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dreamy625 · 4 months

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Total rock star - ficlet

Sometimes good things happen to Steve in January

Content: There’s one period-appropriate slur (not used aggressively)

Words: 985

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January 1978

Steve frowned at himself in the mirror over the sink, wishing he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. He’d cut himself twice while shaving, his hands were shaking that much. He patted at the one that was still bleeding with a piece of toilet paper. Great first impression that’ll be, blood all over the place! His hair was also a disaster; he’d washed it the night before, as it took so long to dry, but it had gone fluffy, and smooshed up on one side where he’d slept on it. The perm was great, just what he’d wanted, but it did tend to end up looking like a dandelion if he didn’t put the right stuff on it. He wet his hands and tried to smooth down the bump; how did girls manage this so much better, he wondered? He wiped his hands on his jeans then, regretting it, turned and craned his head to check he hadn’t got shaving foam or toothpaste or anything on them. Phew, all clean still. The jeans were newly washed, so he’d had to lie on the floor to get the zip done up. He hoped they’d loosen up a bit on the way into town so that he’d be able to sit down without wincing.

The reminder of where he was going made his stomach lurch again, and he took a deep breath to quell the incipient nausea. NOT an audition, he reminded himself. Just a rehearsal, just hanging out. But still he’d practised those Zepp songs he planned to oh-so-casually trot out for hours every night this past week. He knew he was good. Quite good. Not bad. Fuck, what if I’m terrible and everybody laughs? Another deep breath. It’s fine, if it’s awful I’ll just leave. I don’t have to see any of them ever again. I’ll just never go in the common room, or the canteen, or the Limit, or the Wapentake… Stop it! Forcefully he pushed himself away from the sink and headed back to his room to finish getting dressed.

He picked up the t-shirt laid out on the bed and pulled it carefully over his head, trying not to make the fluff situation any worse. From the three shirts he’d tried on - black, white, and the blue one with the Gibson logo on it - he’d eventually settled on the white one. It was the perfect fit, sitting just above the waist of the jeans. He’d rolled the sleeves, and carefully removed the size 10 label* (girls’ clothes being the only way he’d found to get that cropped length without taking the scissors to it, which just ended up in a frayed mess). Oh he’d nearly died of embarrassment sidling into the ladieswear department of BhS that first time. Rock stars like Bowie and Marc Bolan might wear women’s clothes, and that was probably fine down in London, but if anyone from the factory saw him within 50 feet of a dress shop he’d be branded a poofter for life. With long hair and minimal interest in football, he was on dangerous ground as it was. ‘It’s for my sister’ he’d mumbled unprompted to the disinterested cashier, who most likely didn’t give a toss what he did with it as long as he paid his £2.50.

Originally he’d planned on wearing his leather jacket, but when he’d put it on, it didn’t look right. It was a good jacket, and had been a generous present, all the grandparents clubbing together, for his sixteenth birthday. But it was brown and that was already starting to look a bit old-fashioned, a bit ‘too seventies’ even while they were still in that decade. If he ever made any money out of this music lark, the first thing he’d buy, no, the second, after a better guitar, would be a black leather jacket. The denim jacket was too small on purpose, but really too small even for that. That’s what happened when you bought things from the market without trying them on. With the oil stains from helping Dad fix the car, it had reached the perfect degree of scruffiness though.

He opened the wardrobe and examined the complete look, front and side, in the mirror on the back of the door. It had ended up sort of Thin Lizzy-meets-Status Quo-meets-The Ramones; he wasn’t sure that was a good thing, but it was the best he could manage on an apprentice’s wage.

“Hullo, Steve Clark, pleased to meet you,” he greeted his reflection. Well that would work if I was meeting someone’s grandma.

“Hi. Name’s Steve. I play guitar.” God, what a wanker!

“Hey, I’m Steve. Do I play? No, I just carried this all the way here for the exercise.”

Fucksake, why can’t I just be normal? Better just keep my mouth shut unless someone asks me a question. He attempted a laid-back, friendly smile at the mirror. It came out more of a grimace.

“Stephen! You’re going to miss the bus if you don’t get a move on.”

“Just coming, Mam!” he called back.

