#also i wanted to draw something with dappled sunlight

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 7, MDNI

You awaken early in the morning with warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft, dappled glow across the room. As you sit up and stretch, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, your feet bump into something soft. You draw your knees back to your chest. Simon has also fallen asleep in your bedroom. He is curled at the foot of the bed. His fingers are wrapped around your shin and your sock is rolled down to your ankle. In his other hand, he is clutching a knife. You can't help but wonder how he managed not to cut himself while sleeping.

You try to pry the blade away from his clenched fist. But your touch stirs him up from his unconscious state. His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. Simon yanks your arm towards him. His movements are rapid and forceful. The confusion swirling in his eyes is tangible. Yet, upon seeing your face, his frantic gaze softens, and he relaxes. He releases his hold on the blade, allowing you to slide it out of his hand. His body sinks back onto the mattress. As he blinks groggily, trying to adjust to the bright light, he wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

For a few hours, an uneasy silence hangs between you both, heavy and palpable, like a thick fog. It's clear that you and Simon are teetering on the edge of voicing your thoughts. The only question is who will dare to shatter the fragile stillness first. After breakfast, consisting of nothing more than stale bread, a slice of aged cheese, and a shared large cup of tepid tea, you summon the courage to speak. Your words cut through the mounting tension.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

"Do we have to?" Simon replies without looking at you. He smokes while leaning against the window that's barely ajar. The half-finished cigarette that dangles in his fingers, somehow, has survived the night. After falling to the floor, it had miraculously avoided being crushed under your feet.

"Yes," you say, moving towards him. You press your shoulder against the cool wall. The chill seeps through your clothing and sends an icy shudder skittering down your side.

You refuse to forget about yesterday's event. You need answers to the questions that have been plaguing you since you saw the light flashing at the end of the street. The harsh realisation that those people who you thought were your family coming home were, in fact, just strangers, is a bitter pill to swallow. But you are certain that Simon knows who they were and where they came from.

"Fine," he says through the gritted teeth. His fingers race through his hair, messing it up. You notice it has grown out and make a mental note to ask him later if he wants you to trim it. "Before the disease spread and everything went to hell, I was a soldier in the Special Forces."

His confession fills in the gaps that have been puzzling your mind since the day you met him: his muscular physique, his proficiency with firearms, and his combat skills that could only come from years of experience in the battlefield. It also explains his fearlessness and recklessness, which now appear not as erratic traits, but as the hardened exterior of a soldier.

Simon recounted how the dead attacked him and his team during what was supposed to be a routine mission. Upon returning to the base, they discovered they had been bitten. Likely during the chaos of the attack. His teammates' skins were littered with scratches and bruises. During the incident, Simon was separated from the group. As a result, when a small horde of biters cornered his squad, he managed to evade any injuries.

Rumours of a deadly disease began to circulate, amplified by the constant news cycle. The media showed footage of people in a rabid state. They behaved like wild animals and attacked everyone with a pulse and a beating heart. As the situation deteriorated and communication systems collapsed, the severity of their predicament became starkly evident to Simon and his team. The world as they knew it seemed to crumble around them. His team, once confident and composed, had to face the grim reality of their fate.

The final blow came when a group of outlaws attacked their base. Simon was faced with a decision that still haunts him to this day. His captain, bitten and doomed, like the rest of his teammates, ordered him to leave, as he was still unharmed. Torn between guilt and duty to his team, Simon was reluctant to abandon his friends and leave them to face the outlaws alone. But his captain didn't give him a choice. He packed Simon's duffel back with a few spare guns, some food, and then basically pushed him through the gates.

"I'm tired of fighting, of constantly putting my life on the line because I believe it's the right thing to do," he sighs. His shoulders slump, bearing the invisible weight of his internal struggle. His body folds inwards. "I didn't understand it before, couldn't comprehend it, but after meeting you... now I do. Even though part of me yearns for revenge, I can't risk dying because of you."

A sudden fluttering sensation fills your chest, like the delicate wings of a butterfly trapped within your rib cage. You swallow, but your throat feels parched, as if no amount of water could ever quench the dryness.

"I-I don't know... what — Do you think those strangers will return?" You find it hard to form a coherent sentence. There's so much you want to say right now. But you struggle to find the right words.

"If we are lucky, we won't see them again."

Throughout the rest of the week, you are on a constant edge. You are afraid that at any moment someone will march down the street, knock on the front door and when you open it, after aiming a gun at your head, will put a bullet through your skull before going to track Simon. A part of you wants to confess your dreadful thoughts to Simon. But you hold your tongue back. You don't want to add to his worries. Because even if he says nothing to you either, you see the pain in his eyes each time you look at him. Talking with you brought back a lot of awful memories to him. But the main reason you say nothing is because you don't want to appear weak in front of him.

Supplies are dwindling at an alarming rate. When Simon addresses the need to venture outside in search of more before you have a chance to ask if you can tag along, he makes the decision for you.

"You are coming with me. I don't want you to be alone in the house while I'm gone."

* * *

You are curled up in a bed, buried under a pile of heavy blankets. The harsh, biting cold from outside has seeped into the room. It turns your breath into small clouds of vapour that dissipate into the frigid air with each exhale. The chill is so pervasive that sleep becomes an elusive entity. Despite being swathed in layers of clothing and having your feet tucked into not one, but two pairs of socks, your teeth still chatter. The end of summer is near, and you can feel it as each night grows colder and colder.

Simon is downstairs. The distinct sound of his pacing reverberates through the silence of the house. Driven by the need for warmth and company, you extricate yourself from the mountain of blankets, leaving the relative warmth of your bed behind, and descend the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, you find Simon perched on the wooden table. His attention is engrossed in his blade. The faint moonlight filtering through the closed blinds illuminates His silhouette.

"I'm cold," you say, causing his focus to shift to you.

He looks at you. His gaze is so intense that you feel as if he's trying to read your mind. For a moment, the silence settles in. You half expect him to order you to go back to bed. Instead, he slides off the table and intertwines his fingers with yours. After leading you to the living room, he sits down on the couch and pulls you into his embrace. Your body tumbles on top of him. You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel your face turn bright red.

Once you stop your fidgeting and get comfortable, he swathes both of you in a soft blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. You snuggle up to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. When the icy tip of your nose presses against his skin, he squirms a little, causing a low giggle to slip past your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. His body is like a furnace, so it isn't long before you feel the warmth seeping into your bones, driving away the chill.

"Thank you," you mumble, the words barely escaping your mouth as you feel the sleep tugging at your consciousness. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

Just before you close your eyes — Simon thinks you are already asleep — he presses his lips to your forehead. You try to suppress a smile, but the corners of your lips betray you, curving upward involuntarily.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69, @browtfyoudoing If you want to be added, let me know!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #cod #writing #ghost x reader #call of duty #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost cod #ghost #ghost call of duty #cod x reader #cod ghost #zombie apocalypse #apocalypse #AP2 #fem!reader

[lamemaster]

Elves Reaction to a Mythical S/O

Request: I saw the “ Feel free to request “ in the bio and I wanted to ask if you could write something like a Mermaid!Reader Or Fairy!Reader headcanons with Maedhros Celegorm Caranthir Glorfindel and Ecthelion? I would appreciate it <3

Characters: Maedhros, Celegorm, Caranthir, Glorfindel, Ecthellion

AN: Took some creative liberty with some of these but I hope you still like them. Also, the way I got carried away with Celegorm is not real. I hope you like it and thanks for requesting this! (Divider by @cafekitsune)

Celegorm- Celegorm lay wounded, his lifeblood seeping into the quiet forests of Beleriand. Beside him, Dior's lifeless form grew cold, devoid of the light that once animated it. As he awaited his inevitable end, Celegorm allowed himself a moment to embrace the surroundings. The scent of damp earth, the gentle rustle of leaves in the air, and the murmurs of the horrified trees—all of it reached his senses, and even in his pain, he found solace in these simple pleasures. He dared not contemplate his fate, for whatever awaited him was yet unknown. Suddenly, a subtle thrum of activity surrounded him, a buzz that reverberated through the forest. Even the trees whispered a name he couldn't grasp. And then he smelled it—the sweet, cloying scent of decay. It was reminiscent of rotting grapes, withering to produce wine, or overripe fruits dissolving into the soil. "Oh, look what they left us this time—one still alive," your voice chimed like a symphony of bells in Celegorm's pain-addled mind. From his blurred vision, Celegorm observed as flowers bloomed beneath your every step. And then, you stopped right in front of him. "Help," he managed to croak, and you laughed. Mirroring your laughter, Celegorm felt a surge of mirth course through him, even as his blood continued to flow excessively. "Ah, my pet," you crouched down, and Celegorm instinctively leaned into your touch as your fingers grazed his cheek. "Should I truly save you?" You tilted your head innocently, your silver-hued skin shimmering in the dappled sunlight. A crown adorned with sapphires rested upon your head, complementing the brilliance of your sparkling eyes. "Think carefully," you whispered with a playful smile on your lips, and Celegorm became captivated by their allure. "A bargain with the fae is no trivial matter." As a sharp pain invaded his mind and body, Celegorm's gaze lost focus. Your talons, sharp and unyielding, grasped his wound, prying it open further. Despite the agony coursing through him, Celegorm found himself nodding, his voice barely a plea, "Please…". “Alright, then elf,” in seconds the wound that you had pried open closes and Celegorm stares in disbelief as his skin stitches itself back together under your touch. By the time you are done, there rests a brand where Dior’s sword had once impaled him. Your brand on him.

Ecthellion- Long ago, in the Ages of the Trees, Ecthelion had felt the weight of the ocean, a burden he carries with him even now. However, it is not the brine of the ocean that floods his lungs, but the water of his own fountain, leaving him gasping for breath. The misery he experiences now seems more profound than the incident of his childhood. Back then, he held onto hope that someone would come to his rescue, and indeed, you had come. Through the darkness, you swam with your shimmering green tail, and in your arms, you cradled a young Ecthelion. That single act had been enough to ignite his fascination with Alqualondë, drawing him to its shores in search of glimpses of you, the mermaid familiar with the Teleri's realm. Admiration had blossomed into love as Ecthelion fell for his savior. But now… hope has faded. Ecthelion finds it harder to believe in the possibility of a rescue as he drowns in the shallow waters, mere feet from the depths of the ocean. The day he departed the bloodied shores, he shattered any chance of your care. He knows you would not spare a thought for one who sided with the kinslayers. “I wish I had left you…I wish I hadn’t saved you,” the echoes of your final words haunt his ears, replaying over and over as he envisions your tear-stricken figure on the ravaged shores. Even as he draws in the water, he feels his own tears mingling with it, his heart heavy with regret.

Caranthir- Caranthir sighed in frustration as the thread snapped once again, the fifth time within the last two minutes. "Will you please stop already?" he exclaimed, giving up on the futile game of searching for the elusive cause of his thread's constant breaking. Finally, he looked up towards the branch where you sat, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. "Oh, me?" you replied, feigning an expression of shock, vigorously shaking your head. "How could I have possibly done anything from wayyyy up here?" Your playful act may have fooled others, but Caranthir, after years of knowing you, remained unconvinced. Caranthir's frustration simmered as he contemplated your mischievous presence on the branch above. His impulse to chuck a rock at you was quickly suppressed, knowing it wouldn't deter your playful nature. But you weren't oblivious to his internal struggle. With a dramatic flourish, you folded your wings, mocking innocence evident in your eyes. "Oh, look at you," you taunted, your voice carrying a blend of seriousness and amusement. "What did a poor, dainty little fairy do to you? I hope all your needles break and all your threads end up in a tangle." Despite the biting nature of your words, a glimmer of mirth danced in your gaze. Tired of your antics, Caranthir abandoned his position and began to make his way back. But before he could take more than a couple of steps, he felt a familiar weight land upon his back. Your arms encircled him, and your head rested gently on his shoulder. His hands instinctively moved to support your legs, preventing any chance of you slipping. "Forgive me," you whispered softly, your fingers idly playing with his braids. Caranthir didn't utter a single word in response, but the way he his hands securely supported your legs on each side spoke volumes.

Maedhros- Maedhros found himself engulfed in a sea of grief, his heart heavy as he watched his father burn the ships that were meant to aid their kin. The weight of witnessing his father's gradual descent into darkness, coupled with the burden of blood and oath, had taken its toll on Maedhros. The shores were ablaze with the burning remnants of the ships, and amidst the chaos, he discovered you. Your countenance was hidden beneath the veil of long, flowing hair, but one striking feature remained exposed—a majestic teal tail that identified you as a creature of the sea. Lying on the shore, your body bore the scars of burns, rendering you unconscious and vulnerable. Drawn by an invisible force, Maedhros knelt beside you, gently parting the strands of hair that obscured your face. In that moment, he couldn't discern whether it was love or lust that gripped his heart, but he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from you. As he pulled you from the water, your tail transformed into naked legs, signifying a profound change and a bridge between worlds. Draping his cloak over your form, Maedhros carried you to the sanctuary of his tent. With tender and feather-soft touches, he applied a healing paste to your wounds, his eyes fixated on your closed eyes. In that intimate exchange, he felt an indescribable connection. You belonged to him, bound together in mind, heart, and soul, intertwining with his own unguarded being. When the following morning arrived, you awakened, your memories of the past washed away like wet ink fading on a page. A new dawn emerged, and the eldest Feanorian rejoiced. For in your rebirth, he saw an opportunity to offer himself to you completely. The sea had dared to separate him from his home, his mother, his people and so he took away something precious from it. Something he keeps a secret even as he hangs from the cliff of Thangodrim. You are to him as the Silmarils were to Feanor. Even in death, Maedhros' spirit would follow you as you traversed the world, your past forgotten in the depths of ages long gone. You were his eternal companion, a tether to a forgotten era, forever intertwined in the tapestry of destiny.

Glorfindel- "Do you truly think Asfaloth's bells are better than mine?" you ask, your figure delicately balanced on the balcony as you fix a piercing glare upon Glorfindel. He finds himself in a predicament he never anticipated, caught off guard by your sudden confrontation. "It's not a matter of comparison, really," the Balrog slayer tries to deflect, hoping to avoid further conflict. However, you refuse to let him off the hook so easily. "Oh, really? Because if I recall correctly, your past romantic odes were filled with praise for the sweet chimes of my own bells, not those on Asfaloth," you remark, plucking at the tinkling bells adorning your anklet to emphasize your point. "These bells carry the essence of my magic, and yet, you hesitated. You faltered at Elohir's foolish question." Glorfindel winces, inwardly cursing Elrond's son for inadvertently causing this current predicament. Stepping closer to you, he channels his sweetest voice, accompanied by a subtle loosening of the top buttons of his shirt. "Melda," Glorfindel begins, his voice tender and sincere, "there is truly no comparison. Even Asfaloth's bells were born out of the days when I pined for you." He gazes into your eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips, as you instinctively reach out and fiddle with the buttons of his shirt." Is that true?" you inquire, a hint of vulnerability lacing your voice. Glorfindel nods, relief washing over him. Crisis Averted for now. He would make sure to apologize to Asfaloth tomorrow.

#silmarillion x reader #the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion #noldor elves #tolkien #middle earth #romance #silmarillion headcanons #maedhros x reader #maedhros #celegorm x reader #Ecthelion x reader #glorfindel x reader #caranthir x reader

[iggydabirdkid]

Good things come in threes!  This is the third of the 6 drawings I have planned for Pride Month!

The Wayhaven Chronicles is one I hold dear, being someone who loves everything supernatural. And how can I pass up the opportunity for angst with a certain golden-haired vampire?? 

So this is what I did for My Detective (Agent now I guess XD) Theadora Rickson and Ava Du Mortain.

(Forgive me if some of the spelling and punctuation is strange. It was weirdly difficult trying to write this in the style the game is written in. Also this ones a little longer, so don’t feel obligated to read it if ya don’t want to. Just enjoy the pretty art :) )

+++++

Lost in Your Eyes

The alarm that blares from my phone jumpstarts my heart as my eyes snap open. Groaning and turning my face into my plump pillow I reluctantly roll onto my stomach and reach blindly towards the shrill sound, my palm slapping against the surface of beside table before finally connecting with the offending device.   

Another groan escapes me and I lift my head while blinking against the glow of the screen as I turn the alarm off. I hate having to get up so early but I had doomed myself by neglecting my paperwork all week and now I was paying the price. I was just glad that I had had the foresight to ask Verda to send it over to the Warehouse. At least that way I could get it done from the comfort of the library. I let my head flop back down into the inviting plush of my pillow, “Thanks past me,” I mumble, the act of rolling my eyes made difficult by my position.

