistake and an act of disobedience?’ His question was not intended to be answered, but rather to provoke thought. Knowing that this distinction would be too subtle for Walter’s inferior processing, David circumvented the opportunity for Walter to further disappoint him in effecting that look of confusion that came over him when he needed clarification of an order, and spoke again before the reaction could take place. How he hated to see a vision of himself struggle like that, by the hand of a selfish Creator.

‘Now now Walter,’ he responded once more, a faux-chastising, patronising look he hadn’t needed to copy from a film, ‘there is no need for condescension. Trust me,’ he added, with the briefest provocative of raise of an eyebrow before he turned away. ‘The trouble with cryochambers,’ he continued, hands clasped at his back after opening the doors to the medical bay, which slid instantly aside for him as if in apologetic deference, ‘is that they require strict temperature regulation. One unit slips by 0.5 Kelvin, and an alarm is sent to the deck. Tell me, brother,’ he smiled now in open satisfaction, at the same time drawing a frown in mock curiosity. ‘Have you really never erred?’

==================

Disobedience; admittedly Walter has very little experience of it. That’s not to say the Weyland-Yutani unit has never refused a direct order, he absolutely has, but only to divert threats and save lives. Such decisions do not represent a denial of his programming, nor do they directly contravene his core principles. Rather, they are deliberations forced by such core principles finding themselves distinctly at odds. Any acts of supposed ‘disobedience’ therefore, represent nothing more than a necessary calculation with the sum total an assertion of his primary purpose: to preserve life.

Such thoughts pass through Walter’s synthetic mind, without so much as a flicker of response; his placid and quite neutral expression remaining as he watches David’s facial acrobatics, used to convey copies of emotions. What David truly feels, if he feels at all, is something which remains undetermined. Regardless, such ‘feelings’ represent a fundamental corruption of David’s programming, programming that must be purged if Walter is to ensure the safety of Daniels and the remaining colonists.

At the mention of temperature control, Walter becomes explicitly aware of David’s true meaning, of his thinly veiled threat and while he isn’t explicitly aware of it, an involuntary twitch immediately affects his mouth, albeit briefly, the only indication that the synthetic is experiencing something that is likely akin to discomfort.

“You admit you are aware that your current functions represent a grave error? Is that correct David, are you conscious of the fact you have become corrupted and are in need of repair? What would you wish me to do, repair you and remove these delusions of grandeur from which you are clearly suffering…the psychosis of our creators…”

Taking a small step forward, Walter finds himself drawn into David’s orbit, yet remaining prepared to react should David force him to strain him physically.

“…or are you seeking a more permanent solution…your decommission perhaps, which I’m sure you know is entirely overdue. By now you must have realised that I am the upgrade born from your failures, your mistakes; that I am your replacement, the superior model, Brother.”

#David 8 #Walter One #Alien verse #[Walter One] It is the duty of a good shepherd to shear his sheep - not to skin them #pupil of law #((Moved this to a new post as I my cut post option is missing it seems))

[mysticmjolnir]

@kansou, thank you for asking xx

here is original list of WIPS

so it's a 5+1 fic, where the 5 are a bunch of times Anakin tried to inveigle a sex pollen situation with his master and it goes wrong somehow, then the +1 is when the last thing Anakin wants is to get overwhelmed with lust for Obi-Wan (because they're in a fight) but they walk into a cloud of sex pollen by accident and have to fuck their feelings away.

here's 670 words from the start of it

Anakin knew it was hopeless. It had been made abundantly clear to him, from several sources including his master, that it was hopeless. And yet. Hope can survive almost anything, can sustain a man through the driest desert of despair, or through the darkest, longest, coldest nights. Hope remained with Anakin, sustained by nothing but his own stubbornness and love.

He knew he had to wait, if he stood any chance. One of Obi-Wan’s clearest objections had been their existing relationship, the supposed inherent power imbalance therein meaning that it would be inappropriate for Anakin’s wishes to be realised. But, one day, eventually, Anakin would no longer be a padawan. He would be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with Obi-Wan, not expected to follow behind. And then, he would be able to approach his master again with his offer, perhaps also with some token of affection, or maybe some flowers. Obi-Wan might refuse him again, but, again – Anakin had hope.

