#grace’s face when I handed her a code red

[el-im]

I am so filled with love. (I say, confusing the sensation for accidentally imbibed river water)

#ITS LOVE #ITS LOVE! #grace’s face when I handed her a code red #keegan calling me an enabler #tye’s head on my tube #captain's log

[dragonbarbie]

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

aemond targaryen x prostitute!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: aemond becomes captivated with the most prized woman working the street of silk

word count: 3.3k

tags: mature content, sex work, choking, aemond being a tad bit dark here but still in character imo

aemond had scoffed at aegon’s penchant for the whores of the street of silk, but when he found himself attracted to one of its prized attractions, he felt like a hypocrite.

he had caught a glimpse of her the day he had gone searching for his brother with ser criston. aemond had stood by the door while cole conversed with the madame of the establishment and been momentarily distracted by the sight of the angel walking down the hallway inside the brothel, visible behind the older woman.

that day he could not stay to investigate as his duties called him away. but as the days went on, he found himself obsessed with the face he had only seen for a split second, and the delicate form barely hidden behind the flowy dress of silk that had stalked down that hall.

he had always imagined himself as a dutiful man, a man who lived his life in accordance with the code of honour that cole hammered into him with each sparring session, and with the faith that his mother had guided him towards. but with every dream he had about her, he found his resolve towards being that dutiful man, weaken.

those eyes, damn those eyes. there was something hypnotic about them, about the way she had kohl spread under them to make them look even more seductive. her skin, it had a shine, despite the lack of light inside the building.

she tortured him every night, invading his dreams without care. he would chase her each night, and she still seemed to elude him come morning.

until he had had enough. he donned a non-descript cloak to walk through the streets unrecognised, and walked till he reached the same brothel his brother had taken him to all those years ago. it looked much different in the dark, the doors were flung open invitingly for one. when aemond walked through them, he saw that it was teeming with people. men being led down by scantily clad women to areas sectioned off by thin veils of linen, women openly being pleasured by men upon cushions laid down on the ground. he could even recognise some lords from his father’s court, but as his mind began to judge them for their presence a voice in his head reminded him that he wasn’t much better than them, for finding himself skulking around these halls.

but among all those faces, he couldn’t see her. the thought that she might be off pleasuring some man in one of these corners crossed his mind, and he had the urge to storm out of there. but just then, he was recognised by the same whore his brother had chosen for him all those years ago. “my prince, i am delighted to have you grace my establishment once again.” her smile seemed more seedy to him than gracious. “hm.” he merely hummed in response, eye still looking around for her specific figure. “would you like to see the selection of pleasures that we can provide you with this evening, or…” she looked around to where he had been scanning the room, “…are you seeking someone more particular?”

how was aemond supposed to explain her, to this woman? he had no name, only a vibrant memory in his mind. thankfully, he didn’t need to. because suddenly a hush fell around the proceedings, and all eyes turned to the centre of the room where upon a slightly raised platform, he saw her. it seemed as if this was a performance that had been expected by the patrons eagerly.

the musicians then began playing their instruments to match the beat at which she was moving her body as she danced. slowly at first, every movement of her hands deliberate. her waist, exposed in the dress she was wearing, showed off its curves with the way it swayed. and those damn eyes. who needed wine when those eyes were intoxicating enough to beat any dornish red. the older whore hadn’t missed how his eye hadn’t left her. “ah, y/n… she’s our jewel that one….the finest you can get anywhere in the street of silk. the opportunity for even one night with her is sold out moons in advance.” “i don’t have moons to waste, and i am not a particularly patient man. money is no object.” he stated, his voice dangerously low as his eye closely followed each seductive step. “of course, my prince.” the older woman seemed to grin at the thought of the sheer gold that she would be able to get out of the prince.

aemond hadn’t even realised that his mouth had gone dry watching her until she finished with applause surrounding her, and men throwing coins at her feet. there was a proud smile upon her face as she picked the silver and tucked them somewhere inside her silk skirt. Men were approaching her already. she gave them a smile, as she apologised, “my lords i am promised to lord frey for tonight, alas.” he caught her words, his eye darting to where he had recognised frey sitting on the cushion earlier in the night. he was looking at her with unabashed lust in his eyes already, a look which lit an inexplicable fire inside the prince.

“my lord, i’m afraid y/n already has another patron for tonight. let me show you some of our other girls, i don’t think you will be disappointed.” aemond heard the madame placate frey as she walked towards him, but he was not pleased. “i have waited for days, and paid good coin for the whore, and i will have her!” he angrily proclaimed, and aemond saw y/n give her madame a confused look. as far as she knew, she only had one customer for the night, and frey had already paid in full. frey walked over to y/n and grabbed her arm, intent on taking her by force if nothing else. that was the point aemond decided to intervene.

“my lord frey.” he did not have to raise his voice beyond its normal volume, its distinctness coupled with him removing the hood to reveal his silver hair and eye-patch were enough to confirm his identity. “i believe you should look for other arrangements for the night.” he could hear the whispers around the room, the shock on everyone’s faces, including y/n’s. frey immediately let go of her, and bowed, “my prince… of course, yes…” he seemed to mutter.

so that was the new customer, y/n realised, taking in the man before her. she had never seen him around the brothel before, but she had heard from the older girls of the day the two royal princes had visited. and even more tales about the seedier activities his brother got up to at flea bottom. she wasn’t sure having the attention of the targaryen was an entirely good thing, as she thought of his brother. but with her profession, and her station, she knew one could not just refuse a prince of the realm.

she put on the sultry smile expected of her, “my prince.” she greeted as she approached him. “y/n, take his grace to your rooms. and take good care of him.” she caught the look in her madame’s eye, it seemed to read ‘tread carefully’.

had it been a different patron, y/n would have taken their hand as she led them up the stairs to her room, a luxury that was of the upmost rarity in the street of silk but that she had managed to accomplish with her revered skills. but the prince seemed so stoic, she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and hold his hand. “follow me, my prince.” she said instead and walked him up to her room.

aemond noticed that it was a small place, filled with only a bed in the centre and some cushions to the side of it near an open window. lit candles littered the corners, to shed some light for the work of the night, he realised. the sheets seemed to be made of fine material for the consideration of the noble men she brough up there, but the rest of the room was bare. then again, he thought, what items had he expected to find in the room of a whore? not that he’d ever imagined being inside one’s chambers anyway.

now that he’d come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now, he hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. she seemed to pick up on how awkward he felt internally, even if he had kept his cool appearance.

“would you like some wine, my prince?” “no.” “i only offer because it tends to make one more… relaxed, for the proceedings.” she suggested, trying to put him more at ease. her words had the opposite effect. “are you suggesting i need wine to be able to fuck?” he accused her, offended as he took threatening steps towards her. used to placating customers who could turn on her at a moment’s notice, she kept her open palms reassuringly against his chest and told him, “i was suggesting it for myself, your grace. a woman’s heart, it’s a weak thing.” she had expected him to believe her words, batting heavy eyelashes to appear as pliant as possible.

his blue eye, it seemed to have the ability to read her. he chuckled darkly, “you’re a good liar.” and an unexpected, large hand reached to grab her throat. his hold was rough, but she could still breath and she refused to look away or struggle against his grip. she had learned that the best way to pacify these great men was to let them have the power over her that they so craved. she was surprised though, for no one had been able to look through her so quickly and easily, in all her years.

her lack of putting up a fight seemed to satisfy him, but at the same time, he couldn’t understand how she could lack the basic need to preserve herself. he tightened his grip further and further, testing her. yet, her hands remained limp by her side and her eyes trained on his. when he finally pulled his hand off her, it was only the coughs that left her and the red marks of his hand printed around her neck that could evidence the pain she must have felt, but not acted against.

he picked the goblet and poured from the wine jug kept in the corner, to hand it to her for the cough, wordlessly. she eagerly grabbed the cup and downed its contents to provide some relief to her throat. “why did you not struggle? do you enjoy pain?” he asked, curious. her fingertips rubbed against the skin where his hand had been moments ago, as she answered, “in my trade, you learn quickly to endure pain. to fight against it usually means something worse will befall.” she answered, her voice still coarse.

“then why choose it? you can earn a wage as a serving girl, a maid…” he looked at the bed in her room and couldn’t help but think just how many men before him must have pushed her against it and had their way “…why suffer such indignity?”

she was surprised at his question. some men did like to talk to her before they had her, but she had never been asked such intrusive questions about herself. “there are many reasons, every girl here has her story. i have mine.” never talk about your own woes with a client, she had been taught. it would break the spell, the fantasy if they thought of her as a living, breathing thing, as opposed to a doll only meant to please them. that was what she was attempting to do, but her answer did not satiate him. “and that story is?” “not one i care to share with your grace. i do not need your pity, i promise you. i’m paid ten times more than any serving girl at your grand castle, and all my work is done lying on my back. i am content.”

aemond could see the logic there, but he seemed unconvinced. she seemed to be in a hurry to move past the conversation. “is this how you would like to spend your night, asking me questions? i have no qualms, but you are paying quiet the small fortune for it, and i would not want you to feel as if i have robbed you.”

“since i am the one paying, why don’t you let me be the judge of what we are going to do.” y/n shrugged in response, “whatever you wish, my prince. i am but your humble servant.” she had a small, amused smile on her lips as she sat down on the edge of her bed. “ask whatever you like.” and he did.

once she got used to the invasive questioning, she settled in his presence. she found him polite but straight forward, proud but intelligent. he was unlike any man she had met. he seemed to be full of questions about who y/n was, where was she from and how she had ended up in a place like this. all questions that she patiently answered as she drank more wine by the hour. it was not common behaviour of a patron, to ask about her so insistently. even when the men wanted to talk, it was usually them talking about themselves, their problems and y/n sitting there patiently to listen. but every time she tried to ask the prince a question in return, he brushed her off or gave her short replies.

“why did you decide to come here today?” she asked him at one point. he had settled on one of her cushions a few meters away, but he never really looked comfortable, choosing to sit with his back straight as steel. his discipline was admirable, y/n thought. “you’re not known to frequent the street of silk, or i would have heard of it.” or i would have had you already, she thought, she was the most sought-after woman on the street after all. “your visit is most unusual.”

aemond swallowed at the question, “every man has needs.” it wasn’t a complete lie. he had come there because of a need to see her, to be near her, to touch her. “had you come here to fulfil some ‘need’, we would not have spent the night merely talking.” she commented. oh, he had meant to do much more than just talk, from the second he saw her dancing downstairs. she had captivated him, with the way her body had moved and set his imagination to wonder all the ways in which it would move against his.

but first, he had wanted to quench his curiosity about her. he hadn’t realised when he got so lost in their conversation that it was nearly daybreak, and he was yet to fuck her. every time he had thought to move in and close the gap between them, she had made some clever comment that he had to give a retort to, and so the night had passed.

“it’s a shame.” y/n sighed as she laid back down on her bed, “when you walked in here, i thought i would have the story to beat any other girl’s. the story of the night i rode a dragon.” she lazily smirked.

oh, she was a minx, he grinned as a hand grabbed her ankle to pull her down towards him. she yelped at the action but allowed him to snake an arm around her waist to seat her at his lap. “is that a desire of yours?” he asked in a murmur, close enough to feel her breath on his face. “i’m a whore, my prince, i cannot afford such luxuries as desires.” she draped her arms over his shoulders, fingers entangling themselves in his silky hair. “as your prince, i command you – tell me what you desire.”

she had lost count of the number of times men had asked her that question, the number of times they wanted her to tell them that she needed them, desired them. she had complied each time of course but had never really meant the words. as she gazed into the clear blue of the prince’s eye, though, she answered with the utmost sincerity, “you.”

he didn’t need more words, he leaned forward and closed the gap between them, his lips upon hers. there was a hunger in his actions, a desire to push in as further inside her as he could, of wanting to be one with her. she reciprocated the sense of passion, hands reaching to undo the buttons on his leather coat.

soon he had her pinned beneath him on the cushions, his coat and tunic discarded, her flimsy dress pushed up, so her bare core rubbed against his leather pants. he hadn’t objected to her removing other items of his clothing, but when her hand reached to pull off his eye patch, he broke the kiss and grabbed her wrist firmly.

when she had told him she desired him, he hadn’t taken her to mean it in a physical sense. For, how could she, he thought, with an eye missing and an ugly scar running down half his face? where she was a goddess reborn that men paid their weight in gold to be able to pay a pilgrimage to, he thought himself deformed.

as with many things, with this too it seemed she could read his mind. a crease formed between her brow, “this is a whore house, your grace. the price of admission is all your clothing.” she teased. her free hand reached to caress his face. gods, he was beautiful, she now understood why they said targaryens were closer to gods than men, for with the first rays of the sun hitting him to form a halo over his form, how could this man be anything else but heaven-sent? 

“i would see all of you.” she softly told him. he hesitated, but there was a conviction in her eyes that he could not deny. he eventually let go of her wrist, but she could feel how uneasy he felt as she slowly pulled the eye-patch off his face.

her eyes went wide at the sight of the blue sapphire she had heard only rumours of. it dazzled with brilliance, and almost matched the colour of his remaining eye. her hand caressed the side of his face, thumb tracing the scar before she pressed a soft kiss to the healed skin. “i wasn’t aware whores were supposed to be this… sentimental.” he mused at her actions, “you’re a special customer.” she grinned. “let’s see how good this service of yours is then, hm, that you can afford to rob all these lords blind.”

and service him she did, with a steady chant of her voice saying ‘my prince’ filling the room. she heard him whisper things too, against her skin in a language she couldn’t understand, but his voice was filled with a devotion she could recognise.

hours passed, till she could no longer feel her legs, and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. she felt sore, but in the most perfect way. the day had set in now, the rays of the sun making her room shine bright as she laid with her head on his chest, legs tangled. she could feel his fingers tracing shapes on her bare back. it seemed like the perfect morning.

until he broke the spell with his voice, “i have to go.” he had only just realised the time, realised that he was late for cole’s training. as he shifted to get up from under her, she whined at the loss of touch but wordlessly watched him gather his things. “will you visit again?” she asked as he walked out the door, but it seemed he hadn’t heard her.

she lazed around until a some of the younger girls entered her room, excited to hear all about y/n’s night with the prince, brimming with questions. “oh, how i can explain to you, my darlings, the pleasures of riding a dragon.”

note: by the time i finished this i had sm muse im thinking of doing a pt 2 w an angry and jealous aemond, when reader is entertaining other clients?? lmk if you guys would be interested in something like that 👀

update: part 2 available now!

#aemond imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #aemond x y/n #hotd aemond #hotd fics #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfic #fics i wrote

[dancingtotuyo]

Home | Part 1

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Frankie returns to you and your daughter.

Tags: Frankie Morales, Triple Frontier, Canon compliant, Frankie’s baby & his lady, fluff, angst, Dad!Frankie

Warnings: breaking & entering, gun, briefest illusion to drug use, illusions to death, some brief angst, let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: this is my first attempt writing Frankie. This idea came out of nowhere and I love it. Thank you to @wannab-urs for beta reading, adding commas, and the sweet comments! 🫶

Words: 938

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since he left. He told you a week. It’s verging on three. You stare at his side of the bed. You’ve had to wash the sheets since he left, but you’ve left his pillowcase. You bury your face in it, seeking the traces of him. Frankie’s scent is beginning to fade.

Tears threaten to form in your eyes. You fight with them. You can’t cry. He’s coming home. He has to come home. You can’t do this without him. You curl around the pillow. You need to sleep, but you can’t. Every time you close your eyes, you see Frankie dead in a ravine, on a mountaintop, or in an alley somewhere.

Layla stirs in her crib, drawing your eye. You’re quiet as her eyes blink open. Her tiny fists curl beside her ears. You expect her wails to fill the room, echoing how you feel inside, but to your awe, she stays quiet.

The full moon streams through the bedroom window, shining off of your daughter’s dark eyes. They remind you so much of her father’s. She stares back at you. Your little girl. Your perfect little girl, so much like her daddy with her big brown eyes and soft curls. His little Layla Grace.

