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sinisterexaggerator · 6 months

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Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

Chapter 5: Hungry and Hot to Trot

(Cad Bane x Fem! Reader/OC)

*This is a second person POV (reader) fic / OC fic. It's both. I forgo physical descriptions as much as possible, though yes, you/she has a name, and a personality.

This chapter: Our dear reader wakes up hungry, but Todo doesn't know what to do! Cad Bane has left you stranded on his ship, and with a lack of any food. But it's for your own good; he's gone to find the man that kidnapped you.

Warnings: 18+ for dirty humor, nudity, mention of female anatomy, death, murder, gunfights, dismemberment, reference to fertile cycles and alien biology aka horny old man Bane headcanon, and one sassy droid.

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: I could have kept writing as I have so much ground to cover, and it has been nearly a year since I've updated. SORRY ABOUT THAT. Life got a bit in the way. I hope you enjoy this chapter, however, and I plan to keep this series going until the end, no matter how long it takes.

BATBH: Masterpost

Ao3

THIS IS A CRACK FIC! Or, as I like to call it: Slapstick Smut.

You are Aurora Ordel and you awoke with a start; you were faced with a face you could not see clearly. You screamed pure, unadulterated murder, then you were promptly gassed; you passed back out again.

“Ah, shit-”

Cad Bane palmed his face. He had acted on impulse; he had released a cloud capable of putting you to sleep; there was a hidden valve residing beneath his wrist gauntlet.

That had not been his intention, though he did not mind that you were quiet, however considering the circumstances he found himself wanting to know if he should have kept those sleemo’s breathing – torture, after all, was not outside his wheelhouse, and intel in this case was priceless.

“Mister Bane, maybe I should be in charge of the prisoner-”

“She ain’t a priss’ner!”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Be out a’couple hours now. Exspectin’ Ah be back b’fore dhen,”

“You are leaving?”

The Duros had paused to lean in close; he could still smell those blasted hooligans all over your damn clothes. A rumble was emitted, the sound tantamount to a displeased grumble; Bane proceeded to rub his rostrum across your neck, chest, and the remnants of your dress.

He had taken to marking you, wanting to replace that putrid stench with his own fragrance without so much as an explanation.

Todo watched on idle, blinking his yellow eyes. All of this was beyond interesting, Bane’s behavioral response absorbed by his many microprocessors.

Cad cleared his throat; he pushed up off you, leaving you to lie there. His brow ridge stitched before he addressed the small metal man off to his left.

“Gonna find dhis Green Hair. Somethin’ don’t add up,” the hunter commented.

“Whatever do you mean? They just seemed like a gang of thugs to me,” Todo followed up.

“She’s too high-profile; jerks like dhat don’t go fer Imps widdout plannin’ on a high payout,” Bane enunciated dryly.

“You mean you think he was coerced to kidnap her, or perhaps even hired?”

Todo looked up as his master checked his gas carts; a quick once over of his gear was common. Even in the middle of a mission, Bane would habitually assess his ammunition, or lack thereof; being put in a tough spot was not something he was fond of.

“Yep,” he affirmed, turning to walk out the door.

“Wait! But Bane, what if-”

“Keep an eye on ‘er!” he interrupted. “Don’t let ‘er out of yer sight,” the Duros finalized, “or it’ll be yer metallic hide.”

Todo groaned; it was a sound usually reserved for humans and other beings. Still, it expressed his feelings, as he was not sure what to do should you wake up.

“This job is among the weirdest yet,” he complained.

Then, he did all he could do; he sat down and stayed watch, ever vigilant.

---

Two standard hours had ticked on by; you heard a few mumbled words as you once more opened up your eyes. This time, you were faced with a droid. You gasped as you scrounged for purchase.

You backed up far enough that you met with the closest wall. Unfortunately, there was nowhere left for you to go. You cursed, wondering what else you had gotten yourself into.

“There is no need to be afraid, we have already met,” Todo articulated, “but just in case: I am Todo 360, techno-service droid, and accomplice to Cad Bane.”

If nothing else, you recognized his voice; your glasses were long-gone. Your vision was blurred at best, though it was difficult to see past his gigantic head.

“Where am I?” you asked, your nails digging diligently into surprisingly soft bedsheets.

“You are aboard the Justifier, and this is where you will remain. Mister Bane has ordered that you stay put until he comes bac-”

You squealed; your voice was shrill. “You mean he’s not here?!”

The frazzled droid zipped a pace away, clearing himself of your immature display. You had begun to shake, or vibrate, trembling of all things.

“Where is he?” you asked desperately.

“He is away,” he replied simply.

“But what if they come back!” you whined, disconcerted.

“Rest assured, you are perfectly secure,” said the twitchy service droid. “There is no safer place for you than on Bane’s ship.”

You looked around, though you could barely make out your surroundings. “Are-are you sure?” you asked more quietly.

Todo chirped, irritated. “Yes, I am sure. Now, just sit still and wait patiently. I am positive Bane will be back any— Excuse me! Where are you going?” he demanded of you as you had risen to your feet.

“I feel faint,” you admitted, not seeming to remember that you hadn’t eaten in nearly three whole days; your stomach had begun to gnaw at you, craving food.

“Then why are you standing?” Todo argued, tugging at the edge of your torn and sullied dress.

“You have something, don’t you?” you inquired weakly as you stumbled across the room.

Todo sighed a human-sounding sigh, releasing his slight grip. He had to think about it. “I do not believe you will be interested in what Bane has to eat,” he explained succinctly.

“I don’t care, anything—” you managed, walking out into the hall. You were faced with a row of doors. You were not sure which to try, so you went by one at a time.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Todo scolded you as you entered what looked like a workshop of some kind; it contained within a mixed assortment of odds and ends. You wondered how he had acquired all of this. If you squinted, you could just make out what looked like clone trooper helmets; among those you thought was a Jedi’s lightsaber.

You opened your mouth to speak; Todo was not having it. “This way, please,” he said, chaperoning you like he might a helpless child.

You weaved to another entry of some sort, this one with locked tight doors. Todo was quick to apprehend you; his weensy body became a barrier. He pushed against your thighs with his tiny hands; they were cold, and the droid was adamant. “No, no! Definitely not in here. This is Bane’s private quarters! He would have both our heads.”

You huffed, exasperated. “Just take me to the kitchen!” Even so, you could not deny you wanted to know what was just on the other side…

“We do not have a kitchen-” Todo corrected you, “-we have a galley, and I am trying!”

“Whatever! Food is food!” you rationalized.

“Yes, so I have heard,” Bane’s droid tittered wryly. “Mister Bane also shares those sentiments, as you will find.”

“Well, good!” you answered in a mood. You would not concern yourself with reading between the lines. Hells, you would take a ration bar; anything was fine!

You continued on your bumbling misadventure; Todo directed you toward an abnormally large lift; you wondered what Bane carried in it. Once inside, you thought that you could smell yourself. Luckily for your inorganic tour guide, he could not tell the difference.

“Oh my God—” you began, hoisting up your arm to take a whiff. Todo shifted, gazing up at you, emotionless.

“What is it now?” he queried.

“I smell awful!” you admitted.

“That must be why Mister Bane rubbed himself all over you,” Todo conjectured.

“He what?!”

“Truly fascinating, Duros. Although, you ought to know,” the droid complained with attitude.

You gawked at him, not believing you were being sassed by Cad Bane’s companion. Was he angry? Jealous? Protective of his master?

“I’m sorry?”

“You should be!” he explained. “He has been behaving quite differently with you around.”

The door to the lift flew open; Todo hovered out and onward. You had no choice but to follow him.

“How is that my fault?” you dared to ask.

“Well, it is, and it isn’t, you see,” Todo knew there was more to it than that.

You glanced about, finding yourself to be in the bowels of the ship. This was a part of the Justifier you had not seen previously. Not even on the day Cad Bane had dragged you in, keen on being mean, but it had backfired – you were still here.

This area seemed mostly unused, or like a storage space. Every corner was home to an oversized cargo crate. They were quite possibly chock-full of weapons, supplies. Then, on the other hand, there could be ration bars. Your thoughts drifted as did your feet; you were once more cutoff by Cad Bane’s little confidant.

“This way, this way! Do not go snooping. That is one surefire way to get Mister Bane to despise you,” Todo spoke from experience; he often wondered how young Boba Fett was doing.

“It seems like he already despises me,” you mumbled, hungrily marching forward as you finally approached another set of doors; these were double.

“To the contrary,” Todo proffered, causing your eyes to dart in his direction. He ignored the rise in your attention span, passing through into what you had called a “kitchen.”

It was full of pots and pans, plates, bowls, and numerous utensils. Most seemed unused, set to sparkling as Todo was the one who diligently polished them. There were knives, forks, spoons; there was everything but food.

“It’s so clean,” you marveled.

“You may thank me for that,” Todo retorted.

“But what does he even eat?” you whined, traipsing forward, flinging cabinets open and pulling out all the drawers. There was nothing there! Your mind reeled and your stomach growled. That’s when you finally noticed the conservator.

“Meat mostly,” Todo said offhand. “I assumed you knew everything about Mister Bane,” the feisty droid remarked, “though he also consumes what he likes to call ‘roughage.’”

You could only hope that meant salad; you could do with one right now. Or hells, even a steak would be nice, something big and juicy to suffice you. Though, on the other hand, what Todo had said kept nagging. You spouted off a question just as you pulled the door wide open.

“What did you mean ‘to the contrar-’” There was something wrapped in what looked like foil; you made your move, a bold one, to steal the scraps of Bane’s last meal.

“I would not do that!” Todo blurted out.

You pulled the wrapper back; its contents had a face, and worse yet, eyes. The only thing missing was its fur and guts; it was a chunk of flesh, raw, and oozing blood.

“What the fuck!” you exclaimed as you promptly dropped it.

“I did try to warn you,” Todo highlighted, as if he needed to.

You nearly puked, your diaphragm contracting. “That’s disgusting!” you announced.

“Maybe to you-” Todo rebuked “-but Mister Bane quite likes it.”

“Well, Mister Bane is a weirdo!” you retaliated.

“You are one to talk!” the droid rejoined.

Your hand had risen to cover your own mouth, but for what you were not sure; it wasn’t as if you had anything in your stomach to throw up. In doing so, you smelled your armpits. That in and of itself reactivated your gag reflex.

You pouted, stomping down your bare foot. The floors were duralloy and provided full resistance. However, you stepped on something squishy. You protested as you almost slipped and fell, your body nearly crumpling.

“Grossssss!” you lamented, having come into contact with whatever that dead thing was.

“I need a shower! Shower. Shower. Shower! Right now!” you demanded, beginning to scamper off without so much as knowing where you were headed. You were in such a rush you collided with a wall; you started crying at the injustice of it all.

“Oh my, oh dear,” Todo said as he came forward, prowling around you as he balanced on his thrusters. “Yes, that might do you some good. Mister Bane always feels better after a long stint in the shower. But it is back upstairs, I am afraid.”

“Take me there,” you pleaded, a hand cupping your bruised shoulder. Todo complied with your request; soon you were back on the lift.

For once, you were silent. You were tired and oh, so hungry. Your body needed energy; you moved more slowly. Todo noticed your decreased speed; he puttered around you in small circles – doing as he was ordered – yet not having the ability to meet your every need. He could only hope Bane would come back soon, as he was not sure what to do for this human woman.

You found yourself once more near Bane’s quarters, being directed to a small refresher. You nearly collapsed just inside the entrance, trying your best to undress yourself.

“Oh, uh—” Todo began, tapping metal against metal as his fingers joined together, obviously somewhat perplexed or even agitated, “—I’ll just be over here,” he stated, leaving.

You had paid the droid no mind, tugging the shreds of your clothes off that remained. You discarded your bra, then the dress as well – straight into the trash bin. Your panties were MIA, but you would burn in hell before you ever wore those things again. Besides, they smelled like others and not just you; you had put two and two together at Todo’s mention.