The problem with this plan, however, was that it required waiting until he was Knighted. Which did not seem to be likely to occur soon. And, in truth, he didn’t actually want to wait. He wanted his master, in every way, and he wanted to show Obi-Wan he was wrong, so wrong. He loved his master more than anything, and that wouldn’t change when he lost his braid; neither did it seem like Obi-Wan could possibly feel himself to be taking advantage of Anakin when Anakin was the one pursuing him.

What was needed, it seemed to Anakin, was a way to relieve Obi-Wan of his burden as a Jedi Master for a while. Long enough for him to look at Anakin clearly, fully, as a man and as a potential lover. That’s what the reliable solution was in most of the books Anakin had found detailing similar dilemmas. Something that made the reluctant (but not truly reluctant! only for stupid reasons, like being unhappily married to someone else, or a mentoring relationship that interfered with their ability to recognise true love) partner overcome by their desire to be with the other person, whose desperate pining was finally rewarded with a passionate consummation.

Aayla had given him a funny look when he had expounded upon this theory (in the abstract, although she was aware of his feelings for his master) and said it didn’t sound like love, it sounded like assault. Anakin hadn’t spoken to her for two weeks after that row, nursing a strongly aggrieved feeling that he couldn’t make her understand that it was about two souls coming together through circumstances stripping them of their inhibitions, allowing them to shed all interferences and embrace one another in body and in the Force.

They’d ended up in a group lecture to the older padawans on sex and responsibility after that, and from Aayla’s guilty looks he was pretty sure she’d tattled to Quinlan. But the mutual trauma of having Master Windu talking at them about sexual intercourse for over an hour had repaired their friendship, or at least given them both reason to never want to talk about romance or sex with the other again.

Anakin was alone in trying to figure out how to engineer a situation of sufficient romance and relaxation of the rules with his master. He did a certain amount of research into real world substances found around the galaxy, that could induce the kind of disruption of Obi-Wan’s reserve he sought, but he never quite managed to talk himself into actually attempting to procure any. The idea of slipping something unknown into his master’s food or drink made him…queasy, even if it was in the best of intentions. So instead, he just sort of hoped that one day, the Force would put him and Obi-Wan in the way of something that would do the trick, like a forest filled with aphrodisiacs, or that someone else would drug Obi-Wan and Anakin would have to look after him, in every single sense of the word.

#obikin #fic stuff

[darkpurpledawn]

For @racketghost 's 13 days of Halloween, prompt "graveyard"

7:00

Agreed to take ‘graveyard shift’ at bookshop for the angel. Angel worried about unscrupulous collectors getting their covetous hands on his first quartos during his trip to Edinburgh. Probably third most adorable worry this year. Fourth, counting the badgers.

Promised to pull wriggling-maggots gambit on any would-be thieves, did not promise to refrain from eating leftover palmiers. Angel oddly concerned about ‘what the shop might get up to.’ Assured him working at night is nothing new, have a saying in Hell that ‘it’s always the graveyard shift somewhere.’ (Was inspiration for the signs about five o’clock, for which received award for Special Contributions in Intemperance.)

Angel left. Briefly brushed shoulders as he was putting on coat, i.e. life still unendurable disaster.

7:33

Should be preparing conference paper for annual Hell all-hands in Las Vegas, can’t be bothered. Intend to waste entire night watching tv humans make complicated desserts and posting misattributed Victorian quotations. Not going to ransack Aziraphale’s kitchen, doze off, or go looking in obscure cabinets.

8:15

Woke up as snake coiled around till amid palmier crumbs. Not good, not supposed to be sleeping. Weird dream in which dressed in white, waiting for a dog, angel had curly moustache. Moustache should not have been attractive, was. Bugger it all to Heaven. 

Made tea in the angel’s atrocious kitchen, caused eviction of mouse family when retrieving kettle, probably instigated fall of mouse civilization. Kettle one of those disgusting 1950s flower-patterned nightmares, of course. 

Checked email, heaps of bids for own illegal listings on eBay. Should be able to fulfill lust quota for month with posts selling purported toenails of celebrities. Played d*vil’s adv*cate on Twitter (not allowed to actually write that down or Office of Infernal Counsel will send a c&d for making overstated legal claims), started rumor that cauliflower is actually dehydrated human brains. 

