#he could just swing that down and the blunt force would do me in as well

[seafoodsoda]

Who would like a picture I took of Snatcher at A Very Large Scale while I was in VR

For reference: my head went up to his arm, which if you know him, he holds a lot higher then normal (idk that’s just his preference for reading who am I to judge)

buddy made me feel like a DWARF, first time I’ve ever actually been AFRAID OF HIM

#snatcher #ahit snatcher #the snatcher #ahit #dude could bring his fist down and crush me like a beetle and I’ve been making fun of him this whole time #who was gonna tell me #I mean I knew he was 16 feet tall in length but it never occurred to me until NOW #16 feet tall is 16 FEET TALL #THE BOOK ‘HOW TO KILL KIDS’ WAS TWICE THE SIZE OF MY HEAD #he could just swing that down and the blunt force would do me in as well #lots of characters are scary once you measure up to them in a 3D space and not just on a computer screen #cause before you were always bigger than anybody #even if you’re character wasn’t #now I AM THE CHARACTER #AND THEY ARE INFACT MUCH BIGGER THAN ME

[planete777]

FREAK・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n is full of surprises and shows lando just how dirty she can be. (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI, reader x brother'sbsf!lando, riding, mentions of sex toys, high hotness part 3464476, lando is lowkey in love with the reader, getting caught... but not really getting caught.

NOTE. my dearest anon requested and i HAD to write this. my last high!lando installment probably for a while because the summer is coming to an end 😭 i do have one more other fic coming tho, so stay tuned. anyways enjoy luvss <3 also credit to @lesbiacebian for the dividers.

"are you really slagging me off for your girlfriend?"

lando's voice is incredulous, syllables barely pristine as the weed in his head breaks down any cohesion left. the hand pinching the spliff falls to the bed as he sits up, staring at his unmoving best friend.

"she just texted me, i'm not gonna ditch her for you, lando, no offence."

"all taken," he grumbles, then moves to take a harsh inhale of his joint. he may be completely high out of his fucking wits, but he's certainly not pliable like that. he came to get so faded with his friend (and, second to name, supplier) that his brain would feel like it's being suspended over a grill and burned with smoke.

"well," lando sees him shrug half heartedly, "she's putting something on the line for her late night endeavours."

lando scoffs, taking another godforsaken drag. pussy, he thinks, he's getting fucking pussy.

"you're a nasty piece of shit, you know that?"

the boy ahead of him waves him off, "better start going mate, she'll be here any minute."

lando stares blankly at him for so long his eyes begin to unfocus, before he's shaking his head, sliding off the sheets. what a dickhead.

"fine whatever." he opens the door, taking an inhale and exhale of the joint wedged in his lips, and he descends the carpeted stairs with little sentience. his limbs feel dismembered and he can barely perceive the distance from on step to another, but he reaches the ground floor anyways, making his way to the living room.

he guessed he'd find her here, practically one with the couch and eyes welded to the tv screen glimmering with another uninteresting reality show.

the light's off, and considering he could barely walk in a straight line due to the blunt puffing out smoke from his mouth, he doesn't notice y/n turning towards him, pressing pause on the tv.

"lando, hey."

her voice is light, as if she's afraid of disturbing the night, and she swings her legs off the couch. lando subtly scrutinizes what she wears, a tight tank top, and equally as tight shorts, and he begins to feel blood rush to his dick.

"hey," he smirks with the blunt still in his mouth, and shuffles towards the now empty space beside the girl who had him thinking with his dick. he forces the thoughts away, he's not acquainted with the whole corruption kink thing, and y/n screams bloody virgin.

"what brings you here, high out of your mind?" she's staring intensely, as if a blink would make him vanish, grinning light-heartedly.

lando chuckles, taking a long drag, "your brother wanted to get laid, and i'm sure not a voyeurist."

even the thought of it makes y/n grimace, "point made," she curls her legs back unto the couch as lando's eyes follow her.

it's not long before the sound of the doorbell ringing shrills once, dragged until the duration of it could barely hit it being a nuisance. y/n's brother tumbles down the stairs, opening the door with much vigour before dragging her up the stairs with hurrief footsteps. the whole ordeal plays out with silence between y/n and lando, hearing the ruckus with barely concealed amusement, and is cut dead once the bedroom door slams.

"i do not want to hear all that," y/n groans, "his room is right above this one."

"happens when you're pussy whipped like him," lando huffs out a cloud of smoke, "forget who the fuck is around."

"you know you can... go back home," y/n's sceptical, and rightfully so because lando has no idea why he's staying. nevertheless, he makes up an incomplete incentive that sounded valid only in his head.

"i know, but i'm high as fuck and walking in this heat home... yeah no."

his neck flexes as he sucks in as much weed as he can, and y/n watched avidly. something about seeing lando at the mercy of his inhibitions, eyes so red that wherever he looks, he paints it crimson, and lips selling his soul away to the strings of smoke. he's too out if it to notice y/n's assessment, with his head sunken into the couch behind him, and it makes the girl laugh.

"you're gone, aren't you?"

lando does nothing but smirk affirmatively, before limply taking another drag.

"and i could definitely do with a bed to sleep on," he pushes a sound out of his throat, "your brother... fucker, he is."

"for sure," y/n agrees then shuffles to get up, patting lando's thigh. he flitters his eyes open in surprise, diluted, however, because of his lack of level headedness, "what?"

"just this once, i'll give you my bed."

"really?" the word is chipped between his teeth from the burn scarred into the back of his throat.

"yeah," she smiles. lando pretends he doesn't feel his heart grin with her.

"i'm feeling nice today."

he stands up, stretches and feels his joints scream out inexplicable noises. the bed seems like paradise now.

"oh mint, thank you."

receiving a hum in return, he follows the girl up the stairs, praying that his legs don't give way. his mind dozes off as they get to the landing, and it's only when he trails behind her inside, on autopilot, and she shuts the door, does his conscience focus like accomodating vision.

"i need to go the bathroom, one sec."

his mind has one whiplash after another as he process her rapid disappearance, before tuning back into the room. it's tame, like any young adult room would be, with half-wave plant bunting snaking around her room. her headboard, however, glows white, abd he figures it's from the leds stuck under the rim.

he walks up to the bedside tableand picks up a small framed picture of her and her brother. young, they were, standing side by side with identical sunglasses on. he smiles, then situates it back.

the drawer beneath is open, just enough for him to slip his hand through and open it, but of everything he could presume to find, he does not expect to meet a clear purple dildo, thicker and longer than biologically possible. he feels like there's a broken wire in his brain, hanging and tickling just where it triggers his dick to harden.

he doesn't know why he's enthralled by it, staring at the phallic toy as if it would magically display the images of it being pushed and pressed into y/n, but then he finds himself wishing so. corruption was never his thing, but now it doesn't have to be. because y/n is already debauched from the hot inside, to the deceiving out.

he stands there, idle, and it pushes a huff of laughter from behind him.

"you can get in the bed, lando," she pronounces like he's a formative infant. but he's not moving.

"what is this, y/n?"

he can't see her face fall, confused, but he hears it in the way she speaks, "what?"

then he's storming to her, standing just before her with a burning look. y/n's not stupid, can tell the way he's turned on but whatever he's seen, if not by the way his eyes flick down to her lips, then by the bulge that pokes her peripheral vision, and it's that her eyes widen in shock.

"oh fuck."

"oh fuck indeed," he takes a final drag before quelling it on the desk behind her, "who knew you were shoving 8 inch dildos up your pussy?"

y/n knows where to push his buttons, get the heat rising like a flood of lava just before it turns into a battle of who will give in first?

her arms are wrapping themselves around his shoulders, pulling him in, "and who knew," a hand, calculative and slow, slides down to press the hard on in his jeans, "you would get turned on by it?"

then he's kissing her, hard, wet, messy, with tongues and soft lips eager for each other like they were quenching years of thirst. lando takes everything that y/n gives him, lapping at her tongue and biting at her lips with unrestricted composure.

she's pushing him back, hands scrambling on his top to get it off, and when she does, gives him a final nudge to the chest that has him flying to the bed.

he smirks up at her, watching as she dwindles to nakedness and lando thinks that he can't be seeing this. y/n, in front of him, stripping as if it's a private show, with her brother just a few doors down. it's fucking filthy, and makes him hot all over.

"you gonna suck me off?"

he'd found a way, though he feels semi paralyzed, to rid himself of his jeans, slowly jerking his dick as precum begins to trickle down his skin.

"want to, but i need your dick inside me," y/n says, all breathy and pent up, causing lando to groan as she crawls her way up his thighs.

"fuck, you're gonna kill me." his heart is accelerating in his chest, the libido in him heightens as y/n chuckles at him and takes his dick out of his own hand and he feels completely brainless.

"you ready?"

all he can muster is a nod, and then hot fucking tightness. their moans are akin in volume, elastic and lewd, and as y/n slips further down, lando's dick feels completely rock hard and throbs as he swears every gallon of his blood pools at his cock.

"fucking hell, you're tight, y/n," his mouth feels wet and dry simultaneously and he squeezes his eyes shut as she begins to roll her hips and press down hard.

she bounces and grinds like she's meant for it, and lando can't process that sweet, innocent y/n is bouncing on his dick, squeezing him like she wants to keep him there.

his hands grip her ass, thrusting upwards to meet her hips and the cacophony of slapping skin snaps any vocal composure in him. lando moans like he's being eaten by pleasure itself and y/n grinds and grinds and grinds.

"fuck, lando," her head is thrown back like it's completely broken, and lando preens.

"you're so fucking good for me, y/n, keep going," he can't hold back, feels his hands grip her hips and her ass careening into his thighs with every bounce and, fuck, it's so dirty and so good.

y/n looks slutted out, debauched as she splits herself on his cock. it sends lando tipping over the edge, about to cum fast and deep, when a harsh knocking pounds into the door.

they both freeze, panting as sweat licks heat into their flesh.

"for fuck's sake, keep it down! some people are trying to sleep!"

it's shortly followed by angry footsteps and a slam of a door.

lando, still hard and pulsating in y/n's cunt, has a face of bewilderment, "shit— i forgot he was there."

y/n turns back, smirking, and slowly rolling her hips again, "and continue to do so. now fuck me, lando."

#‧₊˚✩彡 planete.thinks: high!lando #lando norris fic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x y/n #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic

[bleubrri]

۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ ᴀ ʀᴜɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇʏ — ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴ

ft armin, erwin, eren, jean

contains: rich boys, country club au, reader works there, black!fem!reader, petnames, semi-public sex (storage cupboards, cars etc), armin being kinda mean and possessive, degradation, impact play, daddy kink if you squint, vaginal sex, creampie, fingering, cunnilingus, sugar daddy behaviour

༄ؘ ARMIN ARLERT

is the most entitled brat you’ve ever encountered. apparently his favourite thing to do is torment you. that, and not so subtly peek at your underwear.

“whoops! my bad.” he says after hitting the ball entirely out of range. “guess tennis isn’t my strong suit. go fetch it for me, will you?” you’re glowering, eyes flicking between the abundant basket of balls loaded into the tennis ball machine next to you and his stupid, perfect, smiling face. “of course.” you grit, stomping off in the direction of his swing.

you shriek as the ice cold lemonade makes contact with your shirt. the fabric sticks to your skin as the ice cubes leave wet trails across your collar bone. “oh i’m so sorry!” the heads that have turned to witness the commotion probably eat up his fake apology. but you know better, watching his eyes trace the outline of your nipples as he shoves napkins into your cleavage, not-so-accidentally squeezing the tops of your tits. he leans in close, whispering for only you to hear. “let me help you, bunny. don’t want you walking around all wet now, do we?”

the feeling of his blunt nails grazing your scalp makes you shiver, but it’s quickly replaced by a yelp when he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you back to face him. the force of his thrusts is rattling the shelves of the storage cupboard, the wet sound of his skin slapping against yours filling the space around you. he’s sucking deep purple bruises into your neck, snarling into your ear as he presses you further into the wall. “you like being fucked like a slut? or just acting like one?” you can only moan in response, lost in the feeling of his pretty cock pistoning into you and mildly annoyed that your cunt clenches at his words. “yeah, you like—shit—you liked parading around half naked for those guys?” that isn’t exactly how you’d describe giving a group of boys directions to the snack bar in your lifeguard uniform, but the shoving of his fingers past your lips makes you think he didn’t really expect an answer anyway. he cums without warning, spills inside of you and sinks his canines into your throat as you whimper against him. once he’s pulled out, he tugs your panties back in place to stop his seed from trickling down your thighs. he kisses the marks on your neck gently, though his tone is anything but. “don’t let it happen again, bunny. you’re mine.”

༄ؘ ERWIN SMITH

he’s a romantic at heart, can’t help but shamelessly flirt to try and sweep you off your feet. you’ve told him to stop his extravagant tipping, but he insists. you do provide excellent service after all.

“would you be a dear and grab the 7-iron?” he asks, surveying the lushness of the course from behind his sunglasses. you smile and nod enthusiastically, trotting off to retrieve the club while he admires the sway of your hips in your cute little tennis skirt. you hold it out to him, expecting him to take it and swiftly begin his game. instead, he places his large palms over your hands, “do you play?” you try not to crumble under the weight of the ocean held in his eyes, “me? i—no. never.” he hums, gesturing to the tee, “allow me.” your breath hitches when he presses up behind you, his broad frame surrounding you as his hands come to rest on top of your own, gently coaxing you to swing.

“ah, there she is!” he spots you just as you’re exiting the back room back onto the floor, and his heart swells at the sight of the little diamond sitting in the centre of your clavicle. his little diamond. “why don’t you come and join me, darling? i could use a little luck it seems.” you practically skip over to him, perching yourself in his lap while looking over the hand he was dealt and the cards scattered across the table. you end up more focused on the game than him; he’s far more occupied with brushing the curls away from your neck, admiring the contrast of your skin to the pale silver of the chain and pressing a kiss to your nape.

“i told you, ‘s not fair on—oh fuck—on the others! y-you needa stop tipping like that, erwin.” you try and sound firm, but it fails miserably when your voice raises an octave on the last syllable of his name. the heat from your skin and your hurried breaths have fogged up the windows of his ridiculously expensive car as erwin eats your pussy like it’s what he was fucking born to do. he raises his head from between your legs, thick brows furrowed and chin dripping with your essence, his mouth opening to protest before you cut him off. “i’m serious.” you say, reaching down to brush the blonde locks from his forehead. he sighs, absentmindedly peppering kisses to your inner thigh. “fine. if you let me take you to dinner when i’m done here.” you open your mouth to answer, but it morphs into a groan in your throat when he presses the flat of his tongue to your clit. “y-yes! yeah fine, fine just—oh god—touch me please.” and he’s more than happy to oblige, sucking your swollen clit into his mouth and selfishly slipping a finger past your entrance in the hopes that your date could come just a little faster.

༄ؘ EREN JAEGER

isn’t exactly… the county clubs demographic. still, it doesn’t seem to stop him from walking around like he owns the place (which might be half true, you’re pretty sure his father has shares in the company).

your first thought is that the cherry red paint job and rumbling engine of his vintage mustang is more than a little obnoxious. it’s also your second thought when you take in his outfit as he steps out of the car: faded jeans and a leather jacket, with thick silver rings and shoulder length hair that’s haphazardly pulled up. your stuck up colleague frowns and addresses him, “uh, excuse me sir but i’m afraid there’s a fairly strict dress code.” you roll your eyes from your place at the valet stand, but don’t interfere. eren barely looks up from his phone, fishing a wad of notes from his back pocket. “how ‘bout i pay you to shut up and mind your fuckin’ business?” the snort that escapes you is involuntary, and you try desperately to cover it with a cough that neither men are convinced by. erens sharp eyes snap up to you, winking as he tosses you his keys and strolls inside.

“help! help i’m drowning! can’t—can’t swim—” you’re standing by the edge of the pool looking down at him completely unimpressed as he flails about in the shallow end. you quirk a brow and he stills, pouting. “what kind of lifeguard are you? i coulda really been dying…” scoffing, you turn to leave when his fingers wrap around your ankle and your heart drops. water rushes pash your ears as you’re dragged into the pool, kicking to the surface and hacking out your lungs. “what the fuck?!” you’re seething, screaming about your hair and scowling at him while he laughs until his sides hurt. once he starts to feel a little guilty, he cuts off your words, kissing away the chlorine from your lips and promising to make it up to you.

“that’s it, baby.” he groans, grip tightening on your hips to slam you down onto his cock. you’re still not used to his thickness, his blunt tip pressing against your soft cluster of nerves with no effort at all. “fuuck you look so pretty riding my dick. should take t’day off so you can sit on it all fuckin’ day.” he mutters into your sternum, busy trailing wet kisses to your tits and delivering harsh slaps to the meat of your ass. the sting from the cool metal of his rings has you reeling, pinpricks of pain melting into pleasure with each thrust of his hips. “or better yet,” he continues, “quit altogether so i can fuck you whenever i want.” you laugh breathlessly, nails digging into his chest as you bounce on his cock in the drivers seat of his mustang. “you already do that anyway. besides, c-can’t all live off of daddy’s money can we?” he loves that you’re still so sharp, even when you’re starting to drool from gushing around his cock. “that so? you want daddy to pay your shift, pretty girl? or you like fuckin’ me on the clock?” he gets distracted with the sloppy press of your mouth to his, by the lewd sounds of your perfect fucking cunt squelching with the final few lifts of his hips. but once he regains his focus he deposits 100 into your account (more than what you earn per shift, you berate) and tells you to call in sick. “i’m nowhere near done with you.”

༄ؘ JEAN KIRSTEIN

bless his heart he is a babbling, blushing mess around you :( he’s so easy to tease, but you mean well because he really is adorable.

he knows you’re busy when you’re working, so he tries not to hover or pester you too much (you wouldn’t mind in the slightest). but he sends things over to you all throughout your shift. you look a little flustered? he’ll send a drink over. lunch break still hours away? maybe you could use some snacks. “jean, you know i get snack privileges, right? and…unlimited drinks? like all day?” he did not know that. “of course i know that. you’re just… busy is all. less stress if i get them for you.” you hum, pretending not to see the pink that spreads across his cheeks.

“hey, so..wouldyouwannagettogetherafterworksometime?” you stop in your tracks, freezing your motions of putting your bag over your shoulder and dramatically sucking in air through your teeth. “that’s kinda an abuse of power don’t you think?” his dreamy hazel eyes are wide and you instantly have to bite your lip to stop laughter bursting out of you. “oh—oh my god, i’m so sorry i—i didn’t—” you’re grinning as you slink next to him, “i mean what’s an innocent employee of this fine establishment to do?” you drawl, boldly linking your hands together. “you’re— you’re joking.” he breaths, the fear trickling down his spine quickly replaced with relief. “yes. and i’d love to. if the offers still on the table after that.”

jean’s counting the number of paddle boards in the dim light of the pool supply shed when you come bustling through the door, breathless and gorgeous and his. his lips are on yours before words can manifest, running his hands down to your waist and pulling you close. “only have… 15 minutes.” you manage between heated kisses, and he hums, breaking the string of saliva that tethers your mouths when he drops to his knees. he’s sliding your shorts and panties down your legs and already looking at your centre greedily, but still you feel guilty. “wait, wait what about you? are you sure?” he looks up at you incredulously, already palming his erection at the lusty scent of your arousal. “are you kidding? gimme 10.” and when he plunges his tongue into the silky depths of your cunt, you can’t find it in you to protest. (he manages to tear the thin line of tissue under his tongue in his eagerness, but he seems perfectly content when you cum in 8 minutes).

a/n: this is a cry for help, sugar daddies hmu

#tennis balls? not the only loaded balls around here amirite #bunny is like.. /the/most condescending petname ever imo🚶🏾 #aot x reader #aot smut #armin x reader #erwin smith x reader smut #eren x reader smut #jean x reader smut #armin x reader smut #eren x reader #jean x reader #aot x black reader #aot fluff #aot #snk #attack on titan #eren jaegar #armin arlert #jean kirstein #erwin smith

[vampirzina]

Could you do headcanons of the Earthrealm Heroes with a Skater Punk reader who fights with a baseball bat?