In theory, it was endearing. It brought you back to Todo’s comment of “to the contrary.” You hummed a little to yourself as you turned the shower on, relaxing against the wall as real liquid started streaming over you.

“Thank fuck,” you mumbled; at least he had the good stuff, sonic vibrations never did quite cut it as per your preference; he must have had a tank of water on reserve.

You let your body slide down, down, until you sat right in it. It was the most luxurious, blissful thing to happen to you in the last three days. You closed your eyes as you tried to regain your peace, but then a thought occurred to you; you had no more clothes to change into. What were you supposed to do?

For the moment, you tried not to let it worry you; the water felt too good. You breathed out a laggard sigh as you finally opened up your eyes.

You stood; your hunger was once more overpowering; you let the water stream down your face and hair, wanting to just stay there, yet the rumbling in your stomach was not a thing to be ignored. Truth be told, you still felt nauseous, finally calling out to Todo whom you thought was just outside the room.

“Excuse me, little droid? Are you there?”

It took him hardly any time to answer you. “I am afraid so,” he said sourly.

You quirked a brow; his tone abruptly changed. He now seemed eager, his programming dictating he was happiest when serving others in some capacity. “How may I be of assistance?”

You attention had been diverted; you were examining some kind of cleaning substance. It was meant to help slough off dry, dead scales; you would not use it for fear of what might happen to you. Your only hope was for some soap. That, or whatever you could find in terms of clothes; as long as they were clean and somewhat fit, you did not care one bit.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk around naked if you can’t find something for me to wear,” you called out to him, your voice being carried beyond the sound of running water and the boundary of the door.

Something sparked in Todo’s droid brain, causing gears to whorl and whirl; he knew just the thing! Something he thought might be more your size, as his master was tall and gangly. “Just a moment! Wait right here,” he insisted.

You heard him buzz off down the hall, then there was total silence. You allowed yourself a nice long soak, taking your time beneath the warm spray of the water. You drank from it to quench your thirst by leaving your mouth wide open; you were sure you were dehydrated. Then, you allowed it to saturate your tangled strands; it ran through all your nooks and crannies.

This would have to do until you could get back to your roost; the penthouse you called your home, seated in the lap of luxury right here on Coruscant. Or at least you thought…

As a matter of fact, you had no idea where you were or where you’d been; you were now trapped here on Cad Bane’s starship. Wherever it happened to be, that is. You had no way of knowing your coordinates, and the refresher had no viewports; it was just as well so people couldn’t spy on you.

You waited for what you felt was much too long; you turned the water off. You attained a towel, though it seemed used. You gingerly rubbed your nose in it; it smelled like Duros.

“Ummmph,” you vocalized, happy, horny, distraught, and needy all at the same time. His scent was heady. You felt you couldn’t think straight, having a wicked and troubling idea tickle your jumbled brain.

“Todo?” you tried for the droid once more; he did not answer. You opened the refresher and tiptoed out, buck naked, into the narrow corridor.

You were relieved to get no response, slinking like a tooka toward Bane’s living quarters; Todo had made it very clear to not go in here, but you only knew one thing, the thing that drove you: inside this room behind the door were Cad Bane’s extra clothes.

It did not take much effort; you pried a panel loose. Even without your glasses, this was elementary; you could rewire an automated entry with your eyes closed – too easy.

Once inside, the door again shut tight; you did not pay it any mind, as your eyes went wide, mesmerized by a plethora of mishmash things, and even trinkets. Everywhere you looked was something pretty, shiny, or otherwise unique; Cad Bane had expensive tastes for a rough and tumble mercenary.

There were unmarked credits on the bed, gold coins of unknown origin, an extra hat – which you picked up and put right on your head – and loads of other fascinating stuff.

His blankets were pristine and plush, his pillows fluffy and silky smooth. Off to one side was a box full of random treasures, one you recognized as Durosian if you squinted; you wondered if he collected artifacts from his species’ culture as a hobby, or just because it was worth something.

You blindly plundered through his drawers; there were stolen bounty fobs and palm-sized holoprojectors with secret messages. There was a datapad or two, and a box of toothpicks. You were tempted to snoop more thoroughly, but after what Todo said… You did not want Cad Bane to have your head; you wanted him in bed.

Finally, you found what you came here for - something belonging to the man that you could wear. You had located what appeared to be a dress shirt with long sleeves; it was white with buttons down the front and hit just above your knees. You at once adorned it, inspecting yourself in a full-length mirror; you wondered if Bane often stood right here when admiring himself; you could not blame him.

You sniffed your prize and nearly melted on the spot. Satisfied, you turned around to exit. The moment your hand touched durasteel a loud noise sent you reeling. You covered up your ears as you had triggered an alarm, a screen descending from the ceiling as a recording of Bane himself played automatically before your bleary eyes.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” the Duros drawled; your breath was heavy as the sirens refused to stop their bleating. You tugged at another access hatch; you began to dislocate and mismatch wires, whining audibly.

“Bane, I’m sorry!”

The recording snickered as if he had heard you through the viewscreen, leaning forward to threaten you with the little piece of wood that perpetually lived between his teeth. “And yer about as stupid as dhey come.”

You found your mouth agape as two more things emerged: loaded blaster rifles, snuggly sequestered on either side of the Duros’ depraved yet smiling face. “Say yer prayers,” he directed.

“Oh, please, oh no. No, no!” you pleaded, bending low to shield yourself. You threw your arms above your head and squatted down till you touched the ground, pulling up a chair to act as a makeshift impediment. Blaster shots rang out, rebounding about the room and all of your surroundings. You screamed as if you were being murdered, because you were, then everything went silent.

You gasped, feeling yourself up; you were all still in one piece, unbelievably. Standing before the now open door was that pesky, life-saving service-droid; within his hands was some kind of drab colored garment.

“What have you done?!” he wailed. “Mister Bane is going to be absolutely furious!” he proclaimed, golden eyes wide in horror and disbelief.

Todo dropped what he was holding, coming around to push against your back. He shoved with all his might, despite you still being on the floor bent down. You tried to come to terms with what just happened, and all due to a shirt; your eyes watered as you let the little robot escort you out.

“And give me that!” he griped, reclaiming the hat upon your head that now suffered a distinctive scorch mark. “Do you have any idea what this cost?!”

“A-a lot?” you asked with a quaver to your voice.

“Yes!” he retorted.

The droid stopped to pick up what had fallen, scooping it up within his arms. He stayed his fury to look at you, tilting his large cranium. “And what is that you are wearing?”

“A shirt I found,” you whispered.

“No, no, you must take that off this instant. I brought you this,” he explained, holding out something worn, brown, and understated. Despite being still terrified and near to tears, you took it to appease him.

“What is it?” you asked sheepishly.

“It is a robe, a Jedi robe, and part of Bane’s collection; he has worn it in the past when needed, and it is a wonderful disguise!”

You gave a little start, looking the thing over. “How did he get it?”

“Surely you know Bane is a Jedi-killer,” Todo quipped, leering at you. “And a most successful one at that. It is his – was – his specialty. They are all dead now, you see.”

“O-oh,” you conceded, then made a face that displayed your distress. “I’m not wearing this!” you contested suddenly.

“And why not?” he fought back, metal hands akimbo on his hips.

“What if I’m mistaken for a Jedi?” you whimpered. “What if someone else tries to kill me?” You dropped the robe, not caring that your – Bane’s shirt - was open. Todo got an eyeful as you retrieved the one thing you could use, a belt that was rather rope-like; you inspected it as Todo gawked, though he didn’t have a mouth.

He made a throaty sound, having seen the outline of your form, the curves and dips, the shape of your bare hips. “Yes, you will do quite nicely,” he commented offhand.

“Excuse me?” you snapped, beginning to button up. You fastened each closure one by one, traveling all the way up to the very top; the belt came next. You soon had fashioned the bounty hunter’s shirt into a dress.

“Well, it seems you are rather good at that! Nearly getting killed, that is, why if it weren’t for Mister Bane—”

“—No, finish that other thought,” you demanded.

Todo sighed for the second or third time, thinking he should have kept his nonexistence lips shut, but it was too late now; he settled down, then began a rather short but interesting tale.

“Duros have a finite reproductive window, and Mister Bane is getting older by the day,” he explained. You cocked a brow but kept on listening. You tried to give him your full attention, but your stomach growled; you needed food right now.

“Walk and talk,” you said.

Todo followed you as you made your way back toward the lift, this time setting course for the location of the boarding ramp; it was at the Justifier’s rear, but you were all ears.

The only thing you didn’t have was your glasses or a pair of shoes; you would make do and go barefoot; you were too hungry to give a damn.

“Well, Mister Bane has been rather grumpy as of late – grumpier than usual – and especially since coming into contact with you,” he remarked.

“I see,” you interjected, yet quite fond of this engrossing notion.

“Therefore, I have come to the conclusion it is best that he mates with you. Once he gets it out of his system, I believe that—”

You burst out laughing; that had already been your plan. “Don’t worry your big head,” you grinned. “Now, wait here.”

Todo looked around, realizing you had dropped the ramp. He had lost track of your destination, instantaneously switching gears as was his very nature, if you could call it that; he was just a culmination of ones and zeros, but it still felt like he had feelings.

“Where do you think you are going? Bane instructed us to both wait here.”

“To the market,” you answered back, having come to the conclusion you were parked somewhere near CoCo Town at a rundown spaceport.

“Come back! You should not disregard what Mister—”

“What’s he going to do, shoot me?” you jested, feeling a teensy bit more like your old self.

“Yes!” he responded, trailing close behind. “Wait! Oh, you—we’re going to be in so much trouble when he gets back!” the droid complained as he endeavored to keep you company.

“Just come with me,” you offered.

Todo bellyached, indignant. “What do you think it is I am doing? He did tell me to keep an eye on you.”

Then, he glared at you. It was rather cute. “I will make sure to tell him I tried to stop you.”

“Mhm, yes, of course,” you simpered, nonplussed, though finding his last confession had warmed your heart; he did care somewhat after all.

---

Cad Bane had assured that you were safe, but at the cost of backtracking, one of his least favorite things. He once more made his way through the Crimson Corridor, headed for the Tusken Oasis as per the Gotal he had killed. He had parked his ship far from this squalid high-crime district, thinking if you stayed aboard the Justifier nothing could go awry - that’s where he was wrong - he had underestimated the power of your stupidity, for however smart you were.

He passed the Green Glowstone Tavern; Bane knew the Bothan bartender who owned the place, yet he would not stop to chat; he had business to attend to, business regarding you.

Still, he tipped his hat; the Bothan waved right back. It was a silent interchange between two men, both busy.

The hunter continued trudging forward; crowds parted for him. Those who scurried he kept an eye on as he traversed the infamous Barsoom Boulevard.

Prostitutes tried flirting with him; a few scoundrels attempted to sell their wares. It was the ones who watched that warranted his attention; they were not clever; the Duros had dealt with all types and kinds of people, and street thugs were no different. He had an inkling that sneaking would be impossible, as these degenerates would most likely run and tell their boss; there was no use hiding –- Cad Bane was on the prowl.

This area of town was the Raptor Gang’s main hideout; he had heard from word of mouth, steadily stalking onward, eyes forward, as he could sense something sinister afoot -- an ambush.

Bane stalled, stopping dead, slowly but surely turning his hat and head. There was an eerie silence the hunter did not trust, fingers loitering above the holster of one LL-30 BlasTech pistol.

“May as well come out, cahn smell ye’ from a klick,” the gunslinger taunted.

Three bodies emerged from behind trash and refuse, big and burly, weapons drawn and at the ready, as if they thought they had anything on him. Bane grinned a sadistic grin. “Let’s make dhis quick.”

Plasma flew as shots were discharged; Cad Bane dodged it all, rolling to take up residence behind the nearest wall. He returned his own deluge of blaster fire; his aim was true. Ignorance had been their downfall; the Duros would persist in his pursuit.