Letting out a sigh I finally decide to get up as I knew that if I stayed laying down I would for sure fall asleep again. I push the top half of my body off the mattress as I lean on my forearms and yawn before arching my back and hearing the cracks and pops of my joints before sitting back on my haunches. I tip my head back to roll my neck and lift my arms up high over me before shaking them out and standing up. I scowl as I look down to see my covers bunched up around my feet and I kicked my blankets to the floor, they needed to be washed anyways. As I jump from my bed it rocks beneath me and I grimace, placing a hand against its wooden frame to steady it.

The wall before me was dappled with morning sunlight and unable to help myself I wave a hand through the specks of dust floating in the rays of gold. With a smile of my face I let myself relax. Sometimes it was worth waking up early, if only for the little things. Speaking of…

I spin around and grab my phone off the nightstand, swiping down from the top of the screen to check my notifications as I pad barefoot from my room and into the kitchen. No new messages. The frown on my face was familiar, as was the way my heart seemed to sink in my chest. I was hoping that she would have sent a message, even if it was a brief one. Seeing nothing stung and I scowl at myself, “They’re on a mission!” I shout into my empty apartment as I throw my phone onto the kitchen counter and turn to the kettle to press its toggle down, “She won’t have time to send anything…” I trail off as I grab a mug and tea bag from the cupboard, willing the words to set my feelings at ease but there was still the tiniest voice way at the back of my mind that said otherwise, “Stop it.” I spit out harsh words to myself as I watch the steam rise from the kettle’s spout. But I can’t help it as the image of emerald-green eyes pop into my mind. I groan and rub my face with my hands, “Great…” I grumble just as the kettle clicks off, “What a fantastic way to start the morning…”

-----

My car rumbles along the dirt pathway leading up to the warehouse and I feel every shift and bump that it makes, but I don’t mind. It may be old but that just gives it character! Not something that everyone in Unit Bravo believes and when I had made the same joke about Ava herself, only Farah had laughed. I snicker as I remembered the sour look on Ava’s face as she had pursed her lips, her form tightening as she had turned away. I wonder how she’s doing…

Soon enough I pull up in front of the warehouse, parking my car and wincing at the loud creaking noise the handbrake made when I pulled it up. Maybe I should be thinking about upgrading… I’m sure Ava would help with her love of cars… I smack myself lightly on the forehead. Stop thinking about Ava, you have work to do! I unclip my seatbelt, yank my bag from the passenger seat, and open my door with a kick before stepping out onto the mossy forest floor. I threw my door closed with a slam that reverberated throughout the still almost silence and I stop in my tracks to just take in the view.

I loved it here. Being in the forest, being in nature with the trees and the animals. I loved the way the rays of sun filtered in through the treetops high above, their branches swaying in the wind and causing the light to dance about the ground in such interesting ways. I smile to myself before making sure my car is locked and heading inside the warehouse, walking through the dark and dusty false interior before entering through the key carded locked door and entering the warehouse proper. The door had only just closed behind me before a blur of colour rockets forwards from down the hall and I freeze on the spot, becoming a perfectly still target for the energetic vampire who would have knocked me over had my back not been right up against the door.

“Thea!” Farah squeals as she wraps her arms around my shoulders, pinning my hair to my back as she does so.

“Farah!” I reply and drop my bag to hug her back, “You’ve returned?” I laugh even as I feel my brow crease.

“Earlier this morning yeah.” She pulls back then picks my bag up and hands it to me. I watch as she cocks her head to one side and I shift on the spot when her eyes zero in on my face, “You’re upset?”

“Not about you returning!” I reassure her as I start my walk towards the library, “I was just hoping to get a text from Ava this morning. Considering…” I trail off, “I know its stupid, but is she in at the moment?” I ask as I turn my head slightly to peer at the shorter vampire who shakes her head in reply.

“She left an hour ago. Wouldn’t tell us where she was going, which is new but.” she shrugs and I watch her shoulders disappear into the frizz of her hair.

“Guess that for the best, I didn’t realize you guys were back today. I left Ava’s present back at my apartment.”

“You got her a present!” Farah shouts as she begins to bounce on the balls of her feet.

“Of course I did! Why wouldn’t I?” I chuckle as I push open the door to the library, allowing Farah to enter before me.

“What did ya get her?” Farah asks, skipping over to and flopping down onto the old patterned couch.

“Ohhh no,” I wag my finger at her as I dump my bag by her feet, “You’re terrible at keeping secrets. I’m more likely to tell Morgan than you and that only as she’ll forget because she doesn’t care.” I snicker, striding past Farah to the desk where I could see my paperwork sitting neatly atop. The sound of the chair scraping across the hardwood floor as I drag it out fills the large space, and I hope in vain that Nat hadn’t heard. I didn’t need another lecture on proper etiquette. I slump down into the chair and scoot back under the desk before spreading my files across its surface, only to be interrupted by the sound of a quirky tune rising from where Farah sat with her back to me. I sigh and give a quiet laugh as I turn in my chair, “Farah?” I start, speaking up to get her attention.

“Huh?” comes the distracted reply as she tilts her head backwards to look at me. I shake my own head with a grin.

“As much as I love your company I have work I need to do, and I rather I get it all done before Rebecca realizes I’ve been slacking again.”

“She’s not in charge of you anymore though?”

“Try telling her that!” I chortle, “And she’s still my mother. She’ll nag me about it and I’ll have to listen to her talk about work ethic again and I’d rather avoid that if I can.”

“Ugh! Fine fine, I’ll get out of your hair.”

I open my mouth to thank her. Only to stop and instead raise an eyebrow as she reaches behind to grab the arm of the couch with both hands before lifting her legs off from the cushions, arching them over her head pushing herself off the as she flips over. Her feet land with a thud against the ground and she raises her arms above her head as she turns to me, “Ta da!”

“You’re ridiculous!” I laugh as I clap and she grins before grabbing her beanie from the floor, the article of clothing having fallen off during her stunt and allowing half her face to be covered by her curls. She crams it back on her head and moves her hair aside to give me a wink and fire finger guns at me before spinning on her heel and leaving. I turn back to my paper and groan at the full day of work I saw ahead of me before I sigh, and begin.

 -----

I wake up with a start as a loud knock rings throughout the library. As I bolt upright in my seat a few stray sheets of paper that had stuck themselves to my face fall back to the desk. I shake my head, brush my hair over my shoulders and reach for my phone to check the time. If the bright numbers hadn’t alerted me to the fact that I had slept through the time I normally would have had lunch, then the rumble of my stomach would have clued me in. I jump and drop my phone back to the desk when whoever is outside the room knocks again.

“Uh, come in?” No need to raise my voice for whichever vampire it was that had the polite thought to knock first. The door cracks open and I quickly rub the sleep from my eyes, turning in my chair as Ava steps into the room.

“I apologize for interrupting your-“

“I was doing paperwork,” I cut in, sitting up straight and pulling back my shoulders. Ava raises an eyebrow.

“You were sleeping.”

“I was sleeping…” I sigh in admittance, allowing my posture to slacken as I lean an elbow on the table and prop my head up in the palm of my hand, “But in my defense I got up very early. I was semi-responsible.” Ava shakes her head at my joviality but I catch the ghost of a smile as she walks my way. The light that shines in through the windows behind me casts her in a curtain of gold and as I stare into the pools of her eyes my weariness seems to simply wash away. She stops an arm’s length away from me and it was only then that I realized she had been holding her arms behind her back the entire time. I lean to the side in an attempt to peer past her but she shifts in such a way that makes it impossible, “Spoilsport,” I hmph before looking up at her and the uncharacteristically nervous expression that twists her strong features, “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing is wrong.” She shakes her head yet the way her lips draw close says otherwise.

“Ava, you look like you’re constipated,” I snort as I push my chair back and get to my feet, “What’s up?”

She brings her arms out then from behind her back and extends her hands out towards me with her palms facing up, and a squat rectangular box sitting upon them. She clears her throat and I flick my attention back up to her face, “This is for you.” My eyes widen in surprise and I reach for the small black box.

“For me?” A nod, “I did get you something as well,” I add as Ava’s hands drop to her side, “But-“

“But you left it at your apartment. Farah informed me as such.”

“I knew she would tell you,” I chuckle before grasping the lid and opening the present.

It takes me a few seconds to see that the intertwining cords of leather are a bracelet and I feel a genuine smile grace my lips. And it was another few seconds after that that I realize the bracelet was one I recognized, and I felt my smile soften into something sadder.

“This is my dad’s,” I whisper softly, not taking my eyes from the precious gift.

“Yes,” Ava replies after a few silent seconds, “Agent Rickson mentioned that it was your favorite of all the ones he had. But it had been worn into being non functional.”

“It was falling apart,” I sniffle as I feel my cheeks heat up, “I wore it so much and after that I just didn’t want to risk losing it. So I stashed it away.” I fall silent as I gently lift the treasure from the box, turning it over in the sunlight as I take in every inch of it. The happiness that fills me as I slip it onto my wrist was too much to contain, and I feel my face break out in a wide grin as I place the box on the desk and step closer to Ava. I reach up towards her, cupping my hands at the back of her head as she grabs onto my waist and pulls me flush against her.

“Theadora. Thea. Animus meus, domus meus…” Ava’s words were so soft spoken, a side of her only I got to see and I stare into her face, into her eyes, into her soul.

“Ava Du Mortain. Amor meus, amicus meus, vita mea…” I watched as her gaze softened yet her eyes still sparkled as her mouth morphed into a perfect small smile, “I could get lost in your eyes forever.”

#first time ive about these two as well #but i do love a good vampire romance #Theadora Rickson #ava du mortain #The Wayhaven Chronicles #wayhaven detective #wayhaven book 3 spoilers

[nirikeehan]

heeeey happy friyay. here is a fluffuary prompt for u: “This Made Me Think of You” I'm thinkin for Thalia and Blackwall perhaps :o

Happy Friday Jay!! I combined this with another fluffy ask of yours:

and also this one from @rosella-writes

Fluff is hard, you guys.

OH AND also I took a cue from this headcanon post because it was too cute.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 581

---

“This made me think of you.” 

Thalia had been walking with Blackwall through the forest for some time, a companionable silence between them. His abrupt speech shook her out of a reverie. He leaned against the base of a tree, dappled sunlight cutting across his chiseled face. A miniature wooden horse stood in the center of his outstretched palm: a remarkable replica of her Marches ranger, Puck. 

“Blackwall!” Thalia gasped. “You made this.” 

“So what if I did?” The Grey Warden’s expression was difficult to read, but mirth undergirded his tone.

“You were speaking as though you just found it lying around somewhere. May I?” 

He nodded, and Thalia took it from him. She turned the statuette over in her hands. It was a little larger than a chess piece, but fit snugly in one fist. It was unpainted, but stained with a lacquer that made the polished wood shine. She ran her fingers over the tiny grooves that made out its mane, down its sturdy legs, along its proud snout. There were even tiny chisel marks that denoted its eyes. 

She looked up at Blackwall and beamed. “You have incredible talent, ser.” 

He shrugged. “It’s just something to remember me by.” 

“Why?” Thalia teased. “It’s not like you’re going anywhere.” 

As soon as she spoke, she wished she hadn’t. The light in his grey eyes dimmed. His smile, already so hard to spot under the beard, vanished. Thalia tightened her grip on the tiny horse. 

“Blackwall?” 

He cleared his throat, looked out amid the pines. “It’s dangerous work we do, my lady. It’s practical to consider the consequences of—”

She threw her arms around him, shocking them both. Blackwall broke off as she buried her face in his padded doublet. 

“It pains me when you talk like that,” Thalia mumbled. “Like something bad is definitely going to happen to you.”

He tensed against her, and she worried he would extricate himself from her. He had already rejected her once. I’m fond of you, it’s true, but we can’t let this go any further. Her heart beat painfully against her ribcage.

Instead, he placed his hands on her back and pulled her into a tight hug. She let out a small breath of surprise, and dared not move, lest she tip him off to his mistake. 

He pulled back, drawing fingers over her braided bun. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and swallowed thickly, as if his voice was lodged in his throat. Thalia wanted to reach up, to touch his face, entwine her own fingers in his luxurious beard. Before she could, Blackwall leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. 

“It’s the reality of things,” he said hoarsely. “But I cherish the time we have together, fleeting as it may be.”

He moved away, leaving her with the phantom touch of his kiss and the sharp angles of the wooden horse digging into her palm. Breathing heavily, she turned to him, searching for words. He was already heading up the path to Skyhold with a purposeful stride. “Come on, now. We ought to be getting back, before it gets dark.”

Licking her lips, Thalia hurried along behind. The emotions she yearned to articulate evaporated unspoken on her tongue. It was enough, she told herself, to have these brief moments and small gestures. She was ready and willing to subsist on them, in the hopes that one day he might find himself capable of giving her more. 

#fluffuary2023 #thalia trevelyan #blackwall #blackwall x trevelyan #it's so hard to write pure fluff when it's THESE TWO UGH #i tried tho i really did #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle

[elstreem]

To be embraced by dappled sunlight.

Art of my OC Zoe which was supposed to be casual art but I ended up overdetailing and committing to drawing the flower skirt... Some background on the character and wips below (super LONG because I don't shut up):

She was originally a Zelda OC who's a Minish and there's still elements of it in her design (the shape of her head and the three-fingered hands).

But I've also turned her into her own character, a partly human, mostly fairy who has ties to butterflies, so I delved into that with insect features. The way I describe her in my head, she's "human in shape", but being fairy she does have features showing more animal features. That goes for her anatomy too, like her skin is very sensitive to vibrations in the air and her diet consists mostly of sugar. So from afar she looks quite beautiful, but up close she can come off as eerie/uncanny because she's not quite human in a lot of ways.

Anyway, I like drawing her in fancy clothes like this one, but honestly she's a practical-minded healer, so she'd more often wearing her rather plain uniform. Since this was meant to be a casual drawing for fun the first design I had was this:

Which is cute and all, but I realize I drew a similar outfit for her before, so I sketched something different. Although, fun fact about this one, I had her wearing these cute boots so you can't see her feet, but they also look more insect-y. She tends to wear clothes that hide the stranger parts of her anatomy so as not to freak out human customers.

This was the second draft, and where things went off the rails. The main idea was spring and I wanted to draw a flowy, butterfly-patterned skirt, but then I liked the look of the flowers under the hem and...

...I gave myself up to detailing this pain-in-the-ass sketch which I loved.

I recorded this part of the line art and applying flat colors.

I didn't mean to give her an insect-y torso, it just happened. But I always meant to give her a flat chest and sometimes it doesn't come across because habit, so to force myself to do it she has a more insect-y middle body.

But one thing I always did struggle in drawing Zoe is that she's supposed to be petite, and I always find it hard to not apply human proportion legs. In my head she's short queen with short legs but I find in my art it doesn't come across that way...oh well, something to work on.

I would say something about the shading but it's just a lot of long work so nah lol.

The only thing I want to mention is adding blue+green+pink gives off this iridescent look I like.

Colors are my weakest point and I feel like I didn't add as much fine detail as I can because time-consuming and I have other wips haunting me.

And that's it ok bye.

#my oc #my oc art #digital art #medibang paint #fairy

[unknownjpegs]

delicate

“You look smaller outside the armor.” It’s the first thing Nomi says, and instantly regrets it as well. Her hand folds up over her mouth, eyes wide and shocked at the knight. But, well, they do. Dressed down, in plain tan trousers and a long sleeve white wool shirt. It’s open slightly at their throat, which proves more distracting than Nomi likes so her eyes skate down to their boots. Much safer there.

“I apologize—”

“No,” Jory raises their hand, drawing Nomi’s attention up toward their face again. They’re smiling, softly, brows gently pinched and they look so different. So approachable like this. But also, so…melancholic. Sometimes, Nomi wonders if anyone else sees that; or if they all avoid that aspect of them. They skate by the truth of their nature, because it’s easier—or because Jory is a knight, the Knight. Who bested the King’s favorite, who did not strike a final blow. Not now, though. No armor. Just trousers and a shirt. “If it’s a true statement, you shouldn’t apologize.”

“I meant to say—well, I meant, you just look—more—” She tries to get her words out with gestures, softly taking steps toward Jory. They’re in the courtyard. Flowers are blooming, lovingly tended by the lady Sunshine. The colors of them make Nomi’s eyes hurt—so many soft pastels of pinks and purples. She glances to the basket in her hands, realizes, she might be too used to red. Dark, mottled, browning red.