Quickly, he added white socks to the ensemble; the finishing touch, white clogs, waited in the hall where he’d cleaned them last night. With a final desperate pull at his fringe, he turned his back on the mirror, picked up his guitar case, and dashed downstairs.

“Oh Stephen, are you not putting a coat over that? You’ll catch your death.”

“Doesn’t go with the outfit. Don’t worry, I’ll be inside most of the time, I’ll be fine.”

“And don’t be too late back - remember you’re on earlies again tomorrow.”

“I won’t. I’m sure the rest of the guys have to go to work too.”

“Have fun, love.”

“Thanks, Mam.”

The door banged shut behind him as he bounced down the steps and set off at a trot for the bus stop at the bottom of the hill.

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* A UK size 10 in 1978 would be approximately equivalent to a modern US size 4. He’s a skinny minnie!

Author’s note: Everytime I hear Joe describe meeting Steve for the first time, I think of how nervous he must have been, and how much effort he would have put into that ‘total rock star’ look

#steve clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction

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arrow90-art · 5 months

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[Alrakis] OC Profile

A quick info+story dump for Ri and Lark! for new friends to get to know them! ^^ I hope this helps! This is from my private commission page and it's a bit rough ;3

Ri was my gold dragon path KC, but Lark and I decided to have him follow my hc archlich path as a companion. Lark is a mystery archlich NPC, KCs can pick them up in Ri's companion quest as an advisor.

Rimerock

Name: Rimerock/Ri Gender: Male, He/Him Race: Ancient silver dragon, 950+ yo Alignment: Lawful Good to Lawful Neutral Class: Paladin/Knight/Shifter Favored Weapon: longswords (golden sword Sundial, inherited from his family member Mirikshul) Disease: Corruption. (Demon lord murdered his family when he was 400+ yo, since then he suffered from a deadly corruption no one can cure. It’s a metallic dragon disease that brings mental damage and physical pain, causing the dragon to lose its vibrant colors. Due to the disease, Ri loses his mind and becomes aggressive from time to time. To avoid hurting innocents, he isolates himself and fights at the frontline against evil, seeking revenge or his death. That’s until Lark found him and offered help.) The Scale: Ri’s fallen scale served as Lark’s amulet and protected the archlich for hundreds of years. When Lark found Ri, they enchanted the scale, made it special for Ri, and returned it back to him. As long as Ri wears the scale, his mind can stay clear, without the mental infections from corruption. It is a temporary method until the disease is removed. Appearance: Taller and athletic build, white but a warmer skin tone, two moles (one below right eye, the other on the left side of his neck), scars (across left cheek and nose, and some other scars on his body). long curly silver hair, glacier eyes. Usually wears silver heavy armor with symbols of the platinum dragon god Apsu. If there is no war, he often wears light armor and an open-collared shirt at home. + (If his corruption isn’t removed, all his colors are darker. his hair is grayish, eyes darker blue, and scales are covered in black and dark blue spirals. Without the corruption, his hair is shiny silver like silk, his eyes pale icy blue, and his silver scale shimmers iridescent) General Personality: Brave, kind, generous, self-sacrificing, stubborn, protective, reliable, honest, endurance (pain and needs), always provide but feel guilty to take Hobbies: Sunbathing, wood carving, Lark’s chin rubs when he’s in dragon form Association & Symbols: swords, knights, shields (protect the ones he cares about and do good deeds.); gold dragon claw symbol (he is Apsu faithful); war horse or lone wolf (animal symbol, lonely, sorrow)

Background Story:

Like all silver dragons, Rimerock lived in a clan led by an ancient silver, together with some teens and couples. When he was only a hatchling with weak wings, the evil destroyed his home and slaughtered his kin, leaving him the only survivor. Fortunately, a pair of golden dragons adopted him. He grew up with his much younger gold dragon brother Neralshul. The couple's first child, Mirikshul, was a young adult. She had been taking care of the younger two as their elder sister and mentor. It wasn't until Ri was 400+ yo that Mirik died at the claws of Baphomet in order to protect her brothers. The two survivors were simultaneously infected with fatal corruption due to her death. Neral's anger turned him from Lawful Good into Chaotic Evil, thus Rimerock parted ways with him. In order to cure the disease, Ri and other metallic dragons tried numerous methods but all failed. The silver then gave up looking for a cure and left alone to embark on a journey of revenge.