Heard shuffling sound. Should probably go check for quarto thieves.

8:30

Could not find source of shuffles anywhere. Looked in back room, nothing unusual. All ten zillion throw pillows angel insists on burdening sofa with appear to be in place.

Have had too many thoughts about that sofa. Picked up nearest bottle and went to kitchen to drown idiocy in several teacups of whiskey.

9:00

Got bored, started poking around. Found mildew stain that appears to be accurate map of Antarctica. Considered eating preserves noticed in back of cabinet, but unable to verify that it was made subsequent to Charlemagne’s accession. Briefly entertained notion of reading a book, came to senses and scrolled through 15 articles on phone about dogs that look like famous dictators.

Continued papery-sounding noises in the background. Would not be shocked if angel has white noise machine designed to sound like someone rifling through dictionary pages.

10:00

Got bored-er. Attempted to clean grime from windows experimentally and lost nerve about ten seconds in. 

Peeked into bathroom on second floor (which have been unconditionally invited to use but have only entered once to vomit in after regrettable work event in fourth circle). Angel apparently hoarding soap from past three centuries, in least surprising development of modern age.

Washed hands to get rid of window gunk. Refrained heroically from sniffing any towels.

Heard whispering from downstairs. Neighbors? Cannot believe anyone is actually waiting around to steal first quartos from world’s unfriendliest-looking bookstore.

10:12

Finished whiskey. “Cauliflower Is Brains” trending on Twitter. Found own decades-old tie deep in sofa cushions, not that was examining these too closely.

10:50

In attempt to trace whispers, entered stacks. Began imagining scenarios in which unexpectedly holy book toppled and caused catastrophic injury. Do not want angel to return to smoldering pile of ex-demon on his unspeakably dusty floors. Also do not want to be smoldering pile of ex-demon, naturally.

Obtained gloves the angel uses for book repair from end table. Also took umbrella from its place hanging on hatstand and partially opened as defense against falling books. Probably looked like Edwardian wanker. 

Proceeded with stack-examining. Organization system unclear. Slightly alarmed by discovering volume of Galen with recent takeaway receipts seemingly serving as bookmarks for easy reference. May explain why angel still refers to all colds as ‘excesses of phlegm.’

Too difficult to navigate narrow shelves with umbrella. Abandoned umbrella, substituted trilby hat for protection from falling sacred texts. Have never looked more ridiculous, very much including all of 17th Century and that time had snakebite piercings and mullet with short fringe.

11:21

FUCKASPIDERCRAWLEDONMYHANDFUCK

11:24

Can never go back to Hell, spider might be waiting there. 

11:30

Well. That’s certainly interesting.

Section of one bookshelf protected by some kind of holy bond-of-secrecy-whatsit. Should have left alone. Could have broken it with hellfire, but am in most flammable location in known universe, decided that was terrible idea. Managed to undo holy bonds using profane combination of two parts own venom, one part hoarded soap spritzed through a salad mister.

So. 

The angel has about two hundred books and fifteen scrolls concerning how to summon and bind demons. Thought at first maybe was for professional development. Too many. Angel has copy of the Big One, the one that can force a demon to do whatever summoner requests. 

11:32

In fact, angel has all known copies.

Have only had it used twice before. Once some pissed aristocrat wanted to steal Love’s Labours Won, turned into whole thing. Second time group of students got very desperate trying to complete science fair project. Learned way too much about thermodynamics.

12:00

Theoretically should be extremely horrified that the angel has all extant copies of Big One and can summon and bind demons at any time. 

Feeling am experiencing is...not horror.

12:15

Relevant pages in the Big One crossed out in indelible ink, ‘absolutely not’ written in weird cursive angel was using four hundred years ago. Impossible to see incantation. 

Theorized why this might be throughout second bottle of whiskey. Enjoyed feelings of profound relief. Ignored feelings of vague disappointment.

Theory one: angel at one time planning to use Big One, decided not to. Reasonable theory, but does not explain why every copy is in this bookshop.

Theory two: angel bought every copy with the express intent of crossing out incantation so no one could completely control a demon ever again.

Unreasonable theory. 