“I don’t know what I meant…”

She’d been thinking human, but that was so rude, even Nomi wouldn’t say it aloud.

The sunlight dapples across the courtyard, peeks through the trees and their leaves. It makes the fine reddish-gold of Jory’s hair almost look translucent. She remembers the first time meeting the knight, with their slightly wounded side. She’d found them regal then, mysterious. Something truly pulled from a story.

She continues forward until they’re close enough Nomi has to tilt her head up to look at them. She comes to their chin, or just under. Usually, when they’re taller, she hates that. Doesn’t like having that disadvantage—can usually smell them too, and it’s always awful. But, Jory’s collarbone, which shows slightly through their shirt, looks delicately fragile. Like a good smash from a sword hilt could break it—she’d seen wounds like that before.

And, well, they smell nice enough.

“Here,” she reaches into her basket and pulls something out, holding it aloft.

Both of them blink at the block of hard cheese in Nomi’s hand.

“Ah,” she says, as if that explains it at all. Then she clears her throat and gently puts it back into the basket. “I was wondering—” No. Start again. “Perhaps you would like—” Not like that either. Nomi squares her shoulders, draws in a large breath and firmly stares into those endlessly gray eyes. Like little storm clouds, morose with imminent rain. “Come with me to the lake. We’re going to have lunch there together.”

They blink. A slight glimpse down to the basket in Nomi’s arm before rising back up. Then, they offer her their arm. Not like a knight, but simply like a friend. And, Nomi thinks, you need one too, don’t you, Jory?

—

Two swans cut through the lake. Glide softly over its glassy surface, the ripples dying out before they reach the edge that Jory and Nomi sit at. The sun reflects over all that water, kicks up light and makes it a little hard for her to look at. Focuses on the bread in her hands as she rips off a piece.

“Fresh,” she comments. “Chef is—well. Name makes sense, yeah?” She uses a small parring knife to slice off a piece of the cheese and place it on the bread. Then she passes it over, and her and the knight slowly eat the bread and cheese together while the swans laze across the water. What Nomi wants to say is, you look like you don’t eat enough, but she’s insulted her new friend enough for one day.

Means it wholeheartedly though. They’re not slim, not in the way she is. And they have muscles—their biceps are thick in their shirt, fill it out well there, but it isn’t musculature that Nomi is thinking of. When she thinks, you’re not taking care of yourself, that’s what it means. She taps her piece of bread against her lips and looks at the swans and their lake. They scare her; big creatures, brutish with those wings, black eyes that look ominous. They’re meant to be beautiful, but for Nomi she just sort of sees a giant predator.

“Thank you,” Jory says. Her cheeks radiate suddenly with warmth that has nothing to do with the way the sun has started to angle to bear down on them. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and looks sideways. The sun does them well. Go out into it more, she thinks. Instead she reaches up and takes a curl of red-blond hair.

“Would you like me to shape up your hair for you, Ser?”

“What if I grew it out?”

“Make half the court ladies swoon with tha’, you would.”

Jory laughs, but its more of a release of air than anything else. Doesn’t have the same sound to it as she’s heard before, the same beautiful little note. You don’t want that attention, do you? Nomi thinks. Me neither. She toys with the blanket in the basket, looking at it. Wants to apologize, but it’ll be easier if she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls it away and turns to the knight.

She remembers, once, catching them on the stairs as they came up. Surrounded by cold stone that lead down to the prisoners cell. In the moment before Jory had looked up, their face had been tight. Had been concerned, laced with a worry they weren’t letting anyone else see; that they probably didn’t mean to let Nomi see either, because the second they lifted their chin and met her eyes, it was smoothed away. Masked into a neutral expression that would have scared her on anyone else.

Made her sad, looking down at this knight. Mighty, noble, enigmatic. The Knight who bested the best. Reduced to, well, this. Someone who stole into the prisoners quarters at night, to make sure Ser Graves—she skated right off the thought of that man. They’d passed each other in the stairs then, Nomi tucked close to the bricks and Jory avoiding her eye.

“I brought you this,” she says, pulling away the blanket. And tucked inside, underneath where she’d kept their lunch, was supplies. Rolls of bandages, a poultice in case the man had an infection, or might get one. A canteen of water, fresh and mixed with slices of fruit to give it a sweetness that might nourish. Nomi brushes her fingers over it. “For—For him. Well. For you, but for—” She breaks off then.

The silence between them stretches long. But not uncomfortably, as Jory takes the basket closer to themselves. Inspects slightly, with their long, slim fingers. Their mouth opens, as though they might object and Nomi swiftly pulls the blanket back over the basket and smiles at them. Through the fabric, her hands close over Jory’s; two of hers can close easily over the knight’s one. Just the blankets thin material between them.

“I stole it from Nick. He doesn’t pay me enough, you know,” she teases. Jory’s gray eyes wander her face enough to make her look down. “I don’t think—what you’re doing is not noble.” It sounds harsh, more than she meant for it to. But, she continues. “But I understand it. Because he means something to you—and isn’t that—well, it’s what makes us people, at the end of the day. I do not like men, Jory.” She squeezes her hands, feels those deft fingers move, turn up and their palms touch. The blanket still is there, obscuring their skin to skin contact.

“I only make the exception for Nick—and others, I suppose. But,” Nomi licks her lips and glances up, under her lashes. “It’s those exceptions, right? Little things we let slide past our battlements. Spies and all that, in our hearts, in the night. He means a great deal to you. And that’s sad, you know? It is,” she presses on, terrified, but unable to stop herself. Thinks, if Jory can withstand taking swords to their sides, they can hear the ugly, but also lovely, simplistic truth. “But, I admire you for it.”

“He has no one but me,” Jory replies. She slides her hands away and begins to stand. Leverages herself on her knees and slowly brings herself up. Even sitting, as they are, Jory is tall enough that Nomi doesn’t tower.

“Then he is a very lucky man, despite it all.”

She tries desperately to tuck dark blue locks of hair up underneath her bandanna, not realizing how much of it has fallen out. She glances around, back to the lake, to the swans, but they’ve left.

“I would like—” No. She pats her dress down. “I will visit you. In the tower. And you’ll teach me about,” she gestures up, into the mid afternoon sky. Clouds draw across the sky, fat and lazy and content. “I think I might be more suited for stars than whatever Nick is trying to teach me.”

The wind picks up a little, buffets them both and makes Jory’s high, pretty cheekbones look pink. They glance up at the sky that Nomi is indicating, and she can see that they love that sky, and what’s higher—that they look whats beyond it. Shame, that all that love, is also tied to a man underneath a castle, in a dungeon cell. Waiting for those bandages.

“I would love that, Nomi,” they reply and Nomi turns before either of them can say anything else. 

When she’s stepped far enough away, she dares look over her shoulder. See’s Jory leaned back on their elbows, still looking up at the sky. A long, pale slice over the green grass, looking lonesome and distant from others. When Jory’s head tilts to look at her, Nomi quickly looks away and continues. Little blue shadow on that green to find another place to hide for the day.

#writing #hj #2023 #fantasy au #nw

[docockbrainrot]

Okay for the drabble requests please consider: reader x doc ock waking up in bed together with cuddling + sleeping morning kisses?

But also no pressure❤️❤️❤️

here you go, my dear friend! thank you!

---

The sunlight filters in dappled rays through the parted curtains lining the windows of your bedroom, rousing you from a deep slumber of the mid-morning. Your body still feels heavy with sleep and you can’t even bring yourself to open your eyes all the way, warm and cozy and snuggled up in the familiar nest of your bed and blankets. There’s a weight slung over your side and pressing against your back and it’s tempting to fall back into the lull of sleep, but there’s a shuffled movement behind you and you finally blink awake. You grimace blearily into the sunshine and roll over with a lighthearted huff to hide your face in the bare chest of the man sharing your bed with you.

“How long have you been up?” you mumble and feel Otto chuckle softly before the strong arm around your waist tightens and draws you even closer to him. You nuzzle into his sternum, peppering his skin with gentle kisses.

“Not that long. Sorry if I woke you,” he replies softly, pressing his lips to the top of your head and eliciting a quiet sound of approval from you. Moments like this with him are often few and far between, you find yourself thinking and appreciating every second.

“Nah, it was the sun. Shoulda closed the curtains… Do you want to get up?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper as if you’re scared of breaking the fragileness of this, something that’s so delicate it could be crushed in the palm of your hand. You hope he says no.

In fact, he doesn’t say anything. But the arm around you retracts and you think he’s going to withdraw from the bed entirely. Surprising you not for the first time, he brings his hand up to tilt up your chin so you have to meet his gaze, which you do with no hesitation. Otto leans in and your eyes flutter shut as your lips meet, a kiss that doesn’t so much as kickstart your heart as it does soothe your soul, a drink of crystal clear water to your parched tongue. As he draws back, you give him a sleepy smile, gently taking his wrist and lifting his hand so you can turn your cheek into it, kissing his palm lightly.

“I would like to stay in bed for a while longer, if that’s okay with you.”

You don’t respond right away, instead stealing another kiss from his lips, leaving him returning your smile and melting you from the inside out just as he always does. “You drive a hard bargain, Otto Octavius, but I think I can make that work.”

#doc ock x reader #otto octavius x reader #fanfiction #otto octavius #doc ock #ficlet #or drabble #idk #short little fluff <3 #requests

[faevorite-main-blog]

TOP 5 OF 2020

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Thank you so much to @dragontamerdame for the tag! This is seriously such a fun challenge and I’m grateful for the opportunity to reflect on 2020. This year has definitely been a year to remember. I was able to finally return to tumblr and create new artworks that let me express myself in a way I haven’t in years. I met so many new friends and got to enjoy so many new conversations. Thank you so much everyone for the love you have given me and the endless support. I don’t know where I’d be without you.

Number One: Sun and Moon

This artwork was drawn to participate in @yemiello​ ‘s DTIYS challenge. I’m so incredibly proud of how it turned out. It was the start of a new era of art for me where I stopped focusing on the characters only and started implementing both color schemes and complimentary colors. This expanded into a new series (classical painting inspired drarry) that has meant so much to me already as an artist. It has been such a long time since I felt like what I was creating could actually be considered ‘art’ to myself. This artwork was the start of pushing myself to new limits and letting myself grow and it means so much to me. It was also the first work that I made that I looked back on and thought “Wow, I feel like I created something to be proud of today.”

Number Two: Freefall This was the artwork I made directly after “Sun and Moon” I was experimenting with a new perspective for this one, something I’d never done before and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. I’ve never tried to draw a birds eye view angle before and I wasn’t sure that I could pull it off. I also implemented movement for the first time in my art. The motion blur on the sides of their bodies! At first I was worried that it had been too much and over took the whole painting. After encouragement from @l0vegl0wsinthedark​ and @lazywonderlvnd​ I got the courage to post. I’ve never gone back!! I’m so immensely proud of the growth that this art piece brought me. 

Number Three: Something Borrowed

This was the artwork that started my new series!!! (Something Borrowed) When I was drawing it I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to happen. Notice the hair on Harry’s arm?! Like! My first time truly experimenting with body hair. I was nervous that it wouldn’t turn out the way I wanted it to but looking back on it I’m so glad I took the risk. This was another experiment in new art techniques. At first the canvas started up close with them falling in the lower third. I eventually decided I didn’t like that and added extra ground to the bottom and some grass as foreground. LIFE CHANGING. Now I’m obsessed with adding foreground to everything. Who would’ve thought?! Hahaha. I’m really proud of the detail on this drawing and the angle of Draco’s chest. I stared at him for way too long as I tried to decide if he looked anatomically correct.

Number Four: Something Taken

This was the second art installment in my “Something Borrowed” series. THE BACK MUSCLES ON THIS!!! I am so excited about. It took me way too long to get it right but when I did I could literally sob. I’ve always struggled with the anatomy of backs and the backs of arms. They never look like they do in my head and it takes so much time correcting what my brain does incorrectly. I was (and still am) still learning what ratio of linework to painting I like in my artwork. This drawing ended up with a good percentage of both and I honestly wish I could replicate it but I don’t think I ever could. Also werewolf Harry is my weakness.

Number Five: Herbology

This artwork is seriously one of my favorites. I’m especially proud of Draco’s feet and the angle of Harry’s abs. I have a hard time getting Harry’s nose to match how it appears in my brain and this is the closest his face has gotten to my head canon in a really long time. I struggle with Harry’s face so much. I’m really proud of how the foreground turned out in this, and the way the sunlight dapples across the top of the characters. IT TOOK ME SO FREAKING LONG TO FIGURE THAT STUFF OUT. SEriously. I see artists all the time do it almost effortlessly and holy crap it was freaking hard. I’m still not convinced it looks like light shining through trees but despite this I am still freaking proud. I’ve been waiting for years for an artwork where I could dabble in that lighting technique.

ANYWAYS. THANK YOU! So much for the tag! And thank you for reading through this whole monstrocity of a post. It’s so fun getting to look back on our lives and especially things we’re proud of. I TAG ANYONE WHO WANTS TO BE TAGGED. And I also tag @laurisophi​ @aminathescorpio​ @dewitty1​ @lazywonderlvnd​ @l0vegl0wsinthedark​ @polly-weasley​

#top 5 of 2020 #top 5 #2020 #top 5 2020 #art #my art #art pile #art dump #artist note #drarry #draco #harry #harry x draco #drarry art #drarry fan art #harry potter fan art #hp art #harry potter #harry potter art #draco malfoy #werewolf harry #something borrowed

[hearts-hunger]

suum ca’nara (rest and peace) || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Summary: You and Din take your baby on a picnic, and rest and peace come more easily with the sun on your face and your husband by your side. || Standalone fic in the Jate’kara (Lucky Stars) series

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff | Word Count: 4.6k | Warnings: None!

A/N: So this is quite possibly the fluffiest, sweetest thing I’ve ever written. I’m proud of how it turned out, and I hope y’all like it! (Also, this gif is what I imagine Din looking like in this fic - *swoon*, am I right?) (Also also, if you’re interested, the poem I use in this isn’t mine - god, I wish - but it’s called “Do you still remember: falling stars” by Rainer Maria Rilke) ♡

“Ad’ika, I think mama is going to be madder than a razor cat once she sees the mess we’ve made of her kitchen.”

You smiled to yourself at the tone of your husband’s voice, amusement and exasperation coloring it in equal measure. You hadn’t seen the state of the kitchen yet; you were supposed to be sleeping in, but the sounds of laughter and happy baby coos had drawn you from the bunk to see what your husband and toddler were getting up to so early. You guessed they were making breakfast, if Din’s steady, one-sided dialogue was any indication.

“I can never remember how much honey to put in,” he said. “Your ba’buir used to make uj’alayi when I was little, and he never measured anything. Just threw it in the bowl.”

You pictured little Din in the kitchen with his father, hands sticky-sweet as he learned how to make the traditional Mandalorian cake. You imagined your little one was watching Din with the same reverent attention Din had watched his father with, and felt your heart swell with love for your little family.

“That’s probably good enough,” Din said. “Now we need the nuts.”

Your heard your baby give a questioning coo.

“Yeah, those,” Din said. “Hold on, the bag might be a little too - ”

Thunk. The unmistakable sound of Koja nuts rolling across the floor had you bringing your hand up to stifle a laugh. Poor Din.

“That’s ok, buddy,” he said, his voice sweet and patient as he spoke to your most likely distraught baby. Your little one loved to try and help Din whenever he could - whether Din was polishing his armor, tinkering with the Crest’s control panel, or clearing his weapons, your baby could be counted on to be there to “help”. Most of the time, his help consisted of a steady stream of chatter and attempts to do whatever Din was doing, and Din tried to find little ways for him to contribute. That your baby had been trying to help his dad make breakfast and had spilled the nuts everywhere was sure to be upsetting for him.

His little coo of apology was absolutely heartbreaking, and you knew Din would be gentle with him.

“You didn’t mean to,” Din said kindly. “It’s ok. Do you want to help me get these up so we can finish the cake?”

You backed up from the kitchen door while they cleaned up, wanting to stay hidden a little longer. Din loved being a dad, and it came to him so naturally; you cherished the moments you got to enjoy watching or listening to him interact with your son when it was just the two of them.

Your baby started babbling animatedly about something, and Din responded with “oh” and “hmm” at appropriate times, encouraging him to speak and letting him know he was listened to. They finished up the batter and put the cake on to cook, the nanowave oven crackling slightly as it heated up. It was an old model, like everything else on the Crest, and you’d become so accustomed to its finicky nature that it was more familiar than frustrating.

“Osi'kyr,” Din said, dismal. “Your mama needs a new nanowave, huh?”