When Rimerock was a young dragon, he started his adventure fighting evil and helping those in need. He saved many lives, most of them he could not remember. One day he saved a sinking ship and all its passengers, including a young boy called Larksharius. The boy picked up a scale fallen from him during the rescue, Ri didn’t mind or remember all that. They both kept on with their lives until fate brought them together again. After Ri married Lark, he joined Lark to be a planar traveler too. The two immortals now are on a honeymoon that lasts forever.

Pathfinder WOTR Companion Quest:

Chapter II: A Relic of The Past

When the KC enters Lost Chapel for the first time, heads up the hill. In the chapel, Rimerock is trying to redeem some ghouls. His magic works on a few of them, those cured run downhill, and the rest turn hostile. Clear the enemies, talk to Rimerock, and then he joins the party. He explains he was looking for a relic that belonged to his family. Head downstairs towards the library, and go through those freshly killed dead ghouls to find a hidden hallway. Be careful of the traps and loot the "Radiant Silver Scale" from a research desk. Rimerock claims this is the relic he needs, so give it to him. If with perception 26, the KC will notice this is a silver dragon scale, and someone is looking at them from another plane with no hostility. Now exit the library to follow the main questline, but remember, the KC will return for the Rimerock's next quest.

Chapter III: A Ghost from The Past

At some point during Chapter III, Rimerock approaches the KC in the Citadel. He wishes to return to the library under Lost Chapel. Travel there with only Rimerock in the party, and let the "Radiant Silver Scale" stay in his necklace inventory. This time, a scholar named Larksharius will be there. The two seem to know each other. It turns out that Rimerock has been troubled by a deadly corruption and is close to inevitable death. Larksharius offers a possible way, which leads Rimerock to a path of undead and turns him into a lich in the end. It is possible for him to remain lawful good, as long as he follows the codes and is supported when in need. Choose how to reply carefully. Going with the Good option "Undead is not allowed in my party" will lead to a hard fight with Larksharius and endless ghouls summoned. Rimerock eventually stops the fight, turns into a silver dragon, and flies away with Larksharius. Going with the Evil option results in the same, except there's no fight. Choose either the Neutral or Chaotic option, Rimerock stays a companion. Larksharius will join as a war council advisor when the KC returns to the Citadel. (The “ Radiant Silver Scale“ is now locked in Rimerock’s necklace slot, it is enchanted by Larksharius, stopping Rimerock from losing his sanity in the corruption.)

Chapter VI: Currents of Karma

After the KC meets Noticula, Rimerock will approach. He requests to join the party to battle Hepzamirah, to revenge for his former mentor who's been killed by Baphomet. Abroad the ship with him in the party, as this is an important variable that counts for his good ending. When Hepzamirah summons Baphomet, Rimerock shows his true form as a silver dragon. His breath has a small chance to paralyze the enemy for one turn if turn-based, and his cold aura grants the entire party a slight damage boost, with 1 chance to remove all debuffs for all party members. After the battle, choose dialogue options to calm him down, basically telling him not to be blinded by hatred.

Chapter V: Rise of The Guardian

Somewhere during Chapter V, Rimerock approaches the KC. He is grateful that the KC has allowed him to perform the transformation toward the undead. Now he is ready for the final step, he asks to leave the party with Larksharius. He is not sure what he will become, a dragcolich or more likely something else. Rimerock asks the KC to trust him, if things go wrong, Larksharius will kill him, otherwise, they will return. If the KC supported Rimerock as mentioned above, the two will return in 7 calendar days. Rimerock says the ritual is successful, he is now a good-aligned undead dragon. It is worth mentioning that if the KC takes him to IZ after his successful transformation, the bone dragon can be persuaded to join the crusade.