“Better luck next life,” he jeered to the corpses at his feet; he stepped over them, disrespectfully. But there was one person that he did not want to disrespect if he could help it: Yanth the Hutt, owner of the prestigious nightclub for which his course was set. Though there would be no stopping him, even if that meant killing all of Green Hair’s men. Bane would try not to demolish the whole bar, but if he did? So be it.

The Crimson Corridor was empty now due to the pathetic gunmen he had encountered, its residents scared away back into their homes or other dens, places of debauchery and sin. Places Cad Bane rarely frequented except for occasions such as this; he preferred the quiet confines of his ship.

He could hear the music from a hundred yards; a Bith quartet had taken center stage. Lately, they seemed to be all the rage, but Cad Bane could care less; he approached the entrance.

A bouncer tried to guard the way, but the Duros was infamous and greatly feared; it did not take him much convincing. All the hunter did was glare until he took the hint and scrammed, the green Gamorrean deciding he desired to live and fight another day thanks to such little pay.

Bane regarded him as he up and left; he tipped his hat again. He strolled on through, being met with colored lights and statuettes of varying hues and species, some mythological in the form of beasts; the Hutt spared no expense for his well-kept business. It was quite impressive if Bane could be impressed; the only thing that had that affect on him were credits, and you had a lot of them.

There were dejarik boards and tables for sabacc, gambling men and dancing girls. There were women dressed to the nines alongside scum and villainy; all manner of people came here, including those that Cad Bane now searched out.

Twi’leks, Rodians, and Zeltrons batted their lashes at him, trying to distract him if he didn’t know better. He slipped on by, giving a flirtatious squeeze to varying rumps and waists; while he was tempted, everything had a time and place. He left a gaggle of smitten ladies in his wake.

Then, the heat was on. Green Hair sat amongst a slew of bodyguards. There was no doubt that it was him; he was a human male, lean with a wiry build. But he also sported the most ludicrous hairstyle Bane had ever seen; his green hair was kept upright by an electrostatic field.

The Duros suppressed a laugh, coming off as composed and stoic though inside he was dying. It looked like he had stuck his finger in a socket, the man assuming he was the epitome of style; word around these parts was he was nicknamed “Fashion Plate.”

“Kids dhese days,” Bane mulled internally.

As he descended upon their table - each step slow and full of purpose - Green Hair’s men decided to act like the brutes they were, boxing the Duros inside their little circle. It there was one thing Bane did not like, it was being cornered; his hand returned to rest upon one blaster’s holster. One H'nemthe in particular got right in his face; Bane kept his cool, but cockily insulted him.

“Ah’d say ye’ must be plumb weak north of yer ears-” he heckled, “-but it don’t look like ye’ got any.”

Cad Bane sneered; he had to be one of the most hideous sleemo’s he had ever seen. A reptilian-humanoid as was his ilk, but still— at least he didn’t have three fingers or ridges on his face. He figured he had never mated; their women were said to kill them once they did –- this one was a virgin.

“Couldn’ get laid so ye’ took up clownin’, did ye’?” Bane insinuated.

That was all it took; the H'nemthe drew his pistol. Cad Bane laid him out; one shot and he would precede his brethren in death, but only by mere minutes, seconds - others were ready to avenge his name - but their green-haired leader finally said his piece.

“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?”

“Tell dhat to yer men, dipshit.”

The punk in charge smiled cordially, pretending to welcome Bane with open arms. Reluctantly, his hired guns made room for him to pass, wary, and with scowls upon their ugly mugs.

“The notorious Cad Bane,” Green Hair began. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut de kark,” the Duros seethed. “Who hired ye’.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

The man motioned with one arm as an introduction. “We are the Raptor Gang. This is our turf,” he said more firmly. “We work for no one but ourselves.”

“Dhen yer de one who ordered Ordel captured,” Bane growled with a curl of his upper lip.

“Oh, her,” the bottom-feeder said dismissively. “She’s just some Imp who works for the Empire. Why do you care?”

The hunter grit his fangs, remembering the state in which he found you. While it could be said Bane had done much worse, it still was not a good enough excuse.

“Dhat’s my business—” he glowered, “—but Ah’m about t’make it yers.”

Green Hair side-eyed one of the henchmen to his right; the tension was so thick it could be cut clean through with a vibroknife. The very air was pregnant with unease and animosity, the Duros’ fathomless red eyes studying his adversary. His intent was mal, Bane past the point of being patient. The human could sense his unwavering hostility, mentally preparing for if and when he would have to flee the scene.

The man who had received his subtle signal placed himself between Bane and Green Hair, as was his duty. Bane snidely smiled, taking this opportunity to bruise him; hiding behind a lackey was cowardly. “Didn’ realize Green Hair was so yello’-bellied,” the hunter mocked him.

Green Hair ignored his comment, not allowing it to get the best of him. “We were holding her for ransom,” he explained. “But no one came to collect—except for you,” he clarified.

Then, to add insult to injury, the scuzzball kept on talking; he must have thought he was safe and sound behind the blanket of some odd ten men at his disposal.

“The way I see it, you owe me for damages, bounty hunter. You got the girl, but not without destroying one of my properties and killing several of my crew-” Smugly, he took a drink to wet his tongue before he continued. “-a million credits, and I’ll let you walk away. I just know you’re good for it,” he speculated.

Bane laughed; it was dry and lustless. He had a word of his own to say, hand ever at the ready to pull his weapon should the need arise.

Green Hair had frowned at his response, or the lack of one, knowing that his horde was all eyes and ears and judging him for this; to misstep or slip-up during an interaction could be grounds for reevaluation of his leadership.

“Draw,” Bane said with strong contempt.

Green Hair sat up straight; if his mop didn’t already stand on end, it most assuredly would have. He knew who held his audience and the reputation of this dodgy Duros; it did not ease his fears as Cad Bane stood transfixed, and very serious.

“It’s only fair; I was told she was valuable,” he quickly stated, trying to keep the panic from wholly overtaking him.

Cad Bane’s austere red eyes narrowed. “Told by whom,” he barked the question.

The man dared to shrug, “heard it through the grape vine,” he said simply, so far remaining calm and collected with all his wits about him, but not for long.

“Draw,” the gunslinger echoed.

Green Hair stood up on his dais, one level above the plane on which Cad Bane watched, attentive. He had the nerve to brandish his pointer-finger, extending it to put the blame to Bane.

“Now, wait a minute! You don’t give orders around here, I’m the one who—” That finger was blown clean-off, the Raptor’s leader staring on in shock. The wound was already cauterized; the intense heat of the plasma shot had staunched the flow of blood.

“Don’ got de patience fer no lily-livered, nuna-hearted, blackguard, disssrespectful sssleazebag,” Bane rasped harshly.

“Get him!!!” Green Hair screeched shrilly, holding his wounded hand with the one that still had all its digits. Bane was closed back in; multiple blaster bolts flew in his direction. The Duros soared sky-high per the activation of his rocket boots; this in turn caused several to drop down dead; they had gone and done his job for him.

“Too slow,” he hissed.

His taunting caused more blasters to start blazing, Bane zipping and zigzagging as he easily avoided their pathetic excuse for aim. He withdrew his second pistol; this was the end game. Not for him, but for the whole of Green Hair’s men.

Multiple rounds were fired; they were continuous. Bane’s LL-30 BlasTech pistols had been modified to suit his needs; they would never overheat. One man went down, and then another; they were dropping like Bahl flies, straight down onto the ornate carpet.

People screamed; innocents, supposedly, though this place was a rumpus room full of crooks and thieves. They dashed about like nunas with their heads cut off, knocking one another over as they scrambled to get out. Still, they had no need to worry; Bane never missed his target, and currently his sights were set on one particular maggot trying to escape his wrath.

Green Hair ran opposite, toward the back of the establishment. Bane assumed there was a hidden exit, or a tunnel he was privy to. With all his enforcers dead, the gutless sack of bantha dung had high-tailed it -- too bad for him he wasn’t faster than Cad Bane’s lariat.

With the actuation of his wrist gauntlet, he let his whipcord launch. It wound around the slimy bastard's ankles, causing him to trip over his own two feet. Bane landed gracefully; he reeled him in, the nails of Green Hair’s remaining fingers digging into the fancy rug.

It was no use; Cad Bane tugged and hauled him back. His quarry hemmed and hawed as he tried to switch his story.

“I don’t know anything!” Green Hair proclaimed to ears now deaf, hidden beneath Bane’s insulated cap and his overly large hat.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Bane snorted as he used his other arm to shoot a stream of grisly flames; they ignited the perps pants, setting them ablaze.

Green Hair screamed and yelled, twisting and turning, although he was still lassoed. He managed to bat the flames out, panting, swearing, and now met face to face with Bane as he dragged him to square up.

“Who sent ye’ afta’ Ordel,” Bane asked again.

“I don’t know, I don’t—”

Bane prepared for the smell of burning flesh. “Liar, liar, face on—”

“WAIT!” the asshole bellowed, deciding to change his tune to one more favorable. He breathed in and out, trying to settle himself down as two red eyes, bright as starlight, radiated hatred; this bastard’s luck had just run out-- Cad Bane was not merciful.

“Some guy, old guy. Talked with a funny accent.”

“Ah wanna name,” Bane sizzed angrily.

“Don’t have one— he said she was an engineer! Told us to watch the news. Said she’s valuable to the Empire and they would pay hefty credits to get her back! She’s a brainiac!” he explained hurriedly.

“Yer right stupid, ain’cha. Ye’ think de Empire ain’t gonna just storm yer lil’ hideout if dhey want ‘er?”

Bane glared deep into his eyes; he would both see and sense his fear. People who were scared often withheld information without the proper motivation, but the bounty hunter found he could be quite persuasive.

“Ye’ suppose dhey take kindly to extortion?”

The Duros retrieved one holstered pistol, planting it against the side of Green Hair’s spiky head. He bared his fangs; he had no qualms with offing him.

“And she’s ah brainiac yer men used an’ abused,” he hissed. “Dhere ain’t no lady who deserves dhat, not even an Imp,’ he spat.

“Now—” Bane’s words took on a darker tone, “—give me’a name, or Ah’ll assume yer de one t’answer fer all. dhose. sins,” he finished.

Green Hair truly didn’t have one, just a pseudo he had given him, and what he could remember of his unremarkable appearance.

“I dunno, man! He reached out to me; his frequency was encrypted. I shoulda known this shit was a trap!”

Bane shook and rattled him, a threat to do him in. “Now he’s gettin’ it.”

“Said I could call him-- call him Willy,” Green Hair imparted. “Maybe, he—”

“Maybe he jus’ couldn’ do it ‘imself and knew ye’ were an idiot,” Bane filled in the blanks, throwing the so-called leader of the Raptor’s back down upon the ground. If you took the time to put two and two together, it all made sense; it was an inside job, the suggestion made by one of your trusted colleagues.

“Please, don’t kill me,” the white-livered Green Hair begged.

Bane glanced down at him as if he forgot that he was there. About that time they had a visitor. One unhappy Hutt came slipping and sliding down the carpet, Yanth, the owner of the Tusken Oasis nightclub.

“Explain this!” he thundered in Galactic Basic.

Bane knew Yanth was a Vigo, one of nine, and part of Black Sun’s leadership. He was wealthy and held in high esteem. He oversaw the organization’s operations in this sector of the galaxy. He reported directly to the Underlord; it paid off to know your stuff, as Cad Bane did not want to piss him off.

“Dhis one ‘ere started it,” Bane began, yanking Green Hair up again to toss directly into the hands of one of his two men.

“Was gonna haul him in,” the Duros said all calm and casual, glancing at the shed that lined his fingertips.

“Reckon he owes ye’ some money,” Bane finalized.

“I know you,” the Hutt informed him. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

“Cad Bane, at yer service,” the gunslinger rejoined.