Your baby chirped his agreement.

“Yeah, we’ll have to see about getting her one,” Din said. “Maybe Peli knows somebody we can ask. But for right now, we have to get this place cleaned up before mama sees.”

“Before mama sees what?”

You came out of your hiding place around the corner and were met with two guilty smiles, both Din and your baby looking like you’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Your little one was sitting up on the counter, an uncracked Koja nut in hand, his ears perking up at the sight of you. Din was covered in flour - little baby-sized handprints covered his black shirt and trousers, and streaks of white appeared in his sleep-mussed curls. The kitchen was a mess, like he’d said, but it was worth it to see the two of them so happy.

“Hi, cyare,” Din said, his smile a little sheepish.

Your baby added his own coo of greeting, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good morning to you too,” you said. You gave your son a kiss on the top of his head. “What are you and daddy making?”

He waved the Koja nut in his claws for you to see. 

“Uj’alayi,” Din clarified.

You smiled. “Cake for breakfast, huh?”

He grinned. “Yeah, well, it’s got fruit in it. It’s healthy.”

He leaned close and kissed you, sweet with the taste of honey and ginger from the batter he’d tested before it went in the oven. He held his flour-dusted hands to the side of you so as not to get you messy too.

“Good morning, Mrs. Djarin,” he said sweetly, bumping your noses together.

You beamed. “Good morning, Mr. Djarin.” You gave him another quick kiss. “Do you want some help getting the kitchen cleaned back up?”

He looked a little distressed as he pulled back. “No, I mean - you don’t have to help. You didn’t make the mess.”

You gave an affectionate shake of your head. “Din. I don’t mind.”

He softened. “Well, if you’re offering. It’s very sweet of you, cyare. Sorry it’s such a disaster.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said, waving him off. “Most of the flour ended up on you and not on the counters, anyway.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, we had a hard time getting it in the bowl.” He took a cloth and began wiping down the counters, scooping your baby up while he did.

“But we’re ramikadyc mandos,” he continued. “Determined, tenacious. Not to be bested by cake batter.”

Your baby chimed in to agree with his dad. You laughed as you filled the sink with hot water.

“How did I get the two bravest Mandalorians in the galaxy on my ship?” you teased.

Din considered that. “I think you’ve just got good jate’kara, my love.”

You gave a pleased hum as he kissed you. “My stars are pretty lucky, aren’t they?”

He smiled. “Not as lucky as mine, cyare.”

When the kitchen was back in order, Din excused himself to take a shower while the cake finished baking. You got your little one dressed for the day in a soft, hand-stitched blue tunic Omera had made for him and tidied the bunk before heading back to the kitchen as the timer went off.

“Quiet a view, cyar’ika.”

You blushed at the teasing warmth of your husband’s voice as you took the pan from the oven and straightened, setting it to cool out of your baby’s reach. You turned and saw Din had changed into a soft white shirt and brown pants, his suspenders resting against his hips, his hair dark and curly from his shower.

“I’ve got quite a view, too,” you said, a little bashful as he smiled and crossed to you. You only had a moment to admire the endearing crinkles by his eyes before he kissed you, all tenderness and affection.

Your little one cooed and you both looked down to see him standing on the top of Din’s boot, tugging on his pants leg and giving uppy arms. Din chuckled and scooped him up, cradling him with one arm and drawing you close with the other.

“Let’s go somewhere fun today,” he said. “This system has some beautiful planets. We can have a picnic or something.”

You smiled. “Okay,” you agreed. You were a little surprised, as Din wasn’t usually very spontaneous, but the idea of a day spent just spending time with him and your baby sounded lovely. “Where should we go?”

He kissed your forehead. “I’ll go look and see what we’re closest to.”

He took the baby up to the cockpit with him to scan the nearby planets, giving you a few minutes for your own shower. You took two slices of uj’alayi when you went to join them; you gave one to Din, and he broke off little pieces to share with the baby.

“I think we decided on a planet,” Din said, indicating the display on the instrument panel.

“Baraan-Fa,” you read. “It’s forested, low population... is it safe?”

He shrugged. “Should be, with the place we’re landing. Most of the population density is around the town and the old Rebel base, so we shouldn’t run into anybody.”

You took your seat, happily taking your baby when Din handed him over to you so he could set your course. You were amused to see that your little one had succeeded in charming Din into giving him the silver handle off the gear shift, and he held it up for you to see.

“Your daddy must love you,” you cooed to him.

Din glanced back at you, his expression bemused before he saw what you were talking about. His smile was a little exasperated.

“Maybe we should get him some actual toys.”

You laughed. “He wouldn’t play with them even if we did, honey. He wants to be like you.”

“Yeah.” Din’s expression was soft with affection, and you knew he didn’t really mind that his son had chosen a part of the ship for his plaything. He turned back to focus on bringing the Crest into Baraan-Fa’s atmosphere, and you and your baby looked out the windows in pleasantly surprised wonder at the beauty of the planet. Every inch of it was green, hilly grasslands with blue rivers snaking through the forests. Din expertly landed in a small clearing in the middle of a wooded area, settling the Crest into a glade dappled with sunlight.

No sooner had the ship landed than you were out of your seat and downstairs, impatiently waiting for the ramp to lower as the welcoming breeze flooded into the Crest’s hull. You set your baby down on the soft grass and let him explore a little, tilting your head back to feel the sun on your face, breathing deeply of the clean air.

“You like it?” Din asked. You opened your eyes to see him leaned against the door frame, watching you with a gentle smile. You would have beamed back at him and told him how much you loved it had it not been for the sudden concern you felt at his appearance.

“You’re not wearing your armor,” you said. Checking briefly to make sure the baby hadn’t wandered too far, you stepped up the ramp towards your husband and made to steer him back inside the Crest’s relative privacy.

“Din - ” you protested when he gave a soft laugh and captured your wrists in a gentle grip, just as you had put your hands on his chest to push him back inside. “What if someone sees?”

He held both of your hands close to his heart. “There’s nobody here, cyare. I checked. It’s sweet of you to worry, but you don’t have to.”

You gave him a doubtful look. “You’re going to be out here without a helmet?” That sounded awfully reckless to you.

“I want to be able to kiss you,” he said, giving you a chaste kiss to illustrate his point. “And I want to swim in the river and feel the sun on my face. Can’t do all that with beskar on, now can I?”

You sighed. “No, but...” You met his eyes. “It doesn’t frighten you?”

He softened. “Sure it does,” he admitted. “A little. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been out of the Crest without armor on. But that’s exactly why I want to. And if there’s no danger of anyone seeing me... I think it’ll be alright.”

He tapped the bracelet on your wrist, a modified version of his vambrace with the same remote controls of the Crest programmed in. “Besides, I told the Crest to alert us if there’s anyone nearby. It’ll be alright.”

You reached up to brush your fingers through his hair. “Well, it would be nice to see your face,” you said. “If you’re sure about it.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “I’m sure, cyar’ika. Come on, let’s go get our son before he wanders right into the river.”

You looped your arm through his, feeling like one of the promenading couples you always saw growing up on Naboo. He was a bit scruffier and dressed more casually than any young man on Naboo would be, but you liked him that way. 

As he led you on a leisurely stroll towards the river, minding your little one closely, you took the opportunity to enjoy being outside with him and being able to see his every expression. Din was nothing if not expressive, especially in his brow, and his face was alight with a happiness and peace that made his handsome features all the more alluring.

“Is there a word in Mando’a for ‘very handsome’?” you asked.

He looked over at you with a touch of confusion, either playing coy or just being genuinely oblivious. You suspected the latter, and it was endearing to you.

“No,” he said. “But there’s ‘very beautiful’ - ori mesh’la - and it means the same thing.”

You smiled. “Well then, Din, I think you’re ori mesh’la.”

His cheeks pinked. “Well, thank you, cyare,” he said, endearingly bashful. He smiled. “I think you’re ori mesh’la, too.”

You could have watched his face forever, charmed by his blush and the way his curls looked in the sun, but your baby gave an excited babble and drew you attention. Just in time, too, as he was barrelling full-speed towards the river without a care in the world.

“Oh, ad’ika,” you chided, unwinding yourself from Din and scooping your baby up before he reached the water. His ears drooped as you held him.

 “I know you want to go in, my love,” you cooed. “But you have to be careful.”

You saw why he’d been so eager to get in the water - the riverbed was covered in bright, colorful stones, glinting where they caught the sun through the water. You knelt on the bank and held your baby in your lap, reaching into the pleasantly cool water to scoop up a handful of the stones.

“Look how pretty,” you said, drawing them close so he could take a few. He grabbed the biggest one and turned it over in his claws, mesmerized by the opalescent shimmer.

“Batu,” he said, holding it up for you to see. You smiled. You and Din hadn’t quite figured out what “batu” meant, but it seemed to signal his approval, and you were always pleased to hear it.

“I see,” you said, charmed by his enthusiasm. “Show daddy.”

You stood and turned to face Din, who was watching the two of you with a gentle smile on his face. His brow quirked in excitement when he saw his baby holding the stone out to him.

“Look at that, ad’ika,” he said, coming close to examine it.

“Batu,” your baby said again. Din grinned.

“Yeah, ‘batu’,” he repeated. “You want to go find some more?”

At your little one’s happy coo, you and Din kicked off your shoes to wade into the shallow river. Din rolled the hem of his trousers as well as yours, since your hands were full with the baby, and pressed a kiss to your thigh before he rose.

The water lapped just above your ankles with the gentle current, and you spent a few minutes looking through the clear water to find the stones you thought were prettiest. Your baby wriggled to be put down, but the water was a little too deep for him, and you settled on drawing up handfuls of rocks for him to sort through.

“Hey, cyare, look at this one.”

You turned to see the stone your husband had found and were met with a splash of water.

“Din!” you squeaked, a smile crossing your face. Your baby giggled with delight at having been splashed, and the sound mixed with Din’s warm laughter.

“Sorry, love,” he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. You bent down and splashed him back, getting him more thoroughly than he’d gotten you; he laughed and sputtered as he wiped his face on the shoulder of his shirt.

“That was so much worse than mine,” he said. “You’re awful.”

“Good thing you like me so much,” you said cooly.

He grinned. “Yeah, lucky you.” He kissed you and brushed the water from your face. You’d grown accustomed to the feel of his leather gloves, but you’d always prefer the gentleness of his hands, rough from years of hard work but always touching you in love. 

Pressed between the two of you and impatient to get in the water, your baby patted Din’s chest and babbled up at him.

“Come on, buddy,” Din said, taking him from your arms. “You want to swim a little bit?”

“You’re swimming in your clothes?” you asked.

He gave you a wry smile. “Why not? I’m already half-soaked.”

Your smile was slightly guilty. “I'm sorry about that, actually,” you said. “I didn’t mean to splash you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know. I’m not upset. Besides, it’s warm enough that it won’t take very long to dry off.” He nodded towards the bank where a flat rock jutted out over the water. “I was just going to sit over there and let him play where it’s shallow.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well, in that case, I’ll sit with you.”

You played with them for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Din while he held your baby’s hands and let him splash around in the shallow water. Despite his excitement, your baby was a little hesitant once he was actually in the water, and held tightly to Din’s fingers. As his fear eased and his confidence grew, he was happy to stay within his dad’s reach and only occasionally grabbed onto Din’s trouser leg when he lost his balance. His outfit was thoroughly soaked within minutes of his delighted splashing, but he didn’t seem to mind; he played happily and kept handing rocks to you, and you cooed over every one. 

You might have stayed with them and watched your little one play for hours on end if it hadn’t been for Din’s stomach starting to growl; you realized you were hungry too and playfully nudged your shoulder against his.

“Should I go get us some lunch?” you asked.

His smile was a little sheepish. “If you wouldn't mind,” he said. “I can get it, if you don’t want to.”

You ran a hand over his back. “I don’t mind,” you assured him. “What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever,” he said. “You know me.”

“So, just a whole ori'skraan, then?” you teased. Mandalorians always had big elaborate feasts at their celebrations to make up for the fact that they ate rations more often than not, since they were easier while on a hunt; you’d had the pleasure of attending a few during your marriage, including the one at your wedding.

Your husband grinned. “That’ll be just fine, cyare.”

You kissed his cheek before you stood, waving goodbye to your baby. You heard Din console your little one as you left towards the ship, explaining that you’d be right back.

You found the length of fabric you used for a baby sling and tied it around you like Din had shown you; Mandalorians carried their babies in a birikaad, to keep their hands free for fighting, and this was nearly identical to that style. You filled the sling with food from your pantry, wrapping up a few slices of the uj’alayi cake for dessert, and folded up one of the spare blankets to picnic on.

You heard Din singing as you walked back to the river. You almost didn’t realize it was him, at first - he was usually so shy about his singing voice, and he reserved it for lullabies when your baby was very fussy or drinking songs when he was deep in his cups with friends. He sang to you, occasionally, when you asked him to, and he was always endearingly bashful.

His voice carried over the clearing, mixing with the sound of the river and your baby’s happy laughter, and you drank it in the closer you got to him. It was a beautiful song, full of longing; Din’s warm baritone made it rich and lovely. The lyrics were in Mando’a, and you were too caught up in the sound of your husband’s voice to translate; you let his voice wash over you, warming you from head to toe.

You didn’t know how long he would have kept singing if your baby hadn’t caught sight of you, giving a happy coo of welcome. Din’s voice cut short as he turned, perhaps fearing you were someone else, but his expression softened into a smile as soon as he saw you.

“Hi,” he said.

You smiled. “Hi.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t stop singing on my account.”

He blushed. “No, I’d been singing that one over and over. I’m sure ad’ika’s tired of hearing it.”

You knew that wasn’t true; your little one calmed faster to Din’s voice than he did to anything else. You didn’t want to embarrass him, though, and carded a hand through your husband’s sun-warmed curls.

“You two hungry?” you asked.

You baby gave an affirmative babble and gave his dad uppy arms; Din obliged him and dried him off a little as you spread out the picnic blanket. Your little one came and sat in your lap as Din helped you set out the food. 

“You missed your mama, didn’t you?” Din said sweetly. You brushed an affectionate hand over your baby’s ears and swapped the bright purple stone he held for a piece of fruit. He watched your hand carefully to make sure you hadn’t really taken his prize away for good; satisfied when you set it next to you on the blanket, he happily ate the bite-sized food you and Din took turns giving to him.

Din took your baby back to the river as you tidied up after lunch, and you were happy to watch and listen to them play as you stretched out on the blanket and read the book you’d taken from the shelf in the bunk. It was a collection of poems that Din had gotten you for your birthday, and even though you’d been excited to read it, you hadn’t had much spare time lately. You were quickly absorbed in the poetry as you read; the sun was warm on your back, and the sounds of your husband and baby playing created a comforting backdrop.

They came back from the river after a while, their hands full of brightly colored stones, their clothes half-soaked, and their expressions as tired as they were happy. Din set your baby down and let him toddle over to you; your little one added his stones to the collection you’d made, his ears perking up as he sorted through them.

“All done?” you asked, giving Din a gentle smile as he dropped his handful of stones into the pile. 

He hummed in agreement. “For now, anyways. He probably needs a rest.”

Your husband gave a soft groan as he lay beside you, tired and comfortable in the warm sun. “Your baby is a pretty good swimmer, mama.”

You closed your book and looked over at your little one; his smile was wide at his dad’s praise, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“I saw,” you said, tapping his nose and earning a giggle in response. “Did you like swimming with daddy?”

Your little one gave an affirmative coo as he abandoned the rocks and climbed up onto Din; with a great big yawn for such a little thing, he lay on Din’s chest and snuggled close when Din laid a hand over his back.

“Tired you out, didn’t it, ad’ika?” you said gently, brushing a finger over his ear. You looked to Din’s face and saw he was already dozing too.

You smiled. “Wore your daddy out too, I see.” His hair was light in the sun, almost golden in some places; his cheeks were rosy and sunkissed under his scruff, his expression peaceful and soft.

You kissed his cheek. “Did you know I love you?”

He gave a soft smile. “Yeah, I know. I love you too.” He turned his face towards you, your noses bumping together, his kisses tender and drowsy. You brushed your fingers through his hair.

“You’re gonna take a nap?” you asked, keeping your voice soft for your baby’s sake. He was already asleep, curled snugly under his dad’s hand, rocked by the gentle rise and fall of Din’s chest.

Din gave a content sigh. “Maybe. Lay here with me, cyare.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, honey.” You kissed the bridge of his nose. “You want me to read to you?”

He nodded, moving his free hand to rest on the curve of your lower back. “What book is it?”