⛧ ┆earthrealm heroes quad (raiden, kung lao, johnny cage & kenshi) w. skater punk!reader hcs

tws: gn pronouns (you only), sfw, violence, softy/sappy kung lao and kenshi, fluff-ish, established relationship, mdni

notes: again trying some formatting styles and whatnot

masterlist

Raiden isn’t opposed to your personal choice of style. It compliments his youthful self/personality. But it wasn’t really what drew him towards you

For a few outings, you teach Raiden how to skate. He’s clumsy at first, earning a few scrapes and bruises, but you being there to help him makes them painless and it’s a lot less humiliating when you’re not judging or teasing him (at least not as often as Kung Lao).

Why you carry a baseball bat, Raiden found out. He’d catch you in the act. If it’s before the Madam Bo and Lin Kuei scene, he would be shocked, but if it’s after the fact, he would find it brutal but wouldn’t bother you about it. A baseball bat is a mouse in comparison to the amulet he has.

⫘⫘⫘

Raiden winces as you the weapon connects with the abdomen of the attempted attacker. He goes down onto his knees, and you help him to the floor with a shove of your foot.

He prefers using his hands to engage in kombat, but he had not much choice but to stand back even though he was the one to have run up after he saw you being manhandled.

As soon as you got to swinging, he’d finally understood why you brandish that thing so much.

“He’s not going to bother me anymore. Let’s go,” you deduced, swinging it until it rests upon your shoulder again. “It’s late and I was already coming over for cuddles… Need them.”

Raiden obliges to walk you back the rest of the way, but not without a glance at the reeling crook.

⫘⫘⫘

Raiden constantly warns you to be careful, and watch where you’re swinging that thing. Still your biggest fan.

──── ⛧

It’s what drew Kung Lao to you at first. Your style was just a bonus. When you fight with a bat, he can’t seem to care how you carry yourself as a punk. With his prowess as a fighter who mainly uses his fists and a bladed hat for support, he likes someone who enjoys using blunt force as well.

If you let Kung Lao, he’ll teach you how to fight with your fists as well. Just so you both can be matching, in a way. Sparring also helps show off, and if it impresses you at all he’d give you that one cheeky smile that shows off his dimple; he’s the most empowered when you praise him. It’s a shame he’s already mastered skating (if you ever taught him), he loved the constant praise you gave him.

On days where you’d both be rotting inside, Kung Lao likes those languid moments when you both are laid up together and listening to your music. His taste in music is nothing like yours really, but he doesn’t mind it. As long as he could enjoy these lazy moments. You’re his type, if not one of them.

⫘⫘⫘

Russet eyes open only to close again and pull your lower half to Kung Lao tighter, aching muscles having caught up with him from the rigorous training he’d endured today at the Wu Shi.

You had planned a lot for today with him, but it started raining.

The fast music blaring from your shared headphones can’t cancel out this mild moment between you and Kung Lao, who buries his head further into your stomach.

You card your fingers through his hair to brush it out of his face, just once, before hugging his head further into you. Nasty weather sucks.

⫘⫘⫘

Your precious bat is damaged from Kung Lao’s hat, but you keep it like a badge.

──── ⛧

Johnny Cage already knew because he was almost on the receiving end of it. When you both first met he was mouthy with you, and whether or not you had the patience for the man didn’t matter. It’d almost ended in you pummeling him… To which he thought would be a perfect way to get closer to you. You awakened something in him.

Johnny Cage records you, whether or not you’re simply skating or beating the ever-loving crap out of someone. There’s not much to it other than “it’s hot” when you ask him. You have to beg him to not share you literally committing assault/acting out of self defense (not that he would).

Various attempts from Johnny Cage to mimic your style, even if Johnny Cage was bad at it. It got you laughing, at least. He’d gift you a new skateboard, and an expensive brand of it too. If it’s one you’ve always wanted, he gets extremely cocky when he sees you love it lots. Also buys you vinyl of your favorite bands.

⫘⫘⫘

“Dude, no chance,” you say in disbelief, immediately almost ripping the present from the actors’ hands. “No chance, nochancenochancenochance. Cage, I was just joking.”

“Don’t joke. That’s my job,” Johnny smirked, and he’s too nonchalant about it. “Hey, you’re welcome. But I bet you could kiss me right now.”

You paused your marveling to look at him in sheer stupor. He leaned towards you, lips puckered and eyes closed, waiting.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, yet you humor him.

⫘⫘⫘

Johnny lets you play your music on the speakers in his mansion.

──── ⛧

Kenshi isn’t as moved as his peer, unfortunately. He sees (and has saw) people harnessing bats all the time. Your personal style, however, is newer to him. He overlooks it and doesn’t too much care as you both get along too well. Nothing would really be out of the ordinary or have changed because of your style, but he’d make subtle to small gestures to accommodate it.

(i.e; he would gift you certain things that go in tandem with how you dress/what you like/your style)

Like Kung Lao, Kenshi enjoys the paced times between you two. Whether it be pre-incident or post-incident it doesn’t really matter. The only thing different is that regardless of weather, he would settle down with you if you wanted to. If you wanted to go out, at least one or both of you have to be carrying [a weapon].

The park is Kenshi’s favorite spot now that he’s met you. You get to skate, he gets to watch/feel you, it’s a win-win. He carries your bat for you. If you leave it at home on purpose, he takes his sword with him. If you have music playing out loud, he manages it while you skate up and down the rink. Kenshi has a lot of fun with you (because no stranger really tries anything with the both of you).

⫘⫘⫘

The golden hue of the setting sun washed you and Kenshi in it. It were silent, for the most part between the two of you, as you skated by his side. Despite that though, your hands were locked together.

“Baby?”

“Mm?”

“…You think it’s too late to grab a bite to eat at that one restaurant?” you asked as his head turned towards you, your foot touching the pavement to push off of it gently enough that keeps yourself level with him. “The one that serves that combo meal you got me one time.”

“I’m sorry. It’s probably not,” he answered, frowning at the image of you disappointed. “But we can still make it at home, alright? Come on.”

⫘⫘⫘

Kenshi really wouldn’t have you any other way.

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mk1 x reader #raiden x reader #raiden x you #raiden hcs #kung lao x reader #kung lao x you #kung lao hcs #johnny cage x you #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage hcs #kenshi x reader #kenshi x you #kenshi takahashi x you #kenshi takahashi hcs #vampirzina #kenshi takahashi x reader

[youngstarfishphilosopher]

QUILTS AND STORIES

(PLATONIC) GOTHAM JERVIS TETCH X CHILD READER PT.2

" Bunny bunny bunny, your ears are funny: they're too big for you.

Bunny bunny bunny, though you're funny, everyone loves you."

Summary: After rescuing you from a failed escape attempt, Jervis reads you a bedtime story.

WARNINGS ⚠️: DARK FIC, YANDERE THEMES, HYPNOTISM, DELUSIONAL BEHAVIOR, IMPLIED PEDOPHILIA ( Not from Jervis), MURDER, GORE, SICKLY SWEET JERVIS

This story has a scene showing a description of blunt-force murder. Viewer discretion is advised

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An: Gotham Jervis pt.2-Electric Boogaloo

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It had been about a week and a half since you had been kidnapped by your next-door neighboor: Taken away from your family and to who knows where.

You weren't allowed to go outside. The only way would be if you snuck out.

You had done it successfully once before, and only once. And never agian since it didn't turn out well for you when you did.

It was dark when it happened: late at night. All Alone and still in your new Pjs that Jervis had gotten you.

You were in an unfamiliar part of Gotham. A place that was known to be uch more dangerous than the area you lived in.

You knew Jervis would be back home any second, so you ran to find someplace you could hide. And just in time, too: Not even a minute after you had hid behind a corner, you saw a van pull up to where your neighbor had been keeping you.

Jervis was expecting you to be in your new bed that you had been staying in. And why wouldn't he? It's what you had been instructed to do, and you had been following his instructions all week.

As you watched Jervis walk inside with a few of his goons, you waited for a moment to make sure they were gone. Then, you quickly hurried down the nearest ally.

This was a bad idea.

" Why Heya there, kid . . ." You froze as a figure walked out of the darkness. He was a rather tall and big man you had never met before. " You lost or something? I can help you. "

The man didn't seem at all friendly; a crooked smile holding malicious intent. " N-no," you blurt out. " I'm good . . . thanks."

You hoped the man would leave it at that: Leave you alone and be on your way.But as you tried walking past him, he roughly grabbed your arm: making you back towards him.

" Aww, cmon kid. Don't leave me hanging." The man chuckled out. " Let's go to my place, yeah? We can play games: have some fun!"

" NO!" You yelled out. You were terrified now: eyes swelling with tears asylum tried to free yourself from the man's iorn grip. You honestly didn't care if Jervis could hear you. You needed to get away from this creep. " L-LET GO! LET GO OF ME!"

" Excuse me, my friend, but just what do you think you're doing?"

You stopped struggling when you heard it: the ticking of a silver pocket watch. The man looked away from you, annoyed as he turned to see who was talking to him.

And ther Jervis Tetch stood with his nice clothes and fancy tophat. His silver watch was swinging back and forth as he stared into the eyes of the man who was harrasing you.

" Hey!" The man spat out. "Mind your own business, ya fancy freak!"

Jervis had a smile on his face, but he wasn't happy; far from it, actually.

If you looked closer enough into his dark eyes and strained smile, you would be able to see the burning rage and murderous intent running all throughout his body. It didn't matter if this man let you go willingly or not.

No: This man was about to die. And you were going to see every single moment of it.

" Actually, this is my business. You see, you are currently touching my child. So I would appreciate it if you let them go." Jervis requested. Although it wasn't a request and more of a demand.

" Hah! And why . . . Would . . . Do . . ."

Jervis just kept on smiling as he swung his watch " Tick,tock, tick,tock. Just keep your eyes on the clock. . ."

The man was stiff as a boar now, standing up straight and not moving a muscle. " Now then, my friend, I will ask agian: Please do be polite and let go of my child."

This time, the man obliged, letting go of you. You fell down to the floor with a thud. Looking back up, you could see the eyes of Jervis piercing into you.

" Bunny." Jervis said sternly. His smile dropped. " Come here."

You sat there, frozen for a moment, as you quickly tried to think of what to do. Maybe you could run?

" Y/N!" Jervis snapped. The slight raising of his voice made you flinch.

Jervis quickly calmed himself down. "My dear . . . I told you to come here. . . "

Taking the hint, you quickly got your trembling body off the ground and made your way over to him. Quietly dreading whatever was about to happen.

When you got there , he quickly grabbed you and hugged you tightly. You let out a small squeak as he did so.

" Everything is okay now, bunny," Jervis cooed. His voice sounded almost sickly sweet. " Papa's got you."

Using both of his hands, he gently cupped your face, lifting it up to reveal your puffy little eyes and cheeks.

" Did the bad man hurt you bunny?" He asked. Nervously, you gave him a small nod.

He pressed his lips together and made a little humming noise " Well that just will not do. . . "

Ungrasping your face, he gently bent down to reach your level. Grabbing your left shoulder with his left hand and your chin with his right: Forcing you to face the stranger who had tried to take you.

" Now, my friend, please do not stall. . ."

Jervis' smile was fully back now. But this time, it was full of bludlust. Pure and utter bloodlist: Obsession and Possesvie instincts.

" Bash your head in agianst that wall."

Doing as he was commanded, you let out a chilling shreik as you watched the man walk up to the brick wall of the allyway before chucking his head agians the bricks.

Then Agian, and agian.

His head became more mutilated by the sceond. Before toppling over into a bloody, bashed-in mess.

You sobbed a shriek as it happened. You tried to pull away from Jervis. To run.But his grip was much too strong on you.

Jervis, in the meanwhile, tried soothing you with little shushing noise in your year. "It's okay, bunny. It's okay. He deserves this, just keep watching . . ."

After it was all over, you were a trembling, sobbing mess.

You were much more scared of Jervis Tetch than ever now. Because if he could simply hypnotize and make a man brutally murder himself, the just what on earth could he hypnotize you into doing?

Was he going to make you brutally murder yourself as well?

You looked at the corpse with tears pouring down your eyes. The man was basically unrecognizable now: A body with erupting brains, blood, and bone from the top of it.

" See bunny . . I'm never going to let them take you ."

Jervis places a gently kiss on your forehead. He then begins to start picking you up.

You let out a trail of frail little 'no's, but he just shushes you. " It's okay, bunny. I know, I know. You must be so tired, my dear. Let's get you back home. "

Immediately, your heart dropped. You knew that you were going to just his home: Not your home.

-----------------------------------------------------

Jervis kept you in his arms as he walked towards your bedroom. Making his way to the door, he opened it and stepped inside.

It almost felt magical and surreal there. Like it was something out of a fairytale.

Walking over to your bed. He lifted the covers with one of his hands before gently placing you gown and tucking you in underneath a soft, warm quilt.

" Im sure a story will pit you right back to bed." Jervis states in confidence. " How does that sound?"

You just give him a little 'ok'.

Although you hated in there, a small, tiny part of your body wanted to admit just how soft and comfy the bed you were sleeping in was. And there was no doubt that Tetch had been spoiling you.

But the much more rational ( and louder) side of you kept making you remeber: This man is a literal supervillain who hypnotized and kidnapped you, took you away from your family, and literally just killed a man in front of you.

As you were in your thoughts. Jervis grabbed the copy of Alice and Wonderland with a caterpillar bookmark from your bedside table.Sitting down on the big bed beside you, he opened the book and took the bookmark out.

" Now let's seeeee. . . Ah! Here we are. Alice was . . ."

You didn't listen. Not this time, anyway.

You were much more focused on the fact you might just not survive, let alone escape the phycotic, obsessive eyes of your neighbor.

#jervis tetch x reader #jervis tetch x child reader #jervis tetch #gotham #gotham x reader #x child reader #platonic reader #gotham jervis x reader #gotham jervis #platonic x reader #yandere x reader #yandere batman villains

[its-actually-minicika]

The Harshest Winters (18+!)

Part 2;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader (rip king 🤍), Dark!Aemond x Reader (though it's very much one sided on his behalf);

Warnings: angst galore, mentions of SA, blood and gore, allusions and descriptions of death AND sex, book canon Aemond- need I go on?

Author's Note: The support received on the last part was insane :")) so here I am, writing another one! If this gets enough attention, I might just turn it into a series; Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy!

Also, this isn't proof-read; We die like men tonight :") Part 3 is out now! <33

(Y/N) and Ser Cain ride through burnt-down forests, scattered with ash and blood - twisted loyalties reveal their sick ambitions, and the girl is faced with a very tough decision.

"How'd you even manage to get into Harrenhal? Aemond may be blind in one eye, but he keeps an iron fist over who enters and leaves the Keep." Her hushed voice echoed through the empty forest.

Ser Cain looked at his lady with a glimpse of reverence, that could almost be confused with one of slight amusement.

"I must admit, I got plenty of help." He barked dryly, running a calloused hand through his blonde hair. "You may have had no friends among the Greens, but there was a certain wood witch that wanted you gone as soon as possible."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in momentary shock. Her mouth opened and closed back up again, before she finally managed to form a proper sentence.

"Alys? Alys Rivers?" She asked tentatively, amusement licking at her fair features.

"Us bastards always find a way to help one another," Cain let out a roaring laugh, that brought a level of warmth to the Lady's weary heart. "I wanted you safe, and she wanted you gone. We reached a deal very quickly after that."

"No way you struck a deal with Aemond's bedmate." The girl huffed out in disbelief, "She'll be in a lot of trouble if ever he finds out... There is hardly anything for her to gain from freeing a war captive."

"Aye, he will be mad..." Her sworn protector made a short pause, "Yet there's nothing that stirs someone on more than jealousy." The knight sighed, lost in deep thought. "She has everything to gain from this - the walls talk in Harrenhal, my Lady. And they... well, forgive me for being so blunt - speak stories on how the Kinslayer loses sleep by visiting you in your chambers at night."

The girl's cheek are caught ablaze; the innuendo was more than clear on Ser Cain's face alone. She stills her horse and throws him a jaded look.

"As you saw when you guarded my door, ser - he does intrude often. But there was never a moment where we..." As her words came to a halt, the girl huffed out in a discontented breath, "I would rather die than spread my legs open for the usurper's kin."

"I know." Cain reassured her, a wide smile plastered on his face. "With the way you were gripping that candle holder, ready to swing it at me, I can only imagine the hell you gave Prince Aemond."

"It wasn't nearly as much as he deserved. I'm afraid I failed to do Jace justice."

Wordlessly, Ser Cain reached for her saddle, and gave her shoulder a tight squeeze. His other hand came to grip the horse's bridle, forcing both mares into another sprint.

"We can't stay in one place for long." He wanted to apologise, but (Y/N)'s reassuring smile made him calm back down again.

"Trust me. If there is anyone who wants to put as much distance between them and that disgusting psychopath, it's me."

For a while, the only noise made in the smoked out forest was the gallop of the horses and their shallow panting. After a while, even that proved to be too little.

"I have to ask," The woman started, quirking her brow up at the knight, "Where are we going? Riverrun is hardly a safe space - Aemond will go there first, once he gets notified of my absence."

Following her own logic, (Y/N)'s eyes widen.

"My brothers. Father and grandfather...!"

"You needn't worry, my Lady!" Cain Waters assured the girl with a delicate brush on her arm, "We like to think that we thought of everything - and Riverrun has been emptied since the very beginning of the Kinslayer's wild attacks."

A sigh of relief etches it's way from the girl's throat.

"Your father raised your grandfather's army - he's marching to Dragonstone, with Kermit, to aid our true Queen. As for your youngest brother and grandfather, they're both in the Eyrie - where Lady Jane Arryn is expecting you, too."

"So that's were we're heading." (Y/N) concluded with a deep sigh. "We won't reach it tonight."

"No." Cain agreed, but soon added determinedly, "We'll probably reach the Saltpans on the morrow. We'll hide a while near the Trident and, when the time is right, march North towards the Bloody Gate."

"Gods be good, it will take us weeks." She exclaimed through a shallow breath. "We can't afford spare that much time. Aemond will be hot on our tracks, that much is for certain."

Cain's eyes softened at her outburst, and the robust man bit his inner cheek.

"We have to take this chance - for your safety, my Lady." He tried to encourage her with a crooked smile, "Do not worry about the Kinslayer. I'll kill him if he touches you."

The way in which he spoke oozed with honesty and determination. His eyes were like two silver daggers, scanning, searching for any danger that could put his Lady's life at stake.

Cain was a loyal knight, Lady Tully concluded, a trusted friend and fantastic travel partner. He was her sworn shield - and men, willing to devote themselves to a cause in the way he did, waiting for nothing in return, were very few and far between.

The tiniest shadows of a smile dance across her tired features. She takes in a deep breath, and allows her shoulders to relax.

"I know you will, Ser Cain." She confirms with a small nod, focusing her attention to the road ahead.

Still... when a dragon stands between a man and his duty, what brainless knight would ever rush to a lady's aid?

Aemond's footsteps echoed through the wailing keep. His armour fell heavy on his shoulders, and the sword in his grip was fully drenched in blood.

Of all the men slain by his hand that day, Simon Strong, the old fool, had screamed the loudest. He begged until his last breath for mercy of the Warrior and the Mother, for a chance to prove himself and his loyalty to the Crown, but to no avail.

Of all the guards assigned to Harrenhal by his darling mother, all but one died, as fallen victims to his endless frenzy.