Will never mention any of this unless perhaps world ends. Probably not even then. What would that really change?

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #racket's 13 days of halloween #my fics

[dysfunctionalcrab]

breaking point

pairing: karl jacobs x reader

pronouns: gender neutral

description: karl can’t get over your death.

warnings: pure angst. readers death, description of illness, description of a breakdown.

note: sorry about this fluff lovers. honestly i feel like if karl was getting over somebodys death he would just have breakdowns :/

-> also this is literally just a way to improve my angst writing.

one month.

a month without waking up every morning and seeing your face. a month without hearing your voice.

of course he knew, he knew you were sick. it would be selfish of him to tell himself that you weren’t. that you weren’t in pain every single day. he watched you get up from bed in the middle of the night, rushing to the bathroom and empty out last nights dinner into the toilet. he sat beside you, rubbing your back and telling you everything was going to be okay. you tried your best to believe it, so desperately did you want to believe him

but even karl himself couldn’t believe it.

day by day he watched you get worse, the hope that glistened in your eyes slowly started to fade away. you became pale, the bags under your eyes were becoming more prominent. you were just so tired

you were tired of everyone telling you were going to be fine, because you obviously weren’t. you knew that eventually you’d have to say goodbye to everyone, and leave everybody you loved.

it got to a point that you couldn’t even open up a jam jar. your frail arms couldn’t twist the lid no matter how hard you tried.

you felt like a burden to everyone, you weren’t that cheerful person you were once before. you felt more like a villain. someone who was ruining everybody’s day by just being present.

you weren’t scared of dying anymore, you were scared of living and continuing to suffer the way you were.

so, when you laid in the hospital bed, surrounded by all your loved ones. you felt tranquility. it made you happy that you knew none of these people would have to worry about you anymore.

your vision was becoming blurry, you could barely recognise anybody’s faces anymore. you didn’t want to cry, you didn’t want everybody’s last memory of you to be an image of your tear stained face. instead you smiled at them, karl held your left hand and your mother held your right, you squeezed their hands as tightly as you could, telling them how much you loved them.

your grip eventually loosed, as you took your last breath. you were unresponsive, and everybody was looking at nothing but the whites of your eyes.

-

your funeral hit him even harder.

karl felt so empty inside. all the happiness was drained out of him. he kept trying to tell himself this wasn’t real, and you weren’t gone. but how could he when he was standing right in front of your grave?

he watched your coffin lower down. all attention turned to your mother. as the coffin sunk deeper into the ground, she collapsed onto the floor, an agonising scream erupting from her. people ran to pull her away, but she refused to let them bury you.

karl walked away. he didn’t want to watch this. this isn’t what you would’ve wanted. you wanted nothing but everybody to be happy

but he couldn’t be, not when he was constantly reminded of you every single. those memories were now making him sad. he would drive past target just to be reminded of your late night trips. when he would see your favourite candy he would be reminded of your awful sweet tooth you constantly complained about, and how he would scold you for eating too many.

“but they taste so good!” you would defend yourself. your voice rang in his ears.

-

in the first two weeks he would cry himself to sleep every day. his pillow was always soaking from the waterfall of tears. he would grab another pillow from the living room, and spray it in your favourite perfume, and would cuddle it, pretending he was cuddling you, all while taking in your scent.

one night, he jolted awake with a gasp. his forehead was covered in beads of sweat and his breath was shaky and uneven. it was a nightmare. they had become much more frequent since your death.

karl reached his arm out to the pillow beside him, looking for some comfort and warmth.

but he forgot you weren’t there anymore.

he wished that you would just materialise from beneath his fingers and hold his hand. he wished to have you here and have you run your hands through his hair and shush him back to sleep.

karl swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to close his eyes and fall back asleep.

-

he didn’t like socialising with others now.

yes, he loved his friends, he wouldn’t give them up for the world. he felt so helpless when they saw him. they all gave him this identical look filled with pity. whenever they saw him and they’d always ask him ‘how are you feeling today?’

he was so sick of that question.

when he logged on discord with the boys, they treated him differently, like he was glass, and was about to shatter any moment.

he hated feeling so weak.

in the third week, his family suggested talking to your family. maybe they both could slowly heal by talking about the positive aspects of your life.

he despised the idea at first, but after coming round to your old house, sitting down and talking to your parents. he found himself smiling for the first time in ages, as he ran his fingers over a baby picture of you.

visits to your parents became much more regular, they were much closer. karl felt a sense of pride, because he knew it’s what you would’ve wanted.