“Hey, that’s not—” Green Hair interrupted.

One of Yanth the Hutt’s men backhanded him across the face; he was nearly knocked out cold, blood spewing from his lips. He now hung limply in the arms of a four-limbed Besalisk. Bane grinned as Green Hair groaned; he couldn’t help it.

“Then I suppose I should thank you for getting the situation under control before it got out of hand,” the slimy Hutt-lord said.

“Tweren’t nothin’,” Bane said with a tip of his wide hat. “Consider it a gift,” he proffered, pulling out a toothpick from the inside pocket of his jacket. “So’ry ‘bout de bodies,” he added, placing his wooden chew toy in his mouth; the Hutt finally took one long glance around.

“I’ve seen worse,” he commented.

“Ah’m sure ye’ have,” Bane quipped offhand. Then, he produced a copy of his calling card; he offered it to Yanth as a way to keep the peace between them.

“If ye’ ever find yerself needin’ a bounty hunta’, give me a buzz,” Bane stated, twirling on his heel for his coat to swirl; he loved making a grand exit; he was known for his showmanship.

Bane walked, alert. He kept his eyes forward, but he was focused on his rear. His ears were sharp and his senses were perceptive. If Yanth tried to turn on him as he made his way, he would be ready, but the only thing he heard was Green Hair yelling as he was dragged along the floor.

With the Hutt in charge, he was in for his comeuppance; Bane did not pity him.

---

Once outside, Bane was unaware his worries would intensify. His first order of business had been to comm his ship and his little droid, but there had been no answer.

“Todo, how’s de lil’ hellcat doin’. Finished ‘ere,” he started, waiting patiently before he became impatient. He could not think of an excuse to be ignored, unless there was a heap of trouble brewing.

“Todo, where are ye’? Answer de comm,” Bane demanded of his companion.

For a few moments, he stopped to wonder; just who among your ranks had it out to kill you? Truth be told, this job was getting out of hand. He had a mind to leave it all behind.

Then, he remembered your annoyingly attractive face, your buxom tits, and all your assets. He would not admit it to himself, but he had somehow formed a slight attachment; he wanted to see you safe if nothing else, you had paid him to do no less.

“Todo…” He rang his ship a second time, his droid’s name spoken with mild panic. He should have known better than to leave the two of you alone; his scales prickled as he thought of all the things that could go wrong. He had no idea about your hunger, or the lengths that you would go to get a meal, nor did he realize you had solicited his addled sidekick to go somewhere against his will.

“Ye’ gotta be shittin’ me,” Cad Bane declared, igniting his repulsor boots again. This time his aim was for his speeder, parked some few blocks off. He only hoped when he made it to the Justifier that you weren’t dead, or worse.

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ll-bowman · 5 months

Text

Thalassophile Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Masterlist

WC:1.7k

CW: feelings of being an outcast, feminine descriptions, boats and deep sea imagery, horrendous flirting

Every few weeks you sail back to a nearby island to restock and try to socialise with more things besides orca vocalisations. The sky is cloudy and the cold wind rushes onto your cheeks making them feel numb and prickly. The seagulls mew as the sound of ships loading and unloading their catch and loading other goods is abundant. The wood dock transitions onto grey cement that leads towards the bustling port town.

A few locals smile at you and you smile back, a slow familiarity building from your routine stays in town. When you make your way up to the checkout after getting your usual groceries you see the warm smile of an older lady that is always kind to you when you come in.

“Hello dearie, back on land for a few days?” She smiles, her skin creasing along her mouth as she moves your items along as you put them in your bags.

“Yep, I need some interaction that isn’t books and whale sounds.” You laugh politely

“Maybe you’ll find yourself a companion.” She says laughing as she hands your receipt.

“Maybe, has to love the sea just as much as I do.”

Her lips quirk up, a look of mischievous glee evident. “Those strong dock workers like the sea quite a lot dearie, look good too.” You smile and give a nod before taking your groceries and leaving.

As you walk towards your boat to drop off your goods, what Ms.Goodfry mentioned pops into your head. Making your head turn as you watch the crews of various ships now winding down as the sky turns dark. Groups of men and women walking into town to have a drink after a long day.

Your heart aches a bit at the sight. Wishing you had the ability to create those bonds, feel like you fit with other people and not just critters in the ocean. Adjusting your bag you clear your throat and walk back to the boat. Putting your canned goods and produce away as you tidy the cabin up. Deciding to at least be around others you pack your sketchbook and head to the pub in town. Even if you couldn’t have those connections for yourself you could fake it by observing.

The pub is bustling for a friday night, which is to be expected you suppose. The air is thick with laughter and the clinking of dishes. The interior is full of stained wood accents and warm light. You walk to the bar island, sitting on a chair you pull your sketchbook and pens out while you wait to order.

The time passes quickly as you trace the pencil lines and add shading to the scientific sketches.

Eventually a man behind the high top comes across from you, wiping his hands on a towel. He's tall and broad shouldered, shirt hugging his chest with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Arms covered in blonde hair and veins tensing as he moves about. Sunned skin with mutton chops decorate his face. Even just looking at him makes you feel warm and intensely aware of your body.

“Ello Luv, what can I get for yeh?” He asks, voice a deep British accent. It makes you shiver.

“Oh um can I just get whatever is on tap and do you guys have food here?”

He smiles and reaches down, grabbing a laminated menu and handing it to you. While you take a look at the menu he begins filling a tall glass with the dark foamy liquid. Your eyes skirt across the options and decide on what you want. Gods know you haven’t had one in a while. Can’t exactly make a good burger out at sea.

“Finding anythin to yer liking?” His baritone voice questions.

“Hmm yeah can I get the house burger and fries?”

“Of course, that one's really good, ere's your beer.”

You take it from his hand,fingertips lightly touching as you do. You suddenly feel intensely cold, like someone opened a window or a door. Goosebumps and hair standing up on your arms. Before you can look around to see if someone did let in a chill, it's gone. You feel normal again. Weird

You look up at the bartender, his eyes are curious and he looks down at your arms, now covered in goosebumps.

“You alright there, Dove?”

“Oh um yeah just felt like there was a breeze or something.” You smile politely as you take a sip of your beer. It's odd you've never had so many terms of endearment let alone from someone you just met. Maybe that's just how he is.

His eyes search yours before offering a small smile back.

“Names John by the way, are yah new to town or just visiting?”

That's a nice name.

“A bit of both I'd suppose. I live out on the water most of the time, marine biology keeps me busy. I come back every couple weeks to spend some time around others.” You say, more relaxed in his presence.

“A real sea lady then? What's your speciality?” He asks, eyes warm and kind.

The question gives you a bit of a start. No one has asked about your interests since college and even then it was from others in your field. Your shoulders ease down a feeling of relaxation that you haven't felt around many others overtakes your nerves.

You talk for a while, time slipping like sand through your fingers. Your food comes and between other customers John comes by many times, checking in. You talk about your work, where you grew up. He tells you he used to be in the British Air Service until he got honourably discharged due to some kind of injury. The food is incredible, truly something that warms you and admittedly makes you want to just bottle that feeling up. But you think the best part is watching John, his frame moving quickly from person to person. His hearty laugh rings out when a patron he knows says something. It seems he’s relatively close with the other workers as well, a collection of certainly different men working beside him in the busy location. As you finish your beer you think to yourself, Maybe I could have something here, something besides the ocean.

The pub is still incredibly busy as you gather your things. A part of you wishes you hadn’t already paid so you could say goodbye to John without seeming odd. You idle there for what feels like minutes, rocking from foot to foot, hand clenched on your bag. You decide he must be busy and you’ll come in another time. You sigh a little resided but still very content from talking for so long with him. The cold chill fills your bones once again as you step outside the warm interior of the pub. It’s peaceful here, the streets are full of warm streetlights and lit windows in family homes. It feels like you could make a home here, enough moving around from job to job. Your daydreaming is interrupted by someone calling your name from behind you. You turn around seeing John lightly jogging towards you.You smile and walk towards him before he closes the space between you.

“Luv you forgot this.” He says raising his hand out to you. You look down to see your sketchbook in his large hand. Damn is he just large everywhere?

“Oh jeez I can’t believe I left that!” You exclaim while taking the book gently from his hand.

His smile is big, cheeks bunched under his beard and eyes crinkled at the edges, hands tucked into his jean pockets. You feel shy under his gaze, like when you had a crush on an older boy in school. Even if you’re now in your 30s.

Your body feels warm, in contrast to the chilly night air. Truly it feels like you’re still inside the pub. Cheeks now feel like they’re burning up.

“Thank you for coming after me, you didn’t have to do that. I could’ve come in the morning to pick it up.”

“It’s no problem, we aren’t open til later in the day and I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Even in the dim light his eyes are warm, gentle. Like a warm spot you find in the cold ocean.

“I didn’t want to take up your time, Fridays are busy.” Lie, you wanted to spend forever talking to him.

A silence consumes the air, the distant sound of laughing from distant parties making their way home is the only thing that breaks the stillness between you. It isn’t awkward in the slightest, it's like you don’t need words. You hope he feels what you feel. The anxious excitement in the back of your throat begging to come up and show how much you already like him.

You clear your throat. “Thank you for speaking and keeping me company John. I really appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure, dove. To be able to talk with such an intelligent beautiful woman was an honour.” He says while reaching a hand to your face. Skating a warm palm against your cheek, taking his finger and sweeping a loose hair strand behind your ear. The action makes you swoon like a teen and you swear your heart misses a beat.

“Could I walk you home?” His hand retreating as he tilts his head in question.

“Only if you don’t mind.” And with that you turn together and walk to the dock, to your anchored boat to say farewell.

You stand next to the cabin door and smile softly at John, cheeks flushed and warm.

“I’m off tomorrow night, would you like to go out for dinner with me?” Your heart freezes then restarts again

You feel like you can’t speak for what feels like minutes but what is only a few seconds.

“I would love that, John.” You laugh nervously, unused to someone actively pursuing you.

His cheeks scrunch again, smile wide as you exchange numbers. Waving shyly as he walks back up the doc as you cup your own warm cheek, absolutely giddy at the thought of tomorrow night.

You get ready for bed dazed and fall into bed, smiling as you fall asleep.

#captain john price x reader #cod fanfiction #f!reader #john price x female reader #vampirism

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zimithrus1 · 6 months

Note

Valenwind and 15!

Mini fic ship list

15. Things you said with too many miles between us

Ooohohoo Valenwind, okay okay *pops knuckles* let's see what the ole brain comes up with! 😉

"Nah, not that one, the one- the one behind that other one. No, no, not that one either, just- to yer left, my left, shit."

Vincent's hand hovers in the air as he glances behind him, to the chipped voice coming through the laptop speakers. Wine-dark eyes fix to the tiny square on the screen that shows the rough, stubbled face of Cid trying to direct him to the chamomile tea, buried in the cupboards with all the other teas, of course.

"Is it even in this cupboard?" Vincent's gravelly voice asks, clear on his end, but most assuredly pixelated through the cheap speakers.

"It's in there, it's the green box behind the two yellow boxes on my left."

Eyes back to the cupboard, Vincent scans, hand precariously shifting the tiny boxes of teabags around to search. But lo and behold, there sits the green box of camomile tea exactly where Cid said. Albeit not without a bit of confusion.

"How long do I cook it for again?" Vincent asks as a slender hand reaches in, procuring a bag from the box.

"Boil, not cook." Cid corrects with a gruff huff.

"Boil, then."

"5 minutes." Cid says, Vincent glancing at the little screen to see him hold up five gloved fingers. "You could do 3 for a quicker fix but it's not gonna taste as good."

"I see. When do I add the milk and honey again?"

"After it's done steepin'. Gah, Vince you act like this is the first time ya've ever made tea in yer life."

"It's been a while. Normally... you're the one who makes it." Vincent's voice falls just of so slightly flat as he clicks on the stove to boil the water.

