#i dont have the credits saved for any of them though because younger me did not think to do that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jangofctts · 4 years

Text

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met.

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things.

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income.

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing.

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster.

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles.

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship.

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back.

Whatever.

Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off.

Maybe.

-=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you.

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.”

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?”

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think.

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.”

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots.

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.”

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.”

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…”

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own).

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that.

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

-=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show.

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will.

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans.

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal.

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter.

Eh.

Could be worse.

At least you aren’t dead.

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun.

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light.

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room.

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.”

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.”

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.”

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt.

Damn it.

-=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this.

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn.

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red.

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.”

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it.

“Leave.”

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.”

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved.

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side.

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.”

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”

You wince.

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.”

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet.

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch.

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage.

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?”

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.”

You frown. “Poor guy…”

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp.

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?”

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder.

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.”

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.”

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them.

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right.

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath.

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning.

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet.

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man.

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell—

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling.

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?”

“She isn’t made of glass.”

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.”

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance.

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.”

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.”

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.”

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin.

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again.

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole.

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.”

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope.

Here you are—asphyxiating.

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it.

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off.

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on.

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.”

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah.

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?”

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.”

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree.

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk?

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.”

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.”

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.”

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din."

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb.

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing.

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees.

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch.

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds.

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm.

“Paz—“

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh.

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough.

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.”

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.”

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.”

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you.

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?”

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered.

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation.

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.”

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration.

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip.

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind.

Din’s kiss is devouring—

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning.

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.”

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on.

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside.

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth.

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now—

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit.

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away.

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.”

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.”

“Neither will your arrogance.”

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out.

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.”

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic.

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further.

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words.

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips.

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?”

Din.

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position.

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath.

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.”

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him.

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete.

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.”

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need.

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much.

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours.

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear.

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder.

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?”

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.”

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts.

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before.

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.”

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems.

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air.

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.”

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future.

You shrug it off.

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear.

“You love her, don't you?”

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak

or’dinni--dumbass idiot

vod--brother/comrade

tag list:

@bobafctts @djxrxn @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aerynwrites @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @trippedmetaldetector

#happy SINday :)#pls accept some mando schlong #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #sw #fanfic #my writing #reader insert

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whattheflameo · 3 years

Note

Lin healing the bonds with her family hc?

Ohhhhhhhhhh anon you have opened up a WHOLE can of worms I have extremely strong feelings on this topic and most of them can be summed up with Lin Beifong is the Epitome of the older sibling parent trope. RANT INCOMING

Lin choosing to forgive Suyin has almost nothing to do with Suyin’s “apology” (or lack thereof). It occurs solely because Lin actively decides to be the better person in their relationship. She decides that having her sister and her niblings in her life is worth more to her than her grudge and her hurt. Which is saying something, because damn can Lin hold a grudge.

Su isn’t going to apologize; its not in her nature at all. She genuinely doesn’t recognize the need for apologies in anything. She doesn’t give them and never expects them from others. Lin knows this and decides to move on anyway.

Su did write Lin a letter asking her to come talk. Actually, she wrote several. Lin never opened a single one, determined to keep herself from getting hurt again. Its easier, especially when Su isn’t in front of her, to convince herself she doesn’t care.

Despite everything, Lin still hopes the best of her sister. Finding out that she changed her ways after being sent away, stopped with the petty crime and actually made something of herself, built an entire city and raised a pretty great family, comes with a level of relief- even if it wasn’t her to help Su see the error of her ways, at least Su was able to do so.

Lin doesn’t trust Su as far as she could throw her, especially after Su lies to her face to send Korra after Aiwei. She doesn’t trust Su to choose her to save over literally anyone else, and to be honest she has the older sibling complex that she just doesn’t have as much faith in Su’s bending skills as her own. That’s why her “I love you,” before drawing P’li’s fire sounds so much like a goodbye.

Speaking of differences in skill level, that fight between Lin and Su? Buckle your seatbelts motherfuckers I have THOUGHTS. Yes, its one of the most badass fights in the entire series, imo, but I’m gonna be real here. Su was winning. She had Lin on the defensive almost the whole time. But Lin was also at about 40% health- run down, emotionally strained, off-kilter from acupuncture treatment (which I agree with @dont-blame-it-on-the-kids was DEFINITELY not in Lin’s best interest that doctor was 100% paid off by the red lotus), and Su is taking advantage of it. If Lin had been at 100%, even like 60%, she would have WIPED THE FLOOR with Su and Su’s dancy-ass bending style. But she still held her own, even though she was literally breaths from passing the fuck out. Did you SEE some of those hits? There’s one in particular where Su hits her in the gut with a rock mid-air that physically couldn’t not have broken several of her ribs. Su’s behavior in this fight absolutely incenses me like how dare she fucking do that I JUST

All this being said I do really love Su as a character I promise.

Su’s base character hasn’t changed, but after going through the Red Lotus and Kuvira together, Lin does recognize that she’s changed in some important ways. She’s still self-oriented, but she’s not the selfish, bratty teen she was when she scarred Lin for life.

Likewise, after seeing the permanence of Lin’s scars and spending more time with her sister, Su realizes that she’s really hurt Lin. She sees how terrible she’s been to this woman who is willing to give her own life to protect everyone around her, Su especially, and actively tries to make up for it. Like I said, she doesn’t apologize with words, but tries to prove to Lin through her actions that she is going to be there for her. And the fact that Lin’s arm flickers toward her weapons whenever Su loses her temper? Su is so disgusted with herself over it that she nearly throws up the first time she thinks about it.

They’re not best friends, but they do become close. Both of their personalities mellow out with age, and they’re more understanding of each other. Su becomes someone Lin is able to talk to about some personal things, if not the extremely deep stuff. They have wine nights and Su sometimes sleeps over if she gets too tipsy. They both act a lot younger with each other, and Su is one of the only people who can snuggle up to Lin and get away with it.

Unless one of them is actively concealing their emotions (its usually Lin), they can read each other like an open book.

Lin remembers all of Su’s favorite foods and colors and activities and songs from childhood. Su realizes that she hardly remembers any of Lin’s and has a guilty meltdown to Bataar over it. He suggests that she pay really close attention to remember them now, and Su makes it her personal mission.

Despite having confronted her feelings of abandonment by Toph ages ago, Su can see that Lin not only feels abandoned but also feels like she’s the one who let their mother down, that the break in their relationship is her fault, not Su’s or Toph’s. She knows how glad she was to have Toph back in her life, even if inconsistently, and sees how much Lin wants their mother’s approval and marches into the swamp (and that’s saying something for Su, who isn’t exactly fond of gross swampy things) and drags Toph out to force her to some of Lin’s award ceremonies or other events, including her wedding to Kya. Lin doesn’t know it was Su’s doing.

“Mother Lin may have said she doesn’t hate you but she deserves more from you and spirits help me you are going to say the words “I am so proud of you” to her or I WILL tell Wing and Wei where to find you-”

Basically, Su’s main apology to Lin for all the years of pain and hurt she’s caused is to kick Toph’s ass into repairing at least some of their relationship. Its the most truly selfless thing she’s done in possibly her entire life, because she never tells Lin.

To be clear: NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF LIN HAD NOT ACTIVELY CHOSEN TO SET ASIDE HER PRIDE AND HURT AND FORGIVE HER SISTER. LIN WAS THE CATALYST- SU WOULD NOT HAVE PUT IN WORK TO EARN HER FORGIVENESS IF LIN HADN’T GIVEN IT TO START WITH. Su’s behavior in Zaofu was utter bullshit, it was not worthy of Lin’s forgiveness. She literally showed up and immediately drove a wedge between Lin and some of the most important people in her life, said horribly mean things to Lin, and used Lin’s illness as an advantage to beat the shit out of her. But Lin, strong, selfless, badass, incredible Lin who is so much more empathetic than anyone in that show gives her credit for, looks at all of that and forgives Su anyway. Its not unconditional, like I said the level of trust isn’t bone deep, but she does the legwork. And you know what, Lin deserves to have family that cares about her in her life. Her niblings adore her, and she eventually believes that Su is genuinely there for her. I will die on this hill.

I know this probably came across as incredibly disorganized and rambly. I’ll talk more about Lin’s relationship with the metal clan kids and/or Toph in another post because I recognize that I’ve gone down a fuckin rabbit hole but I have extremely strong opinions on Lin’s relationship with her sister.

#asks #lin beifong #suyin beifong #thats our lin #but shes a Cool Matriarch™️#do I have a little sister who reminds me of Su to a fuckin T?#am I projecting our relationship onto theirs?#oh most definitely #would I forgive her for just about anything if I saw she had made something of her life and was trying to do better?#yea #should i have to?#no #should lin have had to forgive su?#nope #lin is the ultimate Older Sibling as a Parent trope #she would do just about anything for su #I have SO MANY WORDS ON THIS OK #THIS DOESNT EVEN SCRATCH THE SURFACE #god sorry I super went off

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screamingsilence · 3 years

Text

Ramblings of a Very Lonely Nobody

Cliffsnots - Single Mom battling C-PTSD while taking care of her Mom and 3 kids desperately wanting to buy a home for family, yet crippled by student loan debt that allowed her to get a decent job after horrific divorce from extremely abusive husband who took everything including her ability to cope, form attachment, and relationships with other people - resulting in her continued detachment and self isolation. ((#ouch I wrote this part at the end - after the below - very accurate and well worded but sucks to read.))

I'm used to this. Desperately used to this. Quiet, silence, ringing in my ears. Obviously that was from way too many concerts. Don't get too excited though, I went to those alone. Or with a concert buddy that I met offline. I did this to myself. Years of terrible coping skills followed by years of disconnect and disassociation - have lead to fight or flight skills that should be taught in military combat schools. I could definitely teach young women every person Red Flags of relationships and the do's and dont's. I can also help anyone draft up an excellent escape plan if needed? What I cannot do is form attachments / relationships / connections - to anyone. I cannot develop safe spaces and spiritually healthy interpersonal connections with anyone.

From the inside looking out: everyone is a danger. Every word out of anyone's mouth is a way to hurt, manipulate, gaslight, damage, get the upper foot, belittle, betray, and/or save information to use against me and black mail me. -- Am I a bad person? Nope. Do I do things that are blackmail worthy? Nope.

I go to work, come home, play with my kids, help them with school work, attempt not to throw the 13 year old off a cliff (damn teenage years), cuddle the 11 year old (she's going through a stage where she is afraid of her own shadow - poor thing) and listen to the 8 year old talk, and talk, and talk -- (and talk - and talk - Autism, w/adhd and a day of online school = a lot of talking when I get home).Years of moving around as a child - Military Brat, followed by years of being cheated on, and then an extremely abusive marriage, and a drawn out divorce, and being forced to cooperant with my abuser ... I created a bubble. The bubble was to protect the kids and me. It worked - really well. I tried so hard to do everything to keep us safe. And in return, they have thrived, and I have not.

Aside from my work - which struggles on the social / popularity side. And lets face it - when you are a women in the workforce - you have to have the popular vote to get anywhere. Not just looks, but the popular vote. It really doesn't matter how well you work, how good your work ethic is, you must look good and be really sociable. So that part is a real struggle for me.

So, here I am. 1245 AM, lonely. About to be 33, absolutely NO friends. (Not even exaggerating anymore). I am a divorced, single woman with 3 children. I support my unwell mother, in one of the most expensive cities and once my savings run out out (hopefully I can stretch it another few months) we are looking at homelessness. But because I technically make "too much money" ((still less than 40k)) I don't qualify for anything. The degree of abuse and torture I have endured in my life puts me in a place were any sort of relationship for the sake of the kids / for the sake of owning a home / or a better rental or anything is out of the question. Every time I try to date - I panic. I can feel the strangulation all over again. I had EMDR - It really helped. I was able to function again. I was able to work and take care of my children again. I was able to recall the memory and not full on black out from the panic.

But, I am no closer now than I was back then to being able to be with anyone. And this is 10 years later. But sometimes I do wonder - If i could just suck it up - If i could just gather the courage and strength - or maybe there was a different medication I could be on - I could meet someone and make it to the point where we could be sort of happy and get a home? The kids --- I want to give them so much better than I had. After the divorce I knew I needed to do something to make sure they had a good life. I enrolled in college. But I was so young and didn't have any real role models. I was taken for the fool that I was. As I write this I am 89k in student loan debt. It really wont matter how much money I make. I wont ever be able to pay that back. Each year I do the repayment options and each year the gov't tells me I don't make enough money to pay them back. So they put me in the Income repayment bracket and I pay $0. Rumor has it, If I don't default on that for 30 years - My Loans will go away. So In 30 years I can buy a home. That hurts. So Much.

Make better choices, do better, stupid people get what they deserve, you chose this path, its what you wanted, you get what you deserve. I worked so hard when I was younger. I was so smart. I tried so hard to be everything. I had plans, I had it all mapped out.

When we were younger - I was asked to stop college to help my brother who had been accepted to an amazing University that my parents were having a hard time paying for. I had chosen to go to a local community college and was paying my way and was going to do the transfer program and that transfer program could have been full ride depending on my grades and grants etc. I quit school. I started working. So my parents could send that money to my brothers school. I had dropped out of highschool, gotten my GED and enrolled into college by 17. ((Military brat - credits didn't transfer and the new highschool was trying to consider me a freshmen. I was in college from 17-18. I was not having any of it).

By 18 I was working full time to help keep my brother in College. By 19 I was pregnant. by 20 I was pregnant with #2. By 21 I was married. My life spiraled so fast out of control. It took me years to get the logistics of it back on track. By 26 I had 2 college degrees. A good job field. By 28 I realized Something maybe was broken inside of me. By 29 it was more and more apparent but I was becoming really engaged in my kids and my work life. 30-31 I started to focus on my body and my work and my kids. Enter 32 // Covid / Work / Kids / less physical health. Here we are - 33 right around the corner. Crippling Student Loan debt. Zero Friends. 4 Humans Depending on me. I have a pill case. One of those AM/PM ones. People at work report me for RBF. (That one makes me laugh a little).

I just bared my soul to strangers on Tumblr. Is this not the epitome of lonely?

(Not suicidal)This is probably more cathartic than anything. Maybe?

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currentfandomkick · 4 years

Text

Bio! Dad Strange part 3

Marinette, she had no idea how this happened, she swore, somehow got lost in gotham during an Arkham jailbreak. All she knew was one minute she was talking to Uncle Ed and then the next there was explosions and then she was... wherever she was.

Apparently Two-Face recognized her on the streets and grabbed her... only she didnt know him.

Her response was to flip him over her tiny shoulder and flee with a vengence. Guess which member of the batfam saw?

If you guessed Tim before he became a Robin because Dick was still Robin—albeit in charge of the Titans and not in Gotham at the time.

Tim did the reasonable thing and somehow convinced the freaked out french girl to go into a cafe while they called her parents.

Two-Face, convinced that tiny Tim kidnapped tiny Marinette and somehow his family would hurt tiny Marinette. Which given that she has how many Rogues around her little finger—Strange, Joker, Quinn, Ivy, Riddler, Penguin AND Zsasz. He did a coin flip to see if he should save her from being in the public eye and possibly expose her family. The coin was in favor of keeping Marinette from being on the news with pictures.

Two-Face decided it was safer to kidnap her from said public place and bring her to Ivy and Harley.

So he grabbed mutliple machine guns, raided the cafe and threw tiny Marinette over his shoulder and sent out shots at abyone that tried to get near them. He wasnt dying becuase of this kid, ok?

Of course said kid is super-powered, terrified, and did i mention its sunny out so her treatments are wearing out faster? No, well they are. This means everything is much scarier and louder and overwhelming that bwing thrown over a stranger that shot at people should be in any situation.

Tiny Tim is very scared for her. He finds Batman and alerts him to the tiny foreigner’s kidnapping—nearly getting killed by Mr. Freeze in the process to boot.

Batman is angry for many reasons, manages to take down Mr. Freeze and tells Gordon to be on alert for Two-Face who kidnapped a tiny french girl.

Only it gets worse.

Superman saw what was going on in Gotham and went to help out—his freind was dealing with a mass prison break of very dangerous criminals, why wouldnt he help?

And on hearing a tiny kid that freaked out in french was in danger? Well, what was he supposed to do Bruce? Ignore her?

He sent Conner after her while he helped out with a number of distrubed individuals, including a pyromaniac (firefly).

Conner manages to track down the pair on his own and almost loses it when he sees tiny Marinette kick Two-Face hard enough he falls down and the girl bolts a lot faster than a normal kid should. He comms in that the girl is a scared foriegn meta, and requests backup.

Kidflash is the one who answers, and takes care of Twoface while Conner tries to track down a terrifed tiny meta that screams in french.

Conner sees her running to a greenhouse and follows her in. Especially as the tiny girl jumped a lot higher than she should and it felt too familiar for comfort.

He manages to sneak in, followed by Kidflash, and they have an ‘oh shit’ moment when they see the scared girl run to a younger Poison Ivy with brown hair, crying. This teen holding a crying child is Rose.

Rose is visibly pissed. “Do you want me to kill him? J called dibs on his brother this time and Harley’s aiming for Tetch after last week.”

Tiny marinette shakes her head and delivers the best line for the young justice members, but worst for a baby Rogue.

“I dont want him to die, i just want him to stop hurting people.”

*remember, she is Jill in Gotham.

“Jilly bean, the world isnt nice. If it was, then batsy wouldnt have dropped me onto an ecoterrorist when i was a week old, and i would be allowed to leave the greenhouse. You wouldnt need to have nearly as many aliases as you do. You can try to make it nice in a lot of ways. I’m happy to handle extermination sicne thats the only thing i have shot at besides the rkc.”

Tiny marinette is frowning. “But then the world wins. I want to beat the world, not lose by being like it.”

Conner is (understandably) confused. Kidflash is processing that oh fuck. This is a meta raised by villians. And another meta raised by villians and goddamnit batman, why did you give a villian a baby? (He didnt. He gave ivy a ten year old. He thought she was her kid and she was raising her or something.)

Tiny Marinette is not happy with Rose’s conclusions.

“Can we call Ghoul and Frost? Maybe they can help with their dads?”

“And why not Puzzles?”

“He has asthma and he cant dodge.”

Rose considers for a moment before nodding. She grabs a plant and talks into it. “Ghoul, Frost, i need you at HQ. Someone has to reign in our dumbass parents. Bring the nuetralizers and tranqs.”

A voice came from another flower. “Should we have zsasz come with?”

“No! He’ll switch sides again!” Marinette yelled.

“Oh. Nets, what the hell are you doing at HQ?”

“Two-Face stole me. I ran.”

“Well, Fuck. Be there in five. Uh, how are your treatments holding?”

“She’s getting lighter. Might want to break out the rocks again.”

“Double fuck. Ill force Frost out of lab. Be there in a few—any crews to aviod or...”

“If they have a green arm band dont give them the fear toxin fixes, and Jerimah’s cult is back,” Marinette added.

“Fuck me up why dont you Gotham!” Ghoul cursed.

“Hey, she’s a kid!” Rose snapped

“Im older than you though!” Marientte chirped.

Conner had a lot to process with this information. Kidflash put together that they were applarently going to try to help the gothamites rather than the rogues, and decided they should leave and focus on helping the others.

Given that Marinette didnt catch the pair (she was still trying to focus on near things) she doesnt know that anyone but Batman and maybe Batgirl is fighting.

So she doesnt hide her abilities, flying at low levels to aviod Batman’s attention. But Kidflash and Batman see her and have a Moment of ‘which of us is telling Superman he might have another clone?’

Marinette, oblivious to this, is seen beside Jason Todd giving people Fear Toxin Antidote and Joker Gas Nuetralizer. Marinette is getting and distributing the antidotes. Jason Todd is making sure she doesnt die by wielding his baseball bat and riding his bike while she flies.

The day ends with most going back to Arkham and Marinette and Jason hiding from heroes for obvious reasons—including a teen and small child ignoring evacuation orders and avoiding GCPS.

Batman is aware of Marinette’s existence as “Jill” and “Nets” and that she helps a group of Rogue’s children that are content to undercut their parents crime. And now he knows Rose is either mcuh younger than he thought when he gave her (he thought brought her back home to) Poison Ivy. And is feeling guiltyTM

If you thought he was having a case of Serial Adopter Bruce Wayne, you are correct. He is now actively looking for these kids and where they are hiding since they moved post-breakout.

Zsasz is only slightly disappointed that Marinette didnt kill Two-Face. Jerome thinks its great and somehow convinces him to apoligize to her by offering to make up a number of contracts between rogues and the gotham underground in general to make things more organized so she and other rogue kids have a safe way of handling situations like that in the future.

Why dies JEROME of all people think this up and not Eddy or Riddler? The answer is he stole the idea from them, gave them no credit, and yes, is doing this as an attempt to score a few extra of marinette’s cookies. He has no shame in this, and riddler hates sweets so he isnt mad. Ed is too busy teaching Marinette Science to realize what happened until long after it did.

This puts Marinette and the RKC in a very odd position. Not only is The Batman trying to find them now, but they have to handle the Rogues trying to baby them. Ghoul and Frost are almost an adults, most people think Rose is almost an adult when irl she’s 5, and yes, Marinette is very much now Gotham Underground’s Princess as the Council is basically set up to ensure her safety.

Marinette knows none of this, as she is small child that just wants to cuddle her stuffed kitty Chaton and sleep on her Father (Strange) while he finishes up in his lab. She does this.

Mr. Freeze and Scarecrow got pictures. They use these to insert themselves in the Teach the Kids Science and Dangerous ThingsTM.

At one point marientte learns how to diassemble a bomb, reassemble one, and diffuse various bombs.

Riddler starts to use bombs more when she’s around to help her practice. Batman is confused as that is Not his usual M.O. Robin/ Dick gets called in and thigns get messy for the Batfam dynamics (he saw the research on the RKC and is pissed that He Was Right! Ivy Didnt Have Rose! and then saw plans for new batkids and reacted BadlyTM due to Teen AngstTM).

The summer ends with Batman having a bad fallout with Robin, Marinette thinking No One knows she’s kyptonian. When Conner suspects, Batman and Kidflash put two and two together, and no one has told Superman yet because um. Well.

They need the girl as proof and would rather not send Clark into another spiral about havig kids he wasnt aware of, ok? He just got decent with Conner. No need to rock the boat, right? (Wrong)

#maribat #maribat au #marinette strange dupain cheng #bio!dad strange #bio!dad au #marinette strange dupain cheng part 3 #my au #my idea #my ideas

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crimsonbluemoon · 5 years

Note

Sorry my moodboard request is kinda late! Could i ask for a deleted scene with squirrel and ohm interacting? I hope thats specific enough ajskak

Is it possible? Crim got TWO drabbles out in one day? Is this real life? Yes, yes it is. ^.^

Uh so I kinda wrote this starting with Ohm and Squirrel, then tossed in Cartoonz, and made it bro-moments and romantic moments so I hope you dont mind.

Please, enjoy!

“Do it again.” Ohm didn’t let his face show any sympathy when he set himself back onto the ground, wings easing back to rest while waiting for his opponent to rise from the training floor. Being younger did not aid the angel in front of him, Ohm waiting patiently for Squirrel to groan and push himself back to his feet.

“Why do I have to do this again? I’m just a messenger angel!” The fire of the newest addition to their motley crew was evident even when he scowled, showing his dislike of the current predicament with a dramatic roll of his shoulder. Ohm had hardly put any energy into his attacks, meaning that his fellow angel was just trying to play up his protest. Silently, Ryan promised not to let the malleable youngster hang out with Smiity or Mini any longer unsupervised.

“If you plan to continue hanging around strong beings like the Phoenix and Test Your Luck, then you need to be ready for creatures who don’t look at our kind in a positive light. They’ll challenge you, may even try to kill you outside of the bar to make a point. It would be safer for you to not continue staying around here as much as you have.”

“But Nogla’s gonna be coming back from Louisiana tomorrow and he promised me one of those weird fried animals on a stick that humans love.” The excitement on Squirrel's face made Ohm’s frown deepen, taking a step closer while letting his voice lower.

“Has the Council spoken about your closeness to humans yet?” A flicker of fear was barely there, but Ohm honed in on it far faster than his ally could shrug it away. “Squirrel.”

“Probably said something about it last time, but it wasn’t even the Council. Just one of their lapdogs.” Since the battle with Grigori, Squirrel had taken a new perspective on the rule of the angels, which Ohm hated to admit was contributed to by Cartoonz and the others. While he still did his job, and never slacked off in any of his duties, he had found a weird connection with their group that Sat- that other angels never had. Squirrel seemed to enjoy their company, and despite finding humans far inferior, never held that against them. It was a reckless way to think for an angel as young and easily swayed as Squirrel, and Ohm knew the angels would not tolerate the youthful rebellion for long.

“You need to be careful,” Ohm cautioned, trying not to overstep his role in the younger angel’s life.

“Funny, I don't remember adopting another weak scrapper.” But Luke, who dropped an arm around Squirrel’s shoulders and dragged him in for a playful ruffle of his hair, didn’t seem to care about rules and lines not being crossed. “What kind of danger are we pulling this guy out of this time?”

“Aw, not my hair,” Squirrel groused quietly, though didn’t pull back from the arm holding him. Ohm watched the scene unfold quietly, unsure if it was anxiety or something softer making his feathers flutter when Caroonz grinned down at Squirrel.

“Out with it, cupid. Who’s bullying you on the playground now? Those earth elves tripping you in the bar again? The shifters impersonating you? John telling people you wear girl underwear to bed?” The flush on Squirrel’s face proved that he remembered each of the memories vividly, with the last one having… strange results in the bar. Panda nearly set two people on fire by the end of it, though somehow neither had been John. Each time, however, it was either Luke or Ryan that had come to Squirrel’s rescue, though Ohm refused to look into why that was.

“Just the other angels ribbing me about… uh-” The guilt in Squirrel’s eyes turned to Ohm for a moment before his back stiffened, which both Cartoonz and Ohm picked up on.

“About what, kid?” But the tease was gone in Luke’s voice, and Squirrel seemed to know he wasn’t getting out of the bear trap he walked into.

“They’re just saying I’m going to be the next Ohmwrecker.” To his credit, Squirrel tried not to say the name like a slur, or something to be ashamed of. But Ohm knew the truth about how the angels saw him; he was a disgrace to their kind, falling for a demon and letting himself become tainted. It didn’t matter that he’d helped save the world and kept all of them alive. Once the danger of Grigori was gone, their judgment and distaste in him returned. There was no salvation for his title, and he knew that.

But Squirrel was different.

“You need to listen to them.” He knew how intimidating his voice could become when he spoke with his shoulders set and eyes focused, even behind the red cloth. Ignoring the scowl that Cartoonz sent toward him, he poured his attention into Squirrel and continued. “This isn’t up for debate; if the angels are speaking of you that way, there’s only a matter of time before they begin to question your loyalty. You are putting yourself in a position to become compromised by the humans and if your soul becomes blackened or even shaded with their sins-”

“I don’t want to be like them.” The bold claim caught Ohm off guard, Squirrel showing his own form of fortitude when glancing to Luke and giving half a grin. “You two are the bad guys up there, but to me? You’re… kind of my heroes. So if they say I’m like you, I don’t really mind. It’s better than being warped into what the Council tries to make us all be.”

“They’ll kill you if they hear you say that.” Like a band-aid not ready to be ripped off, Ohm’s stomach clenched in pain when Satt’s memory seeped into his head, remembering the consequences of his independent actions. Siding with Grigori was heinous, but the Council’s ability to judge right and wrong when it came to angels always felt harsher than necessary.

“That’s probably true. But at least I’ll be going out happy with myself.” It was sombering to hear Squirrel’s ease at accepting his likely fate, seeming to know his place in the angel’s pecking order far more than angels twice his age. Still, his smile was bright, hiding the hint of tears and fear edging his eyes. “What a human thing to say, right? ”

“Fuck, why are you angels so dramatic?” Luke’s voice was quick to break the moment, his clawed hand dropping on Squirrel’s head again in order to catch both of their attention. His eye only glanced to Ohm for a moment before turning back to Squirrel, serious yet soft in its stare. “If you think I’m going to let the Council of aging up there kill you because you’re turning out to be a little too Ohm-ish for their liking, you can stop that stupid ass thought right now. I happen to like Ohm, if you haven’t noticed, so having more angels like him isn’t a bad thing.”

“Cartoonz,” Ohm spoke softly, but didn’t have much else to say in protest.

“So you keep being you, and let me handle those holier-than-thou chickens up there. If they wanna kill you, I’ll make sure they know they’ve gotta take me out first. You got that?”

“Got it,” Squirrel answered instantly, wings perking up at the wide grin Cartoonz gave before patting his head. It was a softer moment that, a year ago, Ohm would have never been able to predict. Cartoonz was not the demon hellbent on destroying the angel society as he’d been presented for years to Ryan, but the kind Luke he’d fallen for despite his demonic blood. And in moments like these, it was obvious how easily he had fallen from grace to be with Cartoonz.

“Ohm?” Blinking once, he looked up to catch Luke’s arched eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I’m okay.” He answered, surprised with how easily the words came out.

Because for the first time in a decade, he actually meant them.

#Libahunt #Libahunt drabblez #Ohmwrecker #DeadSquirrel #Cartoonz #Ohmtoonz #<3 #BBS #Crimson is on a roll??#fluffy goodness #please enjoy!#percylovesbluefood

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geeky-roleplayer · 4 years

Text

My friend @ruinvevo wrote a Voltron fic.

She was having some problems with Tumblr and asked that I just post it onto my account, crediting her, of course.

So here it is! - Kay.

🌹🌹🌹

title: champion

fandom: voltron: legendary defender

word count: 3,421

notes: see bottom of page for that

song: champion - carrie underwood ft ludacris

two hands in the air, i will be the last one standing

i am a champion

Theodore Kai could recall almost anything you asked him about. Rather it be the first time he knew he loved his boyfriend Takashi Shirogane, or Shiro. Or maybe its the first time his hope was completely twisted out of his grip by the Galra, as they mercilessly attacked his sister and mother right infront of him, before taking him prisoner. He was no stranger to pain, no stranger to the battle scars that came from war, as most weren't now. Especially not anyone on the Atlas, the war ship from earth that was changing the world with the Paladins of Voltron on board.

Even now, he recalled past memories. The quietness of the world was never able to echo louder then his thoughts, because he has been doing this ever since he was a child. Fighting, losing, winning. But this would be different. It had to be, the fate of everyone was depending on it.

you'll be looking at me when its over.

i live for the battle, im a soldier, yeah.

Theo recalled back to the time he stood infront of the crowd, infront of the stage. Not even a mere month ago, before they were leaving. Everyone was cheering, screaming, urging the people on that stage to go and save lives like they have done countless times before. It was truly chilling, awe inspiring, and it reminded him just exactly what he had to lose.

That day, he didn't want to stand on that stage. It wasn't his to stand on, not when he was no paladin. Nor was he a Garrison soldier. Looking over in this vision of the past, he could see his little sister at his side, chin high up in the air, proud to know that while they weren't standing up there, they were cheering for them as well. The scars of their past battles, almost losing Shiro twice, it never would truly leave Theodore. Not even as he glanced down to flex the muscles on his hand, pale pastel blue markings peeking out from underneath like a reminder of his pain.

His attention was returning to Riley, and then he was looking up at the stage. Where Shiro stood, where the other paladins stood, the ones he considered family. And it reminded him of how he almost lost them.

Im a fighter like rocky, Put you flat on your back like Ali,

Yeah im the greatest, im stronger,

Paid my dues, cant lose, Imma own ya, ay

Theo could remember the screaming and echoing pain in his muscles that day. When they reclaimed earth so many months ago, and the lions were plummeting straight down back towards the blue and green planet, and the only thing you could see was the coloured streaks flying across the sky.

It was likely the stress of that situation, that caused his marks to suddenly go into overdrive. And before he knew it, he was crying out in pain, unable to handle it. He could hear Shiro in his ear, in those comms that were built into his helmet, yelling at someone, or something. And then silence for a moment, before he was whispering words of encouragement, trying to soothe his pain though he was unable to get there, to see him. To help him. He couldn't lose his kids, not now. No, not after all that Theo had been through.

And when he was flying straight for the ground, he was unsurprised. Unable to do anything, to fly, because his whole body was cramping, spasming, all of his muscles attacking him for simply existing and caring.

and then it was quiet, except for the exploding noise of the engine blowing.

i've been working my whole life, and now its do or die.

i am invincible, unbreakable, unstoppable, unshakeable.

they knock me down, i get up again. I am the champion

"Theo? Hello? Earth to Theo?"

Theodore was stirring from his little flash back of the past, as he found a hand waving infront of his face. It was his little sister, Riley Savannah, who was dressed and ready to impress even though they were heading into battle. A black suit version of what Griffin and the other MFE fighters wore. He could only offer a smile, and a murmur of apology for spacing out.

"Are you alright?"

Theo was then nodding.

"Yeah. Come on, lets go. The sooner we get home, the faster we can come back to Hunk's amazing cooking."

His words were followed up by a brighter smile of reassurance, though Riley clearly was still skeptical of him, given the way she furrowed her brows in confusion at the way he was acting. So spacy, so odd.

Turning to the side before he began to climb into the back of Griffin's MFE who would be dropping him off, while Riley headed off towards Laith's, he saw Shiro standing in the door way. Watching to make sure he got in safely, and even now, Theo found his heart pounding at the sight of him.

you're gonna know my name, you cant hurt me now, i cant feel the pain, i was made for this, yeah.

yeah i was born to win, i am the champion.

Adam was standing there, inbetween the pair. Looking down at his tablet, as he was the one to moniter this mission. He no longer payed any mind when people stared at him for the many scars upon his face, or really anything else. They no longer mattered, not when he had people to fight for, more information and stories to teach to those younger generations before he finally would retire from the mantle of teaching. Glancing up, he saw Theo standing there, unmoving, despite one hand on the step to get into the ship.

Then he was following his gaze, towards the door way, where their captain leaned against it. One another watching each other, completely in love.

While it bothered him, seeing it now, it no longer pained him as much as it used to. Shiro was happy, and that was all that mattered to him, though he still swore Theo was out to get him, threatening him in dark corners of the ship when it was only the pair.

Not that it mattered now, of course.

Theo was going off into battle. Risking himself just for the sake of the mission to finally create peace in the universe.

"Can you two please stop staring so Theo can leave, before we get behind on schedule?"

When they write my story, they are gonna say i did it for the glory, yeah. But dont think i did it for the fame, i did it for the love of the game, yeah.

And this is my chance im taking, all those old records im breaking.

"Yeah yeah yeah, im going, Adam."

Came the quiet rumble from Theo, before he had a sly smirk on his face, directed at his lover. Saluting casually, before he was stepping in and sitting down. Glass shutting over, as he began to prep himself. Griffin in the front was running last minute checks, as the rest of the crew began to vacate the hangar.

Adam and Shiro included, who had a direct passage to the bridge, so that they could lead this battle. The Lions had left a few minutes prior, and now Riley and Theo had to do their part.

Get in the Galra cruiser, get all the information they could, and get out of there.

Without getting hurt, though missions like these, they never always go according to plan, do they? That was something Theo had began to expect, ever since he joined the Paladins all that long ago. As a Galra soldier, nothing more then a toy for the commander of that ship, a previous labor worker and prisoner. But had it not been for that moment, the others showing up, he wouldn't be here, so he could only count his blessings as they took off.

All you people watching on the tv, go ahead and put your bets on me, ay. I've been waiting my whole life, to see my name in lights. I am invinsible, unshakable, unbreakable, unstoppable. They knock me down i get up again. I am the champion.

"Comms check, Fighters."

"Riley here! Comms are working in my helmet."

"Theo checking in, blessing you all with my precious voice."

Theo could only scowl, when the pilot of this ship, Griffin, snorted in amusement at his words. Clearly there was disbelief there, when Theo's voice was precious. Maybe not to everyone, but certainly to Shiro, who only sighed in annoyance at the bright orange screen infront of him that showed the others.

The comms would work like so. Adam would moniter them on his tablet, hearing them in his headset. And if it was extremely important, they would switch channels to communicate directly with the Atlas and its commander.

"Please! Like anybody finds that voice nice."

"Sounds just like your piloting skills. Dont kill me, please."

"Hell of a lot better then you, Kai."

"Once we get back to the hangar, be prepared for me to kick your ass and make you eat your words, Griffin."

Theodore could only laugh when he heard Shiro over the comms, sighing angrily, and even louder then previously. It sounded like Adam and him were arguing about something, though what he couldn't quite tell. It didn't seem to matter however, as it was time for him to be dropped off, along with Riley.

"This is your stop."

"Riley, Theo. Make sure you come home safe."

Shiro's words were not to be taken in vain, because they were said with every ounce of caring in his body he could muster because it was true. If Theo didn't come home safe, he didn't know what he would do.

"We will."

Came the chorus of reply from Theo and Riley both, before they were dropping in.

You are going to know my name, you can't hurt me now, i cant feel the pain, i was made for this, yeah i was born to win. I am the champion.

When they dropped into that Galra cruiser, it didn't take long for them to infiltrate it, finding a weak spot on the outside. Riley was the one to speak out, to inform Adam of their progress update since they were no longer on the main channel connected to the Atlas Command room, or Bridge as it was commonly called.

They had a few moments of peace, as Theo stepped out from the vents they had just crawled out of.

"It is oddly quiet.. something is wrong."

It turns out they weren't wrong about that, or atleast Theo wasn't, because moments later he was being shot at by dozens of Sentries. A quick cry escaped his mouth, as he pulled Riley back into the vent, hurrying her along. Taking many twists and turns that almost made him dizzy and sick. And almost lost, as well. But then they were dropping out only a few halls away from the command room's doors, and Theo let out a sigh of relief.

And then it began again.

Sentries, soldiers, coming up to shoot at them. He and Riley pressed themselves against the wall for a few moments, before they began to attack. Theo was pulling his twin axes out from his waist, just as Riley pulled her large sword from its sheith on her back.

Turning to each other with a nod, before they attacked.

Running forward with war cries and to their credit, they did manage to fight their way through until they reached the command room. But that was as far as their luck went, because Riley let out a sharp cry. Sword almost being dropped, as one of their bullets grazed her side. Energy burning away the suit that was left there, leaving exposed and burning flesh, bleeding and terrible pain.

Theo was not happy in the slightest at this. And he took the others out, before noticing the command room doors shutting.

And he barely managed to slide through with one last look at Riley, before he was leaving her alone in the dark hallway.

Born champion, Luda. The C is for the courage i possess through the drama. H is for the hurt but its all for the honor. A is for my attitude, working through the patience, Money comes and goes, so M is for the motivation. Gotta stay consistent, the P is for the persevere. I is for the integrity, for the innovative career. The O is for optimistic, open and never shut. The N is necessary cause im never giving up.

When Theo reemerged with the information required to fully end this mission, he was staggering forward. Command doors opening, and he was left forward to walk towards his sister. Taking her sword to place it back in its holder on her back, before he was using his shoulders to support her weight.

She was tired, that much was evident by the way her weight pressed against him. In pain, losing blood. And it hurt him to see. The adrenaline of the situation was causing him to ignore the pain in his side, where you might not see it at first glance due to the black fabric, but he was heavily bleeding with a wound to his side. A sharp one at that, a cut due to a blade. Sticky from the blood in the suit, and he thought it felt terrible, but he ignored it.

Instead switching his comm channels to the Atlas. Instead of Adam's little monitering chat.

"Wounded soldier, we need pick up now. Get your asses in gear and get over here."

His tone left no room for argument, as he carried Riley to the hangar. When they got there, he was left to stare angrily at the sentries waiting for him and her, before gently setting her down.

Whispering words of encouragement to stay awake. She just had too, he could not lose her.

And then he was attacking, growing weaker by the moment. When the others arrived, he rushed over to Riley, before opening the hangar doors. Sucking both of them into space, where both MFE's were waiting to grab them, glass tops open.

See, they ask me how i did it, i just did it from the heart. Crushing the competition, been doing it from the start.

they say every champion is about their principles, Carrie!

When they arrived back at the Atlas, no one payed Theodore any mind, simply because they did not know he was hurt. Or how heavily he was actually bleeding, or anything. Instead, everyone flocked to his sister, who needed more medical attention then he did anyway.

Taking a step out of the ship, to stand on the ground, it felt nice. When they rushed out, everyone in the hangar followed. Shiro was nowhere to be found, though that was expected, much like Adam still being gone.

The Lions also required their attention, with their mission as well.

And so, he was left to sway for a few moments, before he turned away from the hanger doors, and the ship he was leaning against unknowningly. Leaving behind a red bloody print. Glancing around the room, until he could stumble over to a pile of crates.

Then he was dropping beside them, out of sight from the whole room where he could close his eyes and rest. Helmet abandoned off by the ship, though his orange phone was on him.

That was ultimately how they found him.

I am invinsible, unshakeable, unbreakable, unstoppable. They knock me down, i get up again. I am the champion. You're gonna know my name, You cant hurt me now, cant feel the pain. Yeah, i was made for this, i was born to win. I am the champion.

Theodore was far gone betime Shiro was able to leave the bridge. Having to stay for the lions, but assuming that Theo would join them not long after arriving, as he couldn't stay with his sisters for a few hours. And besides, once the lions would arrive, Lance would arrive like a hell storm and Theo would be set in his sights for letting his girlfriend get hurt.

Griffin had said he was in the hangar, before they took Riley away. That echoed in Shiro's mind, before he entered the hangar, glancing around. Most crew members were still away, doing their own things.

And at first glance, he didn't notice the red bloody print upon the white and orange design of the MFE that belonged to Griffin.

His phone was being pulled from his pocket, so that he could dial Theo's phone.

And he froze when it began to ring, inside the hangar. He could only follow the sound, and it sounded so loud compared to anything else. Even his heart beating loudly in his ears, or the footsteps he was loudly making, or the slight buzzing from his arm. And it was like ice water was running through Shiro's veins, being chilled to the core as he made it around the corner to look into the pile of crates.

And his heart broke.

"Someone! Please, please get help! Anyone, please!"

Shiro was crying out loudly into the empty hangar, and it took a few moments for anyone to appear to see the commotion. Shiro lifting up his boyfriend, holding him close to his chest as he stumbled forward with him in his arms bridal style. Blood was soaking Shiro's outfit, and Theo looked deathly pale, and in a way he was.

And Shiro never thought he would forget that sight, as someone took Theo from his arms.

i'm the champion, yeah. Surpassed all the rivals, its all about who wants it the most. Fight for what we believe in, thats what champions are made of.

When Theodore woke up the next day, his throat was dry. Scratchy, and he felt the pain in his side, along with a tightness there. Bandages wrapped up tightly, when he managed to lift his head far enough up to peak underneath the blanket. Weak, certainly.

And when he glanced to his side, his heart broke because there sat his boyfriend, laying with his head down against the bed. Black circles already in his eyes, no doubt he stayed awake this whole time hoping Theo would pull through. Hand gripping Theo's, and he found himself smiling at that.

And so, gently, he poked him. In the head, where all of his newly found grey hairs sat.

Shiro was springing up a moment later, glancing around quickly in a panic, before Theodore caught his attention. He could only stare at him, in shock. Fear was in his eyes, terror. Happiness, sadness, so many mixed emotions, and he didn't know what to say or think. Only he could stare. When Theo made a motion for some water, only then did Shiro stir from his staring, getting up to hand him a glass before he was sitting back down.

Tears were in his eyes, as he watched Theo take a drink.

"How could you do that? Be so reckless? I almost lost you, Theo. I.. i dont know what i would have done without you."

Theo didn't know what to say at first, as he watched Shiro sob as he finally was able to release his emotions out from the whole event, because Theo was awake. His Theo. His lover, his boyfriend, his partner, his best friend. Space dad number two.

And really, Theo didn't say anything. Instead pulling Shiro up with the little bit of strength he had, using his hand to pull Shiro's. Though he didn't fight it, so it was easier for him anyhow. Not aggravating the stitches on his side, wrapped in bandages.

A kiss was placed on Shiro's lips, holding him there, hands coming up to be placed on his cheeks, to wipe away those tears that were breaking Theo's heart.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against Shiro's.

"I am so sorry, my love. I have no intentions of going anywhere. I can't leave you with all those kids and recruits, now can i?"

Shiro's only reply was a mix of a sob of terror, and a choking of laughter as he brought Theo in for another grateful kiss.

I am the champion. okay yeah so here are the notes.

originally this was just an idea, but then i thought of Theo sliding underneath a door, with Riley looking at him in terror and realized i needed to expsnd further on this.

The champion song by Carrie Underwood has reminded me of all of the Paladins, and that is why i used it here.

lmao despite knowing that none of them will see it, i do hope that josh keaton, bex taylor, kimberly brooks, steven yeun, jeremy shada, all of them know just what these characters mean to me. and what they inspire me to do.

so yeah.

hope you liked it. ~ @ruinvevo

#voltron legendary defender #voltron shiro #OC insert #Voltron #Lance McClain (mention)#takashi shirogane #James Griffin #voltron adam #Personally #I really love Theo

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keycrash · 5 years

Text

figured i’d discuss my thoughts on all the panels and my post-ztd ideas behind them for the song comic since i did it on twitter and i love overexplaining. ztd spoilers

intro

so, carlos kills delta. i’m actually a little pleasantly surprised that most of the fandom headcanons this for him— i do, of course, but with a ‘nice’ character like carlos you often expect people to insist they’re not one for violence. but yeah it’s in large part pantry fragment that makes me so certain he’d do it— carlos kills akane bc akane is dangerous, and carlos even kills himself when he thinks he’s dangerous. he’d feel guilty just by the sheer fact of taking a life when all he’s done his entire life is save people, but violence is on the table as a last resort and they cant afford to have delta alive, so he’d take that burden of guilt so as to spare everyone else

i don’t have many in depth hcs for how the gang leaves dcom so i figured akane psychic calling aoi for a ride made some amount of sense. aois yelling at junpei and phi to buckle up. akane already is like a good girl.

Q team

mira’s in jail catching up on philosophy reading, eric’s in therapy thankfully. imo the... Magical Change mira has in the epilogue files is a bit... of a jarring change of heart as far as realism goes so i feel like given her circumstances she’d probably have psychotherapy as well

sigma has tons of robotics experience, so... he builds sean a head so he can operate in society a bit easier. i had bree’s sean design in the back of my mind so i wanted to give credit there.

C team

my babes. i love them. i love th.

i figure there’s some point where junpei and akane are working on crash keys business w catching the terrorist but carlos has to stay behind to rehabilitate maria; so junpei and akane on a business trip to japan, finding a few spare hours to call carlos despite the timezone difference... the epilogue shows that they haven’t really been in much contact, so i feel like it’s probably a result of carlos not being used to having deep longstanding friendships. he doesn’t want to bother junpei and akane when they’re busy with crash keys business and their relationship, meanwhile they’re like Carlos Hasn’t Called Us In Weeks Is He Dead Or What

also that panel has a beer in the back because i feel like it’d take a while for everyone around junpei to realize that his alcoholism is like, Alcoholism, and then even longer for him to get a handle on it

the second panel is the moment maria wakes up after carlos spending half his life trying to get her back... cries......................

and then Junepei Is Beautiful And Dysfunctional: A Dissertation. they love each other of course but junpei’s severely traumatized by akane’s actions and akane has trouble adjusting to normal life especially with all of that being brought to the surface again; she doesnt know how to process guilt or help junpei, she cant even tell him she was wrong to apologize bc she doesnt think she was, she just regrets that he had to be caught up in it. anyway not directly related but i hc that they break up once it gets too much to handle then go back for another try after they fix some things. they’re a mess but they dont care that they’re a mess because they’re so hellbent on being together because having each other is a sign of victory and safety and theyll learn to exist together eventually

... again, just general post-ztd, but junpei would be resistant to any kind of medication/therapy for his struggles but i feel like if people he loved expressed their concern enough he could be convinced

also they date carlos later thank u.

D team

sigma’s panel is a reversal of the end of vlr; instead of being young and discovering his old reflection, he’s old and looking at his younger self, realizing he’ll be in this mismatched body forever, for better or for worse

diana’s panel is ambiguous about if she’s moving out of her old home or into a new one, but either way, it’s a positive change for her, finally escaping the looming threat of her ex husband and building new friendships to help her through it

and phi’s was a little hard to get across, but she’s calling her foster parents. one of them is a different phi clone, after all, and they Knew— so phi wants answers, and she wants to tell them she found her biological parents, and she wants to tell clone mom she found HER biological parents too. ... also i want her college dorm, it’s so aesthetic

outro

please dont make me decide where gab lives. that plant’s named kyle, though.

the crash keys HQ panel has phi in the back, who else could pull off that vest. a few of the details have aoi and junpei arguing through notes and drawings on the desk, lmao. anyway i figure this is a breakthrough on the terrorist after tons of sleepless nights bc akane’s a workaholic; though i do headcanon that there’s no terrorist due to the fanatic bio r/fabrication anagram

of course, sean busts mira out of jail and they go back to Fix the timeline... i was thinking abt using these panels for something else but i figured they fit too well to ignore. that epilogue is a beautiful mess. let me tell you though, itd immediately turn akane from super accomplished in the last panel to Furious; i feel like crash keys & the SOIS would unite for the taking down free the soul/the terrorist efforts, and in doing so would also give mira legal help/resources in exchange for information about delta etc, but they all know mira��s kind of a wildcard and they’re happy to have her in jail, especially for akane who’s quickly come to discover that mira was a contributor to her parents’ deaths. so mira escaping is like WHO LET THIS HAPPEN

anyway... that comic took up my life for like 4 days so i needed to air out thoughts. there we go. one motivation in making it was because i’ve shit on ztd a lot in the time since it came out; i’ve mellowed out since, and yeah i still have bitter feelings, and it’s not like i suddenly think its writing decisions i had gripes with were good, but i figured for all the negativity i’d put out there i should try to highlight ztd’s merits where it has them as well

#ze talk #peko.txt #alcoholism ment #999 spoilers #vlr spoilers #ztd spoilers

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just-castlevania-imagines · 5 years

Text

1000 follower Tribute Castlevania Q&A

“Good evening everyone!” Sypha started warmly, tapping the microphone gently to make sure it was working. “Is this thing on?”

“It’s on Sypha!” Trevor yelled to her, being one of many sitting at a long table behind him. She smiled, returning her attention to the growing audience reading this.

“Well, Hello! tonight we have a very special treat. Several of you have sent questions that you would like us to answer and we are going to answer them right here, right now. I Am your host, Sypha Belnades!” She introduced herself, grinning ear to ear. “Behind me from left to right is: Vlad Dracula Tepes, His lovely wife Lisa Tepes, Their son Alucard, Trevor Belmont, Issac and Hector. Aaaand off to the right protesting is some guy named Godbrand?”

“Why didn’t I get any questions!” The viking yelled, Making the hostess roll her eyes.

“Let’s get this over with.” Issac complained, “I have plans after this.”

“Alright then. As you wish.” Sypha started, digging into her robes for a set of cards. She shuffled them breifly before picking one and turning to her panel. “Question one is for....Trevor!”

“Naturally.” Belmont said smugly,most of the Tepes family grumbling. Lisa calmed her husand and song with a hand on each of their shoulders. Alucard sighed, taking a drink from his water bottle. “What’s my first question?”

“ Would you fuck Alucard if you have the chance? “ Alucard spit his water out, his mother lightly scolding him for it. Trevor just laughed, staring at his fingernails and trying to think of an answer.

“Well...um.. It depends-”

“Who asked that!” Alucard yelled, his mother patting his back and urging him to relax.

“It was an anonymous asker.”

“Son,” Dracula started. “Please do not fornicate with the Belmont-”

“Father-”

“If I’ve had a lot to drink and he was less of a cunt,” Trevor started. “Yeah, Probably-”

“I’m done,” Alucard said, trying to stand up and leave. His mother sat him down, scolding him for overracting. Sypha just giggled, lightly shuffling the remaining cards and drawing another one.

“Alright, the next quesiton is for Alucard.” She started with a smile. “What is your favorite type of food.”

“Belmonts.” He answered without hesitating. Trevor smirked, trying not to start laughing again.

“It’s funny because if you kind of switch his tone it sounds sexual-”

“Nevermind, I like Seafood.” He quickly corrected.Sypha nodded, again shuffling her cards.

“Simple man, Simple answers. The next question is for Dracula.”

“Excellent.” He said, oddly dark. “What is it that they wish to know?”

“ Boxers, briefs, or freeballin?” Sypha said happily, completely ignoring the contents of the question. Lisa blushed and Adrian just put his face in his hands. Dracula nodded slowly, absorbing the question.

“...tell me... What is ‘Freeballing’?”

“Oh Lord I can’t do this.” Alucard said, getting up and walking off the panel. “I’ll beback later.”

“Hurry Back!” Sypha urged. Lisa was busy whispering to her husband, explaining the question.

“I see... after further explaination from my wife I have learned that I have been ‘Freeballing’.”

“Woo!” Godbrand yelled from the sidelines. “Great choice!”

“Will you get out of here?” Hector asked, “You weren’t even asked a question.”

“Niether were we,” Issac started. “However, people seem to get upset when we are not included, even though they aren’t specifically requesting us.”

“Yeah, It’s weird..”

“Sypha, Taking the floor once more!” The speaker said happily, regaining control. “The next question is for Alucard.”

“Someone go get the spoiled brat from the backroom.” Trevor groaned, Leaning back in his chair. Almost on cue he returned, another bottle of water with him. He sat beside his mother, who put a loving hand on his shoulder.

“What did I miss?”

“You have a question, Dear.”

“This anon would like to know what your fondest memory is of your parents.” Sypha asked. Adrian couldn’t help but smile and look over at his loving parents to his right.

“Well... The castle is very big. I used to enjoy playing hide and seek with my parents. My father always seemed to know where to find me.. One day I stumped him. I picked a spot so good that he didn’t know where to find me.” He remembered, his parents holding each others hands as he spoke. “I was hiding in his study. Just sitting in his favorite chair. By the time they both found me I had fallen asleep.”

“Aww,” Sypha cooed, squishing her face. “That’s adorable. Thank you Alucard for sharing.... Our next question is for Lisa!”

“Oh, Exciting.” The doctor said happily. The vampires to her left and right seemed ready to destroy someone depending on what the question was about.

“What is your favorite memory of Adrian as a baby?”

“Oh....that’s a tough one..” She said, thinking to herself for a moment. “It’s a tie between when he first walked and the naked baby dance-”

“Pfft, the what?” Trevor asked, making the vampire freeze.

“N-Nothing.”

“No,” Dracula said, putting a finger up for clarification. “It was not nothing. You were so cute when you would do that little bath time dance.”

“OH he was so precious Vlad,” Lisa said dreamily, remembering the early days of her parenting. “Anytime we prepared to bathe him he would do this little dance where he jumps from foot to foot.”

“And he’s make those cute little huff noises.” As Dracula and his wife reminisced, Alucard sunk lower in his chair, not wanting to look over at Trevor who was just staring him down.

“Oh, those were the days.” She said happily, hugging herself. “And now my boy is all grown up. Almost ready to give me children of his own-”

“Okay, Mother, Thank you for that beautiful trip down memory lane.” Alucard cut in, sitting upright in his chair once more. “What’s the next question?”

“The next question is for Vlad!”

“Did I only get one question?” Trevor asked suddenly. Sypha nodded, preparing to read from the card she had.

“If you could have saved Lisa... how would you?” Lisa put a hand to her heart, recoiling in fear at the mention of her fate. Dracula slammed his fists on the table, standing ferociously.

“I would have ripped her from that stake and drove it through the heart of the corrupt priests that think they do God’s work by killing the only credit to their race!”

“Now Vlad dear, calm down-”

“I would have burned the church to the ground! Everyone who had ever harmed her would face a wrath ten times that than the devil himself-!”

“Vlad, please, Dear, It was just a question!” Lisa pleaded, beginning to shake her husband who was getting a bit too into the question. She was able to calm him back into sitting down. He huffed, mumbling about how everyone was lucky his wife was here. Sypha was scared but shuffled the cares once more.

“Um...yes... So Alucard! Next question for you!”

“Oh come on!” Godbrand complained, “He’s got like 6 question!”

“Shut up,” Sypha said, oddly happy. “Now, Alucard. This anon wants to know... if You’ll marry them.”

“..What?”

“Yes!” Lisa said excitedly. “Oh, I bet they’re so lovely. The kids will be beautiful-”

“M-Mother-”

“Oh the wedding will be a grand affair!” Lisa marvelled, clearly excited. “Vlad, what do you think?”

“I know you want a grandchild but Lisa we don’t even know this person.” Vlad reminded her, amused by her excitement. “We will all talk about this later.”

“ Okay, I have a couple more questions for Adrian.” Sypha said, holding a couple cards in her hand at once. “1: What do you do with your hair? Do you ever put it up in a bun or braid?”

“I tie my hair back but I haven’t really experimented with it. My mother used to braid it when I was younger..”

“Alright, 2: Do you choose your own clothes, or does Lisa?”

“Does your mommy dress you?” Trevor teased, Alucard simply ignored him.

“Well, My father was actual more responsible for how I dress. When I was a baby my mother was and as I aged my father took that over.”

“All good answers.” Sypha said, nodding and looking through the cards. “Okay What are your dirtiest kinks-?”

“Sypha! My mother is right next to me!” Alucard complained. Lisa gasped and Dracula spared his wife, putting his hands over his wife’s ears.

“Go ahead son.”

“Ugh..well.. um... I haven’t ..tried many things? Bondage seems nice, can we move on?” He answered awkwardly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Dracula released his wife’s ears and Trevor was trying his best to keep from laughing.

“Alright and that is it for Alucard!” Sypha announced happily.

“Finally,” Issac complained. “That was... very telling.”

“The next question is for... Trevor!”

“Huh, Me?” He asked, fixing himself upright in his chair. “Finally.”

“Do you have another large fluffy coat somewhere?”

“Oh man, I dont... I wish I did though. I loved that fucking coat. It was my fathers. When the Belmont home was under seige it’s the only thing I took. I’ve had it ever since..” He said rubbing his hands and probably wishing he had his coat right now. Sypha smiled, happy that he shared that.

“Next question is for... Dracula.. What is your favorite thing about Adrian?”

“He’s my son.”

“Vlad,” LIsa scolded, lightly slapping his hand. “What is your favorite thing about your son?” Vlad scratched his chin, really taking a moment to think. Alucard looked offended and Trevor put his head on the table, laughing into his arms.

“...Well,” Vlad started. “...He’s my son.”

“I think that’s the only answer we’re going to get.” Sypha conceeded, “Onto the next question.... for Trevor!”

“Fantastic.” The hunter said, celebrating to himself.

“What is your ideal lazy day with someone you care about?”

“Oh you know,” He started, leaning back in his chair. “Go get a drink, laze around in the grass, fall asleep-” Alucard chukled, interrupting him.

“Of course your list starts with drinking-”

“Bite me.”

“Don’t tempt me, Belmont.”

“Oh just kiss already.” Issac said, rolling his eyes. Sypha smiled, turning back to the audience.

“And it looks like that’s all the questions that we recieved!”

“Wait, that was it?” Hector asked, jumping to his feet. “Nothing for us-”

“Thank you all 1000 plus followers for submitting your questions to your favorite characters and I do hope that you enjoyed our little session here today!”

“I canceled my afternoon, i had no questions!?”

“How do you think I feel!” Godbrand started. “This blogs full of people that want to fuck me and still no one asked me a damn question-”

“This was fun,” Lisa started, “We must do this again sometime.”

“Goodnight everyone,” Dracula stood, addressing you all. “Thank you for following and we will see you next time.”

-Mod Alucard

#Castlevania netflix #castlevania #imagines #imagine #castlevania imagines #Adrian Alucard tepe #headcanons #animation #Trevor Blemont #Trevor Belmont #Sypha Belnades #Hector #Issac #Godbrand

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drabblesandheadcanons · 5 years

Text

A terrible horrible no-good very bad day Pt 2

Foster Au continued. Credit to @bessie-bass-on-the-bass for the Au idea!

School is… school. That she now gets to walk into school with Kitty is an improvement- no one looks at her when they can look at Kitty instead- and she knows she doesn’t have to worry about anyone trying to talk to her.

Things are more tricky when they have to go to their separate classrooms- the Year 8 form rooms are not even in the same part of the school as the Year 10 ones.

Her own classes are… a struggle. She’s aware that she sticks out. She’s used to being New- she’s been New so many times before- but that doesn’t mean she enjoys it and she knows it’s only a matter of time before New becomes replaced with something less innocuous: she’s been the girl who had a panic attack in assembly, the girl who never brought in lunch, the girl who cried when they were reading out loud in English.

She doesn’t want to know what it will be at this school- but whatever it is, she isn’t deluded enough to hope that she can get by on being known only as Kitty Seymour’s little sister.

The school corridors are a gauntlet of noise- too many voices all at once, too many eyes upon her, and there’s so much touching- people push and squeeze by, jostling bags and coats, and she’s being swept along in a wave of tightly packed students, the ceiling lights over bright and the air thick with rain-damp clothing drying and a miasma of body sprays.

There’s laughter- then a roar of almost animal ferocity as someone way back braces themselves against the mass, forces themselves forward, and then a wave of yelps and surprised squeaks as those in front are being crushed, pulled off balance, stumbling and helpless, and still those behind keep pushing, keep pushing- and just as Joan feels like she can’t hold back the scream that’s building in her chest, just as she feels herself tipping into uncontrollable panic, it lets up and everyone is righting themselves, pushing each other away, angry and flustered.

The anger is always at each other- never towards the faceless causer of cruel chaos but at those unlucky enough to be victim to it; sharp faces, sharp hands, sharp voices, prod and chide Joan away- she’s trodden on someones toe, knocked into someone else’s bag, and she’s still mumbling apologies when she gets to the classroom.

The day drags from the first.

She’s managed to forget her homework- the homework that had given her hours of anxiety (science is not her best subject) until Kitty popped into her room while she was still at her desk to ask if she wanted some hot chocolate, before seeing the state she was in.

With Kitty’s help, it had still taken her over an hour to complete… but eventually she’d been able to put her pen down, pick up her (now cold) hot chocolate and shuffle her papers together…. only to utterly fail to put the work back into her school bag.

The sick sinking feeling settles on her stomach half a moment before the teacher calls for the work to be handed in, and she accepts the scolding and detention silently, her eyes stinging.

It’s not a big deal, she knows it isn’t a big deal- at least, it shouldn’t be a big deal. No one else would even really register it. But the feeling of failure, of being a disappointment (yet again, yet again) still sticks to her, impossible to brush off.

There’s a substitute teacher in the next class- Geography- who is obviously slightly overwhelmed by them all. The room feels claustrophobic- the usual routine is thrown off by the teacher’s absence and everyone is taking advantage of this, moving around and between the desks, crowding and pushing and shouting to one another, and to Joan, it feels like there isn’t quite enough air for them all.

When the teacher eventually snaps, it’s loud and prolonged and in the front row, Joan feels extra exposed- she feels righteous anger radiating from the substitute in the front of the class, and resentful anger building in the rows behind, and she’s trapped in the middle.

The rest of the lesson is fraught and the teacher is tense- she snaps at Joan to pay attention when she sees her looking out of the window and the giggles that follow make her face feel hot.

Kitty would be able to deal with this, she knows- Kitty-at-school always seems to her to be just as confident as Kitty-at-home (which surprised Joan slightly at first, who was all ready to be asked to refrain from approaching or talking to or about her foster sister in public- it’s something she’s been asked before, more than once, and it doesn’t really upset her much anymore).

She thinks about what Kitty would do in the same situation- and she suddenly wishes her sister was in her class, making everything more bearable just by being there.

But she isn’t. Of course she isn’t.

History is a little easier- there’s a test, which they have to do in silence, and although she knows she hasn’t done as well as she maybe could have done, it’s nice to have a chance to gather herself: the quiet is a restorative, even if it is over much, much too soon.

Going from the quiet classroom to the chaos of the corridor is a little bit painful though, and she has to fight the wave of panic that washes over her- for a second, she freezes in the doorway- I can’t, I can’t- but then someone is pushing her from behind, telling her to hurry up, and accustomed to doing what she is told, she does.

There’s a pressure inside her, a growing tightness in her chest.

She usually escapes to the music room for lunch. After discovering it on her second day, it’s been a godsend for her, for a couple of reasons: it’s quiet, not all the lights work so it’s nicely dim, and most importantly, it’s nearly always empty, save for Bessie, who is basically paid to make sure nothing goes too badly wrong with the schools music and drama department and who is rarely seen by anyone who isn’t Joan.

(When Joan first saw her, she was hunched over a keyboard that’d had something pink and sticky looking spilled over it and muttering darkly to herself, and Joan had involuntarily shrunk back from the woman with the dark lipstick and the tattoos covering her arms and the dont-mess-with-me set to her jaw.

That was before she knew Bessie though.

Not that she knows her well now or anything, she just knows enough to not be afraid of her and to be reasonably certain that Bessie isn’t going to turn against her any time soon.

Now, she knows about Bessie’s weakness for Milky Ways and about the four cats that carries around photos of in her wallet. She knows that Bessie can play the bass guitar in a way that makes it look easy. And she knows about Maggie, the music room’s other occupant- two years below Joan but looking much younger. She seldom speaks (if Joan hadn’t seen her talking her the curly haired girl who pops in and out sometimes, she wouldn’t be entirely certain that Maggie did speak at all) but she follows Bessie around like a baby duckling when she isn’t in class and Bessie- who most students seem to edge away from- manages to seem almost soft when she’s talking to Maggie.

Maggie doesn’t talk to Joan but she doesn’t avoid her either, and actually not talking suits Joan quite well, and so the music room has become a sanctuary of sorts- a refuge for her and Maggie, with Bessie watching over like a fierce mother bear.

(It’s not an exaggeration- Joan once saw Bessie tearing into two Year 10 boys who had followed behind Maggie, calling her ‘vampire psycho’- especially cruel because as far as Joan can tell, Maggie has never bitten anyone other than herself- and the force of Bessie’s anger had made her heart almost beat out of her chest, even though she knew it wasn’t directed at her. She wonders sometimes if Bessie would defend her like that, but never for too long.)

She’s looking forward to the quiet peace of the music room- really, really looking forward to it, the thought of being able to hide herself away in the quiet calm for a while is basically what’s keeping her going at this point-

-but when she gets there, the door is locked and the room is dark.

She stands there, helplessly, clutching her bag and wondering what has happened. She’s sort of hoping that if she just stands there, Bessie will appear and open the door for her and she’ll be able to settle into her usual corner, and listen to Bessie wish violent curses upon whoever has damaged the piano that week….but it doesn’t work, and then there’s footsteps and a cross voice behind her asking what she’s doing, why she’s there, doesn’t she know she shouldn’t be in this [art of the building and does she think she’s better than the other students?

It’s so unexpected, and it’s stupidly made worse by the fact that it’s happening here, just outside her safe (for school) place.

She can’t move and she can’t talk and her lack of reaction is just making things worse, it seems- she’s insolent, she’s arrogant, she’s headed the right way for a detention- and although part of her knows that this is school, that there are rules which prevent anything really bad happening to her, another part of her is tensed up and wondering where the first blow will hit her first (her face so it will hurt more, her shoulder where a bruise can be hidden by clothes?)

She can feel the pain of it even though the blow itself never actually comes- instead, she’s barked at to get outside and somehow, she’s able to move, she’s walking, she’s down the corridor and out of the door, her eyes burning and her throat tight.

She’s not sure where she’s going- all her focus is on keeping the tears back- so she ends up just walking until the bell goes.

She could go to find Kitty, she knows she could- Kitty had been very emphatic that she should feel free to come and seek her out any time at school if she needed her, or even if she just wanted some company.

(She hasn’t summoned up the courage for it yet but Kitty has come across her once or twice and insisted she come to sit with her and Cathy and Anne and Anna. She’d been so nervous the first time but it hadn’t actually been too bad- Cathy had smiled warmly at her over the top of the notebook she was scribbling in and Anna had made room for her on the picnic table they’d dumped their bags all over. Anne had been quick to voice her opinion that Joan was an ‘old lady’ name and Joan had been poised to flee- but Kitty’s gentle hand on her arm had kept her in place and when Anne had finished her thought (‘It’s almost as bad as my name!’) and started offering round a packet of starbursts, she’d passed it to Joan first as if it was normal to do so.)

She knows she could go and find Kitty- but she won’t. As much as she wants her foster sister right now, she also feels like if Kitty is nice to her, she’ll cry and she really, really doesn’t want to… and there’s another part of her too that doesn’t want to ruin Kitty’s day by being needy. She doesn’t want to make Kitty regret her invitation- it’s far better if she just never takes it up so that Kitty need never have to worry about how to politely retract it.

Eventually, the bell goes. It occurs to her, as it does, that she never actually got around to eating the lunch in the bottom of her bag, and it’s that moment that she realises she’s hungry.

But it’s too late now, everyone is streaming back to class, so she follows.

Her first afternoon class is worse than the morning- perhaps it’s that she’s hungry, perhaps it’s that she can’t shut off the shouting and flashes of pain in her own head, perhaps it’s just a result of everything building up and building up, but whatever it is, she’s having to hold herself together. Her fingernails dig into her palms, she fights to keep her breathing steady.

She’s not paying a huge amount of attention to what’s going on in the class around her but eventually, she registers a disturbance behind her/

Loud obnoxious questions turn louder and louder until there’s shouting- a chair is overturned, and someone is storming out of the room, furiously muttering- she wants to cover her ears,to hide from the anger- and as they pass, a hand suddenly comes up and pushes her head forward. It’s not very hard but it’s unexpected, it jolts her. It’s not personal, she knows that really- it’s more just that she is an easy and convenient target- one of the quiet ones who are there to be tripped and pushed so that others can laugh at their stumbling confusing, who are there to have things thrown at them so that others can have the benefit of their distress. She’s an outlet of anger in the same way that the chair is overturned, the exercise book thrown on the floor, the worksheet ripped and crumpled- she feels the truth of this in one quick flash, and the anger of it too, and then, then she’s out of her chair, turning- the owner of the hand is only a step or two away, and she’s on him, clawing like a cat, hitting as hard as her pathetic strength will allow, and someone is shrieking, ‘no, no, no’ over and over, and it’s her.

There are voices around her, and several stinging blows to the side of her head, and then there are hands upon her, pulling her back and away, and she’s clawing at the empty air, throat raw and her face wet with blood and with tears.

#six the musical #six fanfiction #jane seymour #joan on the keys #joan jane and kitty as a family unit #katherine howard #found family #foster au #tw: mental health #tw: childhood trauma #fluff and angst

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