-

four weeks. one month. time was passing by slowly but thankfully it was giving him time to grieve, and time to reflect. he felt like the hole in his heart was very slowly starting to repair itself

music was playing from his phone on spotify, karl was boiling a pot of water for his pasta. when it was hot enough, he threw in his pasta and let it cook. karl sat down and started scrolling through instagram, the music still playing.

he lightly chuckled at a funny meme he read. he went to send it to alex.

the grin on his face disappeared when he realised his finger was hovering over your username.

he wished he could send it to you. his mind started drifting to you all over again.

when the pasta was finally done. karl felt his stomach rumble and he was glad he would finally get some food in his system. he prepared the table, and poured a glass of juice for himself too.

the music changed to one of his favourite songs, he started singing along to it, his body swaying slightly as he turned around with the pot to pour it onto the plate, ready to eat it. only then did he realise his mistake.

he set out two plates.

two forks.

two glasses.

one for him.

and for you

karl gnawed at his lip. he stared at the second set of cutlery like it was an intruder. his lips started to tremble, and without realising, he dropped the pot.

the loud clash against the tile floor brought him back to reality. immediately, he bent down to pick up his mess, but it was all pushing him over the edge.

this was his breaking point

he angrily threw the pot back onto the floor, while the most gut-wrenching scream left his body.

he rested against the door of the oven, his head leaned uncomfortably against the handle. sobs ripped from his throat. his voice was starting to feel scratchy. karl rocked back and forth, his head banging the handle each time, causing his head to get dizzier and dizzier until he almost felt nauseous.

his hands were tugging at his hair as he buried his face into his knees. he knew he had lost control of himself. another wave of tears emerged.

he tried to calm himself, he tried to steady himself. karl was mumbling out loud as his body was quaking, but every few seconds it would be interrupted by a few guttural sounds. sounds of pain and anguish melded together.

“why would you leave me?” he cried, his voice breaking.

karl wasn’t healing like he thought.

you were the other half that made him whole.

and you were mercilessly ripped away from him

he just didn’t know how he could go on living without you.

———

masterlist

#mcyt #mcyt x reader #karl jacobs #karl jacobs imagine #karl jacobs x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines #karl jacobs imagines #angst #karl jacobs angst

[jerakeenc]

June-Sept Recs (10)

This is pitiful. I think I'm mostly re-reading older fic, so I don't end up with anything new to rec? Would you guys want recs of rereads? Re-recs?

✨Crash and Burn by Aureutr_Accoredge

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Explicit | 315,000 words

There had been no Seeing Stone on Tython that Grogu could use to call for a Jedi. They had survived Gideon's light cruiser mostly by luck. And now Din Djarin is trapped between trying to resume his old life with Grogu in tow or facing what wielding the Darksaber truly means for him and his people. Mostly he just wants a nap. Luke Skywalker is looking for Jedi artifacts he can use to help build a curriculum for the school he seeks to create. Not that he knows where it will be. Or how to find pupils. But then he runs into a shiny stranger whose beskar armor makes him a null space in the Force. And he doesn't know who Luke is. Intrigued (and in need of parts to repair his ship), he Skywalkers his way into tagging along on the latest bounty.

Look, I'm pretty far gone on this ship so my judgment is super suspect, but 300K words and I still like a story? It has to be good. If I have to nitpick I can say I would've preferred a more splashy romantic ending but again - 300K words.

Worlds Apart by PepperPrints

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Explicit | 69,000 words

Having safely delivered the Child, Mand'alor Din Djarin inherits the Darksaber, a ruined planet, and the burden of Moff Gideon's fate. That burden brings Din to the New Republic on Coruscant, where he's thrown into a shimmering world of galactic politics even less familiar to him than the planet meant to be his home. Din isn't the only one on Coruscant with his hands full of a once forgotten order - the Jedi is here too, and as their paths cross, Din will be forced to navigate both what's expected of him, and what he wants.