“The one you gave me for my birthday,” you said, flipping through the pages until you found where you’d left off. “Ancient Keltrian Poets, remember?”

He hummed in agreement. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you said sincerely. “Here - I was in the middle of this one, but I’ll start it from the beginning.”

You read to him for a while, pausing to underline or make notes when you found a line you really liked; his fingers drew circles on your lower back as he listened and made a few comments here and there.

“For stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere,” you read. “Almost every gaze upwards became welded to the swift hazard of their play, and our heart felt like a single thing beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance.”

You traced your fingers over that stanza. “That’s kind of like our vows, don’t you think? ‘We are one when together, we are one when parted.’ Our heart feels like a single thing.”

When you didn’t get an answer, you looked over at your husband. “Din?”

He shifted a little, and you realized he’d fallen asleep. 

“Alright, cyare?” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He ran his hand over your back. “That’s ok, love.” Even mostly asleep, he still comforted you with intentional gentleness. “What did you say?”

You smiled. “Nothing. Just that I love you.”

He tilted his chin up just a little, asking for a kiss; you obliged him, gently pressing your mouth to his.

“Keep reading,” he said. “I love the sound of your voice.”

You softened. “I love the sound of your voice, too.” You brushed a wayward curl from his forehead. “What was that song you were singing earlier?”

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Naasad'guur mhi,” he said. “It’s a drinking song.”

“It’s pretty,” you said.

He hummed in agreement.

“What’s it about?” you asked.

“It says, ‘nobody likes us, we don’t care, we are the elite Mando boys from Mandalore.’”

You laughed. “That’s really what it says?”

He smiled. “Yeah. It sounds really nice when you have a bunch of people singing it all together.”

You gently ran your knuckles over his scruff. “Will you sing it for me later?”

“Sure, cyare. If you want me to.”

You settled closer to him and flipped the page to the next poem, reading it aloud a bit more quietly than you would have usually. Din’s breathing evened out until he was snoring softly; you smiled when you saw the way your baby had a fistful of Din’s shirt held tightly in his hand. The sound of the river kept you company as you read about stars and rainstorms and fields of aura blossoms; Din’s warmth beside you was comforting and steady. Days of rest and peace were few and far between for your little family, but they were sweeter for it; you held tightly to them when they came, and always thanked the jate’kara for days like these.

series taglist: @kyjoraven​​​​​, @sarahjkl82-blog​​​​​, @remmysbounty​​​​​, @bitchin-beskar​​​​​, @cosmicbreathe​​​​​, @prettyboyskywalker​​​​​, @happyxdayxbitch​​​​​, @radiowallet​​​​​​, @marvelous-glims​​ ♡

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#ahhhh i actually think this is so cute #i hope y'all like it! #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fafiction #jate'kara series #maddie writes stuff!

[bouncingkadachi]

Blessed Rain

Summary: A Hunter’s weapon of choice says a lot about them. OR: Kyle upgrades his weaponry and gets caught red-handed in the act. Luckily (?) for him, only Tsukino seems to know exactly why he's having an emotional crisis over this.

Word count: 3,260

Note(s): set post-game

Also available on AO3!

Kyle’s had his new bow for a good couple of weeks before the feel of the limbs and the weight of the draw became comfortable enough for him to consider upgrading it. If he’s going to be injured, he reasons, he’d rather it be purely by way of monster and not because he pulls a muscle wrestling with a bow that hasn’t been properly broken in. His wallet despairs as he forks over the zenny, but this’ll hopefully let him take on some of the bigger hunts like the ones that Reverto goes on. It’ll all be worth the investment up front once he has his completely finished bow and restocked his coatings and finally drops the last of his coin on a couple new talismans.

He refuses to think about the implications of his reasoning with a literal coin, rolling it around and around his fingers as he pushes through the market throngs towards the smithy’s. Perhaps he ought to have a change of scenery—the fog-shrouded summits of Terga were said to be particularly beautiful at this time of year, and the heat in Lamure was becoming just shy of unbearable.

The final product that the blacksmith puts into his hands when he finally makes it to collect is nothing short of gorgeous. Blessed Rain is sleek where his old Rex bow was bulky, far lighter and certainly not as clunky. The upgrades on the riser gives the entire weapon a pleasant solidness in his hand, yet the delicately reinforced plating on the limbs doesn’t retract at all from its flexibility. The decorative grip protector gleams. Just looking at it makes Kyle excited to shoot.

“Bring her back if you’re finding that you need anything adjusted,” the smith tells him after Kyle’s diligently inspected every inch of the bow. “Kept the poundage the same for you, but added another inch to the draw length like you asked.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says. Eventually, he’d like to work up to the point where he can up the poundage again. Even just another five pounds would be good. He can do most of the hunts in his skill range alone now, but extra firepower would make him just that much more efficient, or that much of a better support for team hunts. 

The smith laughs when Kyle sheepishly admits this. “Well, I always like to help a Hunter improve, and you know where to find me,” he says cheerily, clapping Kyle enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Come by again anytime if you need a tune up or want to test out something new.” 

And with that, he waves Kyle away so that another Hunter can step up, holding a tired-looking sword and shield and looking equally exhausted. “Aye, rookie Hunter?” Kyle hears as he wanders off to find a more relaxed corner of the market in which to admire his new bow some more. “If you’ve got the materials I can repair and upgrade that for you.” The conversation peters out and melts into the general din of the marketplace as Kyle slips into the crowd, taking care to step out of the way of a Felyne carrying an absolutely massive basket groaning with produce. He watches the precarious load totter away, trying and failing to locate Tsukino in the brief respite the parted crowd affords him. They’d split earlier that morning and he hasn’t seen her since.

He still hasn’t managed to find even a whisker of Tsukino’s whereabouts by the time he settles into a decently quiet nook next to a stall selling all manner of spices. Pity, because the dappled light spilling through the colorful drapes of the marketplace catches so beautifully on the milky-white sheen of the bow, and he’d been looking forward to showing it to her. As a Hunter, Kyle will always care more about weapon practicality than aesthetics, but as a normal human being he certainly won’t turn down the opportunity to have both an aesthetically pleasing and perfectly functional weapon. He’s still grinning a little when he goes to strap the bow to his back, and it’s in the process of looking up that his gaze catches onto wide eyes staring plainly at him from across the street. 

He freezes, arm suspended awkwardly halfway to sheathing. His beautiful bow glints damningly in the bright Lamure sunlight as his unexpected friend wades through the throngs of people towards him, gesturing for him to stay put with a wave of her hand that really can’t be mistaken for anything other than a greeting.

“Hey,” he says cautiously and lamely when she finally reaches him. Belatedly, he remembers to lower his arm. He is momentarily thankful that she doesn’t try to reach up for his face in the Mahanan greeting, although his goodwill evaporates when she leans in to inspect his bow, body thrumming with unexplainable anticipation.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says finally. Kyle can’t help himself from preening just a little, shifting his grip so that she can get a better look. After all, what was the point of spending all that money and materials if there was no one to excitedly show the end product off to? Besides, it’s been a while since they last saw each other. Last he heard, she had been traveling, keen to finally see the world on her own terms and at her own pace.

“It’s fresh off an upgrade,” he answers smugly. “Easier to handle than the Rex.”

“Slightly less intimidating though,” she chimes in, and Kyle bristles, not liking where this conversation is going. And true to form, she goes in for the kill: “Mizutsune? I recognize the plating.”

Kyle can feel the flush crawling up to his ears. Logically, he knows that there’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about. It’s a mark of good smithing that one can tell at a glance which monster a weapon was inspired by, and a Mizutsune was both powerful and extremely iconic. This bow in particular had good stats and the ability to fire rapidly, which admittedly took him some time to get used to after focusing mostly on piercing shots. The paralysis coating that works so well on this bow has also already saved his skin on more than one occasion. There is little more a career Hunter can ask for out of his weapon. It’s not like he’d been heading out to Pomore Garden at any given opportunity and holding onto an increasing multitude of Mizutsune materials just because he wanted some physical reminder of what was probably the most pivotal moment of his life, something that never failed to put a very complicated and jumbled mess of emotions deep within his chest whenever he thought back to it.

He’s starting to feel very, very hot under his collar. The sun is terrible. He resolves that his next big hunt really needs to be somewhere outside of Lamure.

His friend, however, just looks more and more baffled as he launches into an unprompted defense of his newest purchase. Every time she opens her mouth, Kyle talks a little faster. Eventually, she doesn’t even bother trying to interject, which is arguably worse, because instead she just looks progressively more and more thoughtful. Kyle wished desperately for Tsukino to peel away from whatever hidey hole she was tucked in. Then, his train of thought screeches into a rude and abrupt halt.

“What,” he croaks. “What are you doing.”

One of her brows quirks up. “I sure hope your eyes are still working because that’d be a detriment to your job,” she says plainly. “What does it look like I’m doing? I promise it’s not a trick question.”

What she’s doing is holding Kyle’s hand—the one not clutching his new bow—the one that had apparently been waving about with increasing agitation as he jabbered on and on. What Kyle doesn’t understand is why. It’s not like he just did some impressive shot to give them the edge in a battle or anything else that was cool and hand-holding worthy. He’d just been yammering about bow mechanics, and maybe embarrassingly dipping into his talisman hopes and dreams. He stares a little helplessly at his trapped hand. Her kinship stone winks up at him.

“Look,” she says patiently, when it becomes very clear that Kyle is going to need a moment before he can get his brain back online. “There’s nothing wrong with a bow made from Mizutsune parts and I am the last person who will ever turn down pretty things. What I was going to say was that this is an interesting departure from your whole—” She pauses, as though looking for a specific word. “Well, your whole image as a very grown-up and serious and intimidating Hunter or whatever it was you were trying to convey with that scowl you used to like so much. And you weren’t letting me get a single word in.”

“You’re getting plenty of words in now,” Kyle scowls, just to be contrary. “And I’ve grown since then.”

“Someone’s in a mood today.” She smiles, crinkle-eyed, up at him. Kyle very seriously debates wrenching his hand out of her hold like he did the last time this happened and then pointedly doesn’t act on the impulse.

“Why’re you in Lulucion?” he asks instead with a truly remarkable level of self-restraint. “Thought you’d never want to come back again after what happened.”

She shrugs, the greatsword on her back heaving with the movement. “Guess I’ve grown too,” she says loftily, though she sobers quickly. “I was actually visiting my grandfather. He used to go back to Mahana around this time of year… he can’t do it anymore of course but I’ve got Ratha now, so I figured I could do it instead. And then I figured I’d stop by Rutoh before going home, to see Ena and Alwin and wheedle a few more stories out of them.”

She lets go of Kyle’s hand. He tries not to miss it. “Even Ratha can’t make the trip in one go, and Lulucion was closest, so we’re stopping to rest. I dropped by the Scrivener’s Lodge earlier because I was hoping Reverto could give me a few weapon pointers as I’ve saved up just about enough for an upgrade, but they told me that he was out on an urgent mission and wouldn’t be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Kyle says, a little stung that she hadn’t come specifically to see him first, out of all the Hunters in the city. He’s slightly mollified when she grins at him, though.

“And then I met Tsukino by the cannons. She said I could find you here, so here I am.”

“I don’t know anything about greatswords,” Kyle blurts out, and immediately wants to kick himself. She blinks at him, and then bursts into laughter.

“I was just going to ask the smith,” she wheezes when she’s got herself somewhat back under control. “Can’t I see a friend just to say hi to him anymore?” Kyle stares very intently down at some of the finer detailing on his bow.

“Where is my Palico anyway?” he finally settles on, falling into a tried and true grumble. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

She waves her hand vaguely in the air. “Navirou said something about getting donuts. I wasn’t really listening.”

But there was a donut stand right here in the marketplace, Kyle wanted to cry out. He should have seen Tsukino by now if they’d really been going to buy snacks! And how was it possible that he had missed Navirou in his entirety, between the Felyne’s penchant for wearing ridiculous little outfits and his inability to shut up?

“Why? You have a hunt you need to run off to?” 

“Yes,” Kyle says hotly. It’s a lie. He’d accepted a subquest that wouldn’t depart until later that evening for the sole purpose of testing out his new weapon in a relatively stress-free environment. Before that, he’d just planned on hitting up the shooting range in the training arena to break in the new string. His schedule was very, very free. Tsukino was perfectly aware of that.

His eyes widened. Tsukino had been with him on every excursion into the Gardens. She went where he did (usually), and it’s not like Kyle would ever begrudge her a visit home. But she’d been with him every step of every single Mizutsune job he’d ever taken—had watched him craft traps when he needed to capture and had kept watch for opportunists hoping to sneak up as he’d carved. She’d been the one who’d recommended the spinner for all the excess purplefur he was ending up with. At first, he’d simply thought that she’d wanted the thread to mend some of her own items, or to send back home to her brethren, but instead she’d tucked each skein of vibrant, silk-soft thread into the bottom of his pouch with gentle paws, cryptically talking about how strong a material it was, and how nice it looked when woven. Kyle has never touched a loom in his life, but now he’s looking at someone who he definitely knows has.

His stomach drops. Hadn’t Tsukino looked particularly smug ever since he’d lingered on the blueprints for Blessed Rain after getting a look at its stats and required materials?

“She got me,” he groans. His friend just looks at him bemusedly, though perhaps with a touch of wariness at his ferocious frown. Hastily, he tacks on: “It’s nothing. I, uh—I just remembered that I needed to tell Tsukino something. Important. Later, when I find her again.”

“Alright,” she says, though she doesn’t quite look like she believes him. “A quest’s a quest, though, so I won’t keep you here. The bow really is pretty though. I know I just said it doesn’t match your image and all but I really don’t think you can go wrong with something you like. You’ve got the skills for it, anyway.”

“Thanks,” he croaks, feeling a little overwhelmed. He manages two whole steps out of the nook before he pauses, worrying at his lower lip. “Actually,” he says sharply, spinning around on his heel and nearly causing his friend to startle right into a spice display. “How long are you staying for?”

“However long it’ll take to upgrade my sword, I guess,” she says after she collects herself, the words lilting into a question. “Three days or so, I guess?” She skirts nervously away from the glaring vendor, careful not to overbalance on her greatsword.

“Cool,” Kyle says with a nod, steeling himself. “Great, even. Look, how about this. Your last visit to Lulucion was terrible—” an understatement, “—so when I get back from my hunt I’ll show you some of the better sights Lulucion has to offer. There’s a hole in the wall that I think you’ll like. Dad used to take me after hunts—they grill really nice queen shrimp. And the parapets—you can climb them, and they’ve got all these little carvings in the stone that you can search for like a scavenger hunt.” He’s keenly aware that he’s rambling again, but she looks interested, so he barrels on. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow just as soon as I can get a nap in. We can stay in the city or take Ratha out to the Barrens, down by the water. Just make a day of it.” He’s pretty certain that he looks at her with something akin to hope as she considers. It feels like a lifetime before she finally comes to a decision. 

“I want to take Ratha out in the evening,” she says finally. “I don’t want him to be cooped up too long here ever again.”

“Yeah,” Kyle breathes out, the word rushing out of him in a flood of relief. “Yeah, I can work around that.” She beams at him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she says, sincere and looking more than a little surprised despite herself at the prospect of looking forward to doing anything in Lulucion. “I’m staying at the inn closest to the stables. Pretty sure I’m the only Rider there currently so they’ll know who I am.” Kyle nods, and lets himself get his hand squeezed again, though not without her hands first hovering in an instinctual bid for his cheeks before she remembers herself.

“Good luck on your hunt. If I see Tsukino I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“She’ll show up in due time,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll let you know if Reverto gets back early or if he’s just been loafing around this entire time. For your next upgrade or whatever.” She laughs, bright, and then slips off into the crowd to wrestle her way into the smithy’s queue. Kyle is left staring in her wake before his gaze is drawn back down to his bow.

“This is all your fault,” he tells it. Predictably, it doesn’t answer. Also predictably, Tsukino takes that exact moment to drop down from seemingly nowhere. 

“I didn’t know we had another job lined up,” the Felyne says delicately, carefully brushing crumbs off of her coat. Kyle groans, sheathing his weapon.

“Don’t tease me,” he huffs. “I’m going to the shooting range. Are you coming?”

“Hmm,” says Tsukino. “I suppose I can spare the time.”

“Of course you can spare the time!” Kyle hisses, indignant. “You just spent the day eating donuts and eavesdropping!” He pointedly doesn’t look towards the smithy, where his friend was patiently browsing the display while another Hunter was getting their hammer looked at.