Cid sighs, rough yet gentle at the same time. Yes, he's always making the tea when he can. He likes making it. Likes seeing Vincent's stoic face light up (barely at all, but that's more than enough for him) when he takes the first sip. It's something that takes his mind off the stress, off the constant itch for nicotine, off of a lot of the bad shit he doesn't like to ruminate on.

This is the first time in a long time Cid hasn't been there to make Vincent's nightly tea. The shift in routine is strange, off, like the sky and the earth had switched places.

"I'd prefer it if it was you making the tea tonight." Vincent honestly says, watching the water on the stove sit. "The kitchen... it's cold."

"I know..." Cid sighs, much less rough, a lot more soft. "It's cold at HQ too." Before he has a chance to let his walls fall completely, he quickly sniffs and crooks his mouth into a snarky smirk. "But someone's gotta boss these cockamamie brats around, an' we all know I'm the best at it!"

The faintest of grins pulls at Vincent's lips. "That you are." He seconds just as the water rolls to a boil. "The new pilots won't yell at themselves, after all." Kills the heat. Pours it into his usual mug.

"Exactly. Don't forget to add the honey and then the milk."

"Right-"

"-The cold of the milk makes it harder for the honey to dissolve." "The cold of the milk makes it harder for the honey to dissolve."

They both speak at the same time, ears buzzing from the similar pitch. At that, Cid guffaws, wipes under his nose with his index finger. "Guess you remember how I do things after all."

"A bit." Vincent dunks the tea bag into the mug, steeping the drink. "Though, I await the night you're back home and brew up a mug for the both of us."

"That so?" Cid fights the blush trying to form on his cheeks.

Vincent's dark eyes catch to the screen his partner sits on the other side of with a deep, yet genuine smile. "It always tastes better when I take the first sip from your mug."

A little ritual of there's. Cid would always say 'Now that's a fine mug a' tea right there, give it a taste, Vince'. Vincent would always take that small sip, rich and warm with the sweetest flavor. It was always one of his favorite parts of the night. Cid would beam proud every time he'd take that first sip and smile.

"Well then, I'll just have ta' yell extra loud at these punks so they get their asses in gear quicker!" Cid laughs, belly-deep.

"Don't traumatize them." Vincent's jokes always come out flat and monotonous-

More laughter from Cid.

-But his partner always knows when he's joking. Always knows just how he feels even when his face and his words don't match.

"No promises, Vince. Now drink that tea before it gets cold, you know how I feel about lettin' a good tea go cold."

"Yes, yes." Vincent smirks.

Thank you so much for the ask!! I had a lot of fun with this one!! 🌟💚 I hope you liked it!!

#ask game #writing ask game #zimianswerz #ffvii #valenwind #thank you again enide this was so fun - I hope I wrote these two well for you!

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catholicwhorexxx · 8 months

Text

every single thought i had abt one piece live action

alvida is so hot im praying when she comes back she’ll have the slip slip fruit and still be fat please god.

introducing zoro with baroque works instead of with helmeppo was fucking genius, and mr 7’s redesign is pique. and the gore of zoro killing mr 7? sets a great fucking precedence.

binks brew playing in the background of the flash back where luffy eats his fruit >>>>>

i want a copy of nami’s book as merch

i love the little homage to the original of luffy planning to just fly in

having luffy be there for the scene with helmeppo and rika >>>>

ive said it once ill say it a thousand times how do they manage to make zoro even gayer. ill never get over the whimpering caption with helmeppo just crawling on the ground.

nami girlboss girlslaying even

zoro you cryptic little gay freak “then he owes me money” “didnt wanna make a mess”

im mad they didnt make captain morgan tell helmeppo he didnt beat him as a kid is bc he’s too pathetic to hit.

captain “we should be working for the same team” morgan. bro you are an elder fag preying on a young gay man. THE SHOULDER TOUCH???

roronoa “i kinda got my own thing going on” zoro

“7 days? i could catch up on my sleep”

“when i get down from here, you’ll be the one begging.” MY GOD YOU FAG

tag urself im the bead of sweat in zoros eyebrow

“get lost”

“i am.. lost”

“heyhey no. dont do that.”

my god nami’s actress is perfect the body language, tone of voice, its so accurate to how she was pre joining strawhats. and GOD her facial expressions in her first fight scene w luffy…

zoro almost dipping then deciding he wants to fight lmao i love it

“arent you that drunk from the bar?”

“glad i made an impression.”

morgan you didnt capture shit

inaki did a great job making luffy still look animated.

zoro cutting helmeppos hair is so fucking funny

garp knew exactly who it was when he first got that call

buggy youre sitting like SUCH a slut

buggy loves talking abt shanks like he’s an ex boyfriend

i wanna see what else buggy can do

zoro definitely had sex with cabaji and then killed his brother

i could watch yasopp shoot people all day

shanks casting is so well done im obsessed with the fact that none of the characters are the conventionally attractive roblox looking types

also the timing of luffy being drowned and the flashback to shanks saving him… timed perfectly great depiction of ptsd. same thing with zoros flashbacks.

“why gonna rob the place blind?”

“at least a little blurry”

i love the wlw mlm solidarity with nami and zoro, oh my god the scene of them getting dressed and nami picking out a shirt for him??? obsessed.

zoros pink ass drink

FUNKY BAR MIRROR BALL???

“arlonggg babyyyy”

“you dont think she like. like likes me do you?”

i love the way the meowmin twins move when theyre fighting in the stairwell

luffy grinning like a freak through kuros blades :333 and then the fucking thumbs up

luffys look to nami when kaya says they have a ship

damn they really just fucking murked merry

“they do know im the captain right?”

“let them have this one”

“we are” playing while they leave syrup village im obsessed

nami laughing for probably the first time in years at usopp and luffy fighting over who’s the captain

i could write an essay about the fear in garps eyes in that flashback (im going to)

“which way is port?”

“the left!”

“neverrrrrrr!”

“fine ya brat have it yer wae”

garp laughing bc he’s actually invested in his job again

the camera lense while luffy is smelling the baratie is fucking hilarious

“add food to the equation and suddenly he knows how to navigate”

ive said it once i’ll say it a thousand times inaki does a great fucking job making luffy still look animated

ill never get over sanji’s accent its so fucking fan indulgent

the little angry kick after he puts em on the fucking ground

“welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambiance is the food. my name is sanji what can i get for you?”

“any drinks one of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal?”

“apologies madam didnt see you there. would you care for an apéritif to start?”

sanji is such a freak oh my god i love him

zoro pointing it out is so fan indulgent

zoro grinning like an idiot when nami says “i need a drink”

im obsessed with usopps fishbowl

sanji’s smile talking about the all blue WAHHHH

i love live action sanji cooking

his fucking theme playing oh my god

zoro and nami comparing usopp to a sea slug

“i had friends”

“swords dont count”

“i had one friend”

“hell one more than i have”

zoro you fucking freak

why is he standing like that fucking fag

“because youre my friend you idiot” NAMI WAHHHHHHHH

zeff is so hot omfg

sanji’s desperate baby scream breaks my heart

i really like they went using with the original manga plotline for sanji’s backstory

“id eat both arms and legs to save zoros life”

putting buggy in the bag is so fucking funny

that zoom in on sanji yelling “zeff” what was that

god i love sanji and zeffs fight

zoro waking up scene is fucking adorable

zoro you fucking devoted freak i love you

ill never get over sanji’s theme

“the only thing i wanna hear from you is dinner specials”

baby nami is perfectly cast

BLACK NOJIKO BLACK NOJIKO

buggys body pinned up at arlongs base lmfao

“arlong has bled us dry”

“then find more blood”

i love helmeppo sitting like that lmao

bellemere’s death scene always makes me tear up jesus christ

“i thought itd take a lot more liquor to bring out your mutinous side.”

why was arlongs speech edited like that oh my god

“of course i will” makes me tear up every fucking time

nami drawing her maps in fucking blood is such great symbolism

“you look tired, maybe you should take a break”

“maybe you ought to get back in the kitchen”

“quit screwing around! luffy needs us!”

“you just got here you dont know what luffy needs.”

“i know he needs my cooking.”

“putting two slices of bread together?”

telling buggy to shut up in unison lmao

“im gonna get outta here.” while flipping them off

“fucking clown.”

USOPP EXPLODING STAR U GOAT

“i get it zeff was mean to you boohoo”

“you dont ever badmouth nami.”

“now youve done it.”

god i love taz skylar

“all great fighters call out there finishing moves”

“yeah youre gonna fit in just fine.”

SANJI WANTING TO HUG NAMI AND HER RUNNING PAST LMFAO

“back for seconds must have liked it.”

“at least i dont need 3 swords to prove im a man.”

garp jus beating the shit out of luffy

nami hitting nezumi >>>>>

god i fucking love nami talking at bellemeres grave

“i know what it means to fight for your family.”

luffy’s reaction to his bounty im in love

koby what was that gay ass look you want to kiss luffy so bad dont you

“be a good marine.”

“be a good pirate.”

luffy mimicking his poster

god i love makino

kaya with a different tea looking healthy 😭

luffy’s bounty up under employee of the month

BUGGY AND ALVIDA BUGGY AND ALVIDA BUGGY AND ALVIDA

god i love garp

helmeppo learning to be swordsman :33

“maybe the old chef was right. it id your turn.”

“i can still take you.” not in a fight…

their jolly roger 🥺🥺🥺

#op la #one piece live action #op la spoilers

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sichore · 5 months

Note

23 combined w/or 20 for Pickles and Jimi!!!

[23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.

20. Write about your ship sneaking a romantic moment together.

Y'all are getting a preview of Dethmas: Director's Cut baybee!!!]

"Honestly, they've got all the money in the gahddamn world but don't even have one can opener? Ugh!" Molly huffs in frustration as she continues to slam through drawers.

Jimi opens one on her end and finally finds the prize, liifting it up for the older woman. "Oh, hey, I found one–"

"Ope, there we go." And Molly snatches the device from Jimi's outstretched hand, immediately attacking the canned pineapples.

Jimi catches Pickles' eye, again, and he gives her a slight shake of his head, lips pressed into a firm line.

"Honestly, Jamillah –"

"For the last time, Mom, it's Jamila–"

"Ja-MEE-la." Molly rolls her eyes, aggressively dumping the pineapples into a bowl. "Didn't I teach you not to interrupt a lady when she's talking? The nerve. Anyway, Jamila, it's nice having someone who knows how to follow directions in the kitchen for once. Yer honestly too nice to be hanging around this silly little band."

"This is the opportunity of a lifetime for me." Jimi says, forcing a casual tone into her voice, keeping her eyes on her hands as she sets up her cutting board and knife. "And I'm glad to be here. Did you want the pecans or walnuts for this one?"

"Walnuts, dear, pay attention. Still! Goofing off with these ruffians all day with yer pictures and all that. What would your husband think?"

Jimi tears open the bag of walnuts with a little more force than necessary, takes a deliberate breath, and meets Pickles' eyes again. He fidgets, now, tugging at the left sleeve of his sweater, soon averting his gaze.

"I mean, assuming yer married n' all. If not, that'd be pretty sad, as you're not so young – actually, wait a minute now." Molly pauses in stirring together her slime green concoction (so that's what the pistachio pudding was for?) to lean over and look at the painter's left hand. "Ah, well then," she sniffs at the lack of a ring, and dumps in the marshmallows.

"I'm happy where I'm at now," Jimi says with measured patience, slowly chopping the walnuts.

"You really should think about it," Molly's voice is a bit further way, and soon Jimi hears the hiss of the refrigerator door opening, then shutting with a thud. "I've already long given up on Connor giving me any grandkids – well, unless he's got any rascals running around, but I doubt it. Never could keep a girl long enough to–"

Jimi's knife comes down with much more force than necessary, and this time, she doesn't hide how she has to stop and take a deep breath. "Or maybe," she says slowly, "Pickles is very particular and hasn't found the right partner to meet his standards. Not everyone has to settle for the first thing that's given to them."