He has to come back. He can’t leave you. He can’t leave her.

Layla blinks. Each interval grows slower until her eyes drift shut. Her breathing evens out. She has a soft snore. Just one more thing she picked up from her daddy. You’re not sure she has any of your DNA and you love it.

You’re tempted to scoop her up and lay her in the bed beside you, but that’s Frankie’s spot. You can’t give it up, even to your daughter. You have to make sure he has his spot when returns home.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out as Frankie’s comforting scent fills your nostrils.

You’re startled awake by the rattling of the storm door Frankie was supposed to fix months ago. Your heart rate skyrockets as you shoot up feeling dazed. The red numbers on your alarm clock read 3:09 am. The storm door rattles again, and then the backdoor squeaks open.

Your bare feet hit the hardwood. Layla is sound asleep. You open the nightstand drawer, quickly punching the gun-safe code. The metal is cool under your hands. It’s been a long time since you’ve held the gun, but the mechanics come back like riding a bike. You check the chamber and load the magazine.

The backdoor slams shut. You spare a glance at your daughter before quietly closing the bedroom door behind you. You use your bare feet to your advantage, avoiding all the creaky floorboards in your old home.

Something hits the wall in the kitchen making you jump. You catch a dark figure, presumably male, wrestling through your cabinets. It doesn’t make sense, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t allow for critical thinking.

You click the safety off, entering the kitchen. “Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

His hands fly out, resting against the cabinet door. He lets out a tired sigh, something familiar in it.

“When I bought you that gun, I didn’t think you’d pull it on me, Sweetheart.”

Your chest tightens at the familiar timbre. The gun almost falls from your hands as you drop your stance. “Frankie?”

He turns around, eyes shining even in the dark. “It’s me, baby. I’m home.”

He eases forward, taking the deadly weapon from your shaking hands and disarming it. Placing the gun on the counter, he takes your hands into his, pulling you closer until his arms tighten around you. He holds onto you for dear life, both of you shaking.

Tears you’ve been holding in for weeks fall, soaking through Frankie’s jacket. His chest shakes, his tears mingling with yours.

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He repeats it over and over like an oath to you and an assurance to himself.

“Please don’t go again. Don't ever leave me again.”

“Never.” He kisses your salty cheeks, your forehead, and finally your lips.

You feel like home. You are his home. His hand runs through your hair, keeping him anchored to reality. He’s here and no longer in the jungle of South America.

You pull him back to the bedroom, both of you in a daze. You’re still in disbelief he’s here and whole. You fall into bed. Frankie pulls off his clothes, hat landing on the dresser where it belongs. You catch his movements stiff from the exhaustion of traveling, but he’s smiling at you the whole time, drinking you in like water in the desert.

Layla's small cries emanate from the crib pulling Frankie’s attention. Immediately, he’s at her side, cooing soft Spanish to her as he picks her up with the familiarity only a parent has. Goosebumps travel over your exposed skin. Layla quiets immediately, looking up at her daddy with wide eyes.

He moves over to the bed sitting next to you. His Spanish continues to spill in a comforting cadence. You caress Layla’s brown curls, head resting on Frankie’s shoulder. It’s all the perfect moment of peace and rest.

It won’t last long. Layla will remember she’s hungry soon enough. Frankie may sleep tonight, but the nightmares will come. There will be tears and grief and fights, but Frankie, Your Frankie, is here, and he’s intact, at least physically, and your daughter will grow up to know her father. That is what matters. The rest will wait.

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction

[rosyjn]

HUMAN!JAKE X READER SMUT!!! 18+ CONTENT

It’s already 1 in the morning and you’re still finishing lab work. Grace left about 2 hours ago.

“Y/N, we should just finish it tomorrow afternoon. Don’t work too hard,” Grace told you as she walked out of the lab, Norm following her.

“Y/N, come on, let’s call it a night,” Norm stopped in the doorway and turned around. His facial hair was grown out, and he had huge bags under his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be done by tomorrow morning. I promise,” you squinted as you picked up a test tube and looked through it. Norm sighed and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

And now you’re here, at 1:30 AM, wrapping up work. All you can think about is how relieved your lab colleagues will be, since you’ve finished everything.

You stack up all your papers, leaving a rock on top as a weight, to keep them from possibly moving or shuffling. You wouldn’t want to waste all that time and energy. You reach over and place your pen in a cup on a lab table. You put back all the tubes and samples that you used, and then head for the exit.

The cold air of the lab hits you hard when you take off your coat and leave it by the door. You shiver. You quickly run out and lock the door behind you, barely remembering the code.

“7797182, enter,” you whisper under your breath. You sigh in relief as the door flashes red and the word “LOCKED” comes on the screen. Nobody can mess with anything now. Unless there is an emergency, it won’t open again until 4AM, which is when the the day starts for humans on Pandora.

Your eyelids grow heavy as you turn away and begin your walk back to your bed. It’s a long one. You watch all the doors, all looking the same. You see the signs for different departments. You have to sing to yourself to avoid falling asleep.

At some point, you’re afraid you won’t make it to bed, and that you’ll just snooze on the floor in some cold hallway.

When you turn another corner, you see a folded silhouette in the distance. You have to really squint to make out who it is.

“Hey, Y/N!” it’s Jake. He’s sitting in his wheelchair, filling up a small container at the ice machine. You’re so close to your room anyways, you think you should just say hi, it won’t make you any sleepier.

“Hi, what are you doing?” you walk towards him.

“I’m gonna have a drink, want some?” his voice is as charming as ever. And it’s evident that he’s wide awake, unlike you. You rub your eyes and let out a tired chuckle.

“I couldn’t, I’ve gotta- gotta sleep” you reach for your room key. Jake watches as your hands grip as your sides, looking for pockets. “Where, where- oh!!” you facepalm and shake your head.

“What’s wrong?” Jake turns himself to face you completely. A worried expression comes onto your face and your brows furrow.

“My key… is in my lab coat… which is in the lab… which is far away… and locked right now…” you look down at the ground.

Jake’s face lights up, but he tries to conceal it. He swallows, breathes in, and looks up at you.

“C’mere, come sleep in my room tonight. We’ll drink, we’ll have a good time,” he reaches up and grabs your arm, trying to convince you.

“I don’t wanna drink, I’ll just sleep,” you push his arm off of you.

“That’s okay, don’t wanna… pressure you,” he tilts his head and his eyes meet yours. “C’mon,” he turns himself around and makes his way back to his room, ice container in hand. You lazily follow him.

When he gets to the door, he opens it and scoots himself back to let you in first. You walk in a few steps and turn, keeping an eye on Jake as he comes in.

“What? What do you think I’m gonna do? Relax, I don’t bite” he chuckles and shuts the door behind him. When you turn back around and bend over to take off your shoes, he stares at your ass. Then, he takes his ice bucket to the table with liquor.

As you walk towards his bed and sit down on it, he stares at you through the corner of his eye. You lean back onto his bed. Your legs dangle off the foot of it.

“Thanks so much for this, I really don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t help me,” your legs are spread slightly apart, giving Jake a peek up your dress and at your light pink, lace panties.

You tilt your head and look at Jake’s bed. It’s messily made and has 2 pillows, stacked on top of each other. You look around his room, it’s surprisingly clean. You close your eyes as you listen to the clinking of glass and a pouring noise.

“You know, you can come to me anytime…” Jake’s eyes leave your panties for a second and watch his drink go into the cup.

“You’re funny,” you close your eyes and put a leg up on the bed, unknowingly giving him a better view of your underwear.

“Are you really thankful for this though?” he puts his cup down and wheels towards you, stopping at the foot of the bed. He gazes at your face, fighting the urge to take a closer look at your panties.

“Yeah, of course I am. Why? What are you thinking?” you put your leg back down and rest your foot in Jake’s lap.

“Do you wanna really thank me? For letting you stay with me?” he strokes up your leg. You shake your head and sit back up, pulling away from him. You sit on your calves and sigh.

“Don’t. I’m not gonna give you a blowjob to return the favor. I should go, I’m sorry,” you start to get up off the bed. Jake grabs you and holds you in place. Your eyes widen.

“I know all your friends would be disappointed. I know Grace and Norm would never see you the same way. I know Trudy would make fun of you for a lifetime-“ he begins, desperately. You cut him off by giggling.

“You’re right,” you hold his arm and relax, curious to see what he’s gonna come up with next.

“I’m not asking for sex. I think you’re so perfect and smart and beautiful… don’t leave. Just stay. Just for tonight,” he pleads. His grip stays tight on you. His gaze is intense and you’ve never seen him vulnerable like this.

“You’re… NOT asking for sex?” you tilt your head in confusion. Jake lets out a strained laugh.

“No, Y/N. I just think you’re really, um, great- and I really enjoy your company. I want you to stay the night. I- I can just sleep on the floor if you’re uncomfortable. Is that okay?” his grip on you loosens.

He’s so adorable you could cry. You grab his face and kiss him. When your lips meet his, he hesitates in shock before he kisses back. When he reciprocates, you climb onto his lap. He accepts your embrace and holds you tight for a second. You pull away to talk to him.

“Jake, will you accept the blowjob now?” Your hands travel away from his face and down to his pants.

A euphoric smile wipes onto his face and he tilts his head as you feel his boner.

“Let’s get on the bed,” he lifts you back onto it. You crawl back on all fours as he lifts himself up and scoots back until his head is on a pillow.

“Can I take these off?” you pull at his pants and smile. Jake just leans back and laughs in pure joy. You undo his pants, pull them off, and throw them on the floor. You arch your back and bite at his underwear.

“I’m so fucking hard right now,” he clenches his eyes closed. You listen to his words and get his Calvin Kleins off of him, which allows his boner to spring at your face. You gasped at the sight of it. He told you the truth. He was SUPER hard. You licked up the shaft which made him shudder.

“How long have you wanted me to do this, hmm?” You asked before taking his cock down your throat, slobbering on his balls. He moaned and his breath hitched.

“Ever since I met you, Y/N-“ he whimpers as you come back up and lick his tip.

“That’s surprising,” you look up and make contact while kissing his tip. That made Jake crazy and sent him over the edge.

His cum squirted onto your lips and nose, and you stuck your tongue out to catch it. He whimpered as you wiped and licked up every last drop of cum. You never break eye contact, neither does he. He grabs your hair and pulls you up to him, kissing you again. This time, his tongue intrudes into your mouth, and you whine. He pulls away and reaches up your skirt for your panties.

“Still sleepy?” he works circles on your clit.

“No,” you hide your face into the crook of his neck and mewl.

“Didn’t think so, I’m taking this off of you,” he works to take your dress off and you comply, leaning back and putting your arms up as he lifts it off and throws it.

You realize you’re bare with him. You realize you’re sitting in a colleague’s embrace, with the taste of his semen in your mouth, in only your bra and panties. Your hands go back to his face. You give him a peck and then pull away. He stares in your eyes.

“What- what now?” you ask while you trace hearts on his shirt.

“Now, I’m gonna take your bra and panties off and you’re gonna ride me,” he says.

Your eyes widen and you smile. He smiles back as he reaches and unclasps your bra. You eagerly reach to take off his shirt but he stops you.

“Hmph,” you pout.

“Don’t worry honey, I just wanted to admire these tits for a second.” he fondles your breasts. “I’ll leave so many hickeys,”

You laugh as you continue to take his shirt off of him. Last article of clothing left is your underwear. But he takes that slow. His hand travels down your torso and he hooks a finger around the side of the panty. Then, he slowly pulls it off of you while kissing.

Out of nowhere, he grabs your hips and pushes your torso back, while bringing your hips towards his face. You yelp.

“My god, I’m the luckiest man on earth.” he holds your legs open and stares at your wet, dripping cunt.

“Please, Jake,” you arch your back and close your eyes.

“Come here and ride this dick first, then I’ll see if you deserve to be eaten out,” he manhandles you back up and kisses you again.

“Okay, deal,” you say, positioning him around your entrance.

“I’m gonna hold these hips though,” his hands dig into your hips. “You can still handle it, you’re a big girl,” he teases.

As you lower yourself, you feel it tickling your slit and you shudder.

“Jake-“ you whimper.

“You need help? Don’t worry, I got you. I got you,” Jake reassures you. You nod. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you reply.

He pushes your hips down onto his cock. When it first enters, you gasp and he lets out a guttural groan. When the tip was inside, you arched your back and whined.

“It’s okay,” he whispers as he pushes your hips down further. Your eyes well up with tears as he inches into bottoming out, letting you sit down. You moan and your mouth is ajar as you let your walls adjust. Jake pays close attention to your face, making sure not to hurt you.

“Ah…” your breathing is uneven and you just sit there, absorbing the feeling of his cock. Jake is whimpering out of control and his hands dig into your hips, sure to leave marks.

“You okay? Relax, it’ll make it easier,” Jake strokes your hair. “You’re doing such a good job for me,”

You take Jake’s advice and slowly bounce up and down.

“I wanna see your tits bounce, can you go that fast?” he looks down at your pussy and then back up into your eyes. You mewl and try to pick up the pace.

“Is- that good?” your eyes clench shut as you chase an orgasm on his dick. Jake lets out a smug grin while he watches your titties.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good,”

You yelp and your pussy clenches while a knot of pleasure forms in your stomach.

“I’m so- Jake!”

“Mmm hmm, yeah, I bet you are,” Jake smacks your breast.

You yell out as you clench and pulsate around him, while your arousal coats his balls. He groans and throws his head back, catching his breath.

You hop off his dick and fall down next to him. He immediately takes you in his arms and kisses you all over.

“That was- ah,” you say into his chest.

“Yeah it was, you did so good.” he rubs your back. “Let’s go to sleep now, hmm baby? Let me cuddle you to sleep, sweetheart,”

“Nuh uh!” you giggle. “You promised you’d eat me out!” you playfully bite his shoulder.

“Nah, you’re gonna have to practice riding first,” he says.

#sam worthington #jake sully #avatar #sam worthington x reader #sam worthington edit #avatar fanfiction #dilf jake sully #dilf!jake sully #dilf!jake sully x reader #jake sully ✧˖° #jake sully fanfiction #human!jake sully fanfic #human!jake sully x reader #human!jake sully fanfiction #human jake sully #dilf! jakesully #jake sully smut #dilf! jake sully #jake sully x reader #avatar x you #avatar x y/n #avatar headcanons #avatar fanfic #avatar jake sully #jake sully fanfic #jake sully x y/n #human! jake sully smut #avatar smut #jake sully brain rot #dilf!jake x reader

[apocalypse-shuffle]

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

────────────────────

────────────────────

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, brief mention of suicidal thoughts

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

You brace your hands on your hips, stern twist to your features.

“I failed worse than I thought as a parent if you think a couple of dropped criminals is going to make me hate you-.”

“There’s way more than a couple,” he scoffs.

You’re swiping your hand through the air before Jason’s even finished, the furrow on your face mirroring his own perfectly.

“And I truly don’t give a fuck.”

Whatever he was about to say stops dead on the tip of his tongue and he balks, eyes widening a fraction.

“Ma…”

And it almost - it almost makes you laugh out loud. The way he says it.

The mirth that leaks into your voice can’t be helped. “Boy…” you shake your head. “Nothing about this situation is normal, your killing isn’t going to be the magic thing that throws me off. Plus, I have been looking into what you’ve been doing. I know you've killed people and honestly…I don’t care. The hero sticht was never for me, I have a code and it’s not Bruce’s, but at the end of the day none of that matters. Your choices are your own Jason.”

You swallow thickly before continuing, “You’re an…adult now, you don’t need my blessing.”

You won’t say it cause you know it’ll piss him off, but Jason didn’t operate in uncertainty the same as Bruce. So attempting to talk him out of a decision would’ve just been begging to have your time wasted. If Jason thought his way was what Gotham needed then that was the end of the discussion on his part. You only regret what facilitated the fundamental shift in his stance of what’s “necessary” to keep people safe.

In spite of what you've said Jason’s features go back to being steeped, brows meeting and jaw clenched.