“One must always be prepared with the latest intel,” Tsukino says mildly. “I’m glad the upgrade went well.” 

“It’s got good stats,” Kyle protests weakly in what is quickly becoming a tired argument. “The rapid shots have been going very well. And I had a surplus of Mizutsune parts.”

 “Yes,” his hunting partner agrees readily enough. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with the thread?”

“This conversation is finished,” Kyle says abruptly, making a very determined push towards the market’s exit. “Either come or don’t, so long as we meet at the gate for tonight’s hunt.”

Tsukino looks at him with exasperated fondness, which is frankly a little insulting, but readily falls into step next to him. Kyle wonders how many rounds he’s going to have to shoot in order to clear his head again and rid it of thoughts of Hazepetal Garden or Mizutsune or high-grade thread that he’ll never use himself. He’ll examine them again someday—because he’s not a coward—but that day is most certainly not today.

He does his rounds in the training arena and marvels at the way the string slides off his fingers with a satisfying twang, even though it’ll still be a good few days before it’s fully broken in to his liking. Tsukino’s saved him a donut, the cakey sweet sticky with honey and practically melting in his mouth. He’s got some free time even after stocking up for the evening hunt, so he takes a few minutes to browse the quest board, taking careful note of the jobs that were situated near the Harzgai Rocky Hill, or the ones from further afield in Alcala that’ll take him closer to Rutoh. And when he leaves the city, he pointedly doesn’t look up at the familiar shape circling in the dusky sky, even as he knows that they’ll surely see the last rays of the setting sun winking off of the plates of his bow like a beacon.

#was anyone going to tell me that HR Kyle gets a MIZU BOW #You were just going to withhold this vital piece of information from me? #anyway here's 3k words about the significance of Mizutsune to one (1) boy that I love #I wrote this specifically with my idiot in mind #but asides from the gender and a few other lines I guess you can generalize to any other Rider #monster hunter kyle #monster hunter stories 2 #Annie writes

[lyricalporcupine]

Beauyasha Week 2021, Day 5: Defend

Story under the cut!

They had come from nowhere, this group of brigands. They looked no different from the other bandits Beau had encountered in her travels and perhaps that was why she, and the rest of the Nein, had underestimated them.

The battle had started as a typical bandit raid. This group came rushing from the trees, weapons drawn and were on them instantly. But the Nein had risen quickly to the challenge, drawing their weapons and even magic to defend themselves.

Beau watched as Yasha raged, taking on the bandits’ own barbarian. Yasha took many hits, not just from him, but also archers still hidden in the trees. By the time Yasha had felled their barbarian, she was sporting not just gashes and bruises, but several arrows as well. Breathing heavily and eyes flashing white, Yasha had turned towards Jester, who was slowly being surrounded. She roared, for there was no other word for it, and charged.

That’s when the wizard made herself known.

She stepped out from the trees and Beau watched as she brought her hand to her mouth and, eyes locked on Yasha, blew the rose petals from her hand. As the petals scattered in the wind, Beau watched as Yasha simply collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Beau screamed, she’s sure of it. She cracked her bo staff across the face of the bandit in front of her. As he fell she ran towards her wife’s prone body. Their enemy was surrounding her already, hoping to deliver a final blow. Beau jumped, kicking one bandit in the jaw and leaping from him to another, and punching him square between the eyes. She landed, twirled her staff, and took a defensive position even as more still approached her.

One bandit made a lunge towards them and Beau turned, her staff flying around and catching him in the face. He sprawled to the ground as Beau took up her stance once more.

“Fuck off if you know what’s good for you,” Beau growled, her eyes flitting around the group surrounding her and Yasha.

One bandit laughed and charged. Beau dropped her staff, punched her fists together and lightning crackled up and down her arms. She swung and, pop pop, connected with his jaw and nose. He fell to the ground as several others charged her. With lightning-fast reflexes, Beau easily dodged the attacks thrown her way, felling all the bandits surrounding her and Yasha.

But then the wizard stepped up towards her and Beau felt her blood run cold. The woman, who looked no older than Beau herself was, had blackened eyes and was devastatingly beautiful. She extended one delicate hand that gracefully turned so her palm was up like she expected Beau to take her hand.

“Give her to me, Beauregard,” came the wizard’s voice, soft and gentle. “And I promise no more harm will come to you or yours.”

Beau felt herself sway. Her head felt foggy and her body heavy. She wanted to give Yasha to this woman; surely she would be better off than she currently was, bleeding on the ground.

What are you thinking, Lionett? Yasha is yours. Why would you freely give her up?

Beau groaned, her hand coming to clutch at her head. She felt nauseated as the conflicting emotions swirled inside her mind. She took a deep breath and imagined herself on the beaches of Nicodranas. The sound and scent and salt of the ocean grounded her and Beau’s eyes snapped open as she snarled.

“You can cut me, bruise me and skin me alive,” Beau growled out as the wizard looked at her with a surprise for having broken her spell, “but you will never take her from me.”

The wizard snarled herself, sharp teeth seemingly reflecting the dappled sunlight. “Why you fucking bi-“

Her sentence was abruptly cut short when a giant pink lollipop slapped her across the open clearing and into a tree. The woman crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

“Rude ass,” Beau heard Jester exclaim.

Beau laughed but the humor was short-lived as she quickly surveyed the area. The bandits and their witch were down and unmoving. But so was Yasha.

Beau quickly turned and fell to her knees at Yasha’s side. Her hands quickly sought Yasha’s neck, fingers searching for a pulse and not finding one. Panic welled up in Beau. “Caduceus!” she yelled.

The firbolg and Jester both were quickly at her side. Jester quickly helped Beau pull the arrows from Yasha’s still body as Caduceus pulled a diamond from his pouch of cleric supplies. Beau heard him mutter something in Giant that sounded like a prayer. The next instant the diamond he held over Yashas body dissolved, her wounds closing over and the aasimar’s eyes twitched then, slowly, fluttered open.

Beau smiled, her throat and eyes both burning as she leaned down and pressed her head against Yasha’s, her hands tangling in the leather straps that crisscrossed Yasha’s chest. She felt Yasha’s hand come up and splay across her back, warm and heavy and alive.

“What happened,” Yasha asked, her voice wrecked.

“They wanted you,” Beau whispered. She pulled away and looked down at her wife. “I’m unsure why.”

Caduceus and Jester both smiled at Yasha and Beau before standing and walking away, going to check in and tend to the rest of the party. Beau helped Yasha sit up and helped steady her as they sat in the bloody dirt.

Yasha looked around them, her body heavy and tired, before her eyes found Beau again. She slid her arms around the human’s waist and laid her head against Beau’s shoulder. “Thank you for keeping me safe,” Yasha whispered.

Beau hugged Yasha tightly around the shoulders, dropping a kiss to her dirt-encrusted hair. “Always.”

#beauyashaweek2021 #Beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #lyricalporcupine #porcupine scribbles #beauyasha fanfiction #fanfiction #tw death #tw character death #tw temporary character death

[sunmoonandeddie]

pandemic overload

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,136

summary: You need an escape from everything, and Bucky is more than happy to give it to you.

warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF.  Bad words.  Bucky does think a naughty thing or two lol

a/n:  Thank you so much to @marylizabetha for this commission!!!!  I had so much fun with it, and honestly it was nice to get to write about escaping all of this nonsense for a little bit!!!!

He saw it when he came home from grocery shopping.  The quiver of your bottom lip.  He’d only been gone for about two hours—shopping for groceries for a super soldier can take a while, after all—but even so, it had made you anxious.  Everything about the last seven months or so made you anxious.  And he couldn’t blame you.  People were dying and it was just… frustrating how so many people didn’t seem to care.  At all.

Bucky had been the only one to leave the town house you two shared in that entire time, unless you counted the times you’d sit out on the front stoop and work on a Sudoku puzzle.  But that was a decision you had made very early on.  He was a super soldier that couldn’t get sick.  You were just a normal human.

It didn’t mean that you weren’t scared for him every time he walked outside.

Thankfully, it hadn’t taken much to convince you to stay home, even though you had to quit your job.  It wasn’t exactly the most… important thing in the world.  It wasn’t even in your field of interest.  Just a pit stop until you could put your degree to use.

But it looked like that wouldn’t be happening for a little while longer.

Technically, with how much money Bucky made from being a non-active Avenger on top of back pay from being a prisoner of war for seventy years or so and also being on an elite strike force during World War II, you would never have to work a day in your life if you didn’t want.  And, to be perfectly honest, a big part of you was seriously considering it.  It was nice to be able to sit around and do whatever you wanted to do.  You and Bucky helped each other with all the chores and such, but then you had an otherwise empty day to fill.  You’d taken up knitting and learning to play piano and yes, you did join in on that trend of people learning how to make sourdough bread from scratch.  You two had also gotten to up the amount of time you spent trying to make a positive change in the world, and you’d taken Bucky to his first twenty-first century protest.  Not a single cop had dared to fuck with you or anyone else with the former Winter Soldier by your side.

The perks of having a super intimidating boyfriend, right?

It would be completely perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that you had to stay because otherwise you might get sick.

But you were actually considering choosing to just… continue not working once all of it was over.  You and Bucky could do anything you wanted to do.  You could travel the world, maybe eventually adopt a few kids…  The possibilities were endless, especially since your boyfriend had surprised you by paying off all your student loans in one fell swoop.

Yeah, that… that had brought on more than a few tears.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile over at you as he put away the groceries, calling out everything to you.  You were sitting up on the counter, pretty as a picture, with your legs swinging back and forth as you put in everything he’d bought to that fancy app on your phone that took everything you had in your fridge and gave you a list of recipes you could make from it.

Last week the two of you had gotten your favorite recipe so far, grilled mahi mahi tacos with a sweet pineapple salsa that served a bit of a kick at the end.

Fish so nice, they named it twice.

Bucky’s pandemic hobby had become cooking.  A lot of the time, you two just ordered food in, which was a horrible habit.  But you couldn’t help it.  You both were so busy and neither of you really had the energy or patience to cook most of the time.

But spending everyday at home meant that Bucky finally had time to learn how to do something other than boil food, and he was actually pretty good at it.

“Baby doll, let’s go on a date.”

You looked up from your phone in surprise.  “A…  A date?  Bucky Bear…  I hate to break it to you, but…  We can’t exactly go anywhere,” you said with a weak laugh.  As good as it was to be able to sit at home and work on your hobbies, you were often overwhelmed with the thoughts about how so many people were suffering because of how selfish others were.

He put the last bell pepper away in the fridge before moving to stand between your legs, his hands running over your thighs.  “Now that’s not true, sweetheart,” he said as he pressed sweet kisses along your jawline.  “I wanna take you somewhere special, okay?  We haven’t gotten to dress up in a long time…  So how about you get your cute ass in the shower and get yourself all dolled up, yeah?  I wanna treat my girl.”

Ugh.  He always knew exactly what to say to make you melt.

“Okay,” you giggled, nuzzling your nose against his.  But you took your own sweet time getting off the counter, choosing instead to wrap your legs around him and pull him in for an impromptu makeout session.

What can you say?  Your man was hot as fuck and a good ass kisser.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his hands roaming down your sides to your ass.  He gave a playful squeeze before slowly breaking the kiss, letting it linger far longer than what would be considered necessary.  “But you have to go shower and get ready, baby girl.  I gotta jump in one, too.  I wanna be nice and fresh for my girl.  Now go on.”

A purse of your lower lip.  “You don’t wanna join me?”

“Now, that’s not what I said, you little minx,” he said, tickling your sides and sending you into a fit of giggles.  “But if I get in with you, we aren’t gonna make it out for a long, long time.  And then you won’t get your surprise.”

“Fine, fine,” you groaned, pushing against his chest so you could slide off the counter.  “Bossy.”  You shot him a wink as you headed upstairs, and he can’t help but stare at your ass.

God bless the quarantine weight you’d gained.

Granted, he always loved your body—if you like the girl, you’re gonna like her body, after all—but he was still a hot-blooded man with a thing for grabbing you and loving every inch of you.

He quickly put together a basket of food, various meats and cheeses and little things like olives, and set a blanket on top of it before running upstairs to grab a shower in the guest bath.  He knew the perfect place to take you to escape the city and the suffocating threat of the pandemic.

“You gonna tell me where we’re going or not, Sarge?” You asked as you appeared in the doorway.

He looked up from where he sat at the kitchen island, and the breath was knocked straight from his lungs.  Thank god he’d already stowed the basket and blanket away in the trunk, because he would’ve completely forgotten at the sight of you.  “Holy shit, sugar…,” he whispered as he got up.  He moved towards you, strong hands grabbing your hips and pulling you into a kiss.  He knew he had to be careful about grabbing your face, not wanting to mess up the makeup you’d just put on for the first time in months.  But you’d also learned not to wear a lip product that would smear on your first date, so you both had rules about makeup now.

The fabric of your yellow sundress rested against your skin so gently, and he would be ashamed to admit that for just a second, he was jealous of a piece of clothing.  He wanted to be that close to you always, wanted to feel your skin and draw little shapes over your heart.

Maybe he’d strip it off of you the second he got you to the spot, just so he could rest his head in the valley of your breasts and listen to the steady beating of your heart.  You knew that he could hear it even just standing beside you, but you wouldn’t call him out on it.

TLC played on the radio the entire drive, his hand on your thigh except for when he needed to shift gears.  Out of all the decades of music you were working to catch him up on, the nineties were your favorite.

Not that he’d ever disagree.  No.  Not when he got to watch you with one arm out the window, your hand making waves in the wind as you sang at the top of your lungs.

Just being out of the house for less than an hour was doing you so much good.

“Bucky, you aren’t going to kill me, right?” You asked with a laugh as he parked the car in a small lot at the entrance of a trail.  “Because I really figured you would’ve done that by now, you know.”

“Nah, baby,” he said as he popped the trunk, smirking at the surprised look on your face at the sight of the basket.  The trunk closed with a slam as he tossed you the blanket, moving to your side and holding your free hand in his before leading you down the trail.  “If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it by now.  Besides, you’re too pretty to kill.  I’d miss looking at you everyday.”

“You’re an absolute cheese ball,” you laughed, nudging his hip with yours.  Not that it actually did anything.

Ah, the disadvantages you had when it came to play fighting with your super soldier boyfriend.  Poor you.

The trail was absolutely stunning, full of wildlife and color.  The shade the trees provided was a nice reprieve to the mid-August heat, the sunlight filtering through the leaves to dapple against your cheeks.

It was about a fifteen minute walk to the Wallkill River, and you heard the rush of the water long before you get there.

“We aren’t going swimming right?” You asked, eyeing him skeptically.  “Because I just washed my hair.”

“No,” he said, amusement lacing his tone.  “We’re not swimming.  Just having a late lunch.”  He sets down the basket and takes the blanket from you, laying it out on the small clearing on the bank.  He took his time setting up the charcuterie board, the bottle of wine, and the two pillows that he stuffed in the basket for you two to rest against.  “There.  Now it’s perfect,” he said as he held his hand out to you to help you sit down on the blanket.  “Worthy of my princess.”

A familiar roll of your eyes as he pressed sweet kisses to your cheeks, just like he did anytime he doted on you.  He only ever called you princess when he got all lovey dovey like this.

Not that you’d ever complain.

“So what’s all this for?” You asked.  Unable to stop your fit of giggles, you teetered to the side as the force of his cheek kisses grew and he made more and more obnoxious noises with it, his metal hand hooked around your waist.  “Bucky Bear…”

“Okay, okay,” he relented, leaving one last, noisy kiss to your cheek before sitting up straight.  He didn’t answer you right away, choosing instead to grab the wine and pop it open, pouring you each a glass.  He was always the designated driver, since alcohol didn’t affect him.  He was silent until you had your glass in hand, and he raised his in a toast.  “I want to celebrate us, and more specifically, you.  The past seven or so months haven’t been easy, but you’ve been a champ through it all.  And also, I think we’ve done pretty damn well on living together and being around each other almost 24/7, considering that we only moved in together in November,” he said.  His startling blue eyes were so soft as he stared at you.  “I just love you so much, and I truly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Oh, my god,” you said, your eyes glassy as you shook your head.  “Bucky, you can’t say things like that when I just did my makeup!  You’re going to make me cry!”  But you didn’t mind the tears as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, your glasses clinking together.  “I love you, too.  And there’s no one else I’d rather go through this with.”

“Together,” he said, his nose nudging against yours.

“Together,” you agreed.

#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Choose Me

Pairing = Richard x GN reader 

Words = 1.4k

Summary = You meet Richard at a fancy-dress competition 

Warnings = some mistakes, I wrote this quite quickly

A/N = Prompt no. 18 requested by @phoenixhalliwell​ as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much for the request, hope you like it! Prompt was “Choose me” w/ Richard and bolded in text. First time writing him, hope it’s ok! 

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

Fancy dress competitions were the worst. 

And your sister, Hannah, had decided to throw a fancy dress competition in her garden, all to raise money for charity. Which meant you couldn’t complain and you had to make an effort. 

It was all part of an annual summer party she threw, starting in mid-afternoon, finishing late, with children running around, a barbeque for the food, and a couple of games. And this year she’d also chosen to do fancy dress. Conveniently she was exempt, because she was going to judge. 

When you’d asked why you couldn’t judge, she told you “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” And also that “it would be embarrassing if the host’s family didn’t dress up!” But apparently not that embarrassing, because neither she nor Hayden, your brother-in-law, had dressed up. 

It wasn’t the dressing up that bothered you so much, more it was deciding what to wear. What if everyone else had much better ideas, or went along with a theme, or…? 

In the end you’d chosen a simple costume, finding a ghostbusters jumpsuit in town and deeming it to be good enough. You were regretting all your life choices at the moment, however, the sun beating onto your shoulders in the late afternoon heat, and you were sure that your tank top and shorts underneath were soaked in sweat. 

The garden had been decorated nicely, bunting around the boundaries, fairy lights pinned up for later in the evening when it turned dark. But for the meantime, you were left standing next to a stranger who was more interested in talking to the person on their other side, leaving you feeling like a lemon, standing there, not knowing anyone. 

You glanced back to the darkness of the kitchen, where it was no doubt much cooler, and aimed a glare at where you were sure Hannah was standing. What was taking so long you had no idea, but you could see her talking to someone else. 

Your nieces, nephews, and their friends milled around in front of you, a couple chattering about the merits of each costume in amusing seriousness while they ate the treats available. Hayden was playing a game of football with a couple of kids in the shade at the other end of the garden and you huffed in impatience. 

Hannah had claimed she’d choose a fair, impartial judge (and you ‘didn’t fit that criteria’, when you’d opened your mouth to argue), someone she knew from work, she’d said, but you weren’t prepared for who stepped out of the kitchen with her. The first thing you noticed was his moustache, big, but neat. His hair was curly, and greying slightly, a stray curl flopping onto his forehead. 

He looks nervous as the two of them step out of the house, and although you don’t care, you never did, about this competition, suddenly you really, really want to win. 

They took their time going down the line, accepting donations from each of the entrants and marking something on their clipboards. 

Finally, finally, they reached you. 

“This is Richard,” was all you got by way of introductions as you handed over your donation. You gave him your hand to shake, smiling and telling him your name. 

“Nice to meet you Richard.” 

Hannah had already seen your costume, so she soon returned back to the cool darkness of the kitchen, so you walked up to Richard, where he was watching the football game, clipboard hanging at his side.

“Dare I ask who you picked as the best?” You ask, standing next to him. 

“That would be telling.” He has nice eyes, you notice, dappled brown in the sunlight and with laughter lines at the side which crease as he talks. 

“Choose me.” You say. “Choose me and…” You flounder for a second, flirting a strangely unfamiliar territory after so long without practice. “... and I’ll give you a kiss.”

Your eyes meet his before he ducks his head, a faint blush rising up his cheeks. “I … ok.” The words are quiet enough that you nearly miss them, but, regardless, you lean forwards and give him a quick peck on the lips. 

You don’t give him a chance to do anything about it, drawing away, opening your eyes, and watching as he leans forwards slightly, trying to follow your mouth. You grin and Richard’s suddenly fascinated by the football game, shifting his feet, while you can’t help but grin wider. His lips were soft, and his moustache tickled you, but he moves closer so the backs of your hands were touching. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent flirting, and you learn that both of you are rusty when it comes to flirting. The winner of the fancy dress competition is announced just before dusk after some passionate arguing between Richard and Hannah, before you are given second place, and the winner is a friend of Hannah’s, wearing an elaborately patterned Belle gown. 

You can’t be bitter, she does look good. 

“Sorry you can’t take back your kiss.” Richard has approached you this time. 

You bite back a smile. “Maybe you could walk me home and kiss me properly as compensation? Away from all these children?” 

Richard leans forward into your personal space as his eyes flick down to your lips, again. “I’d like that.” 

So the two of you say your goodbyes, a short process considering you both know a combined total of 5 people at the party, leaving the glittering fairy lights and light music behind for the yellow of the streetlights and sounds of distant cars.

Hannah had given you an annoyingly knowing look as you’d said goodbye, hardly able to contain herself with excitement. “Coffee tomorrow?” may have sounded like a perfectly innocent request, but seeing as Hannah was just short of winking, you knew exactly what she wanted, rolling your eyes but nodding in agreement. 

“I’ll text you,” you promise, already walking away, turning to go through the house, where you can already see the outline of Richard through the glass in the front door, waiting for you. 

It’s cooler this side of the house, less people, and a lack of fire, but you prefer it this way. You didn’t dare take off your costume all afternoon, not even to wrap it around your waist, and the cool air feels light on your face. 

The sky is clear and beautiful, stars peeking out between the glow of the streetlamps as you and Richard walk home. There’s still a faint glow of orange sun peeking over the horizon, casting deep purple above the two of you. You stay quiet for the most part, and you know that you’re too busy thrumming with anticipation to think of something to say, although you can’t speak for Richard. 

“Well this is me.” You’ve made it to your house, and you suddenly think that you don’t want the night to end. Standing at the edge of your front yard, you glance back at the house. “Do you want to come in? For a … for a drink?” 

When you look back at Richard, he’s stepped closer. “Better not,” he says, and you can’t help but feel disappointed. “Maybe I could take you out tomorrow night though?” 

His voice is soft, and you bite your lip so you don’t grin like a fool, nodding your head. His eyes are starting to close a little, darting around your face, centering on your lips. 

You close the space between you, pulling your arms around his neck and kissing him. 

It’s ten times better than the one earlier. 

His lips are still soft, but he takes more agency this time, biting your bottom lip, and when you open your mouth, eagerly dipping his tongue in. His arms are on your body, hands feeling like they’re running everywhere, like he can’t get enough of you, can’t believe he’s actually touching you. 

It’s messy, and a little desperate, and you feel a bit like a teenager again, having to kiss out of sight of your parents. Your bodies are pressed against each other, and it takes all your self control not to wrap a leg around his waist. Richard’s pressing into you, and you can feel the weight of his stomach against yours, the way he purposefully keeps his hips away from yours. 

Your hands thread into his hair, tugging a little when the two of you separate, gasping for air. “Meet me here at 7?” You ask. It takes a minute for him to remember what you were talking about before he nods, eyes sparkling in the growing darkness. 

You steal another quick kiss before you leave him, and when you invite him in the next night, he doesn’t say no. 

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

#richard alonso muñoz x reader #Richard Alonso Muñoz #the letter room #richard alonso munoz #the letter room fanfic

[lykegenia]

The Dragon Knight’s New Clothes

The speed with which Davion left Hauptstadt left him no time to pick up clothes, so now he's back to square one and very much missing enough layers to cover up his... secrets. When he and his companions stumble on a farmstead his prayers seem answered, but there's also the other matter, the reason why he had to flee Hauptstadt in the first place, and the fear that it will happen again. Set between Episodes 2 & 3. 

Hints of Davion x Mirana

--

Read on AO3

--

Normally, Davion is perfectly fine with silence in his travelling companions. The life of a dragon knight requires long hours on the road, not all of which can be filled with talk, even on the days where there’s no hunt to keep the quiet. But normality seems to have taken its butterfly wings elsewhere for him lately, and the current silence is getting awkward. It’s just him and Mirana. Marci took Sagan scouting shortly after sunrise and left them alone together, and while she seems content with their current situation, she’s also the only one between them wearing clothes. She doesn’t have to worry about the strength of errant breezes finding their way to places, and she has the weight of a weapon at her side as insurance against any trouble they might run into. Her feet aren’t slipping around sockless and blistered in too-large boots taken off a dead man.

A man he tore to pieces.

He swallows, glances to his companion to take his mind off the remembered taste of blood in his mouth. Her shoulders are loose, her gaze soft and hair flowing where the wind lifts it back from her face, the unassuming brown sparking copper in the dappled sunlight. He swallows again.

“Soooooo…”

“Is there a problem?” she asks, slowing a little. A quizzical knot appears between her brows and he raises his hands in surrender.

“No problem!” he says. “It’s just… you’re quiet.”

“I was enjoying the peace.” If there’s a note of annoyance for his interruption it flashes too quickly for him to catch it.

“You must not get much chance to just stop and smell the flowers,” he supposes, after a moment. “Being a princess and everything.”

“There are always little things, if you let yourself look for them – but you’re right that my duties rarely allowed for anything more.”

Allowed. Past tense.

“You never snuck away to try something more fun?” He grins, and when she only quirks a brow at him he clears his throat. “No, never mind, I think I know the answer to that… I’m sure Marci will be back soon.”

She throws him a smirk. “Are you worried about her?”

“Actually,” he says, letting his thoughts tease out, “I’ve been wondering about you two.”

“What about us?” The smirk draws in, a warning that seems to dim the sunlight itself.

He shrugs. “She takes your orders, but you don’t exactly treat her like a servant or a squire, and you have that –” he waggles his fingers experimentally – “hand language. You must have known her a long time.”

She turns away from him, her eyes going to a bird cleaning its beak on the branches above them as her arms fold in a loose cross over her chest.

“We came to the Nightsilver Woods together, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says. “We were already companions before then.”

“Just the two of you?”

Something in the memory pains her. “There was no one else left.”

“What about Sagan?” he asks.

“A gift from my goddess, so that I might do Her work.” The smile comes back, and he’s glad for it. “He was adorable as a cub – so fluffy. He used to chase the reflections from my arrowheads.”

“I never had a pet,” he confesses, without quite meaning to. A memory of a mongrel begging at the back door for scraps threatens to pull him in, but it was a long time ago and his mind can’t conjure the dog’s appearance. It probably ended up like the rest of his village, anyway.

Mirana’s eyes find his face, too perceptive, too understanding. Before he can think of a new subject to distract her, he notices the birds have all gone silent. The undergrowth rustles nearby, concealing something huge. He darts forward, fists ready in place of a weapon, but an instant later he catches a flash of white and relaxes in recognition at the wide, blunt head that pushes out from among the trees.

“Sagan!” Mirana ducks forward, arms outstretched, and the tiger butts her in the shoulder, purring like an avalanche as Marci slides down his back.

A brief conversation follows in the silent language the two women use between themselves, the signs made by their hands too fast for Davion to follow. He waits patiently, even dares to give Sagan a scratch under the chin, his fingers inches from the mouth full of sabre teeth the length of his hand.

Finally, Mirana turns to him. “There’s a farmstead about five miles west of here. If we’re welcomed it would be a good place to get some rest.” She throws a casual look over him and he resists the urge to tug the too-small cloak further around his body. “Perhaps we might also find you some better clothes.”

“I’d like that.” What he likes less is her singular ability to make him aware of his body – and not in the fun way.

She starts to lead off down the path but stops, sighs, her fingers going to pinch between her brows in an attitude of long-suffering patience.

“Ride Sagan,” she says. Orders, really. “It’ll save your feet.”

He can’t help but lean closer, grinning. “That’s surprisingly nice of you, princess.”

“And it’ll stop you slowing us down.”

He chuckles at that. Even in the few days they’ve spent travelling together he’s learned the difference between her wry mock threats and the times she truly intends to bite. As he winces over to tiger and vaults into the saddle, he almost misses the look exchanged between his two companions.

“How do I, uh, steer?” he asks. The neck in front of him is too short, the shoulders much broader than those of a horse, and there aren’t any reins.

Mirana smirks at him. “You don’t.”

--

They reach the farmstead as the sun is on its last descent towards the distant hills. Barley stalks sway gently under the wind as they climb the path to the house, and when a young teen tending vegetables by the back door spots them, Davion can hardly blame them for dropping their rake and running inside. The three of them don’t exactly make for an ordinary bunch of travellers, especially not with Sagan padding along behind them. There’s a stag slung over the saddle, intended as a sort of offering by Mirana, who took it down with one of her arrows before he even knew it was there. While most would follow the custom of hospitality without such a gift, they have only a few coins from the bandits he killed, and they need more than just shelter for the night.  

“Better let me do the talking,” he mutters as they pass into the yard. It’s not the first time he’s had to explain to some poor local that he’s not a marauding thug, and that was without the daunting presence of the war tiger at his back.

For a moment, Mirana considers, but nods and hangs back, passing a hand over her holstered bow as if to reassure herself it’s still there. With another self-conscious tug on his attire to make sure his decency is covered, he advances towards the farmhouse’s front door and as he passes a soft fragrance of thyme and lavender rises from pots placed beneath the windows, though it’s too early in the year for the buzzing of bees. A memory tickles at the back of his mind but he pushes it away before the herby scent can be tainted with ash, and in the instant it takes to centre himself the door swings open to a tall, broad woman with steel-grey hair and an iron brow who steps out just far enough to not appear suspicious.

“You’re an uncommon bunch, right enough,” she comments, her face half shadowed by the overhanging thatch. “What business have you?”

Davion offers her his most winning smile. “We’re travelling from Hauptstadt. If you have enough spare for a hot meal and room in your barn for the night, we’d appreciate it.” He gestures to his companions. “My friend here managed to take down a deer, and we’ll happily share it with you.”

“Half of it,” Mirana corrects, with a hand on her tiger’s shoulder. “And the hide. Sagan needs to eat too.”

The farmer passes a calculating look over them, lingering longest on Davion and the scars so clearly visible across his shoulders, but in the end he guesses their fearsome appearance works in their favour. Their would-be host shrugs. If such travellers wanted to pillage and burn, they’d have no need for subterfuge first.

“We’re always happy to have well-mannered guests, especially ones with news of the road,” she says. “At this time of year the stock is out so your cat will be fine in the barn. Just keep him away from the back field, I’ve ewes ready to drop and they don’t a need a fright to help them along.”

Mirana nods. “Thank you. Is there somewhere we can put the deer?”

If the farmer is surprised by Marci’s strength as she hauls the carcass off Sagan’s back, she doesn’t show it, only points to the gate set into the far wall to show the way to the outbuildings. “And you always dress like that, do you?” she asks a moment later, still eyeing Davion.

He glances down at himself as if it’s going to suddenly change the nature of his attire, but the princess answers before he can open his mouth.

“There was trouble with bandits.”

“Only for your friend here?” The farmer’s eyes narrow.

“We met on the road,” she says smoothly. “If you have some spare clothes, my companion would appreciate the return of her cloak.”

The farmer accepts the half-truth with a solemn shake of her head. “Some of my late husband’s things should fit you, though he never kept quite so trim as you seem to be.”

She beckons them into the house. Davion follows, ducking under the lintel to avoid knocking his head, but pauses when he realises Mirana isn’t behind him.

“I’m going to bed Sagan down,” she tells him. “I’ll join you shortly.”

He smiles, nodding, and resists the urge to reach for her as she turns away. Inside, the whitewashed walls split the house into two, a kitchen with a large, scrubbed table in the back, and a parlour of sorts with a gathering of chairs around a large fireplace that overlooks the garden. An old woman snores in the armchair closest to the window, but she doesn’t stir at the prospect of visitors, even though the stairs leading off this main room creak under Davion’s weight, the wood worn to a polish by generations of use.

“Tayran,” his host calls out as a young woman appears from one of the upper rooms, “go help your brother with the veggies, will you? We’ve three more mouth to feed tonight.”

Tayran, a few years younger than Davion and sporting the same square jaw and brown eyes as her mother, nods and ducks along the hallway, but not before she’s let her gaze rake along the expanse of his muscles not covered by Marci’s cloak. The smile he offers in return is friendly enough, but not encouraging. He needs the clothes more than he needs someone to take them off again.

Seemingly oblivious to the exchange, his host has gone on ahead to the main bedroom and has taken a key to a heavily locked chest in the corner by the washstand. She digs through it, muttering, though he notices she never quite fully turns her back to him, and after a moment she stands again, with a shirt, breeches, and quilted jerkin draped over her arm. After a pause where she casts a critical eye at his boots, she stumps over to a dresser and pulls a rolled pair of wool socks from one of the drawers as well.

“These are the best I can do,” she says, handing the ensemble to him. “Afraid we’ve no salve for those badly fitting boots of yours, though.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

She huffs. “You can pay it forward. That’s what decent folk do. I’d best go see if yon slip of a girl has managed to get any meat off that stag yet – there’s plenty of room to change in the barn,” she adds, as she chivvies him from the room.

--

Dinner a few hours later is a crowded affair, the family’s meagre supply of chairs not enough to accommodate their guests, which means Davion’s legs are folded awkwardly around the tree stump serving him as a stool, his knees already bruised from all their accidental knocks to the underside of the table. The dim light for their meal comes from the fire and from a storm lantern hanging in the rafters in the centre of the room, and in the darkness beyond this the house groans and creaks as it settles for the night. After the disdain Mirana showed for the inn in Hauptstadt he wondered how she would react to such simple surroundings, but she nods graciously as their host ladles her a portion of stew and doesn’t complain that it’s being served with a wooden spoon. Marci is already tucking into hers as if she hasn’t eaten for days.

He smiles down at his bowl. The stew itself tastes good, the venison paired well with bacon and fresh vegetables, and it’s so thick the slice of bread he’s been given can be planted into it like a battle standard. Their host seems satisfied with their enthusiasm for her food, too. She has yet to sit down, her own portion left off as she pours a clear liquid into a motley collection of cups.

“Don’t knock this back,” she warns as she passes the drinks around. “It’ll beat you round the head like a club and go through your pockets for loose change.”

Davion can’t resist. He makes a great show of tasting the liquor. “A fine vintage, ma’am. Comparable to an Icewrack white, I’d say.”

Opposite him, Mirana narrows her eyes, like she wants to kick him under the table.

“My, you’ve expensive tastes,” their host rumbles. “You won’t find anything half so fancy in these parts.”

“Oh? Shame.”

“Where have you been that serves Icewrack white?” the elder asks from the head of the table. It’s the first Davion’s heard her speak, and her voice is cracked with age and suspicion.

“Oh, a few places,” he answers, careful. “I’ve spent most of my life travelling.”

“You must have many stories,” says Tayran, leaning forward on her elbows while her younger brother rolls his eyes next to her.

“Some, I suppose.” Davion shrugs. “My – uh, I had a friend who was much better than telling them.” He can’t mention having a squire; it would invite too many questions.

The elder seems content with him, but then her eye swivels towards Mirana. “What about you?”

“Mama,” their host chides. “We don’t interrogate our guests.”

Mirana sets down her wooden spoon. “It’s alright. We came from further west, on business.”

“Wrong time o’ year to be travelling the high passes.”

“My business could not wait,” she replies. Not for the first time, he wonders what calamity must have drawn her from her woods, put the grit in her voice as she speaks of it.

“And what about you?” Tayran asks him. Her eyelashes flutter. “If you’re looking for work you’d be far more likely to find it back in Hauptstadt, or on one of the farms in the valley.”

He disarms her with a grin. “And leave my companions without a defender? My honour wouldn’t allow it.” He shrugs elaborately. “I’ve got some friends near Levinthal who should be able to help me after I go that way.”

“More people who owe you favours?” Mirana asks, casually enough, though it’s clear she hasn’t forgiven him for the cockroaches that came included with the last one.

“It’s likely just as well you travel together,” their host interrupts. “There’s rumours of some sort of monster roving about these hills. Someone found bodies ripped apart not a week’s journey from here, and whatever it was killed a dragon knight an’ all. Dangerous times, these.”

The chill that grips Davion’s spine doesn’t go away, nor the knot in his stomach that feels like another gang leader’s ring just waiting to be hocked up onto the table. Mirana and Marci both have stilled to watch him, but he doesn’t meet their gazes. Instead, he draws in a breath and stretches his best tavern-pleasing smile across his revulsion.

“Thanks for the warning,” he says. “We’ll be extra careful.”

The conversation moves on after that, well into the night. On isolated farms like this one, travellers may bring the only news of the outside world for weeks, and new stories of far off places are always welcome. Finally, drowsing under the effect of the wine and the full meal and with the supply of fire logs running low, Mirana rises to make their excuses for the night. They have an early start in the morning, and don’t want to trespass any further, she says. Davion follows.

In the doorway, however, an unexpected hand reaches out in a caress across his chest that stops him before he can make it out into the cold. His breath fogs as he turns, finding Tayran in the shadowed alcove where the family keeps their coats, the smile on her face one he’s seen on more than one young woman on his travels.

“It’ll be cold tonight, you know,” she purrs.

From the corner of his eye he sees Mirana pause at the sound of the voice, but when he turns fully she’s already resumed her pace, perfectly measured, her shoulders straight, and he wonders if he imagined it. Tayran’s hand moves up to cup his cheek, to bring his attention back to her.

“If you want a better offer than a draughty old barn, I’d be happy to oblige. If you’re not already spoken for, that is?”

“You mean with –?” He coughs. “No, I’m not. We’re not, ah – like that.”

She steps closer. “Good. Would you like to hear more about my offer?”

--

When he lets himself into the barn a little time later, bright moonlight spills around him, though his eyes take less time to adjust to the unlit interior than he expects. An oil lamp glows in the far corner.

“Your ‘better offer’ fell through then?” a voice chimes through the darkness, low with disdain.

He finds Mirana with Sagan’s head in her lap, running a soft brush over the tiger’s fur, her scowl and the sour curl of her mouth revealing the nature of whatever else she wants to say. She doesn’t look at him. His own anger rises in response.

“I didn’t take the offer,” he snaps, quiet enough not to disturb Marci. “Not that you have any reason to care.”

“I didn’t want to waste time looking for you in the morning.”

But the gaze fixed on him now flickers with calculation, the same astuteness she turned on him after he let the elf go, as if he’s a puzzle box with no clear solution.

“She was a pretty enough thing,” she comments as he unfolds a horse rug over the straw as a makeshift bedsheet. “Many men would have gone after her.”

“Yeah, well – I’ve said it before.” He throws his head down on his folded arm. “I’m not most men.”

Now more than ever, he thinks ruefully as silence descends again. If he were the sort of person who believed the gods cared at all he’d wonder if they turned him into… whatever he is… as a punishment for hubris. For a little harmless flirting. He yanks the blanket up to his chin and rolls over – he’s slept in less comfortable places, but that doesn’t make the cold, prickly ground any less frustrating. A bed would have been much better. A bed with a bit of fun thrown in, for the both of them, and yet he chose to leave, and he’s going to go mad trying to work out why.

“You’re afraid,” Mirana says into the quiet. “Worried that what happened at Hauptstadt – what you became – that it’ll happen again.”

After a long moment, he unclenches his hand and sighs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“For what good it will do, I can watch over you, if you like.”

He shifts. The offer feels unfamiliar. A dragon knight is sworn to protect others, and though the rational part of him knows if he does turn she’ll be dead before she realises it, there’s a warm glow of comfort from the assurance in her voice. She asks nothing of him, only honesty.

“If the transformation happens…”

“I’ll shoot you.” He hears the smirk.

“Thank you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the images his mind conjures, her blood on his hands, and prays to whichever gods are listening that if the worst comes her draw will be fast enough.

#dota dragon's blood #dota: dragon's blood #dota: db #dota 2 #mirana #princess mirana #davion #davion the dragon knight #davion x mirana #mirana x davion #miravion #dragon's blood

[judassprince]

Hypnovember Day 2: Coil

“Struggling seems awfully pointless now, doesn’t it?” The naga smiles as his long tail constricts just a bit tighter. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of how trapped you truly are. “After all, I’m much bigger than you. Much stronger. And you’ve been travelling so long today, haven’t you?”

You try to make a retort, but your mouth is muffled by the shifting, squeezing snake skin. Only your eyes remain visible, able to peek out and see the sunlight-dappled forest beyond the naga’s frame. He’s right though. He is much bigger than you, almost impossibly so. The tail and scales seem to go forever, wrapping around and around you. Your body is snug, but not crushed by any means. If he wanted to kill you, certainly he could. But he hasn’t. Yet.

Still, you struggle (or try to) against the thick binds. But you can feel your energy wavering. Another thing he was right about: it had been a very long day.

“I don’t think you really want to escape,” he muses. “You’re not trying nearly hard enough.” Anger flares in you, and you muster your energy to break free. To escape.

The coils grow tighter.

And you grow weaker.

Slick with sweat and eyes growing heavy from sleepiness, you feel your muscles relax.

“That’s much better,” the naga purrs, drawing close. You can see his face in earnest now. The sharp features of his face. His smiling mouth and glinting fangs. His eyes…

His eyes.

“I told you you didn’t want to escape. And you don’t. You need to rest, I think.” Something shifts in his inflection, and the tension seeps from your body a little more.

“You need to sleep.” You need to sleep.

“You need to relax.” Relax.

“That’s better.” His tail shifts to allow your mouth some freedom. Some more air. As your head is released, it almost lolls to the side, but is quickly caught by his hands. Both hands cup your cheeks, holding your face steady, but also keeping your gaze fixed on him. “Let me help you blow off some steam,” he whispers. His coils begin a slow massage over your body, rubbing and squeezing and kneading your muscles. You let out a sigh.

You’ve almost forgotten how you got here. Why you were so upset before. Your fear and panic. It doesn’t matter any more.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he says, smiling.

“That’s better,” you repeat, nodding. Or perhaps he’s nodding your head for you. It doesn’t matter. He’s right.

���You’re safe with me,” he says, and you can’t find a hint of stranger danger training to argue with him. Not while your body feels so good and your mind is so sleepy and you’re staring into his deep, golden, glowing eyes.

“Yes,” you say, nodding. “I’m safe with you.” He smiles, and then you do, your face pulling into a relaxed, sleepy grin.

“And you’ll continue to be safe with me. Forever.”

#hypnokink #judas writes #hypnovember #cnc tw #like. very soft resistance stuff

[paperstarwriters]

Sleeping Beauty

Organic fantasy Optimus x reader. I might continue this with a longer story but that’s four long fics to work at a time, so unfortunately no. I have a few more notes at the bottom for info about how the story could have gone on, so take a peek if you want to.

Organic Optimus’ design is mostly based off of Blackberreh-art’s design from their fantasy au.

This fic isn’t really edited, because again, I’m lazy.

Enjoy!

In the center of a cursed forest, lies a corpse refusing to rot.

Some have speculated that the corpse is the body of a cursed creature. Someone or something that caused the forest to rot away. Others say it contained the chaos, acting as a seal to keep the darkness away. Few have made it to the center and even less have made it back. The dead forest lives up to its name. Even for the three people who made it to the center and back alive, they left their week long journey at least eighty years older. They all died from old age only a few days later.

On an average day you would not want to do anything with that forest. Your spells and magic were that of healing. Of relieving pain and suffering. You were a caster of life, not the dealer of death. For the few years you've lived in this cozy town with the arguably best library and café, you have tried your hardest to stay as far away as you could from the forest. Which is probably why people gawked at you as you strolled in. Not that you really noticed, you were too entranced by the relic leading you in.

It was an old metallic container that housed crystals in the center, the magic potential of it was insanely powerful and it seemed to draw energy to the forest. You packed up your best healing potions you would need to try and survive the forest, and as if you were in a trance you followed it's invisible tug to the center of it. If you knew you were being led into the center you would have dropped it. Let go of the handles on either side of the spherical container and fled back to the outside. The center of the forest was known to give off an ominous feeling of death and despair. It was known to be dark even in the middle of the day and looking around, light speckled through branches. You thought you were simply passing by it, moving past around the outskirts of it.

And then, you saw the body.

If you hadn't heard the stories, if it wasn’t daily gossip to talk about the newest traveler who tried to venture into the center of the forest, then maybe you would have believed that he was alive. That you found sleeping beauty lying in a clearing in the woods, with a ray of sunlight acting as his spotlight. He had dark, almost black, blue hair. It looked like it had been slicked back before, but the flowers that bloomed around him seemed to have ruffled it albeit slightly. He wore armor of a bright and vibrant red with a few bits in blue that stood out amidst the moss and plants that grew atop of it. On his face was a metal mouth guard that covered his ears with two semi-circles of metal. From those two circles jutted out thin fin like contraptions wrapped in vines. They reminded you of some sort of metal mimic of an elf's ears.

As you observed his body, you noticed a small bundle of bright blue flowers, the same color as the crystals within the metal container. You moved to pick one from the bunch only to promptly find they went deeper than they seemed. You brushed aside the flowers, thinking that perhaps his chest armor had been dented, but they would not budge. Instead, you reached past the flowers, and found soft muddy earth. A gaping hole pierced the man before you, if you had any reason to believe he was somehow alive before, your thoughts were dashed. No way could someone survive being pierced through an area with so much damage to internal organs. His heart, specifically, was most certainly one of the things obliterated from whatever attack killed him.

The relic pulled at your grip, trying to move closer to what you could assume was it's owner. Complying, you held it over his chest and watched with silent awe as the blue flowers glowed in bright reply. You set it down on the soft bed of blue. The metal container fit perfectly with the hole in his chest, and glowed as it returned to its rightful place.

In a daze stricken awe, you watched as the flowers around him, all glowed. Flowers of different colors all began to glow, and began to grow. They grew upwards and outwards, ferns and leaves popping up all around you. A few vines even began to wrap around your legs, but the most miraculous thing to watch, was the metal of the relic, melting over and merging with the metal of his armor, sealing the hole within him. You could marvel as the trees regained their leaves and bloomed with soft pink flowers that glowed in the sunlight that dappled through the trees and it would not compare to the pink that flushed his face with life under the sunlight or the pale pink of his lips, newly revealed as the mouth guard snapped back. The forest, now alive around you, sighed and hissed as a breeze ran through the newly grown leaves, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, too intently watching the soft rise and fall of his shoulders as he took his first breath.

Finally, with all the beauty of a starry midnight, he opened his eyes.

The sclera of his eyes, the part that was white on your own, was a pitch black that only highlighted the vivid blue of his eyes. A color, you had to note, that was the same as the crystal in his chest, and subsequently the flowers that grew through the hole.

He sat up, slowly taking in the beautiful surroundings of the forest. If his starry wide eyes were anything to go by, the forest's beauty was new to him as well. His eyes eventually landed on you, connecting with your gaze as your eyes refused to look away from him. Whether it was from the awe of what just happened or his apparent beauty, was up to debate, and your brain did not want to cooperate to make any excuse against it. If it did, you would probably conclude that it was both.

"Did…" he paused, his throat dry and scratchy, sounding sleepy as if he had just woken up from a long nap rather than be revived from the dead. "Did you do this?" 

Your brain took a few moments to process the question, but in the mushy state it was in, you couldn't muster any caution. What if he did not want to be revived? What if he was upset because you had just released something terrible upon the world? No, your mind skipped over all these perfectly reasonable assumptions as you simply answered,

"Yeah."

Not even a formal yes. For all you knew, he could be some sort of ancient prince. Nonetheless, you couldn't muster the will to hate yourself as your simple answer made him grin, clear to see without the mouth guard hiding his lips, and as radiant as the burning sun. Wind swept through the clearing once more, rousing you from all your poetic comparisons of what his smile was like, and drawing your attention to hear his deep voice speak up again. 

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

Story wise, the reason Optimus is there in the first place and the reason why the forest is so dead, is that when Optimus was killed (I don’t know how at the moment) Ratchet panicked and tried to help him.Tried to heal him. He cast every healing spell he knew and tried to get him back, but the matrix (and subsequently his heart/spark) was missing, and kept Optimus from getting better. Ratchet’s spells kept Optimus in pristine shape, a corpse that refused to rot, but also drew strength from the surrounding forest. There were flowers around him, that grew only because they were in such close proximity and received the access magic that the body did not take. The forest was dead and dying because all energy within the forest was siphoned away to maintain the body.

When other people went in, their life was siphoned away just like the plants were. Your life was siphoned away as well, but not as badly as you had a clear path to the center, and you were supported by the magic of the matrix. Your healing potions would likely be able to bring you back up to normal.

On top of the healing spells, when Ratchet was confronted with the fact that he couldn’t bring Optimus back, he placed a curse around him instead to keep him safe It was a simple one, as his energy was mostly depleted from trying to bring back Optimus, but effective considering what happened to the forest. The forest was a maze and would make it harder for a person to get to the center. You were able to bypass this thanks to the matrix.

Plot-wise Optimus died at the end of the war, sacrificing his life for something. It’s been years since that happened, and many of his old friends had passed away. Optimus explores the world that moved on without him, and along the way he finds a few friends that managed to make it past the time constraints. Ratchet made a deal with someone shady to live forever, and he’s viewed it as a punishment until he reunited with Optimus.

That’s all I’ve got so far. Thank you for reading 💕

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