"If the words you speak are truthful," Aemond mocked him with an airy laugh, "Then pick up this sword and clash it with mine. Should you be innocent, the Warrior will grant you strength enough to defeat me."

But no Warrior, and no other God, beckoned his call that day.

Instead, Simon Strong died with his head severed, and body still twitching with a sword in hand.

Now, it was Aemond's turn to wail and sigh at the sight before him - the last knight he kept alive, a boy as green as grass, petrified beyond belief.

When he spotted the One Eyed Prince, the boy all but fell to his knees, begging for forgiveness through tear stained cheeks and apish breaths.

"Your Grace, please, you must believe me!" He deplored helplessly, "I had no part in this - I didn't know!"

Aemond felt his lips quirk up in a cruel smile. The view below him was beyond pitiful; a most amusing glimpse into what the Conqueror himself must have experienced when he put Westeros through the judgement of steel and flames.

Still, even the most amusing jesters become ridiculous when faced with the passage of time.

"Exactly. You didn't know." His honeyed voice rang out into the cluttered room. The Crown Prince took a step forward, reveling in how the knight pressed himself deeper into the ground. The stench of piss flared up his nostrils.

The boy had shat himself.

His whimpers broke through the otherwise silent room. A mixture of "Please"s and "Your Grace, don't"s - it left Aemond dissatisfied and forlong, irked to no end.

"You say you have seen this knight around." He hummed in admission, "Pray tell, what was his name again?"

"C-Cain! Cain Waters! He was a broad man, with a straight stubble and long, blonde hair!" He shook his head after each and every word, desperate to prove himself. "He had a scar - right here, on his left arm! And a broken nose - it curved to the left side, and he said he'd gotten it from a brawl!" The boy blabbered incoherently, spewing as many things as he remembered from the immediate memory.

Aemond chuckled at his words, raising his hand out to stop the disordered boy. Wordlessly, he held his arm out, enouraging him with a curt nod to raise to his feet again.

"You have an excellent memory, do you not? It seems like you remember a lot of things."

The knight nodded fevereshly, trying his hardest to stop his limbs from giving out.

"Yes, yes, Your Grace! I talked to him countless of times, I can recognise his voice with my eyes closed!"

Aemond quirked his head to the side, and let out another curt laugh.

"Good, very good, indeed! And, tell me..." As he spoke the last of his words, Aemond Targaryen got closer to the shaking boy, "You call this level of interest... not getting involved?"

Without waiting for an answer, Prince Aemond let go of the soldier's hand, running his sword through his stomach in a simple, yet effective movement.

"Y-Your G-Gh..." He strained himself to hiss though his bloodied mouth, before falling on his knees, his hand placed atop his wound.

"You've proven yourself very useful." Aemond asserted dryly, "Just as you said."

The Prince turned back on his heel again, and began marching towards the open door. With a bored expression on his face, he threw the child one more dejected look, and added, "But I've simply no more need for you."

The knight's endless gagging filled the room with a paculiar sense of dread. Somewhere along his way, Aemond got a hold of a kitchen wench; he grabbed her with his bloody hand, and clicked his tongue in pure disdain.

"Clean that up." Was all she was instructed to do.

Daylight had long broken the sky in two, as Cain and (Y/N) finally reached the Saltpans of the Trident.

Tired, and famished far beyond belief, the two stopped at the gate of an ale house, dismounting their horses and knocking on the door politely.

A couple of seconds went by, until a small click of a key was heard on the other side. An old woman stepped outside, holding out a crossbow, that was still too big for her wide frame.

"I said, no more scoundrels, and ruffians, and thieves, and men! Away, away with you!"

Her wrinkled hands swished and flicked about, right under Cain's nose, who swallowed a small laugh, and gently raised his hands out in taciturn surrender.

"No ruffians, scoundrels or thieves sit in front of you, ma'am. ... Though, of being a man, I must admit I'm very guilty."

Upon hearing his words, the old lady shook her head, with a strength so great, (Y/N) was sure her eyes would pop out.

"Oh, no, no! I said, no more of those around here!" She repeated again, though she lowered her crossbow from Cain's face, upon hearing the sound of his mellow voice.

"Madam, I... We beg you to reconsider." The Lady's voice rang through the open clearing. As she glanced up at the old, plump woman, her features turned soft and pleading, begging for help, like a child would to her wise mother.

She gripped Cain's biscep with her left hand, ensuring that their host would see her amethist ring, that now rested upon her ring finger. "My husband and I are so tired from our long journey and... as you said, Madam, the streets aren't safe."

The house's owner squinted at them with a hardened look, but then, almost too suddenly, she stepped aside for the two to come in.

"You'll have to forgive an old spinster," The woman smiled tightly over her shoulder, "It's just that in these parts of the Reach, you don't know in who to trust."

"Aye, we hear that." Cain replied with a warm smile, leading his lady inside with a hand respectfully placed above her waist. "Great thinking!" He leaned in to whisper in her ear, congratulating her on the ability to adapt to their situation so fast. "If I didn't know any better, my Lady, I'd say you didn't need me to make the trip."

She gave her a polite smile, and sheepishly bowed her head.

"Perhaps you don't know any better, then." She laughed at him teasingly, before moving her attention back to the old maid.

"My husband and I travelled no small distance - we live near Bitterbridge, but we decided to join with our relatives near Crossroad's Inn." She gave Cain's hand a tight squeeze, and looked at him affectionately, before pressing on. "With with the war looming over us, nothing is more important than family."

The old lady smiled at them, showing off her three gold teeth. Her eyes held no malice now, and she shifted her weight from her left foot to speak. "Mine mother was from Goldengrove - a proper Lady. She was almost a lady in waiting for Brianna Tyrell."

Looking almost wistfully to the side, the inn wench let out a melancholic sigh.

"Oh, but what am I sharing these stories for?" She questioned jokingly, while clasping her hands together. "I'll prepare breakfast for you two. And a bed - to sleep in for the night."

Cain offered the woman a small nod, and smiled tightly in reply.

As she made herself busy with boiling some eggs, the man leaned in, muttering lowly to his lady.

"She didn't ask us for how long we'd stay. She assumed right away we'd be gone tomorrow."

Taking in his cautious words, (Y/N) hummed, as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

"And if her words are true about her mother, then she served as vassal for the Hightowers, as well."

"Do you think she's a Loyalist, my Lady?" The knight choked on his own breath.

"It might be too soon to tell."

The man's eyes fell back on the dirty window, that offered but a shallow peek into the outside world. His face contorted to one of great concentration - Much like it did years ago, (Y/N) mused to herself, before an important Tourney.

"We'll tread lightly. ... It might be a good idea to show our support to Aegon when we talk amongst ourselves at dinner."

"An easy conversation to over-hear, of course. Especially after a glass or two of wine."

Their little dialogue ceased a moment, and both travellers shot each other a warm smile.

"W-W-Wait, just because I brought the letter here, that don't mean I'm gon' speak to the young master, too-" The strained voice of a serving maid bounced off the stone walls of the black Crypt.

She looked around frantically, shaking her head with so much dedication, that her braid came undone onto her shoulders. The servants around her made no attempt to soothe the girl, or take her under their protection - for they, too, were scared of the wrath that resided deep inside of Aemond.

Still, a raven, who's beak carried a letter that spoke naught on the outside, besides it coming from an inn in the Saltpans, had come to Harrenhal that afternoon.

A more educated one from the flock of young maids tried to decypher its contents in the light of day, but to no avail. The letter had to be opened. And it had to be opened by their reckless Prince, first.

"H-How do we even know it's something important?" One elder girl chirped shyly. "What if it isn't, and Prince Aemond punishes us for wasting his Grace's time?"

A shuddering thought went through each and every resting body, that rang clear through their bodies, like a blade would on young flesh.

"And what if it is important?" Another spoke up, "We'll all be executed for not bringing it to him, sooner!" She sobbed into her hands.

"Bring what to Prince Aemond?"

The rise of the unknown voice elicited a scared gasp from each member of the pitiful assembly. Comically, they all turned on their heel at once, gripping their throats in horrified wonder.

None but Alys Rivers stood before them, her own hands resting on her hips and her cascade of black hair, fraiming her expecting face in a gruellingly gorgeous way.

"Seven hells! You had us scared to death, Rivers!" One maid or another chastised her deeply.

Upon hearing the lack of reverence in her voice, the Strong witch clasped her hands tightly together, and glared upon the crowd with a look full of disdain.

"You ought be careful with how you address me. You forget yourself, wench."

Her words were cutting and scornful, and yet, they had no effect on the defying servant.

"I should be careful with how I speak to you?" The tiny woman let out a small scoff, "'Tis you who should sooner not forget her standing. You aren't mistress of this Keep. You are naught above us in station."

Caught in the red, Alys scorned down at the meek, servant girl. Her back turned awfully straight, and she demured in a demanding tone.

"You will either tell me at once what it is you're hiding, or I will have my Aemond take all of your heads." She let out a small chuckle, and carried on, "You'll see how much power I have over this keep and you - for I carry the Dragon's son, and his fires already lick at my womb."

The possibility of Alys Rivers carrying the Kinslayer's bastard sent a shiver down their hollow spines. Soon, the girls threw each other a despondent look, and settled their eyes upon the floor.

"It's... a letter from the Saltpans... m'lady." The same maid who provoked her now spoke. "We don't know of it's contents, but..."

Silence fell over the windy crypt. Alys quirked up a brow in amusement, and extended her arm out in palpable anticipation.

"I'll carry it to him, then. Make haste, give it to me, and begone."

For once, her command was almost immediately executed. The plump girl that had brought the raven inside hurried to give the parchments to her, and scurried along the dark hall, making herself scarce and unseen.

Alys' green skirts kissed the grounds which the woman walked, leaving a rustling echo along the large halls with every calculated step.

She reached for Aemond's Quarters, and slyly made her way inside.

"My Prince," Her voice rang out, "A letter addressed to you has just arrived."

The eager polishing of Aemond's sword was the only noise in the room for a while. He hummed expectantly, putting an end to his endeavours, and getting a hold of the enclasped letter with two of his long fingers.

Silently, much like a predator would it's prey, he analysed its contents, feeling a smug smirk tugging at his upturned lips. He lowered it after a while, and looked out the window, lost in the depthness of his thoughts.

"My Prince, what does it say?" Alys inquired officiously, dropping her head over his thighs. "Is it of an important matter?"

Aemond let out a joyous laugh - and, whether it was due to his amusement over Alys' stupid question, or due to the contents of the flimsy letter, was up to anybody's guess.

"Tell those kitchen wenches to prepare for a grand feast for tonight. We have reason to expect very pleasant company."

The man rose from his chair and smirked to himself once more, before making his way towards the grand oak doors of his private chambers.

He stopped on his tracks, however, to assert the woman on his bed once more.

"Alys... should you come to my room unannounced again, I will have your head for it." He uttered neutrally, with a bemused rise of his brows.

"Do you think it wise to leave tonight?" Cain's pleasant voice rang through the girl's ears, as the two made good haste scarping down on the dinner they paid for.

"Tonight?" The girl hushed back at him, before taking a sip of her wine. "You don't trust the old lady, do you?"

"Aye, I must admit, I don't." Cain confirmed her laid out question, as he followed the woman's form into the small kitchen again. "I can't shake off the feeling that something bad is about to happen."

Placing her hand atop his in a pacifying manner, (Y/N) squeezed tightly, putting an end to his restless thoughts.

"Then we should leave tonight. Wait until she's fallen asleep, sneak out and mount our horses. We can sleep when we reach the Bloody Gate, or hidden away in the forest." She concluded with a stone faced look.

Cain bit his lower lip and clicked his tongue in distaste for the plan. "I'm sorry for making you go through this, my Lady. A young woman shouldn't be forced to sleep outside, under such pitiful conditions."

"But it's better to be safe than sorry," She assured him once again, "And I've slept in worse than grass and branches - you should know."

The knight's face twisted into pure rage.

"I swear to you, my Lady, I will have his head for all he made you go through. I will."

"There would be no one else I trust more with the task." She smiled at him happily, and a pang of sisterly affection surged through her bones. "Let's finish eating. Then we'll retire in our room and start packing up."

Cain nodded in agreement, and offered the girl one of his many placid smiles.

The evening went on with little to no commotion - the night displayed the hour of the wolf, when the two finally made their way outside their room, and onto the small corridor that led to the stables.

Still, their footsteps, however careful, alerted their horses, who'd grown so accounstomed to Cain's presence.

With a small huff of their muzzles, they rested their head upon the separating barrier, and shook their manes expectantly.

"That's it, those are my good girls." Cain hushed to them, untying their bridles from the putrid wall. "Let's go for a ride, shall we?"

In the same manner he did the night before, (Y/N)'s sworn shield helped her up the saddle, and secured her belts in place. Soon came his turn, and, before they both knew it, the pair was exiting the stables with tentative steps, stopping at the entrance.

"We'll take to the North road, but we'll travel slightly East. We'll be on Arryn grounds... and hopefully more safe."

"That sounds like a plan." Lady Tully agreed with a tight expression on her face. She let out a shaky sigh, opening the inn's gates with a strong jerk of her hand.

Cain clicked his tongue once, twice, three and four times, until both horses broke into a hasty sprint. With his hand over both bridles, he guided the horses over to the stony road.

The night was clear. The shadows scarce. And yet...

A looming figure washed up before them both, swallowing the light of the moon and shaking their foundations to the very core.

"Ha..." (Y/N) let out a laugh in disbelief, feeling her heart rising to her throat.

Cain's face tightened, and his knuckles turned white over the saddle's head. His body contorted in fear and disgust for the man above them, as he took in a deep breath.

"Run." He instructed dryly.

When a horse races with a dragon, which one of them wins? - It was a rather stupid question, for this was a race that the poor horse would lose everytime, no matter it's good breeding or strong muscle mass.

"TO THE FOREST, BACK INTO THE FOREST!" Ser Cain yelled out, turning both animals around, hoping for a chance of escape.

"Have you lost your mind?! He'll burn the trees down!" His lady's reply came and went, swallowed by the wind, and the ring of Aemond's cruel laugh.

"What other choice do we have?!"

That much was true, the lady admitted inside her head. Aemond was ruthless, and, chances were, they would both die either way. If there was even a slither of hope that they'll survive by confusing the man, they had to take it.

As the horses ran, Cain tried his best to untangle their bridles, but (Y/N) shouted after him.

"Don't!! Aemond won't burn me with his dragon, he needs me alive for my grandfather's banners! But he won't hesitate to hurt you, should we be separated!"

With one hardened breath after the other, the two made their way back into the forest, where Cain reached out to unbuckle his lady's saddle. His stiff fingers made slow work - the exhaustion, fear and speed with which they galloped made it extremely hard for the knight to see even three inches ahead of him.

"We get off the horses!" He alerted the woman, as beads of sweat rolled off his forehead. "From that distance, he can't see us - he'll think we're still on them! We'll have to run from that point on, but we must take the chance!"

(Y/N) replied in kind with his instructions, and both lady and loyal knight jumped off their horses' saddles, hitting the ground with a ferocious impact.

Pain surged through her limbs and bones, but Cain quickly grabbed her hand, and dragged her further into the forest, and farther away from Aemond's roars.

Their strained breaths and silent whimpers echoed through the quiet woods - they ran and ran, until their feet gave out on them, and the two reached a small cave.

"Come -" The man encouraged with a raspy voice, as his knees buckled below him.

For a while, there was silence. (Y/N) swallowed thickly, and whispered to her tired knight.

"We should stay here for a while. Maybe an hour, or... Shit, he won't leave either way, will he?"

"Aye, my Lady, not without you." His grey eyes came to clash with her (y/e/c) hues. A look of strange determination took a hold of his harsh features, contorting his brows in such a way, that they almost mended through themselves.

"From here we could go to Maidenpool. The forest covers enough a distance for such a feat."

"Maidenpool?" The girl's voice shook with fear, "It's nose to nose with King's Landing - going there is a death sentence!"

She closed her eyes tightly and kicked her leg into a nearby stone. "Shit, shit, shit - we were so close!"

"I shall challenge him to a fair fight." Cain mustered up to say. "The Kinslayer has no honor. But he still values the tradition."

The lady's eyes shot wide open, and her head shook to the side. "No, absolutely not. Aemond is well rested - you haven't slept in two days!"

"I must. What other choice do we have?" He repeated with a shaky voice, as he wobbled back on his feet again. His eyes trailed over the girl's small silhouette, and patted her back keenly.

"You stay here, my Lady. Should I arise victorious, I'll come back and find you."

With each word of their heated dispute, both companions raised their voices.

"No - not a chance. As your Lady, I'm commanding you; and as your friend, I'm begging you - let me come with."

"There should be no need for that." Aemond's deep voice rumbled out.

Cain wasted no time to place the girl behind his back, and unsheathe his sword with one swift movement.

"... How?" (Y/N) asked him in pure disdain and disbelief.

"Lady Alys sees many things. Before I left, she saw you in the fires of the kitchen, wasting away in this cave to rot."

The Crown Prince gave the girl a mellow smile, as he took a step ahead.

"At first, it made little sense to me. Especially since that withered whore sent me a raven, assuring me of your whereabouts in her inn." Hearing the calmness in his voice, the girl spat out a low curse.

But Aemond laughed at her display, and gently shook his head.

"The view you get atop a dragon, My Lady, is a very valuable thing. You can already guess my frustration when all I saw were pesky trees, but then... then I saw this cave."

Cain let out a low growl, and measured the One-Eyed Prince with his wild stare.

"None of that matters now." He spoke calmly, cutting him off, "We've to reach an agreement, Kinslayer. Pull your sword out now, and face trail before the Gods."

As his eyes trailed across Aemond's clean armour, the knight let out a strained snarl.

"Lest you be scared to, of course."

That seems to be the final drop for Aemond, who suddenly unsheathes his own Valyrian steel sword, and places it atop Cain's breastplate. "You'll regret ever taunting a dragon."

"We'll see."

Having said the last of their words, the men swayed on their feet, clashing steel with steel. When Aemond charged him, Cain moved barely fast enough to avoid the blade's sharp edge.

No sooner was Aemond's first slash blocked, that the knight made another - this time, the Kinslayer's armour proved to be pivital, as the sword rang though his breastplate, without making any damage to the warm body inside.

Hard and fast the cuts came, from low and high, from left and right, and each one Cain managed to block. The frustration in Aemond's eye etched itself into Vhagar's mighty roar, so barbaric and wild, that it sent a shiver of dread down (Y/N)'s spine.

Her knight caught one blow high on his armour, and a painted trout had lost its head. He countercut, and the Prince imposed his own shield, lunching in a fiery backslash.

Cain moved to his right, but the Kinslayer blocked him with a quick side-step, and drove him back the other way... towards the darkness of the cage, hoping to blind him and take his head.

The knight gave ground until he felt the shadows dancing on his back. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him what was way behind, and that recklessness almost cost him his head, when Aemond began his attacks anew.

One hit over his legs by (Y/N)'s dagger sent the Prince tumbling on his back, but he surged his way on his feet again with a rash counter-attack. He let out a wild roar, and his cold steel plowed into Ser Cain's flesh, where his shoulder joined his neck, stopping at the knight's breastbone.

The blood came rushing out in a hot, black gush - Ser Cain's knees folded slowly, as if for prayer, and when he opened up his mouth, only blood came out.

"NO!" The girl yelled out in a blood curling shriek, and she tumbled forward, trying to get a hold of the knight's bloodied cape.

With his last ounce of strenght, Ser Cain pushed the girl aside and slashed his sword up in the air - but Aemond spun like a turret, and blocked his mindless hack with a teasing smile on his face, discarding his sword to the side.

"I hope your God's a sweet one, Waters bastard." Aemond hummed through his hooded eyes, "For you're going to meet him shortly."

Wincing from the pain that was now licking at his opened flesh, Ser Cain spat over Aemond's boots, while gripping his shoulder to stop the endless rivers of blood, that were being eaten by the dirt.