"Yeah, Mom. You have any idea what kinda PR nightmare a marriage would be? It takes someone real special to put up with that pressure." When Jimi looks up, Pickles is no longer slumped over on his stool, but sitting straight up. Looking at Jimi directly. "I wouldn't choose just anyone."

"Sounds more t'me like you just lost yer chance a long time ago." Shaking her head in disgust, Molly takes the chopped walnuts from Jimi to add to her bowl. "You still like coconut in this?"

"No, Mom, I don't."

"Since when?"

"Since never."

Molly tsks, stirring her – salad? Dessert? Jimi has no fucking clue anymore. "You are so disagreeable now, can't listen to nobody since you got all this going on. Should've found a nice girl like Seth did, that'd straighten you out–"

"Hey, Pickles, didn't you have some demos for me to listen to before I go?"

"Eyep, sure do!" Pickles slams his hands on the countertop as he stands, swiftly making for the exit. "Sorry, Ma, gotta work!"

"You haven't even done a taste test–"

"See you later, Molly!" Jimi tosses back, already halfway across the kitchen, skin crawling as she feels Molly's judgmental stare follow them. It doesn't fade until they're well out of view and down the hall, Pickles gripping her arm, almost dragging Jimi to keep up with his hurried pace.

He doesn't stop until Jimi tugs back, tugging him into some grandiose-but-empty room like the many dozens scattered throughout Mordhaus. He doesn't stop, until Jimi presses him back against the closed door and holds his face in her hands.

"Baby, baby, hey," she urges, voice hushed and low. "Look at me. Breathe."

The last thing Pickles needs is an asthma attack. His cheeks are tinged red with anger, but he listens, taking big, shuddery breaths, closing his hands over Jimi's wrists. She stays with him, breathing with him, until they breathe as one, calm and collected.

Jimi's thumbs rub against those delicately freckled cheeks, offering a smile to the moss green gaze locked on her. "You didn't have to come with me back there."

"You don't know how she is." Pickles starts to shake his head, but Jimi holds him still, and he inhales. Exhales. "I wasn't gonna just let her talk to you like that."

"I know." Now Jimi finds her own gaze dropping, to their equally garish sweaters, to their feet. She thought she'd be used to dealing with women like Molly, but given the circumstances... of course, this would be different. A lot more uncomfortable.

And painful, judging by the abject misery radiating from Pickles. His head drops to her shoulder and his arms wrap around her, his weight fully against the door behind him.

Jimi leans into him, arms sliding around his waist, and waits. The silence is never truly silent, their hearts beating in tandem to fill the void. She closes her eyes as Pickles settles, until his misery folds in on itself and is once again tucked away into a place Jimi can't reach quite yet.

She turns her face to press her cheek to his chest. "... We gonna tell her?"

His arms tighten around her. "I... I dunno."

They stay like that for minutes, hours, eons. As usual, time is insignificant when it comes to the two of them.

Eventually, Pickles pulls back, brushes a stray curl from Jimi's face. "Y'know, Jim..." His eyes drop, and he pointedly pauses.

Which makes Jimi blink at him. "What is it?"

"Huh." There's a distinct shift in the air between them. Pickles' hands brace around her ribcage, and move up until he's cupping her breasts. "Yer tits look fuckin' huge in this."

Jimi's mouth falls open. "What–"

"Seriously, are they bigger? Is there somethin' yer not tellin' me?"

"Oh, my god, stop! It's just..." She can't stop the giggles that spill out of her, increasing at Pickles' pleased little smirk. "It's just a thing that happens when I wear sweaters, I dunno!"

"We should get you in 'em more often," he muses, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Or maybe out of 'em, I can't decide." He kisses her other cheek, sliding one hand beneath her sweater and over the bare skin of her belly.

Jimi, predictably, expectantly, shivers. "You're such a horndog."

"Nyeh hehehe." He just chuckles, continues to rub calloused fingertips over her skin. "You love it." And he tilts his head to kiss Jimi properly.

This is how it should be, always. Jimi glimmers and gleams as Pickles wraps around her in seven ways, crimson and content. He pulls back just before Jimi begs for him to sink his hand into her chest and please, please grasp her heart once again. As usual, yearning for that oneness, that completion.

"It would've only been you," he murmurs against her lips. "Ya know that, right?"

"I do." Even if Jimi the mortal still struggles with that truth, sometimes. Jamila, luminescent and eternal, has always known. She trails a finger down freckled cheek and scruff, sighs when he captures her fingertip between his lips. "But I could always use a reminder.

[Soft OTP Prompts]

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #jamila calabash #mtl oc #my writing #ask meme #Dethmas takes place after Dethhealth #iykyk :)#paint the sky

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angelic-vows · 10 days

Note

teach me the ways of talking like a cowboy,I will fully become boothill with this info

Alright so it goes like 'tis: (some words can be replaced with their og self in some situations)

My / I'm = 'm (eg: that's 'm wife) ('m a little in love with her)

This = 'tis (eg: 'tis is my sister)

That = tat (eg: tat is my favorite guy)

To = ta (eg: this is ta most stupidest idea)

You = ya (eg: that is ya, isn't it?)

Your / you're = yer (eg: that is yer blorbo, isn't it? / Yer a dummy)

Isn't = ain't (eg: ain't that your dog?)

Of = o' (eg: cute horse o' yours)

[somethin]g = [somethin]' (eg: you're doin' yardwork now?)

Have = 'ave (eg: I hope you 'ave a nice day)

And = 'n (that's your favorite ship 'n least favorite ship)

Little = lil (that's a lil cat you have

Never = Neva (you've nava tasted this before?)

Them = 'em (that's a lot of 'em)

Lot of = lotta (that's lotta cakes)

Tat's all ta advice I 'ave !! Hope 'tis helps

But remember, 'm asian 'n 'ave neva visited any cowboy havin' countries before so some of these might be wrong ^^; I'll add more later someday

#𝜗ϱ　 ⁀　　mail 　 ₊　 ♫

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savvythepirate · 1 year

Note

You requested something to read, so I thought I’d share this little abomination that I wrote. I’ll be posting it on my page as well.

“I’ll stab you with my trouser sword and plunder your booty, yo-ho!” You sang loudly as you swabbed the deck of the Black Pearl.

“Yo-ho!” The crew hollered in response, as it was part of the song.

You were a new addition to the crew, and fine one at that! From your jokes to your colorful sea shanties, you brought such a lively and fun energy to the ship. Everyone there loved you.

All except one person, that is…

It’s not necessarily that he disliked you, but Barbossa didn’t seem to find you as entertaining as everyone else did. It was a shame, really.

“Quit yer caterwaulin’ ya blunderin’ mongrels!” He hollered as he exited the captain’s quarters.

Everybody looked around at each other uncomfortably and got back to work, disappointment in their eyes.

“He can be a bit of a mood-killer, can’t he?” Jack said as he joined you to swab the deck.

“That’s for sure,” you replied, focusing on your work. Then you stopped for a moment, smiling an amused half-smile, “I must admit, though, the man certainly has a gift for colorful insults!”

“That he does,” Jack mused, “One of my favorites is probably ‘salty sea dogs.’ It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “I personally found ‘slack-jawed buffoons’ to be a good one. It really packs a punch, you know? Like, it’s unnecessarily harsh.”

“That, and ‘wreckless pack of ingrates.’” Jack said, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“We should start writing these down!” You laughed.

A while later, you and Jack had acquired a quill and some paper, and you began your list.

“He said ‘poxy mongrels’ once,” you said as you jotted it down.

“I remember him saying ‘nattering swine’ the other day,” Jack said. You added it to the list.

“Let’s add some of our own!” You said, looking excitedly at Jack.

“Ooh, we should, shouldn’t we,” he said, taking on your expression. Then he thought for a moment, “How about ‘lily-livered milksops?’”

“That’s a good one!” You wrote it down, “I’ve got one!” You said, “‘Toe-eyed cabbages!”

Jack looked at you with an expression of surprise and discomfort, “That one’s a bit out there.”

“I suppose so,” you said, pondering the strange words that came out of your mouth. Then your eyes lit up, “I’ve got a better one! Bald-headed yogurt slingers!”

“Now you’re just scaring me,” Jack said.

“Okay, fine,” you said, chuckling, “Let’s get back to his insults!”

“For the sake of my own sanity, we should,” Jack said. You continued writing.

“‘Scurvy bilge rats’ is a classic, so we can’t forget that one!” You said, smiling as you wrote.

“I think he also said ‘salty bilge rats’ once,” Jack said.

“Honestly, a lot of these sound like they could be interchangeable,” you mused.

Jack’s face took on a thoughtful expression. Then he brightened, “I have an idea!” He took the paper from you and started to write.

It took a while for him to finish, which made you worried that Barbossa would catch you and scold you for not working. Finally, Jack was done. He handed you the paper, “I put the first parts on the left, and the last parts on the right. That way we can mix and match!”

“That’s brilliant!” You grinned, “I like it!”

You scanned the two lists, which were somewhat long. Then inspiration struck you, and you added your idea to the list.

You handed it to Jack, the finished product looking something like this:

Front:

A: Wreckless

B: Blooming

C: Lazy

D: Mangy

E: Cackhanded

F: Knee-knocking

G: Bloated

H: Salty

I: Yellow-bellied

J: P****-licking

K: Feckless

L: Lilly-livered

M: Filthy

N: Blundering

O: Bilge-drinking

P: Bloody

Q: Slimy

R: Bleeding

S: Poxy

T: Slack jawed

U: Nattering

V: Wretched

W: Squiffy

X: Gutless

Y: Scurvy

Z: Blasted

Back:

A: Ingrates

B: Cockroaches

C: Bilge rats

D: Scoundrels

E: Deck apes

F: Halfwits

G: Sea cows

H: Sea dogs

I: Milksops

J: Codpieces

K: Mongrels

L: Sobs

M: Whelps

N: Swabbies

O: Buffoons

P: Codpieces

Q: Hornswagglers

R: Swine

S: P****-lickers

T: Maggots

U: Curs

V: Ninnies

W: Knaves

X: Blowfish

Y: Picaroons

Z: Scallywags

“I don’t understand,” Jack said, with his brow furrowed in confusion.

“You take the first letter of your first name from list one, and the first letter of your last name from the second list. For example, I would be (insert your name here).”

“I see,” Jack said, reading the list, “I would be…p****-licking p****-lickers…” he looked baffled, and maybe a little disappointed.

You laughed, “That’s actually kind of hilarious!”

“What are you two feckless mongrels up to?” Barbossa barked. Noticing the paper in your hands, he grabbed it.

You and Jack panicked as he read your creation. Then he looked up at the two of you, “Get back to work,” he ordered. The two of you scrambled off, eager to get away from the grumpy captain.

“Do you think we’ll be punished?” You asked Jack.

“I hope not,” Jack said, glancing over his shoulder at Barbossa. Frightened by the likelihood of that happening, you two picked up your mops and continued where you had left off a while back.

Barbossa continued reading their list. When he finished, he chuckled and put it in his pocket and headed back to his quarters.

Thank you so much for this! It gave me the smile I needed! ❤️

@savvythepirate

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furys-mercy · 10 months

Text

- | Brother | -

Word Count: 1,173 Characters: August Mercer, Sebastian de Vairemont

“Get yer arse up!”

Sebastian had always been rather particular about his morning rituals, a fact that made his brother’s gutter drawl even more grating than usual. “Who let him in?” The question was barely groaned loud enough for Mercer to hear, much less the footman he’d left in the hall, shaking in his immaculately polished shoes.

“I let m’self in.” The machinist ripped back the velvet curtains, allowing light to spill in.

Sebastian hissed as he rolled away, covering his head with a pillow. “I am not in the mood for your games today, August.”