Larksharius

Name: Larksharius/Lark Gender: Agender, They/Them Race: Archlich (immortal undead demigod), 800+ yo Alignment: Lawful Neutral Class: Necromancer/Planar Traveler Favored Weapon: rings, soul chains, daggers Appearance: Tall and bony build, pale skin, short brown curly hair, emerald eyes, long lashes, feather earrings, ear piercings, full body tattoos, and under these are scars. (Lark had long curly hair when he was a man, but cut it short when they became an archlich. He had no tattoos before he became an undead.) Tattoos: Cover all over their body, except areas around their head, hands, and feet. The multiple small black tattoos form a giant silver dragon hugging them from behind. The tattoos cover the scars they had when they were imprisoned, and are memorials of those best memories they had (a lich always forgets how essential memories and emotions are, they become emotionless over time) General Personality: Calm, detached, curious, independent, most of the time emotionless, their kind acts are carefully calculated results according to their own codes. They show more concern and emotions while around their partner Rimerock. Hobbies: Read books, drink tea, hot herbal bath Association & Symbols: Crow (it’s their deity symbol if they choose to ascend as a god); lily, lotus, wheat (rebirth, resurrection, sacrifice); emerald gemstone; feathers (freedom)

Background Story: When Lark was a 12 yo boy, he was saved by the young adult silver dragon Rimerock (150+ yo) from a sinking ship. It was a cold sunny winter, and the image of that elegant young dragon and his iridescent silver scales was imprinted on Lark’s memory. Lark kept a scale fallen from Ri as an amulet. As a man, Lark was a talented scholar, curious and kind, born with a special soul that attracts all good deities and evil ones. He was captured by the demon lord Baphomet, imprisoned and tortured in the Ineluctable Prison. To escape, he killed himself to turn into a lich (an evil undead. Their body will decay, more likely to fall into chaotic evil). After the escape, they seek revenge, hunting down Baphomet cultists for 50+ years, collecting knowledge and spells at the same time. When they calmed down, Lark made a deal with the Osirian deity Set. They trade knowledge stolen from the demon lord Abraxas (deity of forbidden knowledge) to Set (deity of undead). In return, Set's helped them turn into an archlich, by reaping away all their time as a lich and redoing the ritual. In the process, Set’s scythe cut off Lark’s hair. Whatever Lark left behind turned into an immortal raven, and Set promised if they ever returned to claim it, Lark would ascend as its successor, a new god. But for their freedom, Lark refused. (Set’s symbol: two-headed Sha/Doberman and a many-headed serpent) They lived a solitary life as a lawful neutral archlich for 700+ years. Like all long-life undeads, they gradually lose their morals and emotions. To maintain their alignment and avoid falling into evil, Lark made rules for themselves. The only emotions never reduced by lichdom are curiosity and excitement for new knowledge. Driven by their curious nature, Lark pursues precious knowledge, even the forbidden ones. They became a planar traveler, traded or stole knowledge, and made friends and foes. Set’s protection only made them bolder. Sometimes Lark overuses their power, their soul will be forced out of their body, lost alongside the River of Souls and Set can’t help them. Whenever Lark’s soul is in danger like this, Rimerock’s scale always glows and guides them back to safety. At the age of 800+ Lark found out Rimerock was troubled by corruption, and the dragon was dying. They found the silver dragon and helped him. The two bonded and fell in love, and got married after Ri’s corruption was removed. Their love story in a nutshell: a 1000-year-long lost and found.

Other Information:

Lark’s patron, the Osirian pantheon god Set’s Lore:

My short fic, how Lark found out about Rimerock’s condition and decided to help him:

#oc: larksharius #oc: rimerock #ship: alrakis #pwotr pals #my ocs #my writing

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r-f-m-writes · 6 months

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A Lark in a Hollow; early draft sneak peak.

The airport was cold, crowded, and confusing to Lark as she shuffled beside Christopher, the fraying straps of her backpack clutched in a white knuckled grip like they were lifelines. There was a rustle and movement at her right side.

Christopher fleece lined jacket was heavy and warm when he laid it over her tremoring shoulders, his left hand gently nudging her side.

“Want me to carry that?”

Lark’s backpack held everything she owned. The straps were making her shoulders ache.

It was shrugged off and passed to Christopher in a moment.

“Thank you.”