Unamused, though still smirking, the One Eyed Prince raised his sword in the air, to deliver that one, final cut.

"STOP!" The Lady's voice rang through the tiny cave, grasping Aemond's attention.

Standing tall, she gripped Cain's sword in her own stilled hands, and brought it back to her own stomach.

"If you kill Cain now, I'll run this blade right through my insides!"

As if fallen under a spell, Aemond spat a low curse out, and rested his sword back on his hip. Wordless still, he pushed the knight down with the end of his Achile's heel, but raised his hands up in quiet surrender.

"I mean it!" She sobbed into the open space, her eyes never leaving Aemond's. "We'll see then what kind of support you'll receive from the Riverlords for your usurper kin!"

As if to accentuate her words, she pressed the sword deeper into her scorching heat, applying enough pressure to draw out a little cove of blood.

"Let him go. Let him live, and you can bring me back to Harrenhal, yeah?" The girl asked the Targaryen Prince tentatively.

"Hmm."

So very slowly, Aemond's feet carried him to (Y/N)'s direction. With one hand still raised in the air, he lowered the hilt of Cain's sword, pushing the tip away from her convulsing body.

His lonesome eye trailed low, enough to meet the poke of her clothes, and Viserys' second son let out a disappointed sigh.

His hand reached to cup the girl's jaw, and he gingerly turned it from side to side - inspecting it, just as he'd done when they first clashed wits in her prison cell.

"You've lost weight." He remarked through a furrowed brow.

Suddenly, his hand trailed lower still, all the way down to her neck, which he gripped gently, possessively.

"You are in no position to make demands. Do you think he won't come after you again if I let him live?"

"You all but severed his right hand - he will never fight again." The girl begged him with logic and fact, whilst swallowing thickly, as her heart hammered out of her chest.

"Let him live." Her hand ghosted above his tightening grip, her eyes frantically searching for his. "If you do so, I won't put up a fight ever again."

The final words of her vow caused a pleasant shiver run down Aemond's back. He falthered his grip on her throat, and moved both hands to cage her in between his body and the cold stones.

"Keep your... fucking hands... away from her." Cain hissed from his laying place, trying his hardest to get back up on his feet again.

Aemond's body tensed again, but, before he could move away from (Y/N) and do anything, the girl gripped his cheeks with both hands and brought his eye on her again.

"Stop it, Cain." She preleened through a shaky breath. "It's done."

Aemond's throat rumbled out in a purr of satisfaction, and he harshly grabbed the woman to bring her outside with him.

The monstrous Vhagar awaited them with open wings - and an open jaw -, which made the girl stop on her tracks and plant her feet into the grimy ground.

"I can't get on top of that-!" She uttered pleadingly, shooting Aemond down with a jaded look.

"You will watch your tongue, churl. That is Vhagar. And you will be riding her tonight." He pulled the woman near him and approached his dragon with four swift steps.

'The bond between a dragon and their rider it's a sacred thing.' Jacaerys' voice rang out in her ears.'The dragon always knows what the rider is feeling... Sometimes even better than the man himself.'

"You should be honoured." Aemond disrupted her trail of thought with an assertive remark, "Very few have been introduced to the Queen of the Dragons before."

His touch made her nauseous. Her head was swirling with a hundred unanswered questions, and the way Vhagar looked at them both only stirred her along more.

As Aemond reached for (Y/N)'s hand, the she-dragon let out a disapproving roar.

"Sagon gīda, Vhagar." He hushed gently, as if sharing a sensual secret with an old lover. "Rības issa udra. Umbagon nykeēdrosa."

His rough palm clutched the girl's one tightly, and he jerked her hand forward to touch the dragon's scales.

Restless, Vhagar tried to move away, rejecting the touch of the woman she didn't deem safe for Aemond.

'Dragons have a way of knowing how we all feel. If you wanted me dead now, Vermax wouldn't be so keen to please you.' Jacaerys laughed inside her ear.

But (Y/N) wanted Aemond dead. And of course, Vhagar knew that.

It came to no surprise that she was declining her touch. Still, Aemond persisted.

He moved behind the girl's small frame, and pressed his body against hers so harshly, that she tumbled forward, coming into full contact with Vhagar's scarred belly.

"Gīda, Vhagar." He whispered again, "Dohaeragon issa. Rȳbagon se rības."

Slowly, yet surely, the weary groans of the she-dragon ceased, as Aemond kept reassuring her.

When the Prince felt the bond satisfactory enough, he threw the woman over his shoulder, and began climbing to his dragon's saddle.

(Y/N) let out a disparaging heave, and she had to repeatedly remind herself just how close she was to a dragon's jaws, as to not hit Aemond over the head with all her strenght.

Once they reached the top, Aemond gently lowered her onto the saddle, making fast work on the belts around them.

His hand ghosted between her legs, in a feigned attempt to check the bindings, and the lady shot him a disapproving frown.

Whilst letting out a dangerous chuckle, Aemond shook his head and mounted himself behind her. "Are you ready?" He murmured into her left year.

Not even waiting for an answer, he rose his head and commanded clearly;

"Sōvegon!"

Thoughout the whole ride, the girl kept her eyes closed, despite Aemond's numerous attempts to make her open them.

They reached Harrenhall not even twenty minutes later, and the lady had to stiffle a bitter laugh as she dismounted the glorious beast.

If only her and Cain could have travelled faster; then nothing bad would have ever happened.

Cain...

She turned to glance at the ground, and closed her eyes for a quick prayer.

Though she believed not in the Old Gods or the New, her heart beckoned her to hope for his safety.

She let Aemond carry her back inside, not even paying attention to her surroundings.

He lost a lot of blood, her psyche echoed back to her, But there is a chance he made it out there.

The light click of doors closing grounded her back to her harsh reality. Peeling them from the ground, Lady Tully turned her eyes to the decour of the room, and took a step back once she realised this wasn't her old tower.

"You'll be sleeping with me from now on, My Lady." Aemond's velvety voice fell upon her deafened ears. "We won't have any other shameful accidents - not as long as you're under my protection."

The woman felt as if she could gag at any given moment. If Aemond thought, just for a second, that she'd bed him or become his whore, he'd be unpleasantly surprised.

She'd rather sleep on the floor. Or see herself rot back in the Dungeons.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Aemond let out a low hum.

He came before her, and scooted closer. His hand reached up, resting above her collarbones, and his breath hitched in his throat.

Timidly, his fingers came down to gently carress them, and the One Eyed Prince had to bite back a deep moan.

The contrast between his rough fingertips and her soft skin felt exquisite, and so, so right.

For a second, he thought about the kinds of sounds that might come from her haughty mouth as he slowly entered her. How her face would twist in pleasure, as he gradually, gently, taught her the art of the bedroom.

His lustful thoughts came to an end when he noticed how her face contorted in disgust and displeasure.

Familiar anger flared within him.

She was a whore. A lowly girl who, no doubt, spent every day spreading her legs to his bastard nephiew before, taking him into her sacred depths whenever he so wished to.

So why was she resisting him?

Did she not feel his touch as electrifying as hers was for him?

"Don't be scared. I will not bed you." He uttered near her swollen lips. "I take no pleasure in claiming what's not freely given."

An arrogant smirk tugged at the ends of his upturned lips.

He brought his thumb to brush over her lower lip, toying with it until he forced himself to let it go.

"But it's in a whore's nature to be begging for cock. And you will be pleading for mine before the Spring's end, I can promise you that."

Taglist:

@ohitsthemaster @bellameshipper

Translations:

"Sagon gīda, Vhagar." = Be calm, Vhagar;

"Rības issa udra. Umbagon nykeēdrosa." = Obey my words. Stay still;

"Gīda, Vhagar." = Calm, Vhagar;

"Dohaeragon issa. Rȳbagon se rības." = Serve me. Listen and obey;

"Sōvegon!" = Fly;

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys strong #house of the dragon #jacaerys valaryon #the harshest winters #dark aemond #Spotify

[ericaand]

can i request an angsty hurt/comfort eddie munson x reader? i would love to see reader meeting kas!eddie for the first time and realizing how much her boyfriend has changed and maybe even saves him? idk haha!

or!! this is very specific, but could you do a cheerleader!reader x eddie munson, where they are in an established relationship when s4 happens. and they used to be enemies before they became lovers? so maybe reader or eddie gets hurt and hits their head (blunt force, bleeding, swelling, idk) during the piggyback plan (as opposed to getting eaten by bats) and so when one of them wakes up in the hospital, they have lost their memories of the last few years? and so whoever didn’t get injured has to be put through the hurt/comfort of realizing that their partner doesn’t remember dating them, but does remember when they were ‘enemies’? and ofc a happy ending, maybe where they try to get the one who was injured to get to know them again in hopes of it jogging their memories. (bonus points if one of them is insulting the other, like if cheerleader!reader lost her memories she would probably call eddie a freak and if eddie lost his memories he would probably call her a half wit conformist or something)

just some ideas!!

Oooooh, I'm getting 'The Vow' vibes from this.

Yes, absolutely.

Thanks for the request Anon. I hope it reaches you so you can enjoy it I had a blast writing it. Hope you like ittt!

"Eddie, dear, you've got to go. Visiting hours are over."

"Can I just stay, just a few more minutes? What if she wakes up? She'll be scared if she's alone." He sighs.

"No dear, I'm sorry." The nurse opens the large door and waves him through.

Eddie wanders out to the hall and to his van, where he sleeps at night while you're in the hospital.

You blink your eyes open, foggy and faded. The only light that fills the room is from the machines that you're connected to. Annoying, repetitive beeps are amidst the silence. It doesn't take long for you to recognize you're in the hospital.

"Hello? Hellooo?" You search for a nurse button; once found you push it. You see a swipe of a figure passing your window of the hall as the door swings open.

"Oh my! Hello, dear! How are you?" The nurse asks.

"I'm...kind of thirsty." You respond horsely.

"Oh of course you are! Allow me to grab you some water and I'll find the doctor, he'll be in quickly."

You're sipping your water as the doctor enters. He asks if you know who you are, where you are, and how you got here. You respond with knowing who you are, and where you are, but not how you got here. He nods and checks you over, assuring you that you are doing well.

"Honey?" The nurse knocks and enters slowly. "I have someone here to see you. He hasn't left your side. I practically have to drag him out of here every day after visiting hours are over." She giggles.

She opens the door wider and you nod. None other than Eddie "the freak" Munson walks in! You shake your head, furrowing your brows, and wrinkling your nose.

"What are you doing here, freak?" You scoff, arms folded over your chest.

Eddie breathes deeply, then begins to laugh as he walks to you and bends down to hug you.

"Ew, what're you doing?"

"Baby, why are you being mean?" He asks.

"Cause you're a freak, and you tried to touch me! Why are you even here?"

"Are you okay?" Eddie looks concerned, then dashes out the door. "Nurse! Hello? Somebody! There's something wrong with my girlfriend!"

Girlfriend. GIRLFRIEND. Girlfriend. No, no, no. There is no way this freak thinks you're his girlfriend.

The three of them rush in, Eddie standing at the foot of your bed; hand across his chest, biting his nails on the other. A nurse on one side, and the doctor on the other.

You point to Eddie, "This freak thinks I'm his girlfriend! I am not. He needs to leave, like right now."

You can see Eddie's eyes welling as he shakes his head. The nurse quietly speaks something to him and whisks him away.

"Gross." You say under your breath.

Your parents came and picked you up the next day. As you neared your house, you noticed Eddie's van in your driveway. "Mom, what's the freak doing here? Is he stalking me or something?"

Your mom furrowed her brows, then widened her eyes. "Oh I don't know honey, I'll tell him to go home."

On your first day back at school, people took two approaches to you. First, some acted like you were a fragile china doll and ignored you completely. Second, they hovered around you, like you were a damn queen; fun at first, now annoying.

You unlatched the locker and opened it, breathing in an oddly familiar smell. As you moved books and binders out of the way you come to find a bandana. It smells of sweat and cheap shampoo. It instantly gives you butterflies as you felt a smile beginning to form on your face. You shook your head and began to pull everything from your locker in search of more evidence. Nothing.

Back at home, you begin to go through your things - drawers, diaries, notebooks, photo albums, everything you could possibly think of to find clues about the mystery man.

So far you'd found a guitar pick, the bandana, and a ring made of paperclips with what looked like a heart-shaped rock, kinda. You gathered them into your hands and laid them on the kitchen counter by your mom.

"Who's are these?" You asked firmly.

Your mother tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the pan and set it down. She turned to you, put her hands on her hips, and sighed.

You looked at her with wide eyes, "So?"

"I just thought we'd gotten a second chance with you! I took the opportunity while I could! You've got to understand, we don't want you to ruin your life. You have so much potential." She raised her voice even louder, "And that freak was about to take it all away! He was going to take you away from us, from here, from your dreams of college and a career!"

You clenched your jaw and inhaled deeply, shaking your head. You ran back to your room, put on your sneakers, and stormed through the front door. You could hear your mother yelling as you ran down the road, tears welling in your eyes.

As you reached the road that enters the trailer park, you slowed down and walked as you caught your breath. You stared at the ground, mumbling as you walked. Why didn't anyone say a damn thing? Were they really all that afraid of him? Or maybe just shitty friends.

You reached the bottom of the stairs to Eddie's trailer and it felt familiar. It felt like coming home. You heard the metal of the door unlatch, and the creak of the door opening slowly. You looked up.

"Y/n?"

Your lower lip began to quiver as you allowed your tears to stream down your face. Eddie ran down the stairs, chains clanking and dangling.

He wrapped you up in his arms and placed a hand on your head as you brought it to his shoulder. You two stood, rocking side to side as he whispered, "It's okay. It's all okay. I'm here. We're okay." And you could hear his voice cracking.

You grabbed his waist and pushed him away enough to look him in the eyes.

"Eddie, I'm so sorry. I don't feel like myself again, but it's slowly coming back. Little things, here and there. I found your bandana in my locker, and it smelled like you. So I searched and searched, and found your pick and a paper clip ring." You began to cry harder.

He grabbed either side of your face and used his thumbs to wipe away your tears; the roughness scratching your skin.

"None of it made sense! None of it felt right. And no. one. fucking. told me! Screw them all!" You yelled.

"But as soon as I got to this bottom step, I just knew." You said with a shrug.

Eddie placed a hard and long kiss on your forehead.

You placed your hand on his stomach and pushed him away, looking at him with disgust. "Ew, freak!"

Then you smiled devilishly, grabbing him by his leather jacket and pulling him in as you dove onto his lips. You could feel the curve of his lips into a smile, as he mumbled into your kiss. "I love you."

#eddie #munson #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #eddie munson boyfriend #eddie munson brainrot #eddie munson cute #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson request #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #ericaand request

[drunkewok]

Tiger Inside

Chapter Twelve

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 2.5k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and does not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

My back rested against the cool, padded floor of the gym, eyes pressed shut and arms splayed as I attempted to steady my breathing. I had awoken early despite my late night out, the ability to fall back asleep failing me. Everything felt tense from the night prior. The adrenaline that had pumped its way through my veins feeling as though it would never escape, holding my muscles and brain hostage. 

How stupid I had been to let my guard down for a single night, the charm of an unknown stranger getting the best of me. My mind continued to replay my moments at the table with him, attempting to recount when he had the ability to discreetly slip something into my drink without my knowledge. I had always been so vigilant of my drinks before, why now, when it is of the utmost importance did I let that skill fade?

In a frustrated huff, I sat up and pulled my headphones back over my ears, standing and facing the punching bag once more. My wrapped hands balled into fists before making contact with the material, a sharp puff of air leaving my lips with each blow. I let myself get carried away in the motions, brain in a fog as I continued my shots, Changbin’s training on stature and form replaying on a mental loop through my ears.  

Minho. His rash decision to pull the drink from my hand, his stare down with Seonghwa as he drank it himself, his slow descent into unconsciousness all leading up to his arms slung over Seongho and my shoulders.

“You” Punch. “Stupid.” Punch. “Idiot.” My final punch grew in force, sending the punching bag swinging as I settled my fists on my hips, the sound of my breathing from my heaving chest muffled over the sound of my music. I swung around in shock as my headphones are slowly pulled from my ears, a smirking Minho now standing with them in hand with an arched brow.

“What was that?” His cocky grin plastered his face, a clear look of amusement. I scoffed as I pulled the headphones from his grasp, turning and walking away to grab my water bottle off the bench. Minho’s steps followed me, taking a seat on the bench and leaning back against the wall, eyes following me as I took a drink from the bottle. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same thing? Shouldn’t you be resting after your little act last night?” I avoided his gaze as I screwed the lid back on, ignoring his presence as I turned to continue my assault on the punching bag. 

“I’m a little groggy, but I’ll be fine. Wasn’t my first run in with it.” Minho gave a soft shrug, brushing off the blunt statement.

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” My words are choppy through my punches, my sharp breaths giving me an aspirated tone. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my skin as I distracted myself from his direction, landing one last punch before speaking again. “Not really something to brag about.” I flicked the stray strands of hair from my face as I tilted my head back with a deep breath, staring up to the ceiling. “Doesn’t make it any less stupid." I lowered my head to finally look at him, my face contorted in confusion. “Also, are we just gonna breeze by the fact that you just said it wasn’t your first time? Because that’s a little worrisome” 

Minho slowly rose from his seat, his stride over to me slow as he rounded behind me, my shoulders immediately tensing as two hands settled on them, his head leaning forward beside my own. Minho’s voice was barely a whisper, sending the same familiar chills down my spine from last night.

“Says the serial run-away.” My face scrunched as I attempted to shake him off of me, pulling myself away to the other side of the bag and continuing my practice. My intentions were to come down here to be by myself, take some anger out on a punching bag for breakfast in lieu of a cup of coffee, but in classic Minho fashion, that wasn’t going to be an option for my choosing.

“What is it you want Minho? I'm busy.“ I tried to ignore his presence, hoping he would eventually just slither away and allow me to practice without his distraction.

Minho let out a breathy chuckle before turning and crossing over to the shelves of equipment against the wall, pulling two padded mitts from a bin and turning back to me. I halted my punches and held the bag in place as he finally gained the first form of eye contact from me, my hands settling at my side as he pulled the flat punching mitts onto his hands.

“What are you doing?” I raised my brow raised in confusion, watching as he adjusted the positioning of the padding, his voice blunt with his response.

“I’m helping.” Minho pulled the straps around his wrists, tightening their hold with his focus pointed away from me. 

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to do that right now.” My head tilted as I questioned his decision, unsure if he had the capability to hold himself strong with training.

“I beg to differ.” He glanced up at me through his lashes before closing the distance between us, holding his hands up toward me, the targets pointing directly at me. “Hit me.”

“What? No!” I’m immediately taken aback by even the thought of training with him at the moment, when not even eight hours ago this man was being hauled into the home unconscious, in need of tending to by Seungmin’s hand due to his own rash decisions. 

“I said, hit me.” His voice grew firm as he got into stance, feet gluing him to the ground as he commanded. My eyes flicked between him and the mitts, hesitation running through my body and doubt if this was actually a good idea. But his eyes held a fire I had yet to see, challenging me. 

I sighed as I rolled my head across my shoulders, placing myself before him and maintaining eye contact for a moment before my first punch. I held my fists up, giving him one last opportunity for his retreat. He wasn’t backing down, still holding strong, anticipating the first blow. Following another sigh, I placed a few punches to his hands, alternating between the two.

“Oh com’on, those are weak. Do better.” Minho challenged me as I glared him down, the heat from my rising anger in my chest now melting in with the heat from the workout.  I timed my punches carefully, sometimes pairing the alternating blows in quick succession. “You’re going to have to do a lot better if you want to impress me.” 

“Arrogant prick.” My mouth worked faster than my brain, muttering out the statement with heavy breaths before I even had a chance to realize I was speaking. I pulled back with a huff, steadying my heaving chest. 