“My games? Well tha’s fuckin’ rich ain’t it? Comin’ from the fella who left m’arse sittin’ on the deck’a m’damned ship fer three fuckin’ bells. Damned near froze m’arse off.” Mercer’s boot collided with an empty bottle of wine, sending it skittering across the marble floor. “Started ta wonder if ya were ill or somethin’, so I made m’way up ta tha gods forsaken Pillars ta find ya sleepin’ off a hangover? Nah. Get yer arse up, put on some fuckin’ pants, and lets get goin’. I ain’t gonna be late cause ya can’t hold yer liquor.”

“And why, pray tell, did you not simply… leave? It would have been quite easy. In fact, it still is…” Sebastian waved a hand in the direction of the door. Or rather, the direction he assumed was the door. It was lucky for him that Mercer was too busy throwing open his wardrobe to notice that he’d suggested he leap out the window.

“Unlike some folks I know, I happen ta be a fan’a keepin’ m’word.”

The rustling of silks finally spurred movement in Sebastian. He sat up to offer his counterpoint only to be stunned into silence at the sight of the clashing fabrics now piled at the foot of his bed.

Mercer, on the other hand, looked rather proud of himself. “Get dressed.”

Sebastian’s mouth hung open for several moments before he managed to huff out a response. “Absolutely not.” No one in this world could convince him to pair an emerald brocade with a cravat the color of sunrise.

Mercer’s brow furrowed as he reached down, grabbed a pair of pants from the floor, and hurled them directly at his brother’s face. “I ain’t in tha mood fer…” His expression shifted as his gaze snagged on the piece of parchment that slipped free of the pants. The crest atop it made him visibly shudder. “Wha’ do those arseholes want with ya now?” Scarred fingers reached out to grab the paper before it settled fully into the folds of Sebastian’s velvet duvet.

“It is nothing for you to worry with.” Sebastian launched himself forward, attempting to reclaim the parchment, but seeing as Mercer had not been sleeping off what appeared to be three bottles of wine, he was faster.

“Is this why ya tried ta drink yer whole damned wine cellar?” Mercer peered up at Sebastian from over his black-rimmed glasses.

“Do not start with me, August. I am well aware of your feelings on the matter.” He reached for his dressing gown, tugging it on. “So, if you are inclined to congratulate me on my great fortune, do keep it to yourself.”

“Hey, hey… tha’ ain’t…” Mercer was interrupted by Sebastian snatching the parchment from his grip. “Look, I ain’t gonna claim ta I understand any’a tha’ noble shite. But I ain’t ‘bout ta stand here an’ add ta tha pile’a ‘bo shite ya’ve been dealt.”

Sebastian stepped towards the fireplace, pausing to look back at his brother. “No? And why not? Is this not exactly what you have wanted since the day you learned of me? For me to choose a side… or be forced to.” He turned back towards the flames, contemplating if the edict in his hand might serve everyone better as kindling.

“I… I didn’t want ya ta choose a side. Tha’ ain’t it. It’s…” Mercer stammered as he did his best to compose his thoughts. “It’s tha’ I wanted ya see tha’ you deserve better’n this shite. Tha’ there’s people an’ places where no one gives a shite who yer parents were. Tha’ ya’ve got other options. Ya always have, ya jus’... ya didn’t have anyone ‘round ta tell ya tha’.”

“And what would you have me do? Take your name?” Sebastian didn’t know what answer he was seeking, but he knew he’d failed to tame the venom in his tone.

“I wouldn’t ask ya to.” The Machinist didn’t even wince. “I know wha’ names mean ta people. I ain’t got much left of ‘em, ya know? M’parents, I mean… jus’ tha name they gave me. An’ I’d put up one hell of’a fight before I’d let someone jus’ take it. It don’t matter wha’ tha’ fancy shite says. If ya say yer Sebastian de Vairemont, then tha’ is who ya are. Ain’t no one got any say in tha’ other’n you.”

Sebastian sagged against the mantle, feeling the weight of his brother’s words. “Is it… is it truly that simple?” The touch of his brother’s hand on his arm surprised him. Had they been this close since that initial awkward handshake?

“Ain’t nothin’ in life simple, but there’s satisfaction in fightin’ fer it, in buildin’ it with yer own hands, in tellin’ folks like tha’ ta shove it.” Mercer nodded towards the now crumpled parchment. “He ain’t got any bearin’ on you. Tha’s wha’ tha’ paper says. Ya don’t have ta play by ‘is rules anymore. He ain’t yer lord. Yer free, Sebastian. Free ta do an’ be whoever ya want.”

“And what of you? Will you not continue to wish for me to be something else?” Sebastian wanted to believe him. More than anything. But trust was a risk, as Akhutai had once noted. And while it was a risk he very much wished to take, he needed to be absolutely certain.

“I only get ta make choices fer m’self, not fer you. An’ I’ve already gone an’ made m’choice. I made it tha day ya walked in m’front door smirkin’ like ya were an’ holdin’ those damned letters. Part’a me wanted ta kick ya out. Ta tell ya ta shove off back ta wherever ya came from, but tha rest… tha rest jus’ wanted ta know ya. An’... I still want tha’. Cause yer m’brother. An’ I ain’t sayin’ tha’ cause we share blood. Blood don’t make families. Choices do. An’ I choose you, Sebastian. Today, tomorrow, an’ everyday after tha’.”

“You… you…” For the first time in his life, The Bastard of Vairemont had been rendered truly speechless. There were simply no words for what he felt. Or if there were, he did not know them. So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He reached out for his brother, tugging him into a tentative and hesitant embrace.

Mercer quirked a little smile before wrapping his arms around the taller man. “I love you, too, Sebastian. I love you, too.”

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ffxiv fiction #ic fiction #into the unknown #sebastian de vairemont #august mercer

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tobegiggledat · 2 years

Text

Sohmbdy

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MDNI

✦pairing: Cyclops!Fatgum x afab!reader

✦warnings: The Odyssey au, noncon/dubcon, cannibalism, minor character death, pussyjob, a lot of fucking cum and spit, oral (f. receiving), reader is used like a rag doll fr

✦word count: 2.1k

✦a/n: You don't have to know anything about The Odyssey to read this tbh

Ithaca.

A simple utterance of the Grecian island has your crew reduced to bloodied flesh piles before you at the hands of an enraged cyclops.

As you cower beneath him, the beast closes his fists around two more men, squishing them between his palms with a squelch then chucking them between his teeth, giddily.

“W-What for—“, the man beside you nearly stumbles backward as he speaks. “We merely answered your question”, he shakily adds but the giant still feasts without disturbance.

In fact, the man’s panicked words only stirs the cyclops’ appetite for him, as his thick fingers press against the sides of his head, shortly before taking the man’s life in a bloody outburst.

The panicked screeches before each death will never escape your psyche for as long as you live.

No one can move from under him, let alone escape his grasp.

Knees trembling, you stand amongst the rest of your group, huddled in a corner with a musty wind fanning across your skin from each breath the salivating giant looming over you takes.

Dark vermillion trails dribble along the corners of the beast’s lips as he obscenely smacks on more corpses. He greedily gulps each of the boney bits that stick to his fingertips, and lathes his tongue over any remnants.

An icy sense of dread tugs and tightens in your chest, yet there are no words of optimism you can give yourself to ease it. It continues to fester from each of his apathetic swallows until it boils outwardly as hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

The cyclops finally wipes at the stickiness on his lips before yawning and stretching his limbs in satisfaction.

You haven’t pulled your gaze away from him ever since he began gorging on your crewmates, but something about his more relaxed demeanor gives you the courage to eye your surroundings—and it’s just as you feared.

There's no one else left.

“Kinda silly to return here, ‘specially after what the last of y’all had done to me” A deeply thick voice chides, breaking the already heavy atmosphere with more weighted words.

Yet, these are the only other words spoken by the beast besides his initial inquiry about where you all were from.

His sole golden iris looks you up and down with fury, yet intrigue.

Last of y’all? You think heavily on what he said—

It finally hits you; the tale of a voyager from your land who used his wits to outsmart a cyclops by the alias of “Polyphemus”, many centuries before your time—or the story of Odysseus.

And while you vividly recall the telling of Odysseus’ encounter with the giant, you believed his story to be the byproduct of idle minds brooding to create some fantasy, not a source of truth.

Oh how fate was cruel to send you to the very island his enemy inhabits.

“Did they send ya here to make a ninny’a me once more?” “Polyphemus” continues, a one-eyed scowl crossing his features.

Even as he sits cross-legged on his bottom, his head lies roughly ten meters above yours while you are standing upright.

Thick folds align the sides of his stomach as he peers down to get a closer look at you.

“N-No, that’s not it—”, you begin, throat tightening as your mind scrambles for reasoning. “Our ship was cast aside at the fate of Poseidon’s wrathful waves. We had no bearing on where it decided to land.”

“Quit yer lyin’!” He bellows, and the maddened throw of his arms makes the cave shiver. “Even though my vision’s not what it used to be, I can still see through yer lies.”

With the way things are, you stand no chance against him. The only precedent set for this dilemma has been proven useless as the scar across Polyphemus’ eye makes a permanent reminder of just what “Nohbdy” can do. The same tricks will do you no good.

“You'll pay for what yer people have done to me! Not even the gods can save ya, not that they're any threat to the likes of me.” He nearly chokes amidst speaking, a spray of spittle lands on your cheeks.

“I-Is there anything I can do for you to spare me?”, you plead, trying to scan his features for any inkling of remorse.

He gives you a blank stare. “Spare you?” A chuckle bubbles from the back of his throat to release a menacing sound. “If ya want to please me, ya may as well undress yerself and save me the trouble of tearing through yer clothes to reach ya.”

Maybe that’s what you’ll do.

Some depraved wheel that turns in your desperate mind has you doing just that, fumbling with the hems of your bottoms before removing them entirely.

Though, Polyphemus makes no effort to hinder you. He quietly surveys your nude form while his features do little to convey his intentions.

But then he squints. “Hah, a critter like you who does just as they’re told!” His lips curve into a cheshire grin. “Would ya service me sexually if I asked of ya too”, he questions, teeth parted as he awaits your answer.

You nod without thinking, and his smile grows wider.

“How amusin’! I knew I was right to save ya fer last.” He tenderly swipes a thumb across your cheek, and it almost covers your face completely. “What do they call ya, traveller?”

You hesitate before you answer.

“Sohmbdy?” You tease boldly in hopes of gaining more of his approval, but a part of you thinks you may have done the opposite…

His lips press into a thin line, while your heart rate begins to pick up from foolishly believing you could be on better terms with a man-eating giant.

Luckily, his smile promptly returns. “And audacious too!” Polyphemus then scoops you into his palm, the other hand clumsily palming at his trousers.“I'm glad Sohmbdy can take care of this fer me.”

He releases his cock from its confines, and the length is comparable to your height, with a pinkish tip that has a circumference the size of your head, while its width is big enough to wrap your arms around.

The weight of your decision finally hits you as you gawk at the puddle-sized gathering of precum that rests on the end of it, yet you gag a little at the thought of tasting semen from someone whose diet consists of human flesh.

“I don't think that'll fit”, you murmur, mouth still agape as you watch him tug on it a few times. “Are all cyclopes this big?”

He giggles at that. “This is the only one you'll have to trouble yerself with, sweetheart.” His eyes dart away for a moment. “Call me Tai”, he adds after a brief pause.

“Tai?” You peer back into his lusty eye.

He nods. “I don't give this name to many.”

Tai brings the palm with you on it closer to his lips, while using the other hand to part your legs with his massive index and thumb.

His breath reeks of death, fanning over your exposed cunt, and passing through your folds in a warm breeze that tickles the surrounding skin there.

It feels surreal to be as powerless as you are now—at the whims of a sexually starved giant, yet his drool coated lips and the disheveled blonde wisps that stick to his forehead might be the last sight you’ll ever see.

His tongue’s reminiscent of an anaconda; slightly bloodied as it darts out to lick a stripe across your pussy. You recoil at the first moment of contact, metallic stench still lingering on his teeth, but the unwanted pleasure that accompanies it feels immoral yet difficult to fight against.

A wad of his red-streaked saliva slicks along your inner thighs in thick, luminous strands, and it lubricates your movements as you unconsciously rub your legs together at the incessant itch that claws through your center. He then repeats the motion more delicately, the heat of his mouth suffocating your lower half as he brushes the tip of his tongue along the insides before engulfing your core in his lips.

With his mouth still sucking and suctioning your core, you gasp, arching upward to present more of you to his hungry tongue. His symphony of lustful slurping sounds only add more to your arousal that’s building.

He sloppily laps at your folds until he soaks you and his palm with his fluid, you still tremor in his hold when he eventually pulls away.

He places a path of damp kisses along your skin. You flinch whenever he hovers over particular areas much longer with his canines bared, though he seems appreciative of your taste, greedily wetting his lips between suckles.

“I think you're prepared for me”, he smirks before lowering you onto his cock.

His cum drips way past the head of it now, coating the sides in viscous white. You rest on it as you would a horse, gripping at the slippery surface as rigidly as you could while you sit along the base.

His aroma is surprisingly earthy, with a hint of salt wafting through it that you can faintly taste at the back of your throat from each inhale.

A single finger caresses your back to encourage you to move, so you begin to grind your hips against his cock, the built-up fluids serving to propel your movements.

Muffled grunts are occasionally released from above. His bush of gold hairs stroke across your bottom with each of your glides, you even attempt to angle your hips in a way that stimulates your clit, but to no avail.

You’re thrashing your cunt into him at this point, as you try to strike a sweet spot along his length, and you could only assume how silly you must look from his view.

“Need some help”, he voices upon noticing your shifting.

You look up at him teary-eyed. “Please”, you beg passing over the reins to him with another arch of your back.

And he obliges, gripping a hand around your waist before steadily dragging you up and down, his pace slow, but satiating.

The disgust from his actions fuses with your already dwelling lust, to create something unfamiliar—and it flutters throughout your gut, setting your nerves alight with passion.

He finally pulls you across the ridge of a prominent vent, and you have to hold back your cries as it snags along your clit, exquisitely.

“Mm–feels good, Tai”, you mumble against him.

He hums softly while still maintaining his rhythm. His fingers secure you comfortably, until you’re wound up your tightest, bucking in his grasp as your walls clench firmly around air.

You wail as your orgasm inevitably crashes over you, tensing as white clouds your vision and euphoria floods your bloodstream.

“And I thought I was the one s’posed to be gettin’ serviced?”, he interrupts with a smirk. “This ain’t enough to get me off.”

He gently removes you from his cock before placing you, back upward, onto his palm, then he spits a huge glob of saliva on your sex.

Though before you have a moment to comprehend, he’s already bringing you down to the underside of his shaft, with your head resting against the tip, and sliding your slippery body along the skin of it.

You wrap your arms around his girth as tightly as you could, a cheek and your pussy pressed against it and caking on more liquids with each thrust. The wet, sticky feeling is revolting while the stimulation it brings to your sex isn’t nearly enough to give rise to another climax, but you’re still sensitive and the added sensations only overstimulate your weeping cunt.

Tai begins to hunch over as he approaches, panting monstrously big breaths without concern for how it has the strength to sweep you away.

“Now, hold on”, he orders before moving you much more swiftly than before.

His brain-stirring pace has your head bobbing uncontrollably, and you're seconds away from having it flop off its hinges, yet his eye eventually clamps harshly in ecstasy.

The river of cum that follows is enough to drown in. It gets into your mouth and creates a film across your body, leaving you breathless as you gulp the salty sludge down to clear your airway.

You’re drenched and heaving as you attempt to adjust to the liquid blanket on top of you, but Tai saves you with a swipe of his fingers across your features.

“Oop—got’ya all covered there”, He remarks before licking at his cum soaked digits. “Not that I mind a bit’a seasoning with my meal.”

“W-What—“, you shriek in hopes you misheard, but he only snickers…

And snickers some more…

#fatgum x reader #fatgum smut #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #taishiro toyumitsu smut #mha x gender neutral reader #bnha reader insert #bnha smut #mha smut #mha reader insert #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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daisyishedwig · 7 months

Text

Fic writers tag

I was tagged by @kurtsascot, thank you for the tag!

And I'm tagging @calsvoid and @lusthurts and anyone else who wants to participate.

1. how many works do you have an ao3?

I have 37 on AO3 and 80 on FF.net, and most things from my AO3 are on FF excluding like 3 fics. I'm including my FF account because that's where I started posting many many years ago and continued to update until a couple yers ago when I transferred to just posting on AO3. There is a lot of fics on my FF that I haven't crossposted to AO3 yet, and some I probably never will.

2. whats your ao3 word count?

AO3 is 217,634 and FF.net is 287,357

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Nowadays, just Glee, though I do have some WIPs for Stranger Things, Captive Prince, Magnus Archives, and Hatcetfield that I do want to post /someday/. When I started I wrote Supernatural. And over the years I've also written Doctor Who, Takin Over the Asylum, Harry Potter.

4. top 5 fics by kudos

Not So Dapper, Dare, and This Isn't Love all tie for first place with 171. Then there is Chance at 164, I'm Never Letting You Go at 157, Don't You Dare at 150, and Don't Tell Me What You're Thinking at 144.

On FF.Net (by favorites) its The Thoughts I Can't Deny at 163, The Unspoken Rule at 120, A Strange Realization at 142, Icy Love at 101, and Maybe We Can Be Okay at 93.

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I certainly try! I'm always torn between giving hints and secrets and wanting to keep everything close to my chest so the closer someone is to guessing a big plot point or asking a question that I can't answer without spoiling, the less likely I am to respond. Which is why I'm better at responding on one shots, because there's nothing to spoil!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ohhhh, probably Say Your Name While Our Tongues Are Tied. There's probably a Blangst fic from back in the day that has a sadder ending, but they're usually at least hopeful. Say Your Name just feels very helpless, like it's hard to envision a world where anyone walks away from this situation happy, you know?

7. whats the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A Place To Call Home, probably, even though I haven't posted it yet. The Thoughts I Can't Deny probably would have if I'd actually written an ending for it, lol. Tear Down My Reason is definitely very happy, and I Could Touch the Teardrops on Your Face is probably the sappiest ending.

8. do you get hate on fics?

I know I have in the past but I don't remember for what or why, which means it probably didn't really stick with me. And from what I do remember I think it was largely from people who didn't like the characters or ships I was writing about and would come to bitch about that and I'd be like, if you hate Blaine Anderson so much, why are you reading a Klaine fic? I do kind of remember a Kurtofsky shipper coming to complain about how "abusive" Blaine is and I was just like, sure, Jan, when you ship Kurt with the person who threatened to kill him, you definitely have a leg to stand on.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I don't as much as I used to and I actually tend to skip over it a lot. I've been much more into the emotional aspect and only really write the sex if I feel like it will add to the heart of what I'm writing.

But oh boy did I used to. And when I did it was pretty much exclusively D/s and kink stuff, and even when it wasn't there would at least be some form of powerplay or marking in an otherwise vanilla scene, just so my kinky brain would have something to latch onto.

10. do you write crossovers? whats the craziest one youve ever written?

Only on occasion? Like I'm currently working on a White Collar/Glee fic and a Magnus Archives/Hatchetfield fic. Aside from that it will be more like just an AU or inspired by a different media. So like, Sebastian Smythe is the flash, but other characters from The Flash don't really appear. Or my Mrs. Winterbourne Seblaine AU. Or the Spies Are Forever inspired Seblaine AU I have currently only managed to write 300 words in.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have. I remember someone turning the original Icy Love (which I still haven't crossposted to AO3, oops) into a Larry fic. And I know I've seen some of my stuff around any time there's a new website stealing things from AO3 and putting it behind a paywall. But at some point I got to lazy to care.

I did have a scare a litte while ago where I thought someone had stolen one of my fics because someone commented saying they'd read it under the username comewhattklaine before and I was like I have /never/ used that username before. I've used a lot of pennames over the years but never that one and I went absolutely crazy trying to find where someone with that username at stolen my fic. And then I realized that on my old Scarvesandcoffee account, I had used that name, but that website had been dead for so long i'd forgotten about it.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

I feel like I have but I cant for the life of me remember what.

13. have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes! @itallstartedwithharry and I wrote Tear Down My Reason together. It was an absolutely incredible experience and I always wish that she had the time to write together again because we worked so well together. I was really good at word vomiting on the page and she was really good at cleaning it up and making it more coherent and actually sounding nice. Which is part of why I still ask her to beta for me on fics that are really important to me because she tends to just get what I'm trying to say better than I do sometimes. Like she's been absolutely incredible with betaing A Place to Call Home for me and I'm so glad to have her because she just makes me a better writer.

14. fave all time ship?

Okay. This one is complicated. Because Klaine was my otp to end all otps for so many many years. Klaine means the world to me, it was so incredibly important to me as a teenager and to me accepting my own queerness and feeling safe to come out to my mom (because we bonded a lot over shipping Klaine) and I have written hundreds of thousands of words about those two.

But Seblaine. Ohmygod Seblaine. I have reached a point in my life where my brain is more interested in the kind of stories those two can supply me. In this concept of quantum entanglement that will always pull them together but never ever let it be /easy/ for them. There's just some ways in which I think they're better for each other, I think in some ways they bring out the worst in each other, but that in turn allows to them to truly see the best in each other too. I think the tragedy of their story as it happened is beautiful and cruel. And I just want to explore every crevice of their brains and to never let them go. At some point, Klaine became too easy. They'll always get their happy ending (at least in canon). But Seblaine never will. And the art that can be made from a relationship like that intrigues me far more.

15. wip you want to finish but doubt you will?

Probably La Pute. Of all my old WIPs, it's the most likely to be finished (because I do have some pretty extensive notes on how the plot was supposed to go). But at the same time, that kind of fic that I loved to read and write when I was young (dubcon, noncon, slave fics, etc.) just doesn't interest me the way it used to.

If I were to psychoanalyze myself i'd probably say that my love for stories like that was deeply derived from my sexual repression and inner angst (largely driven by vast amounts of untreated mental illness) that I had no real life experience to draw from so I just used these dark dark stories as a way to try and release any of those emotions. But now as an adult I've lived through many traumas and general life shittiness and I can now find a release for my inner turmoil in writing about things more close to life instead of having to reach into that level of darkness.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Oh I don't even know. I think probably dialogue? That's what usually comes the easiest to me so it's what I would assume, but I'm honestly not sure.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

I tell more than I show. Like I try to describe body language and expression in a way that isn't just "he shifted anxiously" "He looked pissed", stuff like that. But I'm just not great at it, so I tend to just tell the reader what a character is feeling more than anything else.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I'm always drawn to the idea of doing it, but I don't just want to like copy and paste the lines into google translate, you know? And I don't speak any other languages and most of the friends I have that do speak the languages I would want to translate lines into (namely Tagolog and French) aren't Glee fans, so I don't want to make them translate for me.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Unpublished? Inuyasha/Naruto/Harry Potter/Bleach/probably some other things. I wrote a very extensive self insert fic when I was like 9 or 10 that involved all of those fandoms but it never even got typed up and I lost the binder I was keeping it in probably nearly two decades ago.

Published though it was definitely Supernatural.

20. fave fic youve written?

A Place To Call Home was such a long endeavor and something that was very important to me to finish and it means a lot to me to have finally finished it.

Maybe We Can Be Okay is probably one of my most well-received fics considering the dark content and complex themes. And I'm still really proud of it.

And then it's not out yet, but my fic for the I Want You Back day of 10 Days of Seblaine has been a very difficult fic to write but I'm really happy with how its turning out and I can't wait to share it with you all in November.

#personal #daisyishedwig writes #glee #seblaine #klaine #sebklaine

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