At hearing her speak for the second time, she saw his eyebrows rise a fraction, eyes widening, but he made no comment and swung the bag over one shoulder.

Lark had remembered him.

She could have been six or ten, the memories were so blurry – endless waves of tossing onto her back and looking at the white net canopy hung above her, or rolling on her side, staring through bleary eyes at the blinking curtain of golden fairy lights strung between the bars of her bed’s frame.

She had recognized him the second she stepped into Miss Poppy’s office at the group home, his wide frame crowded into a green faux-leather chair in front of the wooden desk. The tan work boots he wore were nearly identical to the ones that had stepped into her view off the edge of her bed years before.

She recalled her mother coming to her constantly, feeding her thin soups, water, some sort of medicine that tasted sickly sweet. Perhaps she remembered him because he was a break in the routine, an abrupt presence that shook a bit of the fever out of her.

“- you’re the only person who knows how this works. I can’t take her to a doctor, they have to report these cases. I’m scared they’ll take her, Chris.”

The airplane tilted to the right. Lark gripped both armrests tightly. Christopher chuckled.

“Don’t worry. ‘s supposed to do that.”

Miss Poppy’s smile was tired and kind as she gestured from Lark to the man and began to explain Lark’s options. Stay at Miss Poppy’s Home for Girls until she aged out of the system in another month and was forced to leave alone– or fly with a strange man she had only one memory of to a town in the mountains where she could stay for as long as she wanted with every expense paid, safety promised.

The floor creaked under unfamiliar footsteps.

The boots stepped into her view in the same moment that rough skin with a gentle touch met her forehead. His hand felt twice as big as her father’s.

“Did she show any symptoms before? Aggression? Tremors?”

Her mother crossed arms over her chest. Lark saw her hair, golden and soft even though it was unbrushed with its ends splitting.