“I’ve earned the right to be arrogant.” Minho pressed the glove into my sternum, eyes burning into mine as he neared closer. I held my shoulders taut, holding my ground as his attempt to intimidate me failed. “I know you have anger in there, now take it out on me.” His last words melted out almost in a growl, at this point I wasn’t sure if he was talking about my anger, or his own. My jaw clenched as I settled myself back into position, waiting for him to prep himself. 

My mind ran through everything that had led me up to this point, back to the very moment of watching my home burn to ashes beside my mother. That same fire now setting ablaze in my chest as I threw a punch into the mitt. Every doubt that had been replaying in my mind telling me I didn’t have the potential. The day my father pulled me into his office, informing me of the need for me to pack my things. There’s an apartment for you that we’ve set up in Gangnam. Not even being by my side as him and Jiho watched me crawl into the back of the car, driving off. You’ll be safer this way. Walking into the painfully quiet apartment, alone.

“Keep your chin down.” Minho’s barked command barely registered in my ears, the memories playing through my mind pulling too much focus beyond where I currently stood.

My time spent locked away in a dark apartment, a pathetic rendition of Rapunzel, the story twisted to one of a girl wallowing in fear. A fear I refused to let consume me any longer. I had built my world brick by brick after watching the previous crumble before me, and I’ll be damned if it happened again. 

Seonghwa’s stupid beautiful smirk, Yunho’s gaze through the rearview mirror. My careless acts could get me killed now. Reality needed to sink in, I needed to get my head screwed on straight and take my predicament seriously, to process the fact that this was quickly turning into a life or death situation.

“Tuck your elbows” 

I quite easily could conveniently miss the targeted hands in front of me. Maybe a swift punch to the face might do him some good. 

“Bite me.” I spit back, my gaze stayed pointed at his hands, trying to ignore his eyes digging into me as I continued. The strongest source of my frustrations. The very person standing before me. His cloud of doubt looming over me in everything that I do. His grip when he’s mad at me, his retorts, his cocky nature and that damn smirk that spreads across his face. Oh how I wish I could be the one to forcefully smack it off of him. The very person who is supposed to be bringing me to my strongest, belittling everything I do. Seeing himself as the power player of the house, the team, and over me. My blows began to increase in speed and power, his demeanor being the fuel needed to grant me strength.

“Bend your knees, I could knock you over if I sneezed.” His final words sent me over the edge, a particularly strong punch as I pulled my arm back and flew it into hand with force, sending him staggering backwards as I knocked him off balance. “There it is. Finally.” His proud chuckle only ignites my fire further, scoffing as I make my way to the bench, pulling the wraps from my hands, and trying to settle the anger now coursing through my veins. 

“We’re done here.” I grabbed my water bottle, trying to make a b-line for the door as Minho quickly stepped in front of me, raising a hand and stopping me in my tracks. I tried to shuffle around him, but he slips in tow with me, maintaining his wall between me and the door. “Minho, move.” He quietly rose a hand in the air, stopping me in my tracks. I sighed, eyes pointed at the door before slowly gliding to meet his in a glare. My fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand out of my way and pushing past him. I could hear an exasperated sigh behind me as the door slam shut, as if he had any reason to be irritated at the moment.

The kitchen was softly lit by the growing sunrise, a single light in the corner contributing to the dim glow. Chan stood leaning against the counter, sipping on a cup of coffee and fully engrossed into the happenings on his phone as I came bounding into the kitchen, interrupting his peaceful morning. I flipped the faucet on as I ran my water bottle beneath it, letting the water pour in.

“Nice to see you up early and training.” My exhausted state was clear as I closed my eyes with a sigh, my sweat coated hair sticking to my skin. 

“I guess you could say that.” Flipping off the faucet, I stepped back and pulled myself onto the island counter, crossing my ankles and hunching over on my hands, staring out the garden window to the rising sun. I let myself calm as I felt the bubbles boiling in my blood starting to settle, attempting to leave any previous thought locked away in the basement and far away. But still Minho remained, his agitating voice creating permanent residence in the back of my head, poking me anytime I began to feel any sort of hold. 

“Going that well, huh?” Chan chuckled as he slipped his phone into his pockets, then bringing his mug to his lips with a smile. It was beginning to feel as though he was receiving enjoyment out of Minho and I’s spats, viewing it as some sort of sick entertainment. 

“I just don’t know what he wants from me. We aren’t going to make any progress like this.” I rested my face in my hand, attempting to no avail to rub the frustration out through my eyes. I was getting whiplash from any time spent in the same room as Minho, struggling to comprehend what game he was playing with me. 

“But you’re already making progress.” Chan set his mug beside him, crossing his arms as his amused state faded, morphing into one of more seriousness. 

“But I don’t feel like I am.” I could feel my shoulders slump, the defeat I was trying so hard to fight off finally catching back up with me. I couldn’t fathom the ability to flourish in my training when the one barking commands at me makes me feel less than.  

“You are though, Minho told me so. He said every time he works with you, he’s seeing improvement.” I scoffed with a roll of the eyes, my doubt strongly against his statement taking over. 

“I find that hard to believe, the guy still acts like just my existence is an inconvenience to him” The thought of the chances of Minho saying something positively about me felt slim, still being unsure if he even had the ability to do so.

“I can assure you, you’re doing better than you think you are. Now if you buckled down and started taking things seriously and stop making rash decisions, you’d be excelling.” There it is again, that disappointed dad card. I started to wonder if he pulls this on the members too, I can’t imagine it’s very easy to keep this group of guys in line with anything else. 

“HYUUUNG!” Almost on cue at the thought of the other members, a distant yell upstairs followed by a door swinging open and bounding footsteps above us catches the two of us by alarm. The frantic steps down the stairs carried both of our eyes to the hallway as Felix swung around the edge of the banister and ran down the hall into the kitchen. 

“Hyung…” He leaned forward onto the counter behind me, head hung as his heavy breathing caught up with him, seeming like the poor guy had just run an entire marathon in his panic. His gaze was brought up to Chan, eyes burning with urgency. "I found the warehouse.”

Next Chapter

#stray kids mafia #stray kids #skz mafia #skz #lee know x reader #lee know enemies to lovers #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #jeongin #fanfiction #stray kids freeze #lee know mafia #lee know mafia au #alternate universe #lee know fic #drunkewok

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

Bᴀᴅ ɪɴꜰʟᴜᴇɴᴄᴇ

➜ Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x reader

➜ Synopsis: The spiral of smoke faded into the night sky. You shouldn't be doing this, something that could easily get you and Anakin in such deep trouble, but you just couldn't help it, not when he was looking at you so sweetly.

➜ Warnings: Gn!reader, padwan!Anakin, heights, smoking, weed, mentions of fire, fluff

➜ Word Count: 1.2k

➜ Notes: I have never smoked weed in my life, and it shows lmao

Sᴛᴀʀᴡᴀʀs Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

“Have you ever done this before?” You asked him as you lit the blunt. Your legs swinging over the ledge of the abandoned building the two of you always met on top off. The view of Coruscant was perfect from this spot at night. It made you feel on top of the world, like you could see everything as you looked down at the city lights that twinkled brightly before you.  

Anakin looked at you uncertainly from where he was sitting next to you, his nerves showing through his façade of confidence.  

“No...”

“Well, I’m glad your first times with me then,” you said, your tone playful and light. You looked at him, turning more serious. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want too though.” You didn’t want to push him into something he didn’t truly want to do.  

“No, no its fine. I’d like to try it at least once,” he told you reassuringly  

“You sure?” you checked  

“I can never say no to you Y/N.” His answer made you blush and look away, focusing on the blunt in your hand instead, and clearing your throat awkwardly. He always seemed to know exactly how to get you flustered.  

“Okay well, um, just watch me I guess,” you said as you brought the blunt to your lips and inhaled, then moved it away. You waited for a moment before exhaling it all out, watching as the smoke drifted into the cool night air. You passed him the blunt once you were done, and he took it from you, bringing it to his lips and mimicking what you’d showed him.  

Before he could even exhale the smoke fully, he began coughing, “How was that?” He choked out, and you laughed at him.  

“It was prefect,” you teased  

Just like you, a voice in your head whispered out, and although you couldn’t disagree with it, you pushed the thought away quickly and turned your attention back to Anakin. Who now had a smirk plastered on his face, letting you know, that he had also heard your thoughts.  

“I’m not perfect,” he said, and you shot him a glare, your cheeks turning a light pink as you realized he was in your head again.  

“I don’t think that’s a very appropriate use of the force Skywalker,” you scolded him teasingly, although you were embarrassed that he had heard that thought. Anakin held up his hands in mock surrender, the gesture accompanied with an eye roll at the use of his last name.

“I deeply and sincerely apologize L/N.” He snipped back. This was a routine the two of you often went through, and every time you found yourself wishing that you could use the force and read his mind as well, see if he felt the same way about you that you felt about him.

Sometimes he would flirt with you, although you were never sure if he was doing it as a joke or if he was serious about the things he said. When you really thought about it, it hurt. I mean he was flirting with you as a joke even though he knew how you felt about him? Real asshole move.  

“You really should stop thinking those things about me when you’re around me if you don’t want me to find out, you know.” His eyes were full of amusement as he spoke to you and it was your turn to roll your eyes at him now, taking the blunt from him and taking another hit.  

“Really? Maybe you should stop coming into my head uninvited. It's not very Jedi-like of you after all, is it?” You replied sarcastically.

“Neither is sneaking out to do weed with a friend at eleven at night,” he replied and you smirked.  

“As long as you don’t get caught,” you teased.

A comfortable silence settled between you as you passed the blunt back and forth, smoking more then you probably should have on a Wednesday night.  

“Obi wan thinks you’re a bad influence.” Anakin blurted out suddenly, breaking the silence that had surrounded the two of you.  

Your head snapped towards him, eyes wide in horror as you replied, “Your master knows about me?!”

“Well, he knows of you, and that were friends, and that we hang out sometimes,” seeing that his words didn’t quiet quell your worry he quickly added, “he doesn’t know when I sneak out to see you, or that we do this kind of stuff.”  

You let out a small ‘oh’ before going quiet, your thoughts refocusing on Anakins first point. It soured your mood a bit. If his master thinks I’m a bad influence then what does he think of me? You thought to yourself.  

You didn’t say anything for a moment and it made Anakin anxious as he watched you spin the blunt around in your fingers, obviously thinking about his words.  

“Do you think I’m a bad influence?” you finally spoke and Anakin sighed.

“I don’t think you you’re the best influence on me...” you nodded in understanding, and took another hit of the blunt before snuffing it out on the ground next to you. He could feel the weed beginning to kick in and so could you, “I don’t really care though. You’d never force me into anything, not that you could if you tried,” he slightly smirked at his own words, “I-”  

“Anakin,” you said, catching his attention and cutting him off. As he turned to you, he realized he really liked the way you said his name.  

You took a deep breath before continuing. You definitely shouldn’t be saying this, but you were high. Really fucking high, and you did not have the heart to stop yourself. “I like you a lot, more than I probably should, and in a more then a friend's way. I know that Jedi can't have romantic relations and stuff. I’m pretty sure you already kno-”  

Your confession was cut short as his hands cupped your face, and pulled you towards him, connecting your lips. Your eyes widened in shock, because Anakin Skywalker was kissing you. He was kissing you and kissing you the way you had dreamed he would. With all the passion and love that you had dreamed his kisses would be filled with.

Your eyes slipped closed and you kissed him back. One of Anakin's hands went down, finding its place on your waist and pulling you into him while your hands settled on his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt loosely. He leaned over you slightly, deepening the kiss and forcing you to crane your neck further up then what you already had to to kiss him.  

After a final hot kiss Anakin reluctantly pulled away with a pant, pressing his forehead against yours. You didn’t open your eyes though, keeping them closed as if you were afraid that if you were to open them, you’d wake up and this would have ended up to be just a dream.  

“I know,” he whispered to you, his lips slightly swollen and a stupid smile adorning his face as he spoke, "I've known for a while.” You felt a wide smile stretch across your face at his words. You knew it.

“Why didn’t you do anything about it earlier then?” you asked him, your volume matching his.  

“I wanted you to tell me, I wanted you to want me to know.” Your eyes opened to meet his beautiful blue ones, your smile only widening as you spoke (If that was even possible).  

“Maker Anakin,” you breathed out with a gentle shake of your head. You pressed a sweet kiss to his lips, and he laughed into it.  

#starwars #starwars the clone wars #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #anakin fic #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker clone wars #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin star wars

[thevikingwoman]

A small gift for @galadae! I love Cala and Hien so much, and had to write this little scene. I hope you enjoy, my friend 💕

thank you so much for your support of my own brainrot 😔

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 527 | Read on Ao3

Calantha Lenn x Hien Rijin | romance Ranting: T. Fluff, established relationship, sparring

Stress Relief

Calantha is somewhere between aggravated, alarmed and saddened – not that she perhaps would use those words herself. She mostly just finds herself weary, and glad she has the time to see Hien, her stress lifting as soon as she sat foot in the Kienkan. Even if she does, perhaps, slam the shoji open with more force than strictly necessary.

“Calantha!” Hien looks up from the scroll he’s been reading, and smiles at her. She doesn’t even resist the urge to smile back, some of her annoyance dissipating at the sight of him. “How you are you?”

“Fine,” she replies. Really, she is. “And you?”

Hien nods, rolls up his scrolls and stands. “To be forthright, I need to stretch my legs – too many missives today.”

He reaches for her, and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“Do you care to spar, Calantha? I could use the exercise.”

Calantha considers. She is tired, but restless.

“Not afraid I will injure your pride?”

“We will see.”

~

They warm up both of them, the luxury of having time to stretch and not rushing into battle. Calantha picks a simple lance, and Hien a training katana.

“Ready?” Hien asks, and Calantha realizes she is more than, bouncing on her feet, restlessness winning over her tiredness.

Hien charges her, and she jumps, avoiding his swing. It’s a rush next; attack and dodge, weapons connecting, retreat and attack, strike and parry. She thinks she gets a hit in or two, but Hien doesn’t flinch and presses on, likewise managing a strike on her, the blunt weapon striking across her thigh.

Hien grins at her, and presses his advantage, but Calantha flips out of his way, landing solidly in the empty training yard. She wipes sweat off her brow, and their dance begins anew. Now, Calantha takes the time to assess the battlefield, determined not to let Hien get the upper hand. She knows his fighting style, as well as he knows hers. Considering, she vaults back when he advances, twisting herself to avoid crashing into a training dummy. Hien advances again, his gaze blazing, almost like a physical caress.

It wouldn’t serve to get distracted now. She goes on the offense, thrusting her lance with a renewed fierceness. Thrust and counter. Thrust and counter.  When Hien takes a step back, she presses, and jumps.

Calantha has him against the wall, the tip of her lance pressed against his throat. She looks down at him with a feral smile, and Hien swallows and licks his lips.

“You got me, Calantha.”

She breathes out, a hard puff, and tosses her lance to the ground.

“And your pride?”

“Hale and well.” He drops the katana, and puts his hands around her waist. “You did not have me on the ground.”

She bends her head and kisses him, hard and rough at first, but she slows when he melts under her, giving and giving and giving. Calantha feels much less tired and far more calm when they finally break the kiss apart, and she pulls him as close as she can.

“I think you tricked me,” she says.

Hien smiles into her collarbone.

“Did, I now?”

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfic #final fantasy 14 #hien rijin #calantha lenn #calien #hienwol #I hope this works for them #I enjoy their dynamic so much #thank you and happy holidays hannah #I had a lot of fun writing them #viking writes #published 12/22/2023

[c-c-v]

I just really wanted to write this out finally, don't minds. It be perfect combat and angst thought even tho I feel like I'm very iffy with writing said combat, but less just try it's out - also hoping Tumblr doesn't bloody bug this post either

-

Current time, and location: Season 11, Ninjago;

Aspheera had just entered the Ninjago History Museum, in search of the Ancient, forbidden scroll.

She barged through the building followed by her several fire vipers, entering the Serpentine section of the building, glancing and finding nothing of the scroll, resulting in destroying the displays and part of the room annoyed.

"Nnhhg... Where is it!" The serpent sorceresse hissed, not hesitating to bring he fangged staff down on more displays.

Fortunately, a force from behind promptly stomped onto the sorceresses back, making Aspheera yelp, as the other launched off to stand before the fire serpent.

Weapons drawn of a ax bladed, Serpentine glave, a new Serpentine stood front of Aspheera, one neatly dressed in a familiar red overcoat, with the museum icon upon it.

Baring mix traits of Hypnobrai, and Venomari, it was the current 'temporary', Museum Curator, Venobrai. Raised and taught by, and after Dr. Saunders had seeming vanished to public eye.

"Serpents like you are the reason why you'll be mentioned in the Hall of Villainy, and in history." Venobrai glared her four, red Hypnobrai eyes at the golden serpent, ready to take action.

This however made Aspheera, and her group of Fire Vipers laugh obnoxiously. "Oh... And what of you? You disgusting hybrid. I had almost forgotten things like you could exist, Venomari and Hypnobrai. Wonderful... To think I'd find something like you here however... Surely meant for displaying in a box, like the Scroll I seek."

Hear the lot made Venobrai hiss hatefully, no doubt hybrids not being the most looked upon, especially by serpents who are nearly as old as even before the Serpentine War. When things were much more strict and pressed by species separation.

"I shall have you know, you will not be getting you're hand on the scroll, or any other item here. You do not deserve it. And I know well my mentor would say the same." Venobrai hiss, as she swiftly dashed, using her axed bladed like glave as a vault to launch at Aspheera.

Venobrai was successful at getting Aspheera to the ground, but she was just as swift to block the glave with her own staff. Grunting as Aspheera shoved Venobrai off, which winded her up and on the ground to swing, resulting in a clang of metal on metal with Venobrai's axed glave, and Aspheera's fangged staff.

"Well you're mentor doesn't seem to be exactly here do they? Leaving their lone underling to take of the work for them? The alone fact of you being hybrid is one thing, but it's another to hear you lived amongst those that all somehow entombed, all of those Serpentine is even more disturbing." Aspheera smirked and talked down at Venobrai.

This resulted in a nasty move of Venobrai hissing her partial Venomari venom at Aspheera, who however swiftly slithered from the venom cloud.

But giving Venobrai a opening of nailing Aspheera in her stomach with the long blunt of her glave, knocking her back good enough with a pained paint.

"Don't you dare mention my mentor. I had little hope of surviving just as much if I stayed with other serpents. I was kindly taken in by him, and that is something I will never let go. Just like all the combat prowess he taught me to happily use on those like you..." Venobrai hissed, no doubt taking what her father of a mentor to serious heart, as she readied her glave in hand.

Aspheera was quick to recover from the unexpected blunt to her stomach, as she swiftly slithered up to Venobrai, as her staff met the glave again.

"Ah, such a feisty thing when such family is brought up, protective no? Surely something bad hasn't happened to him, cause when I'm done with you perhaps after I find the Treacherous Deceiver, I'll pay this father of yours a visit." Aspheera mockingly told with a smirk.

Aspheera then harshly shoved Venobrai back, and giving her the opening to brash the hybrid with her fangged staff, sending the now slashed serpent on the ground with a grunt.

Venobrai could only dryly chuckled as she looked back to Aspheera. "H-heh... You'd wish you could... But he is in a place far beyond everyone's reach. Which I will not let his public legacy down, by letting you get away with this!"

Venobrai had gotten up, charging at Aspheera with her axed glave out and ready.

Aspheera preparing for any other such attack, it ended in a short lived clash.

Until Venobrai pulled a slick move, using her separate Hypnobrai blue scaled tail to yank Aspheera's staff out of her hands some, giving Venobrai the advantage of striking Aspheera harshly with the flat side of her axed blade, sending the Fire Viper sorceress down. Blade now pointed to her neck.