“That’s- that’s true. I know that,” you hum an affirmative and his eyes flash to yours. You haven’t seen that look in years. Like he’s sizing you up. It makes the corners of your lips quirk that you get to see it at all. “Just making sure you know where I stand.”

Your brow raises.

“Uh huh,” you nod to yourself. You have an inkling about why exactly he felt the need to jump at telling you off. “Even if he gave you a hard time about what you're doing your father does still love you, you know?”

Jason shakes his head harder this time, almost snarling.

“He’s not my damn father.”

At his tone you stiffen too. The shift feels like a punch to the gut and you can’t help but react as if the hit was real. It almost feels like it was.

Jason hadn’t exactly been smiling before but if you’d thought he was being distant then, you’ve been shown for a fool now. All that grace he was giving you is completely gone.

“…,” you look over the harsh lines of his face, the way his upper lip curls, and it makes your chest ache. The conversation went worse than you thought then. Buildings blew up all the time in Gotham, and Jason didn’t seem too banged up but- “Alright. Okay, Jason, I’m just reminding you that he works in absolutes. His anger likely isn’t at you specifically, just your methods.”

He sighs out roughly and when he straightens completely out of your hold you have to swallow back a noise of protest. “I know that, but it shouldn’t excuse him.”

He crosses his arms.

“He left me,” he forces out. You squint, confused. “I was holding out for him and he left me for that damn clown. From what I gather Joker set off the explosives I tied him up with - which wasn’t my most well thought out plan but that’s not the point. The point is when it went off he didn’t save me. Bruce took the Joker and left me for dead. Not me and that green haired freak, just me. I woke up under piles of rubble by myself.”

Your face drops, you can feel it, and Jason definitely sees it by the way his scowl reappears.

“What, you don’t believe me? It’s too hard to reconcile the man you love being the type to leave me to die?”

You hold up a finger and Jason almost (almost) cusses you out, you can see it on his face, but five years away apparently didn’t stop your glare from being more effective than his. Batglare™️ be damned you were still his mother.

“Jason, Bruce has surprised me a lot today, but I’m not gonna take that out on you cause I know better. What I am gonna ask is that you not take that tone with me; if you do it again I’m walking out this room and we can try this another day.” You huff and relax back into the neutral position you were sporting before. “I understand you’re angry and- and I honestly don’t know why you aren’t more mad at me, but if this anger is not for me don’t take it out on me. Have I made myself clear?”

He doesn’t let his head duck like he might’ve years before. No, this time he stubbornly keeps eye contact but he can’t stop how a flush climbs all the way to the tips of his ears. He sighs, shoulders dropping.

“You’re right. I’m sorry Ma.” You inexplicably soften at his words and move to grab his hand, squeezing it and using your hold to pull him back in. He squeezes back the tiniest bit and you give him a closed mouthed smile. “You're being leagues more understanding than he was.”

“Well you are killing people Jay.”

“No. No, I’ve seen him treat Dent with more compassion and he kills. He murders. I watched him pick Joker over me. How am I less deserving than that monster? That doesn’t feel like absolutes or objectivity or whatever to me.”

Even in his quietness his voice crackles along the edges. You bite the inside of your lip. That was a good question. How did Bruce make that decision? Your brows move together. Your ex, even at his most logic driven, wouldn’t let that happen. Maybe with the Joker. He’d already tried the whole ‘I won’t kill you but I won’t save you either,” thing with the villain but this? Jason was nowhere close to Joker levels of bad. You can’t-

Looking at Jason now - Jason who’s genuinely letting you process what he just dropped on you - you cannot fantom what would possess Bruce to leave Jason to be overshadowed by death again. His son. Your fucking son. You sneer, teeth grinding together.

“I want to know what happened.”

Now is when Jason chooses to come back down. His anger going once more to the foreground in the face of your own rising temper.

“Ma…you don’t-”

“I do,” you stand up straighter. Jason’s schools his expression fast, but for a split second he was giving off the distinct impression of a teenager who just got caught in a lie and can’t figure out what gave them away. So where’s the lie? “Tell me.”

Jason blows air out of his nose and cuts you a slightly exasperated glare but he does start speaking.

“I- we fought. It wasn't exactly cute, we were both going hard, but the goal was leading him to where I had the Clown strung up, so I let him get more hits in than I probably should’ve.”

Jason pauses, looking over at you. You only nod, allowing him to move at his own pace. Jason’s only slightly expanding upon information you and everybody else privy to Gotham news already knows, but you doubt over the last couple years he suddenly turned pathological. Jason only ever lied out of omission when you lived in the manor so him keeping the fine details of what went down from you now didn’t ping nicely in the back of your mind.

“I begged him to let me kill Joker - for everyone’s sake,” he admits. Voice gaining levity as if he’s telling a particularly far-fetched joke before dropping back down. “I guess I should’ve known better, but I couldn’t believe it. That he’d just let Joker roam free after what he did to me - did to the hundreds of innocent lives he’s wiped off this planet. How could Batman let that go unpunished, you know? But I figured maybe he’d been holding out cause a what pixie boots me woulda done: saved the bastard despite everything for the sake of second chances.”

Another glance to you, but you don’t stop him so Jason keeps going. Voice quiet and more present yet no less intense.

“But he’s had enough second chances. We should’ve stopped giving them out to that sack of shit years ago but we didn’t, and that’s on us, but I was giving him a chance to rectify that and let me do it for everybody. To send him off to hell right where he belongs, and you know what he did instead?”

You hold his gaze even though it hurts seeing all that anger. All that betrayal.

“He chose Joker,” you say faintly.

“Yeah,” Jason nods. The smile he gives you is acidic. “He chose Joker. And I set him up for it, but only because B wouldn’t just get it over with. He just kept giving me every excuse in the book, cause apparently that was too hard of a decision to make for me. So screw it I made him pick between the two of us. Helped his indecision along. Let me kill Joker myself or kill me to stop me from killing him, since he wanted to save that monster so damn badly.”

“Jay,” you say, deflating.

A sharp shake of his head is all you get by way of acknowledgment for the assisted suicide he nearly instigated.

“Bruce’s solution? Sl-”

Jason stops. This time when he takes you in his eyes are far away, and he refuses to meet your gaze. A few deft beats before his mouth goes slightly agape but nothing comes out.

“Jason…?”

He chuckles, brushing you off. Nothing’s funny though and when he looks back to you there’s something new in his eyes you haven’t seen yet. An expression that distinctly brings you back to a fifteen year old calling to ask if you’d been lying to him too. If you’d known about Sheila Haywood the entire time and said nothing.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” He swallows, “It’s just…at the end I got…emotional. Reckless. Turned my gun on him and he threw a batarang into…into the muzzle and it exploded in my hand. Then in the confusion I guess Joker got free and set off the bombs…and you know the rest: I’m so good I cheated death a second time,” he smiles. Something too big and with too many teeth to seem real.

“I don’t know whether I’m happy about that ‘second time’ or not,” you hold out your other hand and when he steps to take hold of it a small grin tugs at your lips. “But that’s only cause I don’t think you know either.”

You also don’t feel like he’s telling you everything, but for now this was a battle you were willing to rage another day. As long as he was safe it could wait.

Jason’s own smile shrinks to something more genuine.

“Maybe not today, Ma.”

“Yeah, I got you,” you say. “I’m tired of crying anyway.”

There is - after all - still a draft hitting your eyes that you are hopelessly ignoring the feel of. Jason grins.

“Well I’m starting to get a little faint myself so maybe you’re onto something, Old Lady.”

For a second you stop smiling, shooting him a cross look and sucking your teeth. He backs away from you to scoop up his helmet with a lighter, more real chuckle.

“Oh am I, smartass?” You turn around and knock him on the shoulder, urging him out the door while he gives an exaggerated ‘ouch!’. “See, I’ll show you old since you think you big and bad now that you can reach the top shelf.”

Despite the lighter air you’ve managed Jason only keeps laughing for as long as it takes him to reach the door. Once he opens it he freezes before he walks all the way through and turns back to you.

“I’m sorry about…everything. By the way.” Standing on the threshold with the smallest little frown on his face, he looks like a boy again and you smile at that warry frown.

Shrugging in between rows of grappling guns and prototype pellets you shake your head, rolling the stiffness from your shoulders and letting the twinge from the wound in your arm ground you.

“Don’t worry about me, I get it. If one confrontation went to absolute shit why wouldn’t the other? Trust though, with the situation at hand Bruce is my problem not you.” You point at him. “But you better call me after this.”

Jason stays looking at you silently then gives you one nod and slips that helmet right back on. Inwardly you protest the action but outwardly you content yourself with nodding back.

When he turns away and you can’t see anything but reinforced tact gear and shiny red you find your mouth opening again.

“Love you,” you call out. Just so he knows you never stopped.

His voice is soft over the modulation of the helmet when he responds with a: “Thanks Ma,” then you can’t see him anymore.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

Also, I’m thinking about going on hiatus after finishing Long Overdue to give myself a break and shit, so yeah. I’ll (probably) come back on some unspecified date in July though so it’s not like I’ll even be gone for that long. Or like most people give a shit, but whatever.

Also also, I don’t know if I hit the mark and if the feelings were feeling, you know? But I made an attempt, I think that’s commendable.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik

#jason todd #red hood #black!reader #black y/n #black!batmom #•long overdue (the series) #jason todd x black!batmom #batmom & jason todd #jason todd x batmom #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd angst #batmom x jason todd #batfamily x black!batmom #bruce wayne x black!batmom!reader #batfamily x black!reader #batfamily x batmom #bruce wayne x batmom #divorced!batmom #batmom angst #batmom!reader #bruce wayne x black!reader #x black reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #batfamily fanfic

[onboardsorasora]

De aged Daniel looking at the Red Bull shirt max is offering like it offended him. He wants a Ferrari shirt so Charles has to be called

I fully believe that max is taking all the pictures to share with Grace

He loves his red vroom vroom team!

De-Aged Daniel | De-Aged Daniel Pt2 | De-Aged Daniel Pt3 | De-Aged Daniel Pt 4 | Part 6

“No no Daniel, we shouldn’t climb!” Max rushed to lift the little body that was already halfway up his bookcase. To be fair, it did look like a ladder and Little Daniel had already shown a penchant for climbing things. 

Grace had laughed at him when Max had complained to her. Apparently Daniel used to climb the trellises in her garden all the time and then cry when he got to the top because it was so high up.

Little Daniel giggled when Max playfully threw him over his shoulder, his high pitched laughter rang around the house. Max threw him into the couch and tickled his little tummy, grinning happily as Little Daniel screamed and squirmed out of his reach.

“Maxy! No climb! No climb!” Little Daniel screeched breathlessly, his accent eating half of his words.

“Thank you Daniel. I don’t want you to get hurt, ok?” Max looked at him imploringly, he’s never normally this scared around his nephews and he knew that kids were resilient. His sister told him all the time. But there was something about this being a younger version of his favourite person in the world that made him want to protect him at all costs. He also didn’t want something to happen to this Daniel that could impact the Daniel he knew.

“Otay!” Little Daniel patted Max’s cheeks.

“Ok I got some racing shirts for you, do you want to see?”

Little Daniel’s eyes widened, he loved watching his Dad race. He was the fastest racer ever!

Daniel bounced on the couch while Max took up a little gift bag that was delivered this morning. He opened the bag and brandished the kid sized navy Red Bull polo with a grin, only to bite back his laugh when Little Daniel frowned. 

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked blue?” Max looked at the shirt then back to Little Daniel who was nibbling his palm, his brows were furrowed deeply.

“Ish not wed.” Little Daniel mumbled shyly.

“No it’s Red Bull.” 

“What’s dat?”

“They’re the fastest racing team.” Max said matter of factly, he fought the urge to point to the trophies Little Daniel had been trying to grab at just this morning.

“Nuh uh.” Little Daniel shook his head, contorting on the couch as only toddlers could.

“What do you mean nuh uh?” Max argued.

“Fewawi are de fashtesh.” Little Daniel was still biting at his hand but Max could hear his smile. He sighed, defeated. He couldn’t believe he just lost an argument with a five year old.

“Fine, I’ll get you a Ferrari shirt if you want.” Max rolled his eyes and reached for his phone when Little Daniel cheered. He texted Charles his request then sighed long suffering when Charles immediately face timed him.

“What is going on? Do I need to call the police? Was that one of those ‘I’ve been kidnapped and the kidnappers told me to react normally so you’re texting a code that I should know that its not you things’?” Charles squinted his eyes and Max could tell he was trying to assess his background.

“No, I haven't been kidnapped. I really do want a ferrari shirt. Kid sized if you can find it.”

“Where am I going to just get a children’s shirt from Max? Do you think I just have ferrari t shirts in children’s sizes in my closet?” Charles furrowed his brow.

“Can’t you like go into the Ferrari store and ask for one? Aren’t you like their predestinato or whatever they call you? Of course that should give you special privileges.” Max argued.

“Privileges that don’t include getting children’s clothes?” 

“Charles, look. I need a shirt. Can you get me a shirt?”

“Why are you needing a–”

“No no Daniel! You promised! No climbing buddy!” Max put his phone down to scoop up the child that was giggling away and attempting to climb onto the credenza that held his playstation controller. After this was done, Max promised himself to babyproof his house. He didn’t realize he had so much climbable furniture.

“Ok, that's enough climbing, I thought you promised!” Max put Little Daniel on his hip, watching as the little boy pressed his face into his shoulder, contrite.

“No pinky promise.” Max could hear the grin in his voice, he gasped theatrically.

“You tricked me!” He shook his head and Little Daniel’s laugh and picked up his phone again to a wide eyed Charles.

“Max, why do you have a child… and why does he look like Daniel– is he kidnapped? Do I need to call the police?”

“Charles! Calm down. No, we don't need to involve the police. This is Daniel. Just….small. Daniel, do you wanna say hi to Charles?”

“Poollleeeeeeece” Little Daniel’s mouth widened as he extended the word then he waved at the phone. “Shaaaarrrllllll.”

“Hello mate.” Charles smiled in wonder, “I hear you like Ferrari?”

“Fewawi go vrrooooooooommmmmmm!” Little Daniel mimicked a car driving off with his hand. Charles laughed.

“Seb was right, everyone’s a Ferrari fan.” Charles said smugly and Max stuck his tongue out at him.

#maxiel #de aged daniel #max/daniel #my fic

[veeluvss]

attack

jj x reader

you are jj’s wife and you have two kids

1k words

i picked up the tv remote and paused the tv for the third time. something wasn't right. there were noises outside, weird ones. i couldn't pin point it but i couldn't convince myself it wasn't real either. i quickly texted jj who had asked me if she could stay late at work. it was only a simple 'when will you be home?' message before i turned headed up the stairs. i left the lights on, hearing my heart pounding in my ears. i cursed, seeing the door to isobella's room open. i didn't leave it open. the pit of fear grew drastically in my stomach and i clutched my phone in my hand. i peered in, noticing her lamp was on. her bed was empty, covers pulled back. i gasped silently, too scared to make a noise. where was bella? i looked around and then noticed the bathroom light on. i scurried across the hallway and opened the door. my seven year old stood there, soap and paper and water in her hair. "what are you doing?" i asked. "mummy i'm dying my hair like you," she said. "it's 2am!" "but mummy i wanted to do it like you!" she whined. there was another noise outside. a creak and i swear i could hear voices. i shut the bathroom door and looked down the corridor to grace's room. "come with me," i whispered, leaving on the bathroom light and grabbing bella's hand. she frowned and went to speak but i put my fingers on my lips. quietly, we ran down the hallway and i walked straight into gracie's room. she was only on her phone, thankfully not asleep. i turned her light on and she groaned but when she saw my panicked face she stopped. "what's going on?" she asked me. i shook my head and walked over to the bed. i lifted bella under the covers. that's when i heard the front door open. more voices - male. "call your mum," i told gracie. "right now. tell her it's a code red," i said. gracie nodded and began dialling JJ's number. i walked to her bedroom door and peered out. i could see someone stood on the stairs, looking down, talking to someone else. i couldn't make out what they were saying. "get in the en-suite and be silent," i told gracie. she grabbed bella who was silently crying and ran to her walk-in-wardrobe which had a secret door behind it to her bathroom. i turned the light off and texted JJ, telling her code red. noticing he was gone from the stairs, i crept back to my bedroom. i made sure the lights were off. i couldn't see them but they couldn't see me now. i grabbed the gun jj kept in her sock drawer and made sure it was loaded before heading to the top of the stairs. JJ had replied, letting me know she was on the way with the team - keeping the girls on the phone.

i came face to face with the robber as i approached the bottom step. in the dark, all i could see was his yellowing teeth as he smiled and the white of his eyes.

gracie's pov

"it's okay bella," i whispered, holding her close to me. my heart was pounding, i felt sick. bella had already been sick but mum was on the phone. "please hurry," i told her. "i'm coming baby, we're coming," she said. she sounded scared, terrified even. at first, she asked me tons of questions but when she got mums messages she stopped asking and gathered the team. i was shaking but trying my hardest to be strong for bella. "mummy," bella whispered down the phone. "mummy's here baby. you're okay," mum replied. i could hear voices downstairs, laughing. then i heard the first gun shot. "mum!" i groaned, louder than i wanted to. "we're one minute out. it's okay, it's okay," she said. i couldn't tell if she was saying it to me or herself but it did not feel okay. "please mummy," bella sobbed.