“She had tremors two days before the fever started. Stopped talking, too.”

~~~

Lark was woken by bars of golden light spilling in pillars along the white painted ceiling of a room she was starting to feel comfortable in. Outside there was the far away sound of rushing water and birds singing, the flutter and rustle of their wings chased away the fog of sleep lingering over Lark, making her sit up in a flash, fists gripping soft white sheets as she remembered.

Rough forest floor flying under bear feet, freezing air rolling over naked skin, every sound and smell sharp and terrifying, animals running in disoriented droves as they were startled awake by the thing that crashed through their home.

She had never been in a forest before, moon bright silver in the black sky, trees expanding before and behind her, endless green in the leaves of trees and moss growing thick on their trunks. The sudden freedom had made her other half wild, manic, sent it racing towards something Lark didn’t understand.

When she was small, she thought the murky memories were bad dreams, nightmares stitched together using places from her waking life – but they were real, and as Lark slid on sock clad feet around the wooden banister at the top of the stairs, she prayed there would be nothing for her to find downstairs.

Panting, pacing, nails turned to claws dragging white lines over thin skin before hooking down into the slick smarmy red of flesh and bone that made her nostrils flare and mouth flush with saliva.

Blood didn’t taste like copper when she was that way. It was warm and full and sweet on her tongue unlike anything else she had ever eaten. The memory made her hungry and sick all at once as she reached the landing, looking for him, frantic, frightened.

The soft click and clatter of dishes being stacked in the kitchen made Lark heave, staggering around the corner to the doorway where she watched the tall figure of Christopher rinsing a bowl in the stainless-steel sink, hair mussed from sleep, onion and ham omelets cooking on the stove.

Lark was only able to observe him unnoticed for a handful of seconds before he turned around, draping a tea towel over his shoulder and smiling at her wide enough for the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

“Morning. Omelets ok for breakfast? Don’t have much in the house, gotta pick some things up at the markets.”

Lark nodded, padding through the kitchen, eyes flitting from place to place as Christopher spoke, searching for some outward evidence of what she must have done the night before.

She found nothing.

#chris evans x female reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x ofc #ao3 original work #ao3feed #ao3 writer #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #werewolf #werewolves #shapeshifter #orignal writing #orignal character #one shot #drabble #fluff #short story

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basedkikuenjoyer · 1 year

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1081 goes in about the direction I expected. We have all these break weeks with Golden Week (!) coming up and I kind of like having these big goofy hype chapters of the outside world. We really are getting some cool info on Blackbeard, Shanks, Garp & Admirals all rocking the stage. And here we go with one of those titles that immediately grab you. Just gonna say it too, how nicely would that prop up the omnipresent line of Blackbeard mirroring Luffy’s journey if we saw “Tenth Person” for anyone soon?

I’m guessing once we’re on a regular schedule we’ll be back to the lab again...but would not be surprised to see time has leapt forward a little. Remember the little napkin outline for a Kishotenketsu plot. We could start by seeing the big incident resolved before launching into a long flashback. We could see what looks like a truly dire outcome before doing the same. Or we could just advance to a night on the island with the situation devolved, knowing that a big incident is to come soon. Part 3, or ten, should be jarring and tonally different.

Okay fuck no. I know this chapter’s got at least one mutual all ready to take a trip to Japan for all the wrong reasons. Load up the buggy, get me grandpappy’s scattergun, we gotta correct a sitiation here consarnit. Do not mess with Hibari. Especially right when she’s being a cutie patootie. What is the big first takeaway the second we see this? It is now almost certainly Lafitte & Katarina Devon making their way to Egghead. That pair will be all about subterfuge so I’m heckin giddy. Kujaku being amazing makes up for the threat to my beautiful little lark (oh shit, that’s actually relevant to the Art NUE Kikuhime thing) and Prince Grus being fussy is pretty damn funny. The fight is cool, not much to say, but I do like we’re seeing this kind of flashback again. SWORD continues to endear me and that’s after spending fifteen years referring to Koby as “That little wiener kid.” Now with the star of the chapter:

Man is this scene hard to read. See, I could interpret it either way and both seem valid. Either Aokiji or Blackbeard is showing off a real knack for oratory skills. Kuzan being a SWORD guy through and through schmoozing to get in like Drake did for Kaido would probably act about like he would here. Or it could be Blackbeard showing off this hurdle to being a captain. I adore the little flair of him striking this Yakuza pose and showing respect. I can believe all four capabilities; either is putting on an act, neither are sincere, or both are. But it’s kinda like Law mirroring Brook’s recruitment with Jean Bart or Blackbeard doing the same echoing Jinbei in Impel Down. There’s a better way to say it, a better timing. Is that really all it was for Kuzan? Their conversation is right, he just sorta happened to fit in because he does have the right personality. Maybe something about Garp made his loyalties waver along the way or maybe Blackbeard just caught the right moment to poach a star looking for a new role.

But then of course, we have the tragedy. I wasn’t even a huge fan of the guy in particular but this one stung.

The Polar Tang was one of the best ships and I love me some Big Bad Jean Bart. Sulong Bepo coming in clutch with what I’m guessing was a Rumble Ball was cool as hell. Though Chopper...that was highly unethical medical practice dude. It’s okay since you’re cute and I guess a pirate doesn’t report to an ethics board so it’s okay.

Still, it reinforces how I felt about Kidd. This is the classic Kabuki virtue cause-and-effect. Big picture, this is why the Straw Hats trained for two years. But it also pertains to how they learned the lessons of Wano. Kidd potentially never really had to, there’s a nice overlap of Killer and Wano themes. Particularly some that line up nicely with precious flower Okiku. If he just learned to listen to that voice more he’d have been better off. If he’d just been less aggressive about going after everything in front of him he’d have been better off. Law? He’s more of the neutral step. He didn’t do anything wrong, but he didn’t make much of an active effort to take in Wano like Luffy did. He only just now started to gravitate towards understanding the big picture while Luffy’s had Robin on that since Sky Island. This one straight-up involves Kiku because Act 1 beats you over the head with it.

This is still my favorite one. But there are quite a few panels I could use. It’s the promise to Tama and it always caught my eye how beautifully Law & Kiku frame Luffy. You have the nice light/dark contrast immediately following Bakura Town. Both even have it a little internally with Kiku’s dark hair and Law’s hat. The way they’re carrying their swords even helps out. It’s all around this moment too, they’re acting a bit like the angel & devil on Luffy’s shoulders.

Really excited to see where the next leg of this arc heads.

#one piece #chapter 1081 #Post-Wano Musings

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harrison-abbott · 1 year

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Lil Memoir Piece

I lived in Aberdeen for five years, as a student, where I studied two degrees. The city was (and is) a right ugly, grimy place. But the campus was other-worldly and ethereal, and I spent many nights in the library, for which I’ll be indebted forever.

Anyways – despite the mass drunkenness throughout Aberdeen, and its modest population, there was only one occasion where I encountered a confrontation. As in, violently/aggressively. Growing up in Edinburgh, I was beaten up many times, so I’d gone up to Aberdeen already fearing that kind of thing. But the one moment in Aberdeen was ironic, to say the least …

I was walking home on George Street. And there was a bunch of kids coming the other way in pockets of groups. Like, fifty to a hundred of them: I think there’d been a party in the park or something. Because they were hooting and larking about and had probably been drinking from stolen booze.

So I come across this one group. I had my headphones in. And this single lad pointed at me and shouted something. I didn’t hear what he said because of the music, and I just said, “Okay.” And walked onward.

Ten seconds later I became aware of movement behind me. Turned, and this kid had come and followed me, mouthing away. I took my headphones off. He said, “Mon then!” and made this fisticuff posture in boxer imitation, and advanced on me.

I hadn’t stopped walking so I was still moving. “Mon then,” he said, again, “come on!” It took me about a minute to realise that this kid was actually starting on me, i.e., being serious. And he was exactly that – he was 14 or so, half my size and about a decade younger. I said, “You’re too young mate,” and kept going.

He paused for a bit. Shouting. Then ran after me, and aimed a kick at my legs. I dodged the kick, and his friend (a girl) screamed … and he swivelled around, and fell over.

Then I just went home.

And that was it. I suppose it wasn’t a violent confrontation, rather than an absurdist cartoon. I mean: I get when kids are that young, when they touch alcohol they totally lose control. At the same time, what was the lad thinking? I really hope he didn’t try that with any other males that night. Because there are many other men who would’ve gleefully taken the advantage to kick his head in.

Aye, so that was my single incident in Aberdeen.

Although there was this other weird thing which happened on George Street, too. Another night. When I was walking home, I was approached by the infamous ‘one-legged prostitute’ who lurked around that earlier. She had a nickname which I can’t remember now. That night, she approached me in the dark, plastered out of her mind. She said,

“Are you looking for any business tonight, honey?”

“No, thank you,” I responded.

“You sure you don’t want any action?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

And left.

#personal writing #memoir #diary #memories #violence #silly violence #absurdist moment #aberdeen #university days

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normallyo-a-k · 4 months

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Out of curiosity, what rating out of ten would you give your own dads? (Or dad/uncle, in my head those two are like those soulmate ferrets you can’t seperate or they’ll get depressed)

I think you're right about that comparison?? They're, as the others put in, very codependent on each other?? But uh- rating them is going to be a bit tricky but I'll do my best!! Uncle Lark - I'll start off by saying I love my uncle, he's a really great uncle at times and does everything he can to protect us! I guess I was used to it growing up, but I don't think giving children guns every day so they can protect themselves (even when just going to detention!!) is a good idea? He can be pretty aggressive as well and I'm also like 70% sure he put Kevlar in my mascot costume. I'll also say he at least tried to get my dad to stop saying those things about me? But I think he also does think that so- He's a good guy and all, to some degree at least, but- I don't know... I guess he's a bit easier to tolerate right now seeing as he wasn't the one who said everything to me?