"Ah... Someone... Clearly taught you to fight dirty... As I should of expected from a disgusting hybrid." Aspheera hissed with a glare now being unarmed and down.

"What can I say... I take what I'm taught to heart. At least now Ninjago won't have to worry of you're reign of fire." Venobrai said with a near familiar smug smirk, as she raised her axed glave to swing.

Aspheera now knew why some of these dirty moves were familiar, and such strong sense of loyalty came from, from what she remembered being told.

"You were taken in by a Master of Time, weren't you?" Aspheera asked smugged looking up the now hesitant Venobrai, who haulted..

"Wait what? How did-"

Aspheera cut her off. "Ha! No wonder why you fight like you do, if you weren't a nasty little hybrid, or Serpentine in general, you'd probably be a spitting image of him."

"What? You knew Kru-" Venobrai unfortunately being cut off again by a flaming ball of fire to her back.

Venobrai was sent flying to a wall from the force of the ball, letting out a pain excruciating cry as the blast torched her back. Burnt the back of her adorned coat and under, with a scorched scaled back.

Aspheera chuckled darkly as she got up, staff in hand again, as she loomed over the burnt Serpentine, the Fire Vipers also looming. "Ah, such a fool... To forget about other surrounding forces."

Aspheera raised her staff to finish, but hearing many few footsteps quickly approaching halted the sorceress, as she quickly slithered off into the museum with her group of Vipers to find the scroll.

Least the Ninja weren't at all far behind to aid the wounded one. Unfortunately it wouldn't bring her much answers her heard swirled about now of that with Masters of Time.

-

Annnnd there we go's, all done with a little touches of hinted mystery I have a few ideas regarding said previous Master of Time I may get out eventually someday. I at least hopes this was somewhat enjoyable :3

#ninjago #ninjago au #ninjago serpentine oc #ninjago oc #ninjago aspheera #fic #ninjago fic #master of time #oc insert

[steak-n-popotoes]

FFxivWrite '23 - 28

"Don't tell me you're giving up already," Caranar teased, "C'mon, Beef, I thought you were stronger than that!"

Beef dragged himself back up to his feet from where Caranar's swing had sent him tumbling away.

It didn't matter how much padding was on that staff, Caranar could make anything hurt.

It was far from their first sparring session. Caranar enjoyed the fight, and Beef felt he needed the challenge. They would often end up having a scuffle wherever L'kozu couldn't eye them with disapproval, though they would usually end up going to Kozu to heal their hurts regardless. Easier to ask forgiveness.

That said, if Beef managed to leave a mark on Caranar, L'kozu would usually make him bear it.

"That's more like it. Here it comes!" Caranar levered the staff and opened with a series of quick jabs, hoping to force Beef off-balance.

As Caranar expected, Beef neatly ducked past each one. He tried to go on the offensive, but with each step inward he tried to take Caranar sent another jab his way.

To look at the two fighters, one would think the match completely one-sided. Caranar had every edge: his brawn was obvious, but against his Lalafellin opponent he also had a seemingly insurmountable advantage in reach.

Caranar pressed that advantage as he swung the staff wide at Beef.

However, Beef was used to fighting above his size class. To strike a Lalafell, most races swing for the head or shoulders rather than aim low and risk becoming off-balance.

Beef dropped to all fours, ducking under Caranar's swing. He knew what would come next.

Caranar used the momentum of the missed swing to raise the staff overhead and arc downwards, sending it sailing toward Beef's vulnerable back.

The staff never met its mark. In the moment Caranar raised the staff, Beef darted forward like a coiled spring and flipped upward, delivering a heel straight to Caranar's bare chest.

Caranar let the kick land without so much as a flinch.

Before Beef could land, Caranar grabbed him by the leg and spun round before tossing Beef back out of range.

Beef barely managed to reorient himself before landing.

"No need to hold back," Caranar taunted. "Take your best shot."

Beef let out a huff and straightened his stance. One foot slid back in the dust, one palm thrust forward. Gale fluttered forward from where she was keeping her distance and hunkered down against the back of Beef's head.

Caranar had seen them do it a number of times before. It gave him pause. No amount of ribbing would make Beef strike first when he was focused like this.

"Alright. My turn, then." Caranar swung again, aiming for Beef's midsection in the hopes that he would knock Gale away when Beef ducked.

But Beef stood stock still.

The instant before the blow landed, Beef's hand darted upward to intercept the staff. Along with the hand came an immense blast of wind pressure which charged the blow with devastating power.

Not only was the swing halted, but the weapon was battered clean out of Caranar's hand. It whacked his forearm as it spun away.

Not ready to hand over the round, Caranar drew his arms inward into a defensive stance. He blocked his vitals on pure brawling instinct.

Beef propelled himself along the ground at hurricane speed, launching another kick at Caranar's ankles.

The arc of the kick seemed to swing just past its target, but the air surrounding the swipe was pushed forward with such blunt force Caranar had no choice but to brace himself against it.

With the momentum of the kick, Beef turned mid-air to land behind Caranar, and sent a punch lightning fast to the back of his opponent's knee.

The opposing forces acting on Caranar's legs forced them to buckle beneath his weight, and he slammed down hard onto his back.

This is, of course, where Beef was at the time. He was pancaked beneath the heavier fighter, resulting in both being downed at the same time.

"Oof. Sorry kid." Caranar said as he rolled off. He ignored Gale's angry clawing and picked Beef up under the arms to set him down on his feet.

Yet, Beef didn't appear to have much fight left in him. His shoulders slumped and he continued to breathe heavily.

Caranar stretched his shoulders and placed a hand against his back.

"We'll call this one another draw."

#FFxivWrite2023 #FFxivWrite #Caranar #Beef Broganoff

[crunchygranolamilk]

Chapter 1 - Out Early

TW: Implied SA, Homicide, Gore, Kidnapping

---This is the first chapter of an angsty fic I am writing with Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Emily (Hazbin Hotel). Both characters are AU/fannon. ---

Her hips scraped against the mud soaked burweed and blunted pebbles she was heaved into the backwoods. She deserved this. Those words repeated internally, her focus only interrupted by shooting pains as her captor yanked her wrists. She didn't fight him. She didn't want to. 

Glimpses of twilight speckled the twisting silhouettes of the cottonwood and oak above her. Robert and Dorothy. They would love this. She let her mind dream of teaching Dotty about the golden hour, trusting that Dotty in turn would repeat it to her baby brother. A felled branch dragged across her spine causing her to grit her teeth. It must be just after 5. They are safe with memaw. They'll be better off this way. 

Her captor finally pulled her through a clearing. The ferns and saplings around her nicked her shoulders while her knees sank into shifting earth. Now she could see him, slender and tall. His sinuous hands gripped the handle of an axe. The waning moonlight hid his features. 

"After much ado," he mussed his wild hair, "let us begin." He tugged the bottom of his shirt before returning both hands to his axe. "Emily. You've been terribly clumsy about all this."

"How--," she froze. She could accept divine retribution at the hands of a stranger for what she had done. A deranged madman unwittingly dispensing justice. That would be the Lord's sense of humor. She was careful in her clean up. Not even the priest could be called to question. So, who the hell was this?

"Ah-ah," he cut her off as he knelt before her, leaning on the head of his axe like a cane. "This is a monologue, darling. Don't step on my line." 

With him this close she could finally make out his face– teeth barred, eyes narrowed, reeking of Dapper Dan. Still, she had no recollection of her executioner. 

"You never struck me as a murderess," he chuckled. "You were pure doe-eyes and all platitudes when last we met. A decade can really do a girl wonders! Unfortunately for yourself," he leaned in close enough for her to smell the rye on his breath, "your little  experiment with mariticide has tangled our paths once again." Standing, he began a deliberate pace in his miniature round. This stage set to feature the rest of their lives. "Mimzy's brother was a bit of a rakehell, and was certainly a mechanic at the table. Surely that wasn't reason to cause my dear friend's heart to break."

Mimzy. Emily should have known Robert’s conniving shylock of a sister would figure it out. She knew what her brother was capable of, what kind of misery he'd put her through. Yet she still sent her button man. 

"Finally catching up?" Biting his lower lip, Alastor breathed a satisfied hum. "That makes it so much better for me." Emily's eyes followed the axe blade as Alastor wound up for the swing. Her ears filled with the thrum of her still beating heart. 

A rustling came from beyond the weeds causing both captor and captive to turn. Whatever was moving towards them carried itself with a deliberate gate. Alastor crouched and held a finger to his lips. With misguided faith, Emily obeyed. Then came snarling. 

Two dark mongrels leapt from the surrounding thickets. One latched onto Alastor's leg, the other to his neck. Alastor swung his axe desperately, only feeling contact with one blow. He screamed and fought until the spray from a shotgun ripped into his back. A sharp whistle cut through the air and the dogs heeled reflexively. Alastor, laid out on the earth, forced his mind to spin a tale that would paint himself a hero. Surely fellow hunters would understand. 

Unfortunately for himself, these were fellow monsters. The burly one entered the clearing first. Alastor watched him kneel over Emily. He ran his dirty finger down the center of her chest. Glancing between Alastor and Emily, he mused, "we find a lovers spat?" The man laughed and yelled towards Emily's face, "You there, miss?" 

Alastor took a moment to criticize his handiwork. What a shame. Slanted. Jagged. He could have done so much better. He followed the wound from her hair line, through her right eye, all the way to the tip of her nose. Her left pupil was fixed and dilated. The effort he put into his craft was wasted. 

She blinked. 

Shit.

"Shit. She's dead as a damn doornail," a similarly built man stepped into the clearing. "This is a damn mess. What the hell we gonna do now?"

The first man's sardonic laugh repulsed Alastor. "Gee. We got ourselves a sweet thing like this fallen in our laps and you gotta ask what to do with it?" His stubby fingers moved to the hem of Emily's dress. He stroked her inner thigh.  

Alastor realized the extent of his injuries when he tried to speak up. Beyond uncoordinated facial tics, he was incapacitated by the birdshot. Nothing would undo the damage. His stirring was enough to rouse a jump from the second man. "Damnit, boy! The hell you mean by not announcing yourself!" 

"Aw, leave him," said the first man. Then, he looked Alastor in the eye, "here's what it is: you got yourself a pretty little girlfriend here, boy. I ain't about to let this brass ring go to waste. I'll grant you the kindness of watching a man get it done. And if you're real good and quiet, I'll think about puttin' you down instead of letting you spill out." He laughed that sickening laugh again and started unbuttoning his overalls. 

Alastor stayed fixed on Emily’s eye, dreading any movement. He had only intended to settle Mimzy's score. Allowing those leches to carry on was disgraceful. 

Neither Emily nor Alastor saw the sunrise. 

---THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! I'm open to suggestions, although I was super nervous to post! I have this planned out for 3 parts. Hoping to host on AO3 soon. ---

#human alastor #alastor angst #alastor radio demon #alastor smut #alastor x emily #alastor the radio demon

[linked-blog]

Linked, Chapter 2, Part 3

A shadowy figure was looming at the entrance of the alleyway, seeming to be holding some sort of sharp object. Unum’s face lit up, and moved out from behind Igneo, where they were standing.

“Hi there,” They moved towards the figure and stuck out their hand as a friendly gesture, “my name is Unum! How are you doing today?”

“Unum-” Steno called out, faintly. Unum stayed there, with their hand extended. The figure eyed them up and down.

…

They lunged at Unum, slamming their free hand into them and knocking them back. They hit a dumpster at the back of the alleyway and fell to the ground, the force of the impact knocking the lid of the dumpster open.

“Okay, rough start.” They muttered. “Did I do something wrong? Sorry if I did something wrong, I just got here.” They tried to tell the figure, who just kept walking toward Unum.

“Uhhhhh…” Unum looked around. They reached into the dumpster and pulled out a cardboard box. “Sorry about this, future friend.” Unum winced as they threw the box at the figure. They effortlessly slashed through the box with the sharp object in their hand, not even stopping to do so. This made Steno even more worried, considering that they now fully knew the intentions of the shadowy figure. Igneo was also worried, moreso for her own life than anything else.

“Igneo, do something!” Steno whispered to her, urgently.

“And get my hands dirty? No way.” She scoffed.

“We don’t even know if they have a Link! I don’t care what it is, just help them out somehow!”

“Sure, but not because you told me to.”

Igneo’s Link was her hands, which were encased in molten rock. She could light them up on command in order to use their fiery attributes. They also gave her a lot more strength than someone would normally have, which she used to rip a storm gutter off the side of a building. Igneo had had her Link as long as Steno had known her. Steno didn’t personally have a Link, but why would he? Apparently, in order to get one, you needed to go through some sort of “important and personal experience”. Steno couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a big or important experience. Although, if he and Igneo didn’t act fast, that might change.

Igneo swung the gutter at the shadowy figure, hitting them on their back. They stopped moving towards Unum and lunged at Igneo, swinging the weapon they were holding at her. Igneo took a gamble and used her hands to block the attack. The attacker hit them and recoiled, almost as if the impact hurt them. Looking closer at them, Igneo noticed that the thing she thought was a weapon of some kind was actually fused to their arm.

Steno and Unum had both moved next to Igneo while their attacker had been staggered.

“You two.” Igneo said to them, harshly. “When I say ‘go’, we’re all going to attack them at the same time, got it? Okay, go go go go go!!” She shouted, barely giving Steno and Unum time to process her command.

Igneo ran over to the attacker and started wailing on them with no clear plan in mind. Steno and Unum just followed what she was doing, Unum going a little softer on their hits to not seem rude. It was like punching a brick wall with your bare hands, though, as the attacker was able to send them all flying with a swipe of their weapon. Steno and Unum were hit with the blunt side, but Igneo wasn’t as lucky, receiving a pretty bad cut on her abdomen. She staggered backwards towards the wall and fell down to the ground. She was out of the fight.

Unum shifted their gaze back and forth between the attacker, now slowly moving towards them again, and Igneo, who was rummaging around while holding her wound, trying to find something that she could use as a makeshift bandage. She noticed Unum looking at her.

“Hey!” She grunted. “Finish up quick so you can help me!”

Something about seeing Igneo hurt like this really upset Unum. They had only met Steno and her today, and they had already put them into danger! What kind of friend were they? They had to protect them somehow, even if it meant risking the loss of another potential friend.

Unum had stopped time, blanketing their surroundings in a rapidly-shrinking monotone aura. They needed to act fast. They started by delivering a hard punch to the dumpster in the alleyway, extending the amount of stopped time that they had to work with. Unum ran over to the attacker, suspended them flat in the air face upwards and hit an uppercut on their back. Unum caught their breath and waited for their time-stop to end. Just before it did, Unum leapt into the air. The kinetic energy created by their punch caused their attacker to fly up air, allowing Unum to hit one final attack, sending them flying to the wall at the back of the alleyway, and into the open dumpster.

To Steno, all of that had happened in the blink of an eye, so he was understandably very confused.

“Unum, what was that?” He asked, running towards them.

“Oh, that was my Link. I can… stop time!” Unum struck a cool pose.

…

“I’M BLEEDING OUT, YOU MORONS!” Igneo barked at them from the other side of the alleyway, clutching her wound.

“Okay, um… Steno, you find some way to help her out, I’m gonna go check to see if that guy I beat up is okay.”

“The one that tried to kill us?” Igneo asked Unum, bewildered.

“I need to become friends with them! They aren’t gonna’ want to be friends with someone who beats them up and leaves them.”

“I’M BLEEDING OUT!!” Igneo reiterated, angrily. Unum couldn’t take notice, as they were running towards the dumpster. They rummaged through the dumpster trying to find a trace of the mysterious person, before noticing a trail of garbage leading towards the exit of the alleyway, opposite from where the three had entered. The unidentified figure had snuck off when Unum wasn’t looking.

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#linked #my art #web series

[trollcafe]

A Conversation with the Grown-Up Child Solider

Google Docs | Part 1 | X | Part 3 

Your hive is underground, far below the surface. So deep, in fact, that most land dwellers struggle to get that deep. Sometimes your matesprit struggles too, even as a seadweller. The elevator leading down was fairly hidden, unless one knew where to look. Usually, you could sense your lusus below the waves, in the deep, as you traveled down. He was always excited for your return. His voice rang in your head like a nostalgic song. Typically, he would warn you, especially if your broodmate had shown up. 

So one can imagine the horror you felt upon the doors opening to an unfamiliar frame standing in your hive. 

Granted, at first, you thought it was Bruuno. The stranger had his back to you, a long mess of curls cascading down his back, black coat hanging off broad shoulders, tall thick stature. He gazed out the glass wall, into the vast deep where your lusus swam, somewhere. Upon closer inspection, of course, you were horrifically incorrect. You knew your twin well. He didn’t have a tail. 

The stranger turned towards you as he realized your arrival. His fins pricked up and a warm smile decorated his face. Startled, you tossed your cane up to grip it defensively, hobbling a few steps out of the elevator. You fully intended on closing the gap between you two. But his face looked so similar to Bruuno’s, to Deepbite’s, that it stopped you dead in your tracks. Your blood ran cold for a split second. 

“Leonra, yes? Hello, hello,” He made no effort to get any closer. If the stranger was thrown off, he didn’t let it show in the slightest, “You may know my title. However, you can call me Atllas. It’s lovely to finally meet you.” He folds his hands behind his back, but the tail, eerily shark-like, sways low to the ground. 

“Why are you in my hive?” Your voice is monotone as ever, ringing out against the stone walls. You’ve already deduced who he may be- at the very least a Monark of some sort. You regret only having your foldable cane to defend your property. Your sword cane was with Iji. 

“I’m here to speak with you, of course.” The larger troll’s expression softens into something of concern. It does little to unsteel your heart. You take a step closer, priming the cane to swing, should he try anything funny. 

“I don’t like talking. Leave.” A nod towards the elevator you just left from. “Or I jumpstart your retirement.” 

His fin twitched, the same way Bruuno’s does when he’s caught off guard. Good. In an act of desperation, maybe, the older troll holds his hands up in surrender, “I won’t be long, I assure you. Five minutes is all I ask of you.” 

“I spent my five minutes of Fleet service. Unless you come bearing the news of some untimely deaths, I suggest you leave before I cause your’s.” It took some real guts to threaten a Fleet troll not just once, just twice. You’d just settled back on Alternia, finally getting over the nightmares of being back on that forsaken ship again. There was little you wouldn’t do to keep yourself here. You were a fugitive once. You’d be a fugitive again, if need be. 

The other shakes his head, sighing, “I could never bring myself to do such a thing. I’m not here to talk you into re-enlisting.” 

“Then you can leave.” 

And then, he laughs. The ancestor before you laughs at your blunt nature, finding himself endeared, charmed, and perhaps a little frustrated. Somehow, his laughter sparks something in your own chest. You were never much of a laugher, yet his laughter gets you to chuckle. Your shoulders relax ever so slightly. Your guard was forced down just enough…

…to not notice your lusus swimming closer to the glass wall. His giant fin, larger than the wall itself, slams directly into the glass. Reinforced Fleet-Grade Space Travel Glass, strong enough to withstand your lusus’ banging. You nearly jump from your skin, gripping the cane tighter and closer to your frame. Why didn’t he warn you? He always warned you! The bang is as loud and clear as the message, ringing in your ears. You blink the overwhelming panic from your eyes. The ancestor hadn’t moved in the slightest. 

“I believe you heard MegaDad well enough. Shall we?” Her Beloved Annihilation smiles at you, tail swishing low to the ground. He hadn’t moved an inch. Either unaffected by the scare, or too quick to recover for you to notice. 

You lower your cane back to the ground, forcing your shoulders to relax. You square your jaw. Your heart was still racing, but you are Leonra Monark. And you recover fast. Maybe not as fast at the old bastard in front of you, but you’d be damned before you ever let him witness a moment of weakness. 