"stay where you are. we're coming in." mum said and hung up. i felt tears streaming down my face, not even realising i'd started crying. bella and i were curled in the smallest area possible in the corner of the bathroom behind the door. bella's head was hidden in my neck, her arms around me in a death grip but mine were around her just as strong. her small frame was shaking with fear and her puke stunk out the room but right now, i had to hold her and be there for her.

jj's pov

derek crashed the door down. my heart was beating a million miles per minute and i felt like i couldn't see or breathe. why my house ? why my kids and my family? i felt so angry. we entered the living room and i saw her. my wife. tied up to the coffee table, stripped down to nothing and bleeding down her thighs. i gasped and instantly ran over to her, removing the gag. she was sobbing. "it's okay," i said, wiping my tears. i grabbed the sofa cover and put it over her. "they're looking for the girls," she told me between her cries. "bathroom." she cried. i nodded and stood up. "i'll be right back, i promise." i kissed her cheek and ran towards the stairs, pulling morgan with me. emily ran to my wife and began untying her. i didn't even think about that, far too angry. rossi and alvez continued around the house.

at the top of the stairs, i saw them. standing in the doorway of gracie's room. "fbi put your hands up!" derek shouted, pointing his gun at them. one of them smiled, standing there proudly. the anger was bursting out of me. my jaw was clenched and i gripped my gun so hard my knuckles were turning white. he had a remote in his hand. a bomb.

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau head canons #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau imagine #jj x reader #jj criminal minds #jj

[irintican]

i wanted to speak about how sansa and dany are mirrors to each other despite being polar opposites in personality (to me at least). when we first met both characters, they bear the innocence of girlhood that will be destroyed later on. while sansa dreams of princes and knights, dany, being somewhat aware of her and visery's predicament, dreams of the home with the red door and lemon tree. there is no conception of shattering dreams until after they are both subjugated to extreme abuse, especially to their spouses as sansa has joffery and dany has khal drogo. what i find so astonishing is that they both train themselves to adapt to a role of the perfected woman as to avoid more abuse. both come to realize rather quickly, dany more so than sansa, that the world despises childhood and innocence.

they are mirrors as they use a disguise to avoid further abuse, but they do not remain subjugated. they hold onto their titles and their inheritance to maintain strength, an admirable trait that both dany and sansa share. now, here come their differences.

i will speak about sansa first, specifically after joffery's death and how she becomes less of a pawn and more of a player in the game of thrones. sansa had suffered at the merciless hands of the lannisters for a long time. the court sees her as a tragic maiden or an idiot who fell for the illusion of romance and chivalry. yet, sansa endures. instead of turning cold or mute, sansa works on her image and attempts to be brave. unlike arya, she relies on the code of chivlary and manners. this translates to when baelish disguises her as his bastard daughter. i believe in a feast for crows, robert becomes extremely attached to sansa. it almost seems as if he sees her as a maternal figure after the "tragic" death of lysa. sansa takes advantage of this opportunity to earn the graces of the eyrie and robert. she remains docile and ladylike, hiding her more wolfish nature. (i say this as the starks are like wolves plus each stark child had a direwolf which was in essence themsleves). throughout her torture, sansa takes a gentle approach as to avoid suspiscion. i would not be surprised if sansa becomes a queen or lady of winterfell as she works to gain the love of the people. she not only cares about her people, but she understands that kindness may be a better weapon than cruelty.

dany is more direct in her assertion of power. considering how she views her brother, she wants to be a direct opposite, almost as if she were spared the potential of a cowardly king such as viserys. by the end of a game of thrones, dany grasps onto her power not only through the birth of her dragons, but a rebirth through fire (often seen as a sign of purification). as dany's army and following grows, she becomes confident and assured and arrogant. dany takes on a bold persona as the savior and mother of many oppressed people. while sansa works in the shadows as the gentle mother, dany smothers those with her love and righteous justice. unlike sansa, dany faces more threats both to her person and rule. as dany is a conquerer, many of the conquered reject dany. dany taking on a few facets of culture in mereen, per say, is not enough. as dany manifests herself as a queen, she has dilemma after dilemma, protest after protest, to establish her own rule. she faces realities that challenge her mind and heart as both queen and conquerer.

many forget, as sometimes i do, that dany is around fifteen or sixteen. both sansa and dany are still girls. as readers, we do not give the benefit of the doubt to these young women. we presume that they are stupid and frivolous if they dare to make one mistake. the fire and ice that both sansa and dany play off of show that to be a benevolent figure, even maybe a champion, is more nuanced than most would like to admit. becoming a queen, as i believe dany and sansa embody, takes sacrifice, death, and rebirth.

#asoaif #a song of ice and fire #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen #analysis

[harinishivaa]

Maraveno- A VanMozhi OS

Kandariyadhada Kandu has now expanded into Maraveno andK Kandariyadhadha Kandu- I am going to call this an OS and the next one its sequel. 

*****

His sister wanted him at Pazhayarai immediately. 

He knew the code for this- Chozha Nadu was in even more danger than before, and it worried him. He also noted that she had once more purposely excluded details about Vanathi in her olai. He was debating on how to phrase a question about Vanathi to Vanthiyathevar, when the man said, “I have one more olai for you, Ilavarase.”

He looked at Vanthiyar, suddenly curious. Could it be his.. ‘No no, Arulmozhi, stop thinking she will send you an olai, no matter how much you yearn for it.’

He shook his head through Vanthiyar’s banter with Nambi, still curious about the olai. He looked at Vanthiyar, who stepped forward, saying, “Kodumbalur Ilavarasi Vanathi Devi anuppiyadhu. (Kodumbalur Ilavarasi Vanathi Devi has sent).” 

“Olai koduthanupinaala? (She sent an olai?)” he asked, shocked, awed, and just a little confused. He took the olai, hearing Vanthiyar talk of how she had sent it in secret. But his eyes were on the cover, the purposeful design on it, probably hand stitched by Vanathi- the elephant and flower alternate design told him everything he needed to know. She had kept him in her thoughts, and hopefully her heart. His eyes traced the cover as he smiled, knowing his eyes held that hint of absolute love her name evoked in him. He slid the thread out, hearing Vanthiyar and Nambi banter still, their words registering in some sort of his brain, though all he was focused on was her olai. 

He opened the olai as Nambi and Vanthiyar left, thankful that he could pursue her words alone. He could feel a smile erupt on his face as his eyes were graced with her handwriting. This was the first time he had seen it with his eyes, and he felt like they had been touched by the cooling rays of the moon. 

‘Thodudaiya Seviyan Vidai Eriyor 

ThooVenmathi Soodi- Kaadudaiya

Sudalai Podi Pusi En

Ullam Kavar Kalvan,’ he read the soothing Thevaram sung by Thirugnanasambandhar in a fit of Divine devotion at the young age of three. His eyes stayed on the term Ullam Kavar Kalvan for a moment longer, and then he continued to read the other three verses she had added. Every pearl-like meaning stood in front of him like he had learnt it only a day ago. 

‘Edudaiya malaran munai naal

Panindhetha arul seydha-

Peedudaiya piramapura meviya

Pemman ivan andre,’ he smiled further, reading this,delighted that she remembered their conversation about the same Thevaram well enough to send him it, just as he was wondering about her. 

He read the next three verses than she had sent, joy filling his heart, and he lowered the scroll, smiling, remembering her beautiful brown eyes, sparkling with life and mischief, of her soft expressions, her curved jawline and coral red lips, whose smile dimpled her glowing, golden cheeks. 

“Unnai endrum maraven, anbe, (How will I ever forget you, my love?)” he whispered, tucking her scroll into a special cabinet, to read whenever he felt he needed her. 

Hopefully, this will tide him over till he meets her again!

****

He could feel himself sink in deeper and deeper, his dream from the previous night flashing in his eyes. 

It was his beloved Kodumbalur maiden, holding an aarati thattu and standing at the banks of the Ponni. He felt and saw her lean down, and admired her loose plait, falling down her back like a vine, as she placed flowers in prayer to Ponni thaai. 

“Ponniyin Selvare, come back home safely,” her sweet voice said, and he had felt his heart fill when he saw the yearning in her eyes reflect the state of his heart. Did she know what he felt, he wondered. 

‘I will come home to you, Vanathi. To you and to Akka,’ he thought, just as he saw his sister come up behind Vanathi and touch her shoulder. Both faces held worry, worry that he wanted to wipe from their faces, and bring back smiles. 

And now…

And now, would he go back home?

Yes he will.

‘piththA piRai sUdI perumAnE aruLALA

eththAn maRavAdhE -ninaikkindREn manaththu unnai

vaiththAy peNNaith thenbAl veNNey -nallUr aruL thuRaiyuL

aththA unakku ALAy ini allEn enal AmE’

Arulmozhi Varman sank into the Ocean, completely Surrendering to Shiva, praying that his Emperuman would take him back to where he belonged. 

Where his Emperuman took him, there he would be.

**********

Vanathi had been living a huskless life for some time now. 

Ever since the departure of her Ponniyin Selvar, her life had seemed less colourful. There had been no communication directly with him- though he did ask after her every time he sent a message to Akka. And Kundavai Akka teased her a lot about it. 

But Vanathi had cherished his questions, for it meant he thought about her too sometimes, though she knew he was occupied with so many things in Eezham, the largest of which was to craft war strategies and protect his army as much as he can. 

But that she was there on his mind enough that he always asked after her- she blushed, a smile on her face just because of him. 

But now.. 

At least her Thevar was okay, she thought, as she watched him from where she sat at his feet, the fever not quite subsiding. 

She had had a few days of complete lifelessness, of a loss that her lamp indicated had not happened, and yet the words she had heard…

“Ponniyin Selvar had drowned in the sea!”

Even now she wanted to close her ears, just hearing those words ringing in her mind and heart, as if on loop. 

“Thevare, thevare,” she whispered, gently pressing his feet. “Calm, Thevare.”

She continued massaging his feet, thankful as he calmed down, as if her touch had inspired that calmness in him. She hoped she could help him a little at least, and continued her ministrations, moving to the head of his bed, running her hand through his luscious hair.

“Anbe,” she whispered softly, mumbling sweet, loving words of reassurance, unaware that he was hearing every word, and aching to reciprocate each of them with the love he too held for her. 

She continued running her hand through his hair, before suddenly remembering that she had Vibhuti from Ishvara to apply for him. She removed her hand, a whimper leaving his mouth. She looked at him worried and hopeful. 

Had he woken up? 

But that was not the case. He was still having a restless fever. Sadly sighing, she took the Vibhuti, applying it on his forehead gently, singing, “Manthiram Avadhu Neeru…”

*****

Arulmozhi saw his sister in front of him, as he finally opened his eyes after days of restless fever. 

“Iru veera ilavarasargalukku naduvil valarndhaval naan (I have grown up amidst two brave warrior princes). I shouldn’t cry. Make me laugh.” 

Oh Akka, how he had missed her. 

“When I wasn’t there, did you find some man and capture his heart, Akka?” He asked, delighted to see the mild blush that alighted his sister’s cheeks. So his understanding hadn’t been wrong. 

“Poda. Vanthiyathevan said…” she looked flustered, and he couldn’t help but rejoice in the fact. 

“Oh, avar dhaana adhu? (Oh, is it him?)” He sat up slowly, knowing he was being watched and be turned around, meeting the doe eyes of his Vanathi, her eyes filled with hope, joy, relief and tears. His knee jerk reaction was to get up and go to her, cup her cheeks and wipe the tears away, kiss her forehead and hold her close to him. But the moment she saw him looking at her, she hid, once again. 

He turned his focus back to his sister, ignoring the smirk that danced in her eyes, focusing on the details that they had to discuss. 

****

Arulmozhi was going crazy. 

Where was his beautiful maiden? Why was she not here? The one who was to be his wife? 

He still remembered his Akka’s words, which had made him light up like the Sun. 

“Arulmozhi, another important thing. Patti and Amma are of the opinion that you and Vanathi should get married as soon as this mess is sorted out. I also believe so. Would you be amenable to that?” 

Would he be amenable to that? 

To marry his beloved? With whom he has already exchanged rings? Who still seemed to hide from him? 

Hmm, what was he to do? 

He lit up, smiling widely. All he needed was a scroll, some ink, and Vanthiyar!

****

I am doing a separate post on the Thevarams, which is why I have not explained them here. 

@vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @thegleamingmoon @nspwriteups @ragkee @whippersnappersbookworm @thirst4light @dumdaradumdaradum @yehsahihai @dr-scribbler @hollogramhallucination @kovaipaavai @willkatfanfromasia @anushyaselvaraj @nature-writes29 Please tell me your thoughts. 

#ponniyin selvan #ponniyin selvan 2 #arulmozhi #vanathi #vanmozhi #kundavai

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Villain AU - Deadlock, Part 7

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 ||

I wanted to write more but I gotta STAHP

I'll maybe have some fluff in the next chapter honohnohnonhonohnohnohnonohnohnonhonhonohnohnohnonhnonohnonh ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The clock was ticking. With every rooftops skipped, Donnie knew that he was getting farther away from where he was actually supposed to be. At least 15 minutes ago. This night patrol was leading to nothing and his brothers only wanted to scan around the area for any troublemakers. It was a waste of time, a waste of energy, a waste of purpose. As they finally stopped on top of a building, overlooking a busy street, the tall terrapin took his chance for an escape...

"Guys, I really need to head back."

The three other turtles turned around to face the other.

"... Why? Need a bathroom break?" started Mikey.

Donnie frowned: "What? No! I have some code back home that I had left to compile. And since this patrol is fruitless right now, I'd prefer to check on it."

He noticed Leo and Raph exchanging a glance, the leader than showing some annoyance.

"Can't it just wait? Who says there can't be anything happening soon?"

"Don't ya wanna spend some time with your brothers?" cut in Raphael.

The purple clad one faked a smile: "I think we already spend much time all together." He didn't want to get their approval. "I'll see you all back at the Lair."

For crying outloud, he was a full grown adult! He didn't quite get himself why he'd need some sort of approval or anything. As he went the opposite way, he quickly flicked his itinerary on his wrist, heading towards his intended destination.

As the three brothers watched the other go, their eyes squinted gradually, following Donnie's path as he kept going across rooftops.

"Is he not gonna drop down for the sewers?" asked the orange one.

Leonardo was already getting suspicious.

"... I don't think so. He must be up to somethin'."

"Let's see what the nerd's up to," added the red banded terrapin.

"You read my mind," concluded the blue one. "Let's move."

***

It took him unfortunately another 15 minutes to reach the abandonned music store, making him 30 minutes late. As he got to the rendez-vous point, he found the rooftop empty, his mind already worrying that he must've been so late that Vee probably headed back home already. Getting his phone out so he could text her and apologize, he barely started to type when a faint sound stopped him as he walked close to an entrance to the building. ... It sounded like music.