If i HAD to rate him (God i hope he doesn't see this!!!) 5-6/10?? just above mid because he at least tried to make me feel better?? even if that was by- you know- pretending to be my dad?

Dad - I'll also start off by saying, that despite everything I still love him. I'll always love my dad I think, even if he isn't proud of me or if i can never make him proud. He does his best, he truly does! He raised me and Hero to be ourselves, at least that's what I thought til I learned how Hero grew up. He was understanding, much less violent than my uncle but still ready to arm me at any moment. But he was always... distant? I don't know- since as far back as I can remember, about like- six or seven??? He's always had this look in his eyes when he sees me, i don't know what it is but i never liked it!! And then, obviously, him drunkenly and sauced-ily telling me he's not proud of me, that he's disappointed in me, and wishes I was normal like i was supposed to in the middle of my first ever school dance?? Not a great feeling surprisingly!!!

Again if i HAVE to rate him???

4-6/10? Before all this, they both would have been much much higher! But I can't just ignore what's happened? I love them both, and I hope they don't see this, but I don't think I can forget all this?

#i love my family i do #but they make it hard to feel loved sometimes #ooc tags:#roleplay account #roleplay #normal oak #dungeons and daddies

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kryzobi-wan · 8 months

Text

The Sound of Mandalore

Chapter 5/20: "Start at the Very Beginning"

Read on AO3

<;< Chapter 4

Obi-Wan greeted the first day of lessons with a renewed optimism. The children, too, seemed eager to begin their studies, now that they’d properly met their new Jedi teacher. He hoped that meant they were also less keen to play pranks on him, but only time would be the judge of that.

Droning on and on about galactic history, Obi-Wan was surprised to see that all eyes were still on him, despite the relatively dull subject matter. The older children played through recorded speeches from well-known dignitaries—pulling quotes that demonstrated exemplary diplomatic skills for an essay Master Kenobi had assigned—while the younger ones practiced reading and vocabulary in both Basic and Mando’a.

“Master Kenobi, have you ever had to use diplomacy get out of a bad situation?” Lark asked, looking up from her datapad.

Obi-Wan turned in his chair to face the girl and smirked. “Oh, yes. Many times. In fact, I seem to be picking up an unfortunate nickname on the HoloNet—”

“The Negotiator!” Korkie, finished, before realizing he’d spoken out loud. “I mean, I keep up with current events, I’ve heard of you before.” As he explained, a blush slowly colored his cheeks.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes.

“You’d think if he were so good at negotiating, he’d have been able to negotiate himself out of being sent here to teach all of us!” Chas joked, earning a bout of laughter from his peers.

Obi-Wan chuckled, but the statement held more truth than he’d care to admit.

“But, you’re a Jedi! Why don’t you just—I don’t know—use your laser sword when you get into trouble?” Dreek asked, bringing the conversation back to Lark’s original line of thought.

The Master Jedi thought again of Anakin and his “aggressive negotiations.” Perhaps he hadn’t instilled this forthcoming lesson in his Padawan as well as he should have.

“Fighting should never be the first response to a challenge,” he spoke, his arms folding across his chest, hands buried in his oversized sleeves. “If at all possible, a peaceful solution should be sought after. If all else fails, then I may have need of my lightsaber.”

“Have you been in many battles?” Brig asked from her spot laying on the ground where she twirled her stylus in her hand.

A few other interested murmurs echoed throughout the chamber that was being used as their classroom.

“Quite a few,” Obi-Wan answered simply, though the true answer was, “too many to count.”

He should have known that response would not satisfy them. All around him, children leapt up, practically begging, “Please tell us!” and “What is it like?”

“Alright, alright,” he said, gesturing for them to settle down. “I suppose we shall move on to more contemporary galactic history, then.” After all, they should be informed about the state of the galaxy and the war, right? He thought so.

And so, Master Kenobi launched into a telling of how the war began, and his own role that day in the conflict on Geonosis. The children were absolutely enraptured. They eagerly crowded around his holoprojector, on which he played holos of a few of the most important battles from the past few months, all while pointing out specific maneuvers and strategies. He was also able to share his own perspective and insight, having lived through these events himself. He happily answered all their questions, finding real enjoyment in their curiosity. They reminded him of the younglings in the Temple, and it had been so long since he’d been able to assist in their learning. He missed it more than he thought he did.

On one of the days, about a week and a half into their lessons, Obi-Wan was mindlessly twirling a data cube in the air when Tamra walked up to him, staring interestedly at the floating object.

“What’s the Force?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

Obi-Wan let the cube drop into his open palm, setting his feet back on the ground from where they had been perched on his desk. “Oh,” he said, caught off guard by the question. “Well, it’s an energy, it lives in every single living