Your dining area was nothing more than a slightly wider open space in a different portion of the cave you called a hive. The dining table, however, was not as pristine as it probably should have been for a guest. You had blueprints, works in progress, things to work on, riddled with notes from yourself and your colleagues. You had just gotten feedback on the plausibility of a psionic-powered set of prosthetic legs from none other than Dr. Hanagi Cheong. This was your current assignment, and one you were enjoying thoroughly. Because of such, everything was just…scattered about, no rhyme or reason. As you went to retrieve a glass of water for the old fuck, he found his way to the dining table. You returned to him rather excitedly looking at your designs. 

“This is all your work?” He asks as you approach. You hand the glass to him silently. This was a silly attempt to relate to you, to get you to open up to him. An emotional bid of interest.  

“Not all of it. Prosthetics are just as much medical as they are technical. I am not a doctor, just a man who can do math.” 

“Fascinating!” For a moment, you actually felt…happy, under his proud gaze. You shove that down. “I’ve met many Monarks in my time, as you can imagine. I’ve just about seen it all…but never mathematics. I’ve noticed most gravitate towards the arts, music specifically…you’re a rare one, indeed.” 

Your brow furrows in the slightest, “They’re the same thing.” You knew you were falling into the trap of his emotional bid. Fuck, but he struck just the right chord to get you talking. 

“‘Doing math’ is the simplistic way of saying I solve problems. I’ve chosen to solve these problems,” You wave a hand over your designs nonchalantly, “The problem being a reprehensible lack of reliable prosthetics. Because of such, I created a solution for the problem. I make reliable prosthetics. I am more than an engineer. I work alongside doctors, alongside therapists. We identify problems, and I create solutions. My prosthetics do not come from nothing. I draw each piece, I work out the size of each little screw, nut, and bolt. Every battery is categorized, each chip tagged and tested for quality assurance. Not many mainstreamed prosthetics built on a line can say such a thing. I identified a problem, and I created the solution.

“My brother, he has his own problems to solve. He saw a lack of himself in the world, so he created the solution. He put himself in the world, by creating music. Archai identified a problem in the arts, in handling artwork, in tracking and preserving historically significant artwork. He created the solution. They found problems, and solved them. The arts, my sciences, they’re the same thing. I’ve dedicated my life to finding my own problems and solving them. The world is full of them. I am starting here. Perhaps one day, I’ll move away from mathematics and prosthetic design. But for now, these are the problems I solve. Much more complex than just..doing math.” As you stop, you finally notice the ancestor of your ancestor had been watching you speak the entire time. He was genuinely interested, holding stars of wonder in his eyes. 

“Incredible, Leonra. Words…cannot even begin to describe how I feel.” 

You tilt your head slightly, face ever unchanging. 

“You…were given the worst start possible. Had I known of Deepbite’s antics sooner, I would’ve stopped him. I deeply regretted my inaction for sweeps, loathing the fact that I had let you slide under the radar. Truthfully, I had….put off this meeting for so long, I was convinced you would be a mess.” 

Should you be offended that he thought so little of you? 

“Any lesser troll truly would’ve been!” He explained, fins folding down in the same way your brother’s do, “And then I heard you returned to his ship. You went back there, all on your own! I….I can’t even fathom it. Braver than I ever could be. You’ve built such a successful life for yourself despite it all. You’ve done more than just survive, you’ve thrived. It’s…wonderful. I couldn’t be more proud.” 

You stare at the space between his eyes. As he speaks, it’s easy to confuse his face for Imperial Deepbite’s. In a strange, sad way, you allowed this mental picture to form. Saying the things he would never actually say. 

“Tell me, Leo, how did you do it?” The illusion crumbles. Your ancestor is not the one speaking to you. It is simply just Atllas. 

What a funny way to refer to such a grand man. Just Atllas. As if he was a friend, not the ancestor of your own. Such verbiage made it easy to open up to him. 

“I wasn’t alone. It takes a cloister to raise a grub, it took a squadron or three to raise a child. It would be insulting to not credit my success to Obsidian, to Romune and Archai, and everyone else on that ship. Give credit where credit is due.” 

“They didn’t create all of this, did they?” His scarred hand waves over your work, just as you once did. “They got you to this point, certainly. But give credit where credit is due, my love. This is your own work. This is proof alone that you are something incredible.” 

You were silent. Your eyes return to the designs on the table. This was an…unusual feeling. 

“They tossed you the life preserver. It was you who made it to shore. You who saw the world as a series of problems to be solved, and got to work solving them. It’s…easy to think of yourself as a machine, especially in the throws of the Fleet. But, Leonra, can’t you see? You’re so much more. More than you give yourself credit for, more than life ever wanted you to be. That’s amazing. I’m so incredibly proud of you.” Atllas’ voice is firm, but kind. It wasn’t the harsh gravel of Deepbite’s remarks. Atllas was speaking from true admiration. 

“....I suppose so.” You nod slightly. Your eyes trace over the curvature of your blueprint’s lines. The calf was slightly too wide, perhaps by just a hair. Your attention was pulled away from your comfort by Atllas’ hand being held out to you. You eye his hand curiously. Rough, scarred, calloused. 

“That being said, my dear,” Smoke and honey voice washing over you once more, “I would love to know more about them. Obsidian, was it? What an interesting name!” 

Slowly, cautiously, you take his hand. Oh, how small he made you feel. 

“He picked it himself.” You finally meet his eyes again. 

“Is that so?” HIs head tilts, coaxing you to say more. 

And so you do. For the first time in your life, you sat across from someone, and you felt heard. There was no forcing him to hear you, he met each word with a smile, with a question, with a laugh. You weren’t just heard, you were seen. Oh, bless the universe above and below, it felt good to be seen.

#drabbles #leonra monark #her beloved annihilation #beloved conversations #leonra #beloved name reveal!<3

[nicad13]

Crossroads: Chapter 3

The Connection

Summary: Because Din and Rayne deserve a little happiness.

Notes: Here come the R-rated bits.

Lovely illustration by @catstanbulite.

As I think back on this chapter, I feel like I should make it clear that Rayne's perception of the Jedi is not my own. She's looking back on her experiences through the lens of abandonment and the persecution that followed. She'll continue to do that throughout this story, but I'm thinking of addressing it in a later one.

Canon-compliant through Season 1, alt version of Season 2. Posting some old fic in the hopes of some more comments & inspiration to push me to finish the sequel by the end of Season 3. AO3 link in the Source at the bottom.

Tags/Warnings: Found Family, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Helmet rules, Grief/Mourning, Religious Conflict, Angst, Sexual Situations, Infertility

---

I am not your señorita I am not from your tribe If you want inside her well Boy you better make her raspberry swirl

Tori Amos, Raspberry Swirl

---

The morning sun crept over the hangar wall as Din approached the edge of the yard, jetpack in hand. He adjusted his cloak before swinging the pack over his head and sliding it into place over the armor on his back.

He stood still and closed his eyes, re-centering his balance, focusing his thoughts.

The sounds of morning were subdued, but plentiful. He heard the turn of a ratchet as Rayne opened an engine panel at the top of the Razor Crest. He heard the bleeps and blurbs of the bots as they shuttled to and fro, bringing her what she needed. He heard the soft snores of the kid as he lay napping in his crate under the belly of the ship, safely out of the way of anything Rayne might drop from the roof or anything Din himself might do in the coming moments.

His first flight on Nevarro against Gideon and the TIE fighter had been just good enough to not get himself killed, and that was about all that could be said of it. His second flight from the lava river back to the Razor Crest had been more controlled, but not altogether good. He needed more confidence with it, to learn to operate it properly. The hangar wasn’t ideal; he would’ve preferred a wide-open space, but Rayne hadn’t yet had a chance to work on their personal fob-scramblers, so he and the kid were still restricted to the hangar or the ship. The lattice protecting the hangar formed a ceiling of about 50 meters. At the very least, it would force him to stick with low-altitude practice to start.

He tapped the ignition button on his vambrace and the jetpack fired up, jerking against his shoulders first, then settling into a steady rumble. Eyes still closed, he recalled his boyhood lessons in the Rising Phoenix, early training with stripped-down jetpacks that were far less powerful and temperamental than the real thing, never getting more than three meters off the ground, but enough to get a feel for how to lift off, hover, and land on your feet instead of your head. He had proven to be far better with a rifle than a jetpack in those days, so his later training had focused on that instead, but he still remembered the basics.

Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes, he lifted off, gently, not the 100-meter straight-up shot of before. He paused at ten meters of altitude, rotated in a slow spin, then brought his hands up to initiate a forward glide. It started reasonably well, but just when he thought he had it, he shot forward, smashed into the blunted bow of the Razor Crest, then fell face-first to the ground as the jets cut out.

Rayne had been walking along the top of the port engine when the sound of Din’s collision startled her off her feet and sent her sliding butt-first down the curve of the cowling to the top of the hull. Not liking the sound of what she’d heard, she slid down the rail of the service ladder to the ground and ran to where Din lay prone, skidding to a halt beside him. “Din! Hey! You ok?”

A low groan escaped the modulator as he pulled his hands in and pushed himself over and up into a sitting position, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around his shins, head hanging. “Give me a minute.” His voice was thin.

His head pounded.

He couldn’t fill his lungs.

The ground swam before him.

His stomach lurched.

Uh oh…

Just before he could tell her to turn away so he could take the helmet off ahead of his breakfast ending up in it, he felt tiny hands press into his ribs, and the nausea fled as quickly as it had come. His chest heaved as he finally was able to pull some air in.

He turned to see the kid standing next to him, smiling, ears up and alert.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, dropping an arm to put it around him.

Rayne took a knee before them. “What’s up, guys?”

“Just rung my own bell.” The kid snorted as if to say, You did more than that, pal. “He put me back on an even keel. Usually that kind of thing wears him out.”

“He’s getting stronger. That’s good.” She stood up and offered him a hand. He took it, and she helped him up. Walking out to the yard a little further, she turned back and looked up to the bow of the Razor Crest, amber shades reflecting the sun. “Doesn’t look like you did any harm to your ship.” She looked back at Din and smiled. “You do know I’ll have to charge you extra for any damage you cause here that I’ll have to fix, right?”

“I understand,” his tone was light as he walked back out.

---

The rest of the day was uneventful. Rayne wrapped up the hyperdrive repairs, the kid swallowed three frogs and a wrench, and Din’s jetpack practice improved. Rayne couldn’t resist a bit of light teasing by the end of the afternoon. “Fledgling status will not excuse any broken windows.”

“Yeah?” Din shot back. “You handle a sword like a giant ten-year-old.”

“Because my training stopped when I was ten years old.”

They took the sparring sabers out again, but more for instruction, this time. He taught her a few new moves, the same ones an old friend had taught him ages ago, tricks for smaller people fighting larger ones. She was still somewhat off-balanced and clumsy, but improved despite it. She showed him how to get more power out of his swings without over-committing. They practiced, more of a dialogue, the ring of steel-on-steel coming in short, rhythmic bursts.

The kid watched them from his crate, fascinated by the choreography before him, Mythosaur pendant half-in his mouth, the silhouette of his father moving fluidly with that of his new friend against the setting sun. His father was a mix of skill and power, efficient movements graced by the billow of the cloak about his shoulders, armor glinting in the slanting light. The friend was raw power and speed, lean limbs still clad in the form-fitting clothes designed not to catch on moving parts, occasionally stumbling, but never tiring, matching his father strike for strike.

For the first time the kid could ever recall, his father was happy.

The kid decided he liked his father’s new friend. She was strong like Cara, kind like Kuiil. She let him eat frogs and gave him a huge, shiny ball. She had openly accepted his effort to heal her. Encouraged it, even. She played with him like no one else had in a long, long, time, lifting without her hands and smiling at him, like it was their own secret to share.

He wanted to stay here with her. But they never seemed to stay anywhere for very long. If they couldn’t stay, he wanted her to come with them. They brought people with them, sometimes.

Maybe they could keep this one.

---

Dinner was again delivered and consumed, and conversation turned towards the kid’s future.

“The Jedi wouldn’t be the right place for him, anyway,” Rayne said.

“No?”

They were sitting around the fire. Din with his back to the Razor Crest, facing the hangar’s exit, the kid on his left, Rayne to his right. Rayne and the kid were playing with the bearing again, tossing it back and forth, catching it not with their hands, but with the Force. Rayne held it aloft for a moment, making it rise and fall. “Extremist practices. They forced people who would otherwise have made good Jedi to the Dark Side.”

“Like what?”

“All the girls were sterilized.”

“What?”

“Sith rape just as much as anyone else, so it was a preventative measure. Still.” She paused for a moment, gazing at the bearing, then continued. “Zero-tolerance policy for intimacy. No sex. Nothing beyond platonic relationships. It was stupid. The Force burns. You’re supposed to direct all that energy into becoming more skilled, becoming a better warrior. It’s banthashit. Sometimes you just need to connect with someone. Get inside their head. Let them get inside yours. The worst of the Sith were picked off because they were lonely.”

“You know a lot about this for someone who’s not a Jedi.”

She cast her eyes in his direction, then focused once more on the bearing before tossing it to the kid. “I had some early training before the Republic fell. Went to ground once Order 66 went out.”

“How old were you the year of the fall?”

“Ten.”

A bitter laugh barked out of him. “We’re the same age. You look good for forty-four.”

Rayne smiled. “So do you. The beskar takes at least ten years off.”

He tilted his helmet to the side. “Makes for an even complexion, anyway.”

“You could be a Tusken under all that and have a lifespan of two hundred years for all I know.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m human. Same as you.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Rayne felt him hold her gaze through the visor. She reciprocated, waiting. After a few moments, still facing her, he pulled at the tips of the fingers of his right glove with his left hand, taking it off to reveal a perfectly normal-looking human hand. Olive skin that would be bronze if it ever saw any sun. Long fingers, nails neatly filed to the quick. After a few moments, he put the glove back on.

“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re welcome. Something about making connections.” He made a show of turning his head all the way to his left, all the way to his right, then back to her. “I’m curious how that worked out for you.” His tone made it clear that he had observed the lack of anyone else around the hangar.

She leaned back in her chair and caught the bearing as the kid threw it to her without taking her gaze off of Din. “Fair question. I was married for ten years. He was a good man. Died in an Imperial attack five years ago, at the end of the war. I had a few before, had a couple since. Just because they didn’t last doesn’t mean I didn’t gain anything from them. I’m still friends with the ones who aren’t dead. I wouldn’t give them up for the world. Each one of them gave me experiences I wouldn’t otherwise have had.  Each one of them taught me something about myself. Each one of them gave me moments of joy. Learning how relationships evolve is a good skill. Denying your own feelings gets you nowhere and only leaves you bitter. That’s where the Jedi got it wrong. Not getting laid leads to a heaping pile of bitterness. Bitterness leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. And that, my shiny friend, leads to the Dark Side.” She threw the bearing to Din, this time. “So. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any connections get made past that helmet?”

He took a deep breath, thoughts of Omera way too close to the surface for his liking. But Rayne had been frank with her answer, and she deserved his answer in kind. “We’re not celibate. The helmet stays on. It can only come off if it’s completely dark. No attachments outside of clan membership, if you choose to be part of one.”

“I’m curious how that’s worked out for you.”

Another deep breath. “That’s also a fair question.”

“And?”

God, she isn’t going to let me get out of this. He looked down at the bearing in his hands. “The Mandalorians brought me in as a foundling and raised me in the Fighting Corps. I couldn’t fit with any of the existing clans and wasn’t looking to start my own. I gave any extra money I had to the foundlings at whatever covert I was based out of at the time. The Armorer – the leader of the covert on Nevarro…” he paused, shoving the horrors of the slaughtered remains down in his mind so he could get through this. “She declared me and the kid a clan of two last week.” He shrugged his right shoulder, seeming to indicate the mudhorn signet on the pauldron there. “As far as the other stuff goes, I can’t give you a number. It’s… not in my nature to count. Longest I’ve had since leaving the covert I grew up at was maybe a couple years. That got a little crazy and I had to move on. Last one was about a year and a half ago. I passed up an opportunity nine months ago. I’m… not sure I did the right thing, there.”

“What happened?” Rayne asked.

“Didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish.”

“Got too attached.”

“Yes.”

“Her or you?” Din’s silence stretched longer than she expected, so again, she decided to make it easy on him. “Both.”

“Yes.”

“And with the bounty hunters after you…”

“It was unsafe to stay.”

She nodded. “Tough situation. Sorry to hear it.”

“Thank you.” Again, his voice cracked through the modulator, confirming the sorrow that he couldn’t help but radiate.

“So what will you do next time?” she asked.

“Next time?”

God, he’s going to make me do all the work here. “Next time you have the opportunity to make a connection.”

“It… depends.”

“Assume the other party understands the conditions. Mandatory helmet. No strings attached. Bounty hunters not at the doorstep for the moment.”

Like… right… now…

He finally realized what she was offering. Finally realized what had been sitting in the pit of his stomach since yesterday’s test flight. Maybe even since the start, when he’d seen how well the kid had taken to her so quickly.

But… Omera… oh, god he’d come so close with Omera. Had almost let her lift the helmet from his head. Had almost… But he knew that would have been an attachment he could not have borne to break. He deserved the knot that formed in his gut when he thought of her. He deserved it for letting his discipline slip. For letting her in. Knowing that she had made the same mistake of him only made it worse. The best he could do was console himself with the knowledge that she was safer with him and the kid far away. The best way to keep her safe was to keep his distance. 

As far as Xi’an… well… she had clearly been a mistake. A remnant from a darker part of his life. A history he had worked so hard to claw his way out of. Only she had liked him that way. Ruthless. Brutal. Murdering. She had validated that part of him. When you were so good at killing, it was easy to start to like it. Until one day you find yourself in a room full of corpses you created and the woman you’ve been sleeping with walks in and thinks it’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen in her life and you realize that maybe this is kinda fucked up and you want out.

He had turned that corner, good and hard. Had proved it to himself when he didn’t kill her when he had the chance, even if she probably deserved it.

I won’t make those mistakes again. I won’t.

Not for this woman. It didn’t matter that the kid got along with her so well. It didn’t matter that the ship responded to her touch in ways it never had for him. It didn’t matter that she could bring him to the ground with a sword. It didn’t matter that she was somehow able to meet his gaze through the helmet with her eyes every time she looked at him.

Those eyes. The steely blue of freshly-polished beskar. Pinning his own when everyone else looked a little too far to the left or the right, missing the mark just a bit.

Goddammit.

Rayne lacked Omera’s beauty. Where Omera’s toughness was graceful, Rayne was all utilitarian wire and sometimes even a little clumsy. Omera was rooted to her home, where Rayne drifted to safety. Omera had her community, where Rayne made due with a string of companions and the robots she’d built with her bare hands. Omera provided for the kid, where Rayne had him hunting frogs and developing his Force skills. Both were pragmatic in their own ways. But he had to admit that Rayne was sharp. She cut directly to the heart of an issue and dissected it with a surgeon’s skill, pointed out the problem with the tip of the scalpel.

And she read him like a goddamn book.

He might as well just stand naked before her.

That can be arranged.

Goddammit.

He realized he still hadn’t answered her question when the silence was broken by a gurgle from the kid, hands outstretched, waiting for Din to toss the bearing. He’d been playing in the dirt for three days now, and it was starting to collect in the creases at the top of his head and in his ears.

“Can I… do you… can I give him a bath?” Yes. That’s my answer to the offer of intimacy. I need to give my kid a bath.

Rayne simply lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “Sure. He’ll fit in the dishtub in the kitchen. Come on in.”

Din heaved a sigh, heaved himself out of his chair, put the kid in his crate, and followed her through the door to the shop. They went in a short distance before turning through another door that opened to her residence as she flipped the light on. They entered a small, tidy kitchen, which was separated from a cozy living/bedroom area by a small peninsula counter. The lighting struck a warm hue against the adobe walls, but the open windows were arranged to maximize a cool breeze. Rayne pulled a plastic tub from the cabinet and placed it in the sink. “I’ll let you get the right water temperature for him. I’m gonna’ go take a shower – I can wash his clothes and blankets with my stuff.”