He found the door unlocked, the sound already clearer when he peaked inside. Heading down a staircase, Donnie was then walking into a hallway, his path leading him towards a doorless entrance that gave view to a large room. There were still some old instruments here and there, all covered in a thick layer of dust. And that's also where he saw at one corner of the room an upright piano, a presence sitting at it. Vee was peacefully playing, even though the instrument had some keys not perfectly tuned anymore. The terrapin took a moment to take the scene in, somehow entranced by the skills she was exhibiting. There was this grace in her performance; it was like witnessing a hidden part of herself. ... He felt bad to announce his presence by stepping in and clearing his throat a little.

The woman immediately stopped, looking over her shoulder and showing a smile as she saw him.

"Well well well, look who finally showed up!" she said.

"I'm so sorry," started the mutant as he got closer. "It took me some time to finally get out of patrol.

Vee got up, grabbing a cup she had left on top of the piano, handing it to the male.

"No worries, it gave me a chance to get some practice in. Here- I got you a coffee, but it might be getting cold now. I already drank mine."

Donnie accepted it, already taking a sip. He grimaced a bit after noticing its lukewarm temperature, but still drank the beverage anyway.

"What you were playing sounded nice, what was it?" he asked inbetween sips.

"Ballade slave, by Claude Debussy," answered Vee, first looking at the instrument fondly. "... Anything composed by Debussy is an absolute favorite of mine." She glanced back at the turtle. "But don't get the wrong idea, piano is not my primary instrument. I'm only an amateur - I've learned most of it by myself."

That surprised Donatello a little: "Then what is your main instrument? I know you've studied music, but didn't check for what exactly."

The woman held her head high, her grin filled with pride.

"I'm all about the good ol' saxophone! Spent many years with it, alongside singing. I've also composed in my spare time."

"Well, now I'm curious to hear all of that!"

"All in due time, turtle," added Vee, coming closer. She lightly tapped his left arm, then extending her hand in a waiting gesture to get something. "But first, the data, if you please?"

The mutant smiled lightly, already getting to a pouch attached to his belt. He handed the human a USB stick, then his eyes wandering to her forehead as she inspected the hardware.

"May I?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

Seeing him point towards her bruise, Vee simply shrugged with a "sure", then feeling the mutant's free hand move some of her hair aside only to get a better view of her left side. The wound was mostly superficial at this point, her bruise now in the usual blueish coloration. His thumb softly brushed against it.

"Does it hurt?"

"If I apply pressure, yeah," answered Vee. "... Don't worry, I won't die. Not yet."

"Wouldn't want that to happen," he added, still looking over.

A quiet chuck escaped the woman, somehow amused to be given any value. As the inspection was over, she brought the key up: "So, what am I expected to find on there? Any specifics or points of interest?"

Donnie tapped something to his right wrist, allowing a device on the upper part of his right backpack strap to come to life and bring holo screens into view. Different schematics appeared, alongside command lines and various codes. Scrolling through some information with a simple movement of his hand, Vee could only observe in awe at such a display.

"I don't want to say I'm jealous, but I kinda am," she said, now standing next to him and looking over the data.

Her awe did not escape him, smiling to himself as he brought something of interest into proper view.

"Surprisingly enough, the Purple Dragons have been looking into biometrics. Fingerprints, facial and voice recognition, even medical devices such as blood monitors, and probably more. It all seems to come to down to collecting data about individuals, but something tells me there might be more... "

"Meh, at least I can give the biometric recognition stuff to my client. He'll be happy enough," shrugged Vee.

"You might be more interested to give him information about specs and powerful hardware the Dragons have been developping. ... I would advise not to deliver the metrics data."

"Then why did you give me the information if you don't want me to do something about it?"

Donnie next brought up different news articles into view, their titles all relating to a similar subject.

"People have been disappearing out of nowhere," he started. "It's not at an alarming state so far, but I suspect that as soon as the technology will be more widespread, those instances will only grow higher. ... Call it a hunch, but I'm inclined to believe that they're looking for specific individuals, based on their biometrics."

Vee snorted in amusement: "What, you want us to play detectives together then?"

"We did agree to work together. So in a sense, yes."

Right. Bringing the Foot Clan down. She couldn't see yet how investigating the Purple Dragons could ever lead back to the other criminal organization... But if it allowed her to spend more time with the turtle and get her hands on the green ooze, then she could entertain this idea.

"Alright, boss, whatever you say."

"We'll need to establish a plan on how we'll spread our research," he said, closing the holo screens. "Who are they dealing with, where are they storing the information, are they sharing the data? I'm also expecting us to do some break-ins as well."

"Does your family agrees to that? ... Personally I'm not really looking forward to working with them."

"They, uh ... still don't know," he admitted. "We'd be going without them."

Vee was instantly amused, showing a sly smile as she was then facing him, toying with one of his mask's tails.

"Oh, so I'm your dirty little secret then?"

"Don't say it like that," puffed the terrapin.

She playfully tapped his plastron, then starting to make her way to the rooftop.

"I'm just teasing you," she added. "I can't deny being surprised by your behavior, that's all."

The other followed her: "I'm not too fond of keeping secrets, but that's all I can do for now."

"Sure thing, buddy. Keep telling yourself that and you'll soon find yourself on the dark side, just like me!"

They got outside, Donnie soon getting a hold of her arm with his free hand.

"You just need some guidance to get out of it."

Vee frowned: "I'm a lost cause, turtle."

"If you keep lying to yourself, sure."

Vee's lips formed a thin line, strangely conflicted. His faith in her seemed awfully misplaced; a naivety that was either genuine or hopeful. She'd never really had anyone see her as anything else than a nuisance, even less so as someone that could ever achieve any good. She left a hand against his, her tone lightly sarcastic only to accompany her forced smile:

"When the world will stop being shitty to me, I'll believe and be your damsel in distress." She got out of his hold, playfully wailing her arms in theatrics. "Oh, Donatello! Save me from this life of villainy!"

The terrapin didn't hide his amusement, watching her act out as he finished his drink - with a renewed grimace. Crushing the cup, he was about to throw it at the trashcan down in the street that Vee stopped him, pointing at the object in his hand.

"Can you teach me how to throw it in correctly? Last time I tried when you were away, but failed miserably..."

"Huh, sure!" he answered, surprised by her request.

Donnie handed her the crinkled cup, both then side by side and facing the street.

"It's all in the wrist," he started to explain. "Once you get a feel of the object you want to throw, you'll be able to determine what kind of force you need to apply to your flick. Think of it like throwing a basketball, but instead of going upward, you'll have to aim downward."

"Woah, I can barely make a goal with a basketball, you're already losing me there."

"Wait, here-"

The terrapin got behind her, his right arm going over hers - mimicking her movement - as his left hand got a hold of her right elbow. He slowly went through the motions, explaining the physics behind them and how she'd need to aim. Vee was grinning all the way through, suddenly enchanted by the proximity. His hold felt strong, yet gentle and precise... To be encased in his arms in such a normal occurence felt like a step she never knew she'd achieve.

"-and then youuuuu- flick!" mumbled Donnie, his right arm lightly following her movement as she threw the cup over.

The object reached its destination with a satisfying clunk, Vee instantly celebrating with cheerful giggles.

"Watch out, NBA, I'll be the next top player," let out Vee, turning around to the male.

"Grow some more, shorty, then you'll be good to go," teased Donnie with a wink.

"Dream crusher!"

***

"Aye, look at him go, what a player," commented Mikey in amusement.

The trio had been watching Donatello and Vee on the roof, witnessing that little teaching moment. Leonardo exhaled sharply, clearly disapproving the situation.

"... I told him to wait," he said. "Why is he going against us?"

"Well, she does look good," added the orange clad turtle. "Can't blame him for going after that ass."

"She does have a nice ass," said Raph. "We got a nice shot of it one time when Donnie was hackin' into her stuff."

"Guys, can we focus?" stopped Leo with a sneer, exasperated.

That got quiet chuckles out of the other two, the leader still overlooking the scene. As he guessed that Donatello and the woman were saying their goodbyes, he turned to Raphael.

"Raph, you feelin' up for some interrogation tonight?"

He had asked while pointing towards the human.

"I need you to find out what she knows and to have her stop talking with Donnie."

"Didn't he want her to help or somethin'?" questionned the red clad one.

"Doesn't matter right now. Casey wants her out for the moment. We don't know her motives and it's better that she stays out of the picture."

Raphael sighed with an eyeroll, conceeding: "Aight, chief. I don't think she'll like seein' my face after the warehouse, but whatever..."

As the large one was on his way, Leo next nodded to Michelangelo.

"Let's go. We'll meet Donnie at the Lair."

"Just don't be too harsh on him," commented the other terrapin as they were next going. "You know he wouldn't act against us."

"Let's hope so, or else he's in serious trouble."

***

Donnie wasn't surprised to arrive first at the Lair, greeting his father who was meditating at the center of the main room. To keep the mood quiet, he headed for his workstation, already opening windows at his compute to continue his previous searches. His mind did wander back to Vee for a while, remininscing about that small moment they shared. Hanging with her was always ... interesting. Although he could sense her general disdain for things that were deemed "right", he also knew that she was still mindful to it and sometimes gave it a clear thought. And, frankly, he was starting to appreciate her general being. She was funny, quick, and a good-looking one - that he couldn't deny. Donatello was genuinely starting to care for her... Something he never knew could happen towards anyone that wasn't a relative or long-time friend.

He heard commotion coming from the entrance, steps approaching his way. Peeking away from his screens, it didn't take long before he saw Leonardo standing next to him, brow ridges already frowning.

"What part don't you understand of 'keep her out of it'?" asked the leader

Donnie was taken aback by such a start of conversation.

"... What are you talking about?"

"We saw you with that woman, Don. We know you're still seeing her."

It was now the purple banded mutant's turn to frown.

"I should've known," continued Leo. "That night at the Purple Dragons' warehouse, the way you were interacting with her. Tell me you did ask her to come when we were there."

"No," confidently replied Donatello. "I had no idea she'd be there. It was a complete surprise."

"What does she know? What did you tell her?" the blue one's tone rose.

"That's none of your business."

Oh Leo didn't like that, his nostrils lightly flaring.

"When it comes to this family and critical missions, it sure as hell does. I told you to wait before contacting her again!"

"Well I've waited for too long already!" spat Donnie, getting to his feet and looking down at his brother. "I'm tired of waiting and doubting and not taking any advantages when they're right in front of us. Wake up, for fuck's sake, we need all the help we can get!"

"Donatello!" interjected Splinter's voice from his meditation spot.

Both males were fuming, something that was unusual between them two.

"Stop talking to her and let us do our job," ordered the blue terrapin.

"I won't let you stop me," added the tall one. "We might be onto something, and I can't let her go now. We need to team up."

"Don't be like that, Donnie. I swear, if you don't stop-"

"Enough, Leonardo!"

That time both turtles stopped, turning around to the old rat and Mikey standing nearby. Their father came closer, clearly disapproving of their dispute.

"I did not raise you boys to go at eachothers' throats," started Splinter. "I already have enough with you and Raphael," he added, pointing at Leo. "I won't have you starting that behavior with Donatello as well."

"Sensei, he-"

"If you want to make your point clear, speak, don't shout. The roar of an ocean deafens, unlike the peaceful flow of a river."

"Woah, deep," commented Mikey.

The group took a pause, the leader taking in a deep breath simply to calm himself. As he was about to speak again, Donnie realized something:

"Wait, where's Raph?"

When Leo didn't speak, Michelangelo took it upon himself:

"He went after that woman, bro. Leo asked him to follow her."

"Mikey!" snapped the blue clad one.

The tall mutant didn't wait up, already fearing for Vee as he rushed past his older brother and went for the exit. Leonardo was about to go after him, but was stopped once more by the rat.

"Let him go. We will talk again when he'll come back."

***

As Vee got home, the first thing she did was to plug the USB key into her computer, verifying that all the files Donnie showed her were indeed present. Noticing the biometrics information, she paused, weighing her options.... In some swift clicks, she opened her conversation with her current client:

smooth_criminal: Here are the agreed files. And as a reason for my lateness, I may have sensitive information to offer for an additional price. I would advise not skipping that opportunity, especially if you want to stay ahead in the game.

... Sure, Donatello had told her not to share the information, but she could still try to sell it...! If the guy said no, that'd be it! Or else, it wasn't her fault. That seemed reasonable enough.

Her attention snapped when she heard a knocking sound at a window - the one that gave to the fire escape stairs. At a first glance from afar, there didn't seem to be any presence next to it. Vee frowned, cautiously getting on her feet and approaching the glass. It couldn't be anyone else than him....

"Donnie?" she said after opening the window and peaking out of it.

Did he forget to tell her something?

"I think ya better start forgettin' that nerd."

She glanced up, noticing a presence sitting at the level above in the metal stairs. As soon as Vee noticed the stranger's shape and their red accents, she gasped and instantly backed inside her living room. The large terrapin came down, then making his way in as well. Compared to Donatello, he was taking much more space, Vee instantly feeling smaller than she already was. Raphael first glanced around the room, taking in the view until he landed on the woman.

"I was expectin' more of an evil lair look, but I guess looks can be deceivin'."

"What do you want?"

Vee was trying her damned best to not appear afraid. The behemoth was only getting closer, backing the woman until she bumped her back into her kitchen table. Getting a sai out, the turtle placed the blade below her chin, lifting her face so she could get a better view of him.

"I wanna know what you know," he started. "We believe Donnie's been going behind our backs, and that ain't very professional of him."

"He didn't tell me anything," said the woman. "We were just hanging out."

A quick chuck left Raph: "Ya want me to believe that?" But he was quickly back to a serious look. "Do bettah than that, smooth criminal."

He got his blade away, prefering to look around the apartment some more.

"We know he wants your help in our... mission. But let's just say that right now not everyone in our party wants you included."

Vee was trying to calm her shivers, lightly rubbing under her chin.

"... What's your stance on this?" she dared ask.

The mutant took seat at her couch, the furniture creaking a little but still standing. His gaze followed her as she slowly made her way towards her computer desk.

"Frankly, I don't give a shit," he answered. "But the moment I find out you're goin' behind our backs, ya gonna regret the moment you were ever born."

Vee let out a weak laugh: "What, you'd kill a woman?"

"Do ya think I ever killed anyone?"

Their eyes locked, Raph obviously wanting to gage her reaction and thinking. The human could barely hold it, frankly a bit scared to truly know... And he indeed did not clarify.

"What do ya know?" he asked once more.

"Nothing important..."

"Woman, I swear, ya better talk-"

"I don't care about your damn 'taking the Foot clan down' mission," cut Vee, raising her tone. "Look, I only saw names and now Donnie thinks that the Purple Dragons are maybe kidnapping people. That's all I know." She pointed towards her opened window. "Now get the fuck out of my apartment!"

Raphael was back up again, his stance menacing as he approached Vee once more. In a flash, the woman grasped a pencil laying on her desk, holding it firmly as if holding a knife sideways, ready to strike. The terrapin stopped, first looking at the makeshift weapon with wide eyes. He instantly exploded in laughter:

"That ain't gonna do shit against me!"

Vee finally realized her position, frowning at her hold. Seeing the turtle still laughing, she prefered to then throw the pencil at him in a fit of rage mixed with fear. That stopped the terrapin right away, his frown instant.

"Don't try my patience, it's very short," he warned.

"Please, go away," she said in a small voice.

Raph tsked, gesturing her whole frame.

"Ya call yourself a villain? Look atchu; all shaken up and shit."

Vee could only shake her head a little, trying to calm her shivers once more: "... I never meant to become a villain. I had no choice. I didn't know what else to do."

... She never thought she'd acknowledge that in such a moment, especially with someone she barely knew. The terrapin frowned, as if disgusted by her weakness.

"Ya ain't no danger," he noted to himself. "Fuck, everyone's getting all paranoid for nothin'..."

He only needed to grab Vee's shoulder, getting her closer only to make himself clear.

"Keep yourself out of our stuff. If we spot you with Donnie again, it's not gonna be just me bargin' in here."

"Next time I'll be prepared," let out Vee.

That got a quiet chuckle out of Raph, letting go of the woman and gently tapping her cheek in amusement.

"Sure, doll."

He next made his way towards the window, giving a glance at the human before slipping out. Looking inside one last time, he pointed at Vee:

"Remember; stay outta our shit!"

And with that he disappeared. ...

Vee remained frozen for a moment, somehow expecting him to come back in at any second. Once she realized that was truly alone, she feebly made her way towards her couch, sitting down and letting her face fall into her palms. She really did say that outloud... She really did say that she had no other choice... At once the weight of many mistakes fell down on her, along the fear she just experienced. She felt like nothing more than a cornered prey, biting down on more than she could chew instead of running away and saving herself. Every actions she ever took had lead to this moment, this horror. This feeling that she was alone in the world, unable to escape this vicious cycle she had fallen into. Tears left her without effort, falling back into her couch, face still hidden in her hands after she'd remove her glasses in a swift movement. Her chest felt heavy, unable to breathe and get any clear thoughts. She wanted to escape. She wanted to run away. She wanted to disappear and never be found again.

"Vee?"

She jumped, a hand over her heart as her eyes went instantly to the still opened window. Without her glasses Vee couldn't really make out the shape of who was there, but by the voice's tone she knew it was Donatello. He didn't even ask if she was okay. He must've noticed her tears. Instantly getting in, he removed his backpack only to make himself more comfortable and then headed her way, sitting down by her side. Vee squinted, trying to better decipher his traits with her shit vision.

"... What are you doing here?" she questionned, her voice raspy from sadness.

"Raph was here, didn't he?"

She vaguely gestured towards the window: "You just missed him. Go out and you should catch up to him."

"I won't."

"Then what do you want?" she asked dryly.

"I just wanna make sure you're okay," he simply answered, gently.

That shut Vee up, her harsh eyes now softening. She couldn't bare looking at him as she felt some more tears coming up, her chest clenching.

"... Why do you care about me?" she said in the tiniest, most broken tone.

That next got some sobs out of her, trying to hide herself once more. She barely heard a soft "come here", next feeling her frame get enclosed between arms and soon against the turtle's form. ... Vee never allowed herself to be this vulnerable in front of anyone, but this time she didn't hold back. It did feel nice at some point, the terrapin's hands slowly petting her in soothing motions, tenderly nuzzling the top of her head. At once, the woman felt safe.

She knew that he truly cared.

((Part 8))

#it's-a-moi #villain au #usual sorry for any mistakes #I'm sorry to any Raph lovers - I know I'm writing him a bit like a bastard :') #he'll be better later - I promise #also Leo is a bitch AS USUAL HAHAHA

[pinkglitteranddeath]

Lady in Red

Prompt- Meeting an enticing stranger dressed in red was not what you had planned for tonights ball.

Pairing- Grell Sutcliff x reader

Fandom- Black Butler

Looking over the sea of finely dressed people you sighed. It seemed almost fitting that everyone here was dressed in white since they were so devoid of life and color. 'Why did mother insist on bringing me here' you thought for the thousandth time. All enjoyment might not be lost though as you spotted a strange figure making their way across the dance floor.

She was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Taller than most of the ladies here her long red hair fell elegantly to her waist and her bright chartreuse eyes glittered behind red wire glasses. Her clothes were also strange unlike most of the people here her dress was blood red instead of snowy white and the front of it was cut open to expose her legs dressed in long black pants.

Catching your eye she winked at you and looked like she was about to come over. 'Oh no she caught me staring! What do I do!?' Before you could run away she was in front of you. 'And who do I owe the pleasure of being stared at?' she asked with a cocky grin.

'Can you really blame me for staring, you not exactly inconspicuous,' you retorted 'And if you must know my name is y/n l/n'

'An enchanting name for an enchanting person. My name is Grell Sutcliff,' she laughed 'But you are right I'm not exactly following the dress code. Then again white was never my color.' You stared at her not knowing what say. She seemed to radiate confidence and you were quite in awe. Just then the music changed to a lively beat.

'Would you care to dance?' she asked extending a gloved hand to you. Shyly you took it and she led you onto the dance floor. She danced beautifully pulling and spinning you with the utmost grace but still managing to flow with the lively beat. In that moment it seemed like you were the only two people in the world your bodies moving in perfect harmony with the music and each other. However all good things must come to an end and the final note of the song died out far to quickly for your liking.

Looking up at her faced flushed red with exertion your heart seemed to do a backflip in your chest. But before you could speak the two of you were interrupted by a tall handsome man with raven hair and strange amber eyes. 'There you are Grell I've been looking all over for you come on it's time to go.' he said with a meaningful look. 'If you insist Bassy but I've been having so much fun.'

Looking between the two of them you felt suddenly angry. Why had she asked you to dance if she already had a fiancé. Then again dancing didn't have too mean anything she could of just wanted to be friendly. Your doubts were dispelled however when she bent down to whisper in your ear.

'Don't mind him. I had a lot of fun dancing with you and I hope to see you again.'

#black butler #black butler x reader #grell black butler #grell sutcliff #grell x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader #reader insert #fluff #grell sutcliff fluff #black butler fluff #black butler reader insert #black butler fanfiction #black butler oneshot #one shot

[buginateacup]

Ship kiss ask number 7 with Dot/Megabyte plz. 🙏

Damn computer reset ate what I started. But just know the hardest part of this was figuring out who was shutting up who.

-----------

Moans and grunts and pants echoed from behind every door of the game level. Dot hunkered lower behind a pot plant in one corridor and eyed the single open door at the far end of the corridor.

"Far be it from me to interrupt your quest," The low drawl slithered over her skin, "But I really think you ought to avoid that particular hallway."

"You!" Dot rounded on him, "I should have known you had something to do with this!"

Megabyte eyed her with an amused stare, "I?" He echoed, "As flattered as I am to hear you think I can control the User, allow me to assure you my dear Dot." His eyes raked over her, "I'm merely taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity."

"Put your eyes back in your head before I delete them." She gritted out, crossing her arms over her chest. Which unfortunately did nothing to counter the fact that her pID was providing more coverage than anything else the game had rebooted her into.

Megabyte's gaze disobligingly dropped to the fishnet stockings gracing her thighs and the skirt-that-was-really-more-of-a-belt barely covering her hips and snorted, "All out of the good little schoolgirl uniforms? How disappointing."

"Wow I did not need to know that about you." Dot shook her head.

"But I thought this was a land of fantasy," One hand gestured sarcastically to the rhythmic thumps and ah-ah-ah!s chorusing all around them, "Don't tell me you're reserving all indulgences for yourself."

"Get fragged!"

His grin leered, "I believe that's rather the point." He turned to go, "Do have fun Ms Matrix. Try not to get caught."

"Where are you going?" Dot hissed, "This place is crawling with viruses!"

"I'm aware." He glanced back at her over his shoulder, "Sharing Mainframe with Hexadecimal is bad enough. I intend to make sure no one else gets any ideas about jumping ship, as it were."

"Really." Her eyes rolled, "You're doing this out of the goodness of your heart. You expect me to believe that?"

"Call it enlightened self interest."

"I call bullshit." She stalked after him.

Footsteps sounded around the corner.

Dot's back hit the wall, Megabyte's hands digging sharply into her shoulders. She opened her mouth to demand he release her and instead tasted the sharp tang of viral code as he-

Devoured

No. Kissed her. If a kiss could swallow you whole and make you feel like every line of your code was shocked by a power surge. Ruthless and demanding and one hand sliding down her arm to caress her hip and pull her closer.

"Megabyte! I thought that was you!"

Dot's eyes flew open and her grip on his chest (when had her arms decided they needed to be touching him) slackened, falling away in shock.

Megabyte growled his dissatisfaction, punishing her lip with a sharp scrape of his teeth and took his time releasing her mouth. Pressing his thumb over her lips in a silent warning before he turned to face their voyeur.

Dot sagged against the wall, blinking stupidly at the scrawny virus interrupting saving her from...well. She tried to push herself away from the wall and found herself gathered into a possessive embrace. Megabyte's arm curling around her waist, his hand splaying over the curve of her hip.

The other virus trailed off their babbling recollection of the bad old days and stared at her. She glared back as regally as she could manage with her mouth still buzzing like static.

"A sprite?" His laugh was nasally, "Really?"

"We are viruses, are we not?" Megabyte's tone was mild, but his hand dug into Dot's hip in warning, eyes a furious red, "What's one more taboo?"

#ask meme #minific #reboot #what DOES happen if you trap the rebook characters in a sex game? #megabyte/dot

[wardrobemoments]

Grace's style in season 1

This season, Grace is still finding herself. She has yet to undergo the major traumas involving Craig and Haibach, although there is a teaser in Bloodshot when her “boyfriend” uses her to get close to Jane. She is new to the team and eager to prove herself. Sweet-natured, compassionate, and devout, she can come across as innocent and naive at times. 

I believe her style demonstrates two (sometimes warring) aspects of her personality. First is her desire to succeed, to emulate the people she admires in law enforcement, like Lisbon. This is the side of her that follows rules and listens to the superego; it is the side that is devoutly religious. Second is her femininity and desire for self-expression in an environment that doesn’t necessarily encourage such a thing. This side flouts the status quo, encourages impulse, listens to the id; it is the side that is superstitious and believes in psychics. 

Naturally, neither side takes full precedence, but rather forms the ego – the compromise between expectation and instinct. Seemingly opposed traits can serve to fuel either side, id or superego, at a given time. "Little bit of bitch inside the nice, a little bit of nice inside the bitch," as Jane so succinctly puts it.

Let’s talk about Grace’s superego. It’s more notably present in season 1. Since she’s new, there’s more pressure on her to stay in line and acquiesce to senior members. A Catholic, she is displeased by Jane’s apathy toward religion and frequent blase attitude toward subjects she deems sacred, like suicide. She similarly takes Rigsby and Cho to task for placing bets on a man’s life in “Red-Handed.” 

Organized religion is the realm of the superego, since it is about following a moral code, and further than the dialogue, we can also see hints of Grace’s faith in the necklace she wears in almost every episode: a simple silver chain with tiny engraved dog tags that read “Hope” and “Faith.” Dog tags are frequently worn in the military, which similarly connote a strict adherence to rules and regulations and a moral code.

Now, Grace’s femininity is double-edged. As a woman, she is hardly going against the grain by wearing makeup and jewelry, dressing in skirts and heels, etc. However, she works in law enforcement, where it’s more difficult for a woman to succeed, and it might be easier to suppress any feminine self-expression lest it undermine one’s image as a legitimate cop. Therefore, Grace’s choice to wear bright colors, to assert her femininity with dressy clothes and tasteful jewelry, does in this case challenge the status quo for her particular circumstance (thus feeding the id).

The show has moments where it addresses Grace’s femininity and sexuality. She is expected to play “nice cop” and flirt with suspects to get them to open up, rather than follow her instinct to push hard. Sometimes the first thing people see is her appearance. And she is undeniably beautiful, but Grace obviously isn’t looking for attention. In fact, it makes her uncomfortable.

Her style is not about being noticed, it’s about expressing her personality. She is optimistic, earnest, compassionate, and all the things we’ve already discussed – and this all wants to shine through. You see it in the bright colors she gravitates towards, the floral patterns, the soft knits. Even her hairstyles are practical but always pretty – pulling her hair away from her face in an open, youthful style.

Grace defies stereotypes: although she likes being girly, she’s also athletic and strong. And although she has a fair amount of brawn, she’s also insanely smart. In early episodes, she tends to overdress, wearing pantsuits or skirts and heels far more often, then later becomes more assured of her own competence and feels less need to overcompensate. Then we start seeing the jeans, henleys, and tees that I associate with her. Leather jackets also start making an appearance, to show us that she can be a badass, too. 

Lisbon’s team is notoriously made up of people who are willing to bend the rules – sometimes against their instincts – and Grace is no exception. Jane, initially a curveball to Grace’s sensibilities, has his own method of law and order outside the confines of bureaucracy. He wants to make things “fair” outside of a system that doesn’t allow it, and this appeals to the dually compassionate and righteous Grace, despite her desire to comply with expectations. She resists Jane’s methods because she believes she ought to, but his outcomes conform to her image of a just world, so she ultimately goes along with him.

The colors most frequently seen in Grace’s wardrobe, aside from neutrals like grey, black, and brown, are pink, white, purple, and blue. Purple shows up the most, and as a mixture of pink and blue, it could also represent that compromise between id and superego.

These are also the colors of the bisexual pride flag, and there's the barest hint of in-canon support for a bisexual Grace (she makes a comment about Erica Flynn), and I'll take what I can get. I personally headcanon Grace as having a longstanding crush on Lisbon but I don't think there's anything textual there, sadly.

In modern western culture, pink is most often associated with young girls, and putting Grace in pink emphasizes her naivete and femininity. Purple is another feminine color, and traditionally one of royalty. It is is also a symbol of faith and piety (Psychologie de la couleur: effets et symboliques) -- which is fitting for Grace, the most religious of the team. Blue I particularly think of in connection with Marian Blue, the shade traditionally used in depictions of the Virgin Mary.

Together, these elements of color underline Grace's characteristics of moral purity, religious devotion, and innocence.

I won't argue that Grace is an actual virgin, but metaphorically she is in the context of the show. She's new to the world of crime and death; she hasn't succumbed to the cynicism and apathy of her colleagues; and, despite her resolve to follow the rules and succeed in her job, her naivete leads her to be easily beguiled by men with ulterior motives who romance her with sweet words and seemingly shared principles (Dan Hollenbeck the prime example in season 1, in Bloodshot).

As the show progresses, Grace will have plenty of opportunities to demonstrate her considerable strength and depth of character beyond the basic elements we've been introduced to in these first 23 episodes. But even with this brief glimpse into her personality, I already know that I ADORE HER.

#grace van pelt #the mentalist #amanda righetti #wardrobemoments #dude there was more i could probably say but holy damn #if i tried to make this any longer i would become incoherent lol #it already took me like 10 days to get this done geezus #lemme know your thots if you have any! #xoxo

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 26: Returns

MASTERLIST

Summary: Responses to the King's learning of Naera's pregnancy.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: nothing, really

“His Grace wishes that you return to King’s Landing.”

Laenor sat mildly fearful in the small solar adjoining his sister-in-law’s chambers. Periodically, he flitted over his hair, or his garb, anything to stay alert. Daemon sat opposite him in Naera’s chair, surrounded by papers and piles of poorly bound journals. He swirled a glass of Dornish Red, eyes set on the first of many letters received.

Laenor placed the King’s post on the table, blinking frantically when the page melds with the mess and he can’t quite locate it any longer. Shaking his head, “He is throwing a banquet in her honour, Daemon.”

Silence. Laenor raises his eyebrows, trying to discern if Daemon heard any of his words.

Daemon put down his letter, drained his glass, and hummed absently. The sunlight that poured in through the windows fell on the Rogue Prince’s face profusely, brightening his face to a degree that made Laenor’s eyes burn just looking at him.

“No,” Daemon reached for another letter, breaking the wax seal and flipping to the first page in one fluid movement.

“No?” Laenor questioned. I’m going insane.

“No, the mother of my children will not be debasing herself to dine with the vipers of King’s Landing.” His words were dismissive, insulting, even, but there was pride in his voice. Laenor still found this new situation difficult to shield himself from. The couple had been at each other’s throats���quite literally—on their wedding day, and had orchestrated a horrendous war of wits and words shortly after, causing Naera to flee to the Island, and yet, yet, with the announcement of their impending child, they had settled rather beautifully.

Laenor eyed the door to their bed chambers, wondering if asking for Naera would instigate an argument. Despite their newfound love, he doubted the Rogue Prince had lost his pride of station.

“Then, he insists that he bring the court to Dragonstone.”

“No.” He heard Naera shout through the door. He heard it followed by clutter, scrambling, rustling and a rush.

“His grace wishes to—” The door slammed open. Naera, hair messy and palour pale, stepped inside, barefooted.  She crept to Daemon’s side, who didn’t hesitate to wind an arm around her waist.

“Tell His Grace to shove his wishes up his withered whore of a wife and maybe I’ll consider it.” She reached for his wineglass, took a sip, and spat it back. The pair exchanged glances, and while Laenor could hardly decipher their estranged codes, it appeared something along the lines of Wine when pregnant?

Tastes like pig’s piss.

Daemon drained the glass. Say that again, or, more disturbingly to Laenor, I'd rather taste you.

Naera rolled her eyes. It was the latter. 

“You heard the Princess,” Daemon tutted, smiling at his wife.

Laenor resisted the urge to drop his face into his hands and whine against his fortunes. Daemon wasn’t his favourite person to deal with, to say the least, even if respected the man immensely. “How long do you intend to avoid this? He is only trying to reconcile.”

“His reconciliation means little after his dismissal, Ser Laenor.” Naera’s words hovered after she spoke them. “He will not have Rhaenyra back at King’s Landing to protect his Hightower wife. I will not leave her side for the sake of my pride, and that of my husband.” Husband, and he marvelled at how brazenly the paid fit into that description now. Husband and wife, valzyrys se abrazyrys, fire and blood.

He erred on the side of caution, however, voicing his singular concern, “If you join this struggle, it’ll turn into a war, Princess.” A struggle his parents, his sister, his wife, and his children had already joined. The Queen Who Never Was wouldn’t sit silent as the realm was denied another Queen, be it the daughter of her own Usurper, and the Sea Snake had been at sixes and sevens with the Hightowers since their dismissal of the threats the Triarchy had once posed.

“This has been a war since your wedding, Laenor.” Daemon reminded.

The Driftmark heir couldn’t deny the truth. The factions, the War had begun when he had married Rhaenyra, and he knew it. He remembered the moment still, in the midst of Viserys’ speech, when Alicent Hightower had stormed into the banquet hall, wearing the ugly lavished green of her House.

The Strong brothers had wondered aloud, what colour Oldtown blared its towers when arming for war.

Green.

“Needless,” Naera turned to the lone window in the solar, a carcass of glass and iron that overlooked the cavernous cliffs and beaches, “You may inform His Grace that we do not consider it apt time for such an event. I can hardly stomach a dozen grapes, much less a feast.”

Laenor nodded.

Just months after their marriage, on her visit to Dragonstone for the arbitration of a trade dispute for which she had been named arbiter in accordance with the Law of the Free Cities, Princess Naera announced that she was with child. It is alleged that she and her husband had reconciled some longstanding differences upon this news, and settled comfortably in Dragonstone.

Princess Rhaenyra welcomed their stay, and Prince Daemon took to training his grand-nephews Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys with the blade. Princess Naera often read them poetry and politics, but mostly kept to herself and her husband during her early pregnancy, as she was most sickly during this time.

Maester Gerardys of Dragonstone has noted that the Princess had been in poor health, both physically and mentally for reasons he never clearly deciphered, and wrote in his person that he feared the life of the child and the Princess. He dreaded, in some of his logs, that he be forced to perform the same deed unto Princess Naera as had been performed unto Queen Aemma years prior.

Maester Mellos had recorded three letters in the Citadel from this time that were exchanged between King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra, relevant to this telling. The first, sent by the King, discussed the news of the day and requested Princess Rhaenyra to forward his bequest that both Princess Naera and Prince Daemon return to King’s Landing to receive due honours. The second was addressed by the Princess, who informed the King that his wishes had been dismissed as the pair did not wish to return to King’s Landing. It mentioned that Naera had been in poor health and would not be adequate company, thereby dissuading King Viserys from gathering the court at Dragonstone.

The third was a letter from the King addressed to Prince Daemon, which beheld his cordial congratulations, his commendation at Daemon for finally “taking an honest wife and bedding her”, be it his daughter or not, instead of consorting to his bevvy of whores, and a brief inquiry as to Naera’s health. This letter was never responded to by Prince Daemon.

Naera picked the last letter tentatively. It had been the first on the pile, so, naturally something that Gerardys considered the most important and what she was inclined to believe a waste of time.

It was dark without, an ugly affair of auburn fading to black, black like ash, black like the terrorful night. A fire burned in her solar, warm beyond her respite so she threw open the windows overlooking the caverns of Dragonstone. Breezes whistled past, curtains flapping forth, the song of Dragons resounding sweet in her ears.

She overlooked the igneous rocks of the isle, the ancient stone passageway built towards the shore, and recalled her dream of the scene to take place there. Three years hence, perhaps longer, she shall stand there, when the sky bled mist, and Otto Hightower would burn by fire and blood.

She thought of the day again, of Daemon, his windswept hair, that ebony cloak, and Syrax’s flame. Syrax. Dragons. Dreams and Dragons—the truths of Valyria, her heritage, woven into her skin, bled into her veins without her choice, without her knowledge, and now she needed to confront the deeds.

She felt drawn, as of late, to the bleak stone of Dragonstone, in its dark foggy hours, to its dark underground caves with paintings of dragons and doom. Daemon accompanied her there, often, a nostalgic smile etched on his face, as though he longed desperately for the home that he had never had. Flames felt warm, not even hot, to the skin, and the darkness scared her less. She felt drawn, to the old, to towering flames and obsidian stones, to a history she hardly knew.

Wisestone lingered on her mind with these thoughts, wreaking havoc to her mind, and plunging her into guilt. Melisandre, she thought—what was she to say, to her Red Woman, to her love declared and spent?

It wasn’t meant to be, she knew. She was just a page in her life, for the priestess would live to the age of night and stare that horror in its face, unshook by its vastness, unfazed by its perpetuity. Something in that made Naera wish she could reduce her old love to a simple page in her own book, for, as she was now, all her pages needed was Daemon.

His eyes, his strength, his charm. Ha. His love, that she had allowed him, his affections she had accepted, his yearning for a world long lost. Lost, lost, lost. How much more was to be lost? In the war to come, she saw only death, death, death—trails of blood, dragons drowning.

Aemond was the key, she knew. If he reached age, he would be invincible. Vhagar at his command, a warrior’s ferocity, and an aspiration such as the Rogue Prince to live up to. He would want to be Visenya, and she’d have to show him that there was to be only one at this age who could live up to that title.

“Skoros issi ao otāpagon bē?” What are you thinking about? She smiled as Daemon rested his chin on her neck, arms encircling her waist.

“Se vīlībāzma,” she confessed. The War. The war that she was now fully entangled in. That her children were entangled in. The war that would name its survivors kinslayers and kingslayers. She only dreaded one who would be called queenslayer—upon her dead body.

“Don’t worry your pretty head with such things,” he turned her, and leaned down, their foreheads brushing, arms entangled. He shook those thoughts away from her, getting hopelessly good at the deed of distracting her.

“Gevie bartos?” She raised her eyebrows. Pretty head?

“Gevie abra.” He grinned. Pretty woman.

He leaned even further, noses brushing, and caught her lips.

“Se olvie gevie ābra.” The most beautiful woman.

She closed her eyes, sighing softly, relishing the weight of his forehead against hers. An image flashed through her mind, an obsidian blade, glassy and sanctified, almost glowing despite the darkness, and fog—heavy, cloudy fog, that suddenly laid weight on her limbs, made her gasp in tire. She held the blade, cold in her touch, and cut open a lip—Daemon’s lip. Blood poured down the laceration, and she smeared the blood, dragging the stain on his forehead.

She blinked, a sudden warmth settling within. The scene was gone, the fog, the blood. There was only Daemon, solid, real and present, holding her, with her.

Blood on the lip, blood on the forehead—a custom of marriage in a culture long lost. If I’d had my way, I’d wed you in the ways of the Old Gods of Valyria. I’d wed you beside fire, and take your blood, like the ways of our ancestors.

Her heart skipped at the thought.

“Ivestragī īlva dīnagon.” Let us marry.

Daemon laughed against her lips, eyes crinkled close, “īlon īlva emagon.” We have already married.

“Isse se ñuhoso hen valyrio daor.” Not in the way of Valyria. She heard him inhale, hungry, torn with desire. He flipped like a coin, she marvelled, tender for a moment and ferocious the next. His lips crashed against hers, eyes torn open to gaze, gaze, and gaze, and see the world the way she did, reflected in her eyes.

Gevie, she thought. Daemon Targaryen was a beautiful man.

He took her hands, brow creasing as he found paper. On finding the letter, he gave it but a glance—but that was enough, for the sight of the King’s seal was enough to ruin the mood.

“Tubi’s?” Today’s? Naera nodded, pushing him down into a chair, arms going around his neck when he pulled her into his lap. He kissed her again, a promise, and his eyes turned to the letter.

It was from the King, addressed in what he knew now to be distinctly the hand of his whore of a wife—swirling, southern, small blots of ink dotting the eyes that looked suspiciously like stars. The addressal read to Daemon, of the House Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, and mentioned Naera not. Daemon broke the seal open, watching the red dragon snap, and tossed the envelope away.

He opened the first page, ignoring the greeting, trying to ignore the ire it wished to propel. Daemon, and not brother.

Naera busied herself with his hair, legs dangling off the side of the chair, fingers winding through his silver-gold curls, lips tracing the shell of his ear.

He read the letter in silence, covert in not showing its contents to his beloved wife, and balled the parchment up. He tossed it into the flames, and she didn’t ask, only holding his hand, silver hair cascading down her shoulders.

“Nyke kesīr,” she told him, when his eyes regained their glassy rage, “Nyke rūsīr ao, sir, se va moriot.” I am here. I am with you, now, and always.

“Nyke raqagon Aemon,” he kissed her neck, hours later, when the sky was dark and the tides had calmed from the storm. A book was balanced precariously on her knees, her hands holding his at her waist. “Aeron? Aem—”

“Daor.” She shook her head, her silver locks sprawled across his chest, head amidst them. She said, “se brōzi hen ñuha muñnykeā daor, kepus.” Not the name of my mother, uncle. He made a half-timid noise of apology, humming against her, feeling her weight, her warmth that seemed hotter than the fireplace. He pondered on how to coax her mind away from those thoughts that he knew she’d drown herself in again.

“Ziry iksos nykeā lumie naejot pendagon hae olvie hae ao gaomagon.” It is a sickness to think as much as you do. Thinking, thinking, bashing her mind over possibilities that had long passed.

She chuckled, “Skoros jāhor ao emagon issa gaomagon, pār?” What would you have me do, then? She threw her head back, a wave of nausea hitting her. She breathed, laboured, vision swimming with strange white dots. He had grown used to such fits, extracting his arms, giving her space.

“I’ll send for Gerardys—”

“No,” she clamoured off the chair, leaving him cold, struggling towards the oaken table beside her bed place. She bit off a piece of ginger, chewing on it in consternation. She spat the fibre out, “He’ll only pour a cup of tea.”

He hummed, paging through her book. A tale of Riverland customs, strangely, but he didn’t wish to question her visions. Her thoughts only lingered on the war, lately, and it dismayed her to speak of it aloud. After she made a round of all her remedies—lemon, mint and some herbs he couldn’t quite place, he did her the courtesy of throwing open a window.

She sat at the sill, appearing to him a blazing enigma amidst the darkness of the night sky. Her silver hair shone, scattered as it was over her face, her skin pale beyond reason, glowing. He knew not what to feel, now, when the bizarre had faded, when she had become just a constant thing, who loved him, loved, loved, loved him back.

Naera sighed, soft, nausea eased with every fresh breeze.

“Naerys,” Daemon brushed away her hair, “if it is a gir—”

“Rhaenys,” she offered, for the first time, “Aegon, and Viserys.” She considered the names, “A dragon has three heads.” Daemon breathed, flared, gods, three children. No, he calmed himself, grinning regardless.

He clicked his tongue, falling into an armchair, “That Hightower cunt has that name.”

Naera gathered her hair, an estranged smile on her face, “The Conqueror had that name.”

He closed the book. “Rhaenys died at the hands of the Dornish,” he dared remind. Would it not be a disgrace, after her engagement to the dead Prince of Sunspear?

“We have far too many Visenyas, Daemon,” she voiced. She was Visenya, but so was Daemon—formidable warriors, hard-hearted, confused so oft for Maegor. Then, there was the matter of Aemond. Too many hands asking for Dark Sister’s honour.

The third. Viserys. The first of that name emerged a weakling, but Daemon doubted that he could ever grow to hate the man who held it. No, now, that wasn’t fair—he hated his brother, yes, hated how he denounced him, defamed him, distrusted him, forced him to settle, condemned him to marry—but there, his anger fell short, for he loved his ugly brother’s beautiful creation.

Beauty, and he stared at the incarnation of Meleys, the Valyrian Goddess, every day. Silver hair, lilac eyes, but strong, capable, capricious but timid, yielding, relinquishing in a way that made his blood sing, made his thirst morph into famish, rather than quench it.

“To swoon as much as you do is a sickness, kepus,” she taunted, lips parting in laughter, head thrown back, glorious, splendid.

He smiled, watching her intently, twinkling eyes, “Happy with ourselves, are we?”

She laughed, fleetingly, the crackling of the fireplace being the only sound that remained.

He asked, “Viserys?” Brother.

She took a final breath of fresh air, staring at the black sky that had turned an inky blue, telling her that dawn arrived. Another sleepless night owing to her sickness, and Daemon had stayed awake still. She didn’t know whether to reprimand him or thank him. She left the windowsill and the thoughts of mundane daily life, sighing aloud.

She said, “The King deserves a reminder of his deeds,” one he can’t dismiss, one he can never claim to have forgotten. But he will forget, Daemon knew, as much as it ached his heart to believe. With the way his King’s health went, he would drown in poppies before he’d remember his grandchildren—his nephews’ names.

Then, there was the boy.

“What of Aemond?” She asked, pacing the chambers, soft cotton dress swinging with every step.

A change in ideology, as it were, needed be done. To rip the boy called One-Eye from the clutches of green treachery and inflict in him a dishonour unimagined. It needs to be his decision, Naera had insisted, and Daemon couldn’t disagree. The boy babbled, as indicated by his blame on Aegon for the insults spewed on Rhaenyra’s boys. He’d be exiled again, perhaps with Naera, even, if they’d outright suggest it.

“It won’t take long,” she assured, “three days. The boy stands on the brin—”

And then they heard it.

A screech, a sense of calling.

A dragon’s cry.

But familiar.

Naera burst towards the window; her eyes set on the horizon. There, with the dawn that broke golden across the sky, she saw, coming from the east, shrouded in light—a dragon, paler than white.

Wisestone.

In all his glory, stronger, certainly larger than the last time she had seen him, but memory tricks the mind often. He flew west, barrelling through the skies towards the little Isle, roaring in homecoming.

But that wasn’t all, for, with that first light, she could see a lone ship bearing orange sails spotted with gold suns in the distant sea where the ocean curved into the sky.

A Dornish ship.

Melisandre.

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

[xxswagcorexx]

oooooh you wanna talk about fallen angel ash and red soo badly /nf

omg so i got 2 asks about them, so i’m gonna split my ramble into 2 asks ^_^ starting off with red and ash respectively and how they’re paradise lost coded! (get ready for a longgg post under the cut)

ok so i’m gonna. tldr paradise lost for a second but basically paradise lost is about satan’s fall from grace (but this is. literally bible fanfic so basically it explores more themes than the actual bible does) but red is soooo adam coded and ash is (semi) lucifer coded to me .

starting off with adam: the reason he ate the fruit from the tree of knowledge is because he loved eve so much that, in that moment, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the tragedy that was about to happen because of that. even if he knew it was wrong. the only thing that mattered in that moment was himself and eve and he the fact he was willing to do anything for her. and that was the tragedy of the fruit being eaten. because right after he ate it, all of the love he had for eve seemed to disappear away and be replaced with hate and bitterness. (and the love wasnt enough)

so uh. tying this back into reddoons. his guy is willing to follow people to the ends of the earth, even to the point of self destruction. so just. the idea of red being a fallen angel who just wanted to do what was right. but what he thought was right wasn’t the “right” choice because he wasn’t following the orders of god. he just did hat he thought was right in the moment, but it wasn’t really right. and as a result he lost everything he ever knew and became the thing he swore never to be. also insert team chaos parallel here and i am SOOOO bonkers over this ver of fallen angel red u DONT UNDERSTAND!!!

now. on the other hand, ash being a fallen angel is because of an entirely different reason. in my brain

i mentioned he’s (semi) inspired by lucifer and. well tbh a lot of themes Do match up with a lot of ash’s mantras and i just find it sooooo fascinating. MOVING ON basically the reason why lucifer was created even though god knew he was going to rebel and being his beloved humans into sin was because lucifer represented free will and without free will there wouldn’t be love. so like. his creation was kinda a needed sacrifice as a result. anyways eventually when gods son/jesus was created (dont. question the timing btw god is above time so Ignore the time) lucifer was extremely jealous because although he was the most powerful angel, he wasn’t Exactly on gods level. (also bc of this he invents sin and later death but that’s irrelevant to the inspiration i get for ash)

but eventually lucifer caused a rebellion and upon god INVENTING PAIN TO DEFEAT HIM, satan decided to jump off of heaven instead of facing god himself. (also bc he represents free will he Chose to fall as well as rebel against god which is very. ashswagcore. to me)

but yeah i am just. bc of that the idea of ash being a fallen angel by choice and as a rebellion against god is just. very Him i think yk? the jealously. the willingness to do the impossible because of his ego. the way he’s very tied into themes of freedom and rebellion i think. (basically all of lucifer’s only positive traits because. mfer invents sin and death and caused humanity to fall. uh)

so ya! thats the ideas of both of them i have rn. i have a Ton of thoughts abt their relationships which i will elaborate in the next ask but. man they make me soooooo. i am ill in the head abt their themes and how paradise lost plays into it . man.

#ashswag #reddoons #swagdoons #tw caps #media.warning.caps #religious themes #<- just in case someone doesn’t wanna. see that #anyways. yeah #also i should mention i didn’t actually read paradise lost bc i am really bad at understanding old texts </3 #BUT there’s a great summary on youtube about it #its by w.endigoon ^_^ just look up paradise lost and then his name #and u should find it #its around 2 hrs long but its such a good story i rec it so much if u have the time #but ya ^_^ swagdoons relationship as fallen angels in the next post!!! #idk if this is what u bargained for but. yk. more food for u anon!! #ty for the ask :] <3 #mailbox.core

[clonedadplo]

My first real post on Tumblr, I have some Obikin fanfic to sacrifice upon this alter of many fandoms. I still can't believe Ashoka and Anakin are only four years apart and that they gave "I-cant-handle-my-feelings-I'm-hyperventilating-and-I-just-stabbed-someone-Anakin" a padawan at the age of 19. Lord.

I may post this on AO3 if I wind up writing more and can get my bro to edit for me:

Black Right Hand

When Obi-Wan had lost his arm to Count Dooku Anakin had lamented that it hadn't been him. Not because of some self sacrificing urge to protect like his master seemed to feel when he swung his saber across the space in front of him and directly in front of Dooku's saber trajectory. That was what is was though,  only trajectory, the expected path of travel which would have buried the curved red saber directly into Anakin's chest, or now, into Obi-Wan's green one but things often do not travel their expected path and it instead sailed on to the left and severed most of his master's forearm. 

No, at first Anakin had wished he had been the one to lose his arm because Obi-Wan Kenobi was not the kind of man to whom a mechanical limb was conducive. To start he was not all that capable with mechanics, and was absolutely hopeless with electrical engineering. Second he seemed too…human? Too…natural? Anakin could not place a finger on it but neither his master's demeanor nor the soft grace of his soresu saber style seemed to align with having a cybernetic hand. 

However nowadays it served quite well to tie Obi-Wan to him. Anakin needed to service the arm at least every four months (which really isn't asking much if he may say so himself) and in reality much more often as it seemed to be damaged frequently with the rising intensity of the war. The complex wiring and special build he had put in place to prevent anyone tampering with a Jedi High General's primary saber wielding appendage, made it nearly impossible for anyone else to perform any type of upkeep on it. There was more to it than that though. Something about seeing the harsh black mechano limb under the soft beige gauze of Obi-Wan's robes seemed to connect them. To bridge the gap between a serene light filled garden on Coruscant and a brutal storm on Sedesia, drawn in unnaturally by the high gravity, gripping the planet's surface and tearing out the dirt and plants to hide them away in space. Or at least it made them look a bit more like they even belonged on the same Republic Cruiser. 

Time went on  and so did the war, his master had long become comfortable with the arm, given the constant necessity for action there was really no choice. Rex had informed him a few days ago aboard a Venator that a transmission from Cody detailed Obi-Wan's newest damage to his prosthetic and Anakin had been restless ever since awaiting news of their return. At first he had his own mission to busy himself with but after returning to the temple yesterday the nerves began to surface again. 

Nonetheless Obi-Wan should be arriving back soon enough, Anakin had felt him reenter the same sector of space recently and he decided he should actually wash up today. He stepped into the sanisteam and considered maybe he'd even give snips the day off, there was hardly a point in training since they'd be deployed again in less than two days.

Yeah maybe today would be a good day for once.

Ashoka had assured a disheveled, grimey, and exhausted master Kenobi that if her master was actually taking his once monthly shower there was no need to wait on him to treat the shorn open finger joint. She could handle it and he'd be off to bed in no time, however barely into popping open the top panel to connect the diagnostic tool the sounds of steam vents shut off and her master came leaning out of his room in record time, robes tied sloppily and hair still askew. The expression on his face could only be described as absolutely scandalized as he stared at her. She fiddled with the code reader and Obi-Wan continued his lackadaisical commentary on their latest mission. 

She continued the ruse of swapping stories with her grandmaster when in reality she could only feel the burning stare of her master deciding whether she was capable enough to do the work at hand. Or on hand. On the hand? Either way the scrutiny was burdensome and eventually Obi-Wan coughed mid sentence apparently having reached the limit of ignoring his troublesome Padawan.

"Really Anakin are you going to stand there and stare at her all morning or did you intend to come out and join us at some point?" Anakin's head whipped to the side as if he had been so solely focused on Obi-Wan's arm he had forgotten the man himself was there watching him lean out of his quarters, poorly dressed and ogling. Anakin ducked back into his room shamefaced and emerged again a few minutes later, robes straightened, and unruly waves combed. 

After giving a curt good morning to them both he proceeded to storm out the door without awaiting further interaction. Ashoka shrugged and supplied "We must be out of caf. Master is always in a bad mood without his morning caf."

Obi-Wan seemed placated by this and snorted in shared humor. "Indeed. It seems he hasn't changed in that respect." 

As the Torgrutan got into actual repairs she began to notice a rather unnecessary amount of gold plating within the actual arm, she looked at the black durasteel and its gold accent rings in question and couldn't resist the urge to ask 

"Master Kenobi aren't your robes brown? I know once the war started you started wearing the same black body glove as your troopers under your armor but you don't even wear any other black, did you choose this colour? Surely you could have gotten tan or even skin coloured durasteel?"

Obi-wan just flashed her with a light laugh tilting his head in curiosity like he had never even considered this.

"Only you would deign to consider fashion choices in a war little Padawan. I hardly think it's important, but after we returned to Corusant from the battle on Genosis, Anakin told the Meddroids that he would take care of securing me an appropriate prosthetic for a Jedi. Lord knows where he found it but it works quite well, I don't see why the colour would be an issue."

Ashoka stared into the many tightly bunched groups of minute wires then braided together into larger cords, not only a sign of her master's handiwork but a sign it was a project of interest or a craft of care and not yet another downed fighter's electrical system fixed on the fly in some ungodly weather system of yet another nameless outer-rim hellscape. Her eyes finally focused on the spot she had been oh-so carefully avoiding with her screwdriver,  the unique lithographic design that had to be required to print the one of a kind chip serving as a central processor for the hand. As expected at this point, she also found the small, so so small, miniscule spiky huttese A.S. adorning the corner of the chip. The same A.S. she had seen inside C3-P0, R2-D2, various gadgets and the internal kyber crystal housing of her own first lightsaber. She had asked about it one day while she maintenanced artooie, not knowing huttese or why the strange markings on his main two processors matched the inside of her saber.

"Well snips the housing of a light saber is pretty simple but I designed it myself, and I signed it as uhh...I guess a gesture."

A show of affection was left unspoken, this conversation had taken place before they had both slowly began noticing their own individual crawls past the line of Jedi ordership and into the the soggy swamp of confused human with handfuls of friends, a thing strictly forbidden for them. They left that unspoken too though.

"And the signature inside R2?" She had asked, intrigue overwriting the warm but awkward turn of the conversation.

Anakin chuckled in response, "Well I sure do appreciate R2 but no that's...that's an engineer's signature. Fine work like that gets signed." He touted, rocking back on his heels with a satisfied hum.

Ashoka rolled her eyes and went back to tightening tiny oil slick screws, curosity sated.

Now she looked down into the arm's delicately designed inner working and thought this signature probably covered both. And maybe some other third thing if she was foolish enough to stop and consider the implications of her master signing the inside of another living being's arm.

Obi-Wan noticed her long pause and vacant gaze and cleared his throat in concern.

"Uhm, I know all of Anakin's tinkering in there seems to have made it nearly unserviceable by anyone else. If you're not comfortable I can simply wait until he returns."

Ashoka was pulled out of her pondering with a start. "What? Oh no I- Uh well actually that would probably be...." That would probably be for the best she finished in her mind. She should close up this black and gold, hand engraved arm, pretend she was not privvy to her master's design quirks and never lay her fingers or tools on it again. Unfortunately much like Skywalker she loved doing exactly what she shouldn't do.

"That probably won't be necessary. I've seen all my masters strange design choices a hundred times, I can fix you up." Design she said with emphasis. Not just wiring, not just alterations, design you blind Jedi.

"Okay then I leave myself in your capable hands Padawan Tano." Obi-Wan said this with a puckish smile like they were playing a game of dejarik she was about to win not flaying opened his prosthetic arm.

She shook her montrals and set about the slow work of divesting the exposed length of arm of the hundreds of wires blocking her path higher until she could safely remove the outer casing of the hand. 

Obi-Wan squirmed as she individually disconnected wire after wire, not daring to risk disturbing her master's painstaking work by pulling out an entire bundle at once. A bit of discomfort seemed reasonable, the power could not simply be switched off for safety reasons but she had started with the bundle that would disconnect the arm's reception of impulses from Obi-Wan's remaining flesh limb and in turn sever feedback to her grandmaster's nervous system. As she began on the next bundle, Obi-Wan continued fidgeting, leg bumping and shoulders twitching despite the lack of sensory feedback as she worked.

"Uncomfortable master Kenobi?" She inquired suppressing a grin.

"No!" Obi-Wan responded quickly, eyes jerking up from his arm, seemingly unaware he was fidgeting in the first place. "It's just I suppose I never thought about it but I've never really been paying attention while someone works on my arm." 

Ashoka lifted a dubious eyebrow as he went on, now wearing an expression certainly closer to embarrassment than any she had seen on him before. "It seems everytime Anakin has serviced it we are either aboard a GAR ship or inside some makeshift tent shelter and I'm either too busy with battle plans or speaking with our troops to take notice of my arm. Or…." Obi-Wan faltered now looking into his cup of tea and down at his robes still dirty from his most recent mission because commander Cody had insisted that he needed to get his arm fixed before taking rest. He had failed to mention that this implied Obi-Wan could not shower and change because they both knew he would fall asleep the minute he was clean but had wordlessly accompanied him through the temple, past the call of his own refresher equipped with a real shower (no sanisteam thank you) and taken his leave with a parting salute only when he was sure someone would be looking after his general.

Ashoka waited until her patience gave way and prompted him on, "Oooor?" she was finished disconnecting and parting all the wires at this point and was too focused on the intricate, blind work of seeking out all the internal latches that would remove the hand casing to give notice to Obi-Wan's tight lipped uncomfortable expression 

"Or, I…I fall asleep." Ashoka looked up attempting to process then immediately resettled her efforts on attempting not to laugh. 

"Every time. Like without fail? You're either riding a battle high or passed out on the table while Skyguy sticks tools in your arm?" Ashoka tried her best to keep from chortling but her wording betrayed her amusement quite clearly regardless.

Ever patient, Obi-Wan simply shrugged his unfettered shoulder and smiled sheepishly,

"I suppose I really am an old man as you two insist. I must find any engineering beyond servicing the fleet fighters on missions so foreign it truly puts me to sleep."

Ashoka's head swam in disbelief as she prodded the first of six internal clips. More like you're being force suggested to sleep! She decided against sharing this rather unnerving deduction and settled on mumbling, "Master you have Crys work on the ships when me and Anakin aren't around." 

Obi-Wan gave a warm rich laugh and shifted into a more comfortable position to watch her work, chin propped on his other arm peering down at her poking and praying, still twitching occasionally despite the lack of sensation.

The door slid open with a whoosh of air and Anakin entered looking as stormy as when he left. Obi-Wan tilted his head up and flashed him a smile before looking back down to the sight of his now uncased hand, one finger separated and lying on the table as Ashoka replaced the joints. 

Her master bustled into the small cooking space of the main living area and began preparing a cup of caf and a cup of tea. So, not out then.

While her master seemed content to silently stifle them all with his brooding force signature Ashoka was ready to show him exactly why she had forged on in this endeavor despite invoking her master's ire.

"You know master, this is some truly lovely and unique craftsmanship." Ashoka spoke loudly enough he could not pretend not to hear her without looking up. Anakin stilled in the kitchenette, the clinking of his spoon now stilled.

"It's a shame master Kenobi is never awake to admire it. Especially since so much of it was especially handmade." Ashoka went on, smirking to herself as she felt her master's force signature first contort then disappear entirely, hidden the moment it wasn't being purposely projected. 

Obi-Wan tilted his head in curiosity, looking up at the brooding man child in a few feet away.

"It's not…it's not all that special, just some alterations on the tried and true designs. Not really Obi-Wan's area of interest is it?" This was probably stated with enough humility to make Obi-Wan suspicious alone but he accepted it with a hum and Ashoka assumed he was probably too tired from a long deployment to probe deeper into the line of questioning.

Anakin's voice in her head came in a hissing rasp,

"We will speak about this later padawan, stop trying to scare Obi-Wan over his prosthetic before he gets rest."

At the same time Obi-Wan's rich level timbre reached her ears from the outside,

"Well whatever alterations you did they work wonderfully so I'm very grateful to you Anakin, I don't-" Obi-Wan's voice was cut off with a yawn before he shook his head to clear it, "Oh excuse me, haven't had a good night's rest in days." 

Ashoka answered both at once using full focus to gather all the parts she needed to go weld, answer her master through their training bond, and answer Obi-Wan.

"I hardly think general Kenobi is the one I'm scaring master." 

"That's okay master I'll be done soon I just need to go weld these finger pieces back together, we've got the tools lying about somewhere but I don't want to burn the table." 

Anakin stepped over and snatched the twisted handkerchief of parts out of her hands. "That's alright snips, I've got a micro torch I'll fix it." He walked into his room only to return with a metal plate and torch and set about the repairs without waiting for anyone in the room to respond.

Obi-Wan shook his head and leaned conspiratorially in towards Ashoka, "To tell you the truth I think he's just possessive of his handiwork. He was like that with the speeders he used to build too. Doesn't like anyone else working on them."  

Ashoka put a hand on her hip and nudged a montral behind her back with a shoulder, "Right. His handiwork." Anakin flashed his eyes up at her but continued working in silence.

Sometimes Ashoka remembers her master is still only a petulant twenty year old.

Gif Credit to: @obiwanobi (Ashoka) @gffa (the other two)

#obikin #star wars #the clone wars #fanfic #fan fiction #obi wan star wars #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #sw ahsoka #sw anakin #obi wan kenobi #star wars clone wars #obikin fic