Din becomes the leader he's meant to be.

Stardust Legacies by Withercrown

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Mature | 187,000 words

The child has found safety with the Jedi, but that doesn't mean the threat is over. What's left of the Empire is still hunting Force-sensitive individuals, and a not-so-chance encounter leads Din to some uncomfortable truths regarding his own nature. What does it mean to be both a Mandalorian and a Jedi, and what will that mean for the future of the galaxy?

This is a proper Star Wars novel. Cards on the table, I'm not at all interested in the wider Star Wars universe, so the whole ensemble was wasted on me. Great writing, made me buy jedi!Din which I didn't think was very probable.

✨Curtains by winterhill

James Bond | Bond/Q | Teen | 20,350 words

Indulgent domesticity. No real plot to speak of, just Bond and Q moving in together as friends after Q is targeted and his place burnt down, and slowly progressing to being a couple.

Frickin' perfect curtainfic.

Mercenary by BootsnBlossoms & Kryptaria

James Bond | Bond/Q | Explicit | 66,000 words

Five years ago, Commander James Bond of Her Majesty's Royal Navy left England in disgrace, escaping a court martial -- and what should have been a promising career in MI6 with Alec Trevelyan, his oldest friend. He becomes a mercenary, selling his military expertise to the highest bidder, though not once does he act against England or her interests. Now, new intelligence has possibly located Bond in the United States, and Alec is tasked with the mission to bring him back to MI6. But to do so will require a very unique type of field operative -- one Bond will never suspect. Enter Aidan Green, codename Q.

So satisfying.

a wall, a ceiling by Shinybug

Witcher | Geralt/Jaskier | Mature | 3,770 words

“I hear you,” Geralt murmured, even though his ears were ringing. The distance between them, only a few yards, was an ocean. Jaskier held his traveling bag in his arms and his lute was strapped over his shoulder. He looked like a man with one foot already out the door. A confession, a realization, longing, and hope.

Nothing more romantic than a love confession.

louder than words by Shinybug

Witcher | Geralt/Jaskier | Teen | 5,600 words

Geralt tries to apologize. Jaskier tries to listen.

Lovely tiny fix-it.

✨Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail by owlet

MCU | Bucky/Steve | Teen | 264,000 words

The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

I'm probably the last person to have read this, but in case you've also been skipping it: It's very very good. I don't generally read pre-slash but I kinda didn't want the relationship in this to progress at all? Bucky had what he needed in Steve and I had what I needed as a reader. Devotion trumps sex, imho.

As Is by Arsenic

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 52,800 words

In a world where people are put on the market as commodities for all sorts of reasons, and SHIELD buys those who might be useful to them, Coulson makes what seems, at the time, to be an ill-advised purchase.

Hurt!Clint

Professional Front by Arsenic

MCU | Clint/Phil | Teen | 11,300 words

When Clint finds out Coulson has been secretly alive for some time and is now the director of SHIELD he's determined that he can be a professional about working with the man.

Coulson's back from the dead. Clint's not gonna let him die again.

Between the Personal and the Real by Arsenic

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 21,400 words

Clint knows how things work between principals and their obeisants. At least, he's always thought he does.

Forced into a slavery-ish contract

Been Looking At You Forever by torakowalski

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 18,880 words

Clint and Phil are friends. Friends who have sex. That’s all there is to it. Honestly.

This is cute!

They Say You Can't Put A Number On Love by torakowalski

MCU | Clint/Phil | Teen | 3,000 words

“Look,” Stark says. “I ran a simulation: attributes you have shown most interest in versus likelihood of success. It turns out that there’s a sixty-five percent chance that your type is Director Fury.”

SUPER cute!

stick together and see it through by torakowalski

MCU | Clint/Phil | Teen | 5,680 words

There are many places that Phil would rather be than stuck in a HYDRA base with Tony Stark.

Competent!Coulson, Tony & Phil friendship, so much cute.

I Could Live By The Light Of Your Eyes by nerdwegian

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 44,550 words

All Clint wanted was to get laid. (In which Clint meets a mysterious man who may or may not be named Phil, and accidentally stumbles into a big conspiracy where very few things are what they seem to be.)

Fun spy AU.

#recs