“Yes, please.” Din placed the kid in the tub, took his gloves off, stuffed them in his belt, and made a lifting motion with his hands. The kid raised his arms in response, huge dark eyes gazing up at the visor, smiling as Din undid the fastening of his robe and lifted it off of his arms.

A mythosaur pendant hung on a leather string from the kid’s shoulders. Suspicions confirmed, Rayne did her best to suppress a frown.

Mandalorian Jedis were a mixed bag, at best.

Din handed the kid’s robe to her along with the blankets. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She handed him a clean towel to dry the kid off with and headed to the shower.

When she came back out, she found them sitting on the bed, the kid wrapped in the towel, lying on his back on Din’s thighs as Din dried his ears, lids drooping over his eyes. She handed the robe back to Din, fresh out of the clothes unit, and placed the blankets in the crate. “Looks like he’s ready for bed.”

“Yes, he is.” The sight of a fully armored Mandalorian hunched over and wrestling a tiny, green, sleepy baby back into his clothes was almost too much, but she managed to stifle the laugh. When he was done, he lifted the kid back to the crate and wrapped him in the blanket. Only then did he stand up and face her. “It seems I’m the only dirty one left. Do you mind if I…”

She smiled. “Mine’s a lot bigger than yours. Go ahead.”

His head dropped in thanks. “I need a few things out of the ship. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

He returned a few minutes later with his kit and she showed him where the towels and clothes unit were. “Hair dryer is under the sink.”

“Thank you.”

She left him to it.

Feeling reasonably secure about the lock on the door, he lifted the helmet from his head, placed it on the floor, and stacked the armor next to it. Peeling all of the layers off, he stuffed his cloak and clothes in the unit to get clean. Stepping into the shower, he relished the feel of warm water running through his hair and over his shoulders. He stood still for a moment, taking some mental space to relax, to be out of the armor and yet still feel safe, very much aware of the fob scrambler somewhere overhead keeping him that way.

He was unused to the idea of someone else protecting him.

Someone who wasn’t even really a soldier. Nor a Mandalorian.

If anything, an ancestral enemy.

Things were simple with Mandalorian women when neither of you were part of a clan. Everyone knew the rules. No attachments. If you wanted the lights on, helmets stayed on. If you wanted the helmets off, lights stayed off. You didn’t get many chances, so when you got one, you made it good. Good sex was like good fighting – it required training, but you were also encouraged to develop your own style. Din had both. Contraception depended on what kind of work the woman was up to and what she wanted. With Mandalorian numbers so low, pregnancy was revered. Pregnant women worked until they no longer could, then they went back to the covert and were properly cared for. Obstetric science among the Mandalorians rivaled even their trauma medicine.  Mandalorian doctors boasted the lowest maternal and neonatal fatality rates for all of the species that were represented among the ranks. Women brought forth their children. After, they nursed, if they were mammalian. They recovered. They received more training. They trained the younglings. The stories Din heard from mothers returned when he was a child still rang with great clarity in his memory. How to extricate yourself from a bar fight. How to negotiate with mechanics. How to clear the mud from your rifle. How to gut a Taun Taun without making it smell like ten-year-old garbage. And then, when the child was weaned, the women returned to the field. The children were either adopted by a clan or raised by the men and women of the Fighting Corps who were suited best for the task, who knew how to prepare them for the harsh world that awaited them. They were the true parents. Mothers who were not part of a clan were told nothing of their children; the same went for clan-less fathers. Contributing to the enclave was good. But it was best not to know the specifics. To hear about the fall of a fellow Mandalorian was bad enough. To know they were your own blood would be devastating. As bad as the carnage at the covert at Nevarro had been, he considered himself lucky that he had not been there long enough to form much in the way of friendships. Further proof of the point.

And so, intimacy with Mandalorian women, such as it was, was easy enough. Physically satisfying. Often fun. Usually safe. Never any strings attached.

But with anyone else...

In most ways, it was easier for the women. The only trick lay in finding anyone who was any good at it and didn’t expect anything after. Pregnancy was celebrated. It brought in fresh blood and the children were always cared for. But for the men… for the men who preferred women, anyway… the universe had enough orphans. Making more was unconscionable. You wrapped it up. Every time. You made it abundantly clear that there would be no attachments, that you would eventually move on and never see each other again.

And you didn’t take chances with the lights. You kept your fucking helmet on.

And so, with anyone else, things were… difficult. He’d only chanced it with two. The first was looking for nothing more than one night, ravenous, and seemed to have a kink for armor, so the results had been satisfactory, if even a little humorous. Xi’an was hot in that scary kind of way, back when he liked being scared because it meant he wasn’t dead. The woman just on the other side of the door right now… definitely wasn’t a fan of the armor, but had a healthy appetite and would be happy to have him for whatever time she could. She was good with a blade, but she wasn’t a psycho about it. She was more than capable of taking care of herself and was comfortable with her independence. He had to admit to himself that he had a certain weakness for women who were capable of killing him, and he had no doubt that Rayne had it in her.

Being in close quarters with an enemy sorcerer would be a unique challenge. Given what he had seen, given what he had heard, she didn’t need weapons to kill him. Hell, she didn’t even need her hands.

She could kill him with her mind.

He wasn’t sure he knew what was normal, anymore. He wasn’t sure he had ever known what was normal. All he knew was that he wouldn’t last more than a minute with her if he didn’t take pre-emptive action.

He took himself in hand and resolved the issue.

Head cleared, body clean, he stepped out of the shower and dried off, then flossed and brushed his teeth while he was naked, just because he could. The tile on the floor felt blessedly cool under his feet, and the draft of ventilation pricked goosebumps on his skin. Having the opportunity to shave, he took it. He fished out the hairdryer and blew his hair dry, enjoying the warm air on the back of his neck. I gotta’ get one of these. When everything was done, he packed up his kit, hung it on the knob, and regarded himself in the mirror once more. Remember who you are. Remember who you are not. This is the Way.

And keep your fucking helmet on.

---

He stepped through the door, anxiety radiating off of him in waves. That peculiar mix of anticipation, fear, and, despite his recent release, the desire for more. “Thank you. I feel… better.”

“You’re welcome.” She stepped closer, gauging his reaction as she did so. His balance shifted more to anticipation, but his fear caught up with it again. She was still for a moment, noting the rise and fall of his chest, fists clenched at his side. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to ask. Once again, she would have to make this easy for him. “Would you like some company tonight?”

“I would.”

The surge of anxiety almost knocked her over. “Your place or mine?”

“I’d be more comfortable on the ship.”

“I understand.”

He turned to the kid’s crate and froze. “He likes to nap on the flight deck sometimes, but he doesn’t always stay there. I don’t…” Again, another wave of anxiety, complete inability to move his thoughts forward.

“He’ll sleep through it. Two hours of playing Force-catch should have worn him out.” Din visibly relaxed. Not much, but a little. “And just so you know…” she reached out and traced the plate at his wrist. “People who are Force-sensitive… within a short range, we can tell when… the Force responds to orgasm.”

A small choking sound clicked over the modulator. “I needed to clear my head.”

She smiled. “Did it work?”

“Clearly not.” He looked back towards the kid. “What’s the range?”

“For me? I’m guessing twenty-five meters or so. For him? Probably more. Definitely longer than the length of the Razor Crest’s hull. Having the helmet on probably cuts it down some.” She prodded his arm to get him to turn his head back to her. “We grow up with it. It’s part of life. We take it for granted and are surprised when we discover that no one else feels it. When we’re little we don’t even know what causes it. Like hearing birds chirp or when someone gives you a blanket when you’re cold. It… just feels nice. It’s nothing to feel creeped out over. If anything, it probably helps him sleep better. I thought you should know.”

“Thank you for telling me.” He took her hands in his, then looked down, acknowledging this first time of reaching out to touch her. “The helmet stays on. I know that’ll be tough for you, but that’s how it has to be.”

“I understand.”

“And when I leave, you won’t ever hear from me again.”

“I know.”

“This is the Way.”

“Okay.”

She followed him out to his ship, Din carrying his kit, the kid floating next to him in the crate, soft snores coming from under the blankets. They walked up the rear ramp and she hit the button to close it when she reached the hold as Din continued on to the flight deck. He placed the crate on the starboard jump-seat, tucked the kid in one more time, laid a finger on his forehead, and wished him goodnight. He stepped out, closed the door to the flight deck, and came down to the hold.

He sat back on one of the lower rungs of the ladder to take his boots off, noticing as she turned to the bunk. It was really small in there.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

“Hm? No. I’m just… a little claustrophobic.” Her gaze lingered on the bunk for a moment more before coming back to his. “I’ll make it work.”

He titled his head. You sure?

She took a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Ok.” He stepped forward and took her hands in his.

She could feel him trembling through the gloves. Looking him up and down, she realized that undressing a Mandalorian was going to be a complex task. And he probably wasn’t going to be entirely comfortable with it. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to shed all the layers first with him still in full gear. She released his grip and ran her hands along his forearms. “Can we start with the armor?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I should do the vambraces.” Indeed, taking them off looked like an intricate procedure, unlocking the clips under his forearms without setting off the weaponry along the top. Once they were off, he pulled a drawer open and placed them inside. He also un-holstered his sidearm blaster and undid the utility belt, placing them in the same drawer, then turned back to her. “You can do the rest.” His voice was tight over the modulator.

She slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders, slid her right hand across his chest to the pauldron on his left shoulder, and realized she was completely flummoxed as to how to remove it. He permitted himself a soft laugh and showed her how to do it, then allowed her to do the one on the right herself. They did the same for his thigh guards, him showing her how for the left, her doing the right. He guided her hands to his sides to unclip the fastenings for the chest and backplates, the cloak coming off with them. The last items to go in the drawer were his gloves.

He stood before her in nothing but a helmet, black shirt, and black pants. Aside from the helmet, he could have been a normal person.

Now, finally, she had a better idea of his actual size. Just a shade under two meters. A surprisingly moderate build, but with broad shoulders, chest tapering to his hips.

“Your turn,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re not done with you yet.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

“Fair enough.” She didn’t have much to take off. She’d come out in the clothes she normally slept in; just a loose sand-colored shirt and black leggings, plus the pair of sandals on her feet. Her hands dropped to the bottom hem of her shirt, and he followed suit. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes never left his visor as she pulled her shirt off over her head and he did the same with his, the hole at the top of his shirt just big enough to get the helmet through. They stood before each other, both naked from the waist up, regarding each other.

His build may have been moderate, but what he had was all business. Lean muscle through his shoulders, arms, chest, and abs, made all the more defined by his olive skin. Several scars marked him where the armor hadn’t reached; high on his left arm, low across the ribs on his right side, a fresh one on the inside of his right shoulder. His left shoulder was a little higher than his right, the sign of a collarbone broken long ago. Her build was moderate as well. Not much curve, but strong. Athletic. Her skin was fair but tanned reasonably well in the sun, leaving her a few shades lighter than him. She took a slow spin around, giving him a good view of her back, a tattoo of the Rebel Alliance Starbird sigil on her left shoulder. What looked like a scar from a blaster bolt graze ran from the top of her left shoulder blade to the top of the muscle. He reciprocated, revealing another scar just below his right shoulder blade, the muscles in his back forming a valley to his spine.

“Like what you see so far?” She asked.

“I do. You?”

“I do.” She stepped closer to him, just within arm’s reach, and she had to look up to the visor. “May I touch you?”

“… Yes.”

Even now, he was still hesitant. She reached up and ran her hands along his collarbones, noting the asymmetry, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He drew a sharp breath at the feel of her fingers along his skin. Her hands were an odd mix of calluses and softness by way of turning wrenches and submersion in engine grease on a daily basis. When she reached his throat, she slid her hands up as far as she could go, catching just a bit of hair at the back of his neck, below the helmet. She slid her hands down his ribs, smiling when he winced in a ticklish flinch, and rested her hands at the top of his pants. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes.”

He brought his hands to her face, running his thumbs along her cheekbones, then pushed his fingertips through her hair, up through the short chestnut curls. “My hair is dark,” he said, voice cracking. “It’s too long right now… longer than yours. It’s getting a little gray around the temples.” He ran his thumbs along her eyebrows, pausing at the outside corners of her eyes. “My eyes are brown. They’re deep-set like yours. I have the same lines under them at the corners.” His fingertips spread along the backs of her jaws. “I have high cheekbones, but my face is rounder. My nose is arched. I… actually have kind of a big mouth.” She raised an eyebrow in response. He laughed. “I know, right? I’ve managed to keep all my teeth, and they’re in decent shape.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders, noting the thrumming tension there. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“What are your eyebrows like?”

“Normal, I guess. Unremarkable. Two lines between them, right here.” He slid his thumbs through the same place on her.

“Facial hair?”

“Just shaved.”

She smiled. “That covers all the bases. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He resisted the urge to press his head to hers, the traditional Mandalorian prelude to intimacy when wearing a helmet, heeding her discomfort with the armor. Instead, he brought a finger to her mouth, laying its length between her lips. Taking his meaning, she kissed it. Gently at first, then she took his hand in both of hers and pressed harder, taking it between her teeth, pressing her tongue around it. His other hand slid from her shoulder down her back, flattening against the end of her spine and pressing her hips to his. She kissed all of the knuckles of his hand, blind to the small nicks and scars, eyes closed, listening as the rhythm of his breath picked up. When his hand was thoroughly wet, he pulled it away from her mouth, trailed it down her chin, her throat, sternum, her belly, and slipped the tip of a finger into her navel.

The rest of their clothing fell away and he guided her to his bed.

He opened a drawer in the bulkhead and extracted a small, wrapped package.

“So that Jedi sterilization thing…” her words trailed off.

He nodded. “I wondered.”

“Another perk about being Force-sensitive is that I don’t contract or transmit diseases. So if your supply is limited...”

I’m too naked as it is. Maybe they could unpack all that later, but for the moment, Mandalorian training for protection in all things outweighed the human desire for direct contact. Otherwise completely flummoxed, he fell back on the old mantra. “This is the Way.”

“Ok.”

The immediacy of her acceptance encouraged him.

They lay together, hands running over bare skin, both of them taught muscle and sinew over bone, acquainting themselves with each other with desperate intensity. She pressed one hand against the helmet, pushing his head away even as she gripped his flesh with the other, her meaning clear. Don’t touch me with the metal. Instead, he once more brought a finger to her lips, she once more wet it, and he made her ready.

He was patient, unhurried, disciplined, secretly enjoying the power he seemed to have over the enemy sorcerer as she became undone before him. Finally, she brought her lips to the space between his shoulder and his neck, whispering the word “Please,” over and over.

They joined. They moved. They breathed. She warned him that things with a Force-sensitive partner might be different. He accepted. And so he was ready for it when the tell-tale moan parted her lips, ready when something gripped his spine in rhythmic pulses matching those that gripped the flesh he had sunk into her. His own release came shortly after, and once again she felt the warmth of it bloom in her mind as he shuddered against her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you…”

He was always so polite.

After, she turned around to spoon back into him, tolerating the press of his helmet against the back of her head, the wash of his mind over hers worth the price of the beskar against her skull. For a short time, he was at peace, too destroyed to think much about anything, and she was content to enjoy the warmth of his body around her. It wasn’t long until she noticed a change in his breathing, a cloud of sadness gathering within him. Continued regret at the lost opportunity from months ago. Fresh wounds from the carnage at the covert at Nevarro. She brought his hand to her lips, again kissing the length of his finger. Without thinking, she reached out with her mind to soothe his.

“Stop.” His response was immediate, followed with a rush of anger. “Get out of my head. Let me feel what I’m supposed to feel.”

She let go of his mind, shocked at the rage in his voice, but she gripped his hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was a reflex.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry. I… wanted to help.”

She felt him take a deep breath behind her, his lungs filling against her back. “Then just talk to me. With words.”

The irony of him asking her to talk was not lost on her, but she let it slide. He needed this. “It’s ok to feel this way. It’s ok to think about her. It’s ok to miss her. It’s ok to mourn the others. There’s enough room for all of us in here.”

The anger was replaced with a sudden rush of gratitude and he held her tight against him. She held his hand to her face and kissed along his thumb as the sorrow returned and he wept, shaking and silent.

After a short time, he noticed that his hand was wet from her tears, and he belatedly realized he’d projected a year’s worth of angst at her after refusing to let her calm him down. “God, that was selfish of me. You were just protecting yourself. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” She snuggled into him. “I can block it when I have to.”

“Do you think the kid got any of that?”

“Oh he got every bit of it.”

“Dammit.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than you think. It’s easier when it comes from a good place.”

Din gave a shaky sigh and sat up. “Might be a good idea to get dressed. He crawls in here with me sometimes. And after that…”

“Yeah. Is there enough room in here for all of us?”

He turned his head in her direction and let out an exhale that was probably a laugh. “Yes.” He scooped up his clothes. “I’ll be right back. Inside of my helmet got wet, somehow.”

She smiled and dressed while he locked himself in the other room to dry things out.

When he returned, he crawled back in and lay facing her in the dim light, letting her take his hand in hers. They were still as she stared into the visor. She smiled after several minutes. “I don’t know what’s creepier for you – having me stare at you with your eyes closed back there or your eyes open. Which one have I been doing?”

He gave a small laugh to let her know he was smiling. “They’re open. No more creepy than for you not knowing if I’ve been staring back.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

She smiled and bit his finger with a gentle nip.

“May I ask a question?” His voice was low over the modulator.

“Yes.”

“The sterilization thing.”

“Yes.” Her smile disappeared, but she still held his hand and his gaze.

“How old were you?”

“Six, I think.”

“Did they give you a choice?” His voice cracked.

“I don’t remember being given one.”

“Your parents allowed this?”

“I don’t remember my parents. The Jedi recruited us as soon as possible. I’m told I was picked up after I started throwing spoons with my brain when I was six months old.”

Din’s mind was reeling. “So you were on your own when the Republic fell.”

“Yes.”

“When you were ten.”

“Yes.”

“You were a foundling.” His voice cracked again and he felt something tighten in his chest.

“No. I was on my own. No one ever found me.”

Again, she heard the faint sound of his teeth clicking shut, and he tightened his hand around hers. “I found you.” Oh god, what am I doing?

She kept her expression neutral. What the hell does he think he’s doing? “I guess you did.”

They both jumped when a small squeak emitted from the foot of the bunk and a tiny green hand reached up. Din sat up and pulled the kid into bed with them. “How do you keep sneaking up on me like that?”

“I didn’t even hear the door from the flight deck open,” Rayne said.

“I always find it still closed when he does this. It’s like he phases through the bulkheads.”

The kid laughed in what Rayne swore was with a mischievous tone, crawling up between the two of them before plonking himself down, pulling his blanket up around his chin, and closing his eyes with a smile on his face. Din tucked the blanket around him, forming a tight little bundle. “Time for bed, I guess.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” They settled down, but she still found herself staring at the visor before her. “One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Rayne isn’t my real name.”

“No?”

“You were honest about your name, so I’ll be as honest as I can about mine. It’s safer for you if you don’t know it.”

“Order 66,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“I understand. Thank you for telling me what you could.” His hold on her hand tightened for a moment. “I’m closing my eyes now.” He did sound tired.

“Ok. Me too.”

In truth, he waited for her to close hers first. When she did, the tightness in his chest released, but just a little. He wondered at the little boy who he had finally come to accept as his own. He wondered at the woman who had given him shelter, in more ways than one. He wondered at the relationship forming between the two, the Force bonding them together as she taught him how to use it the best she could.

He wondered if he was looking at his family, right now.

He wondered what the hell he was doing.

And then he closed his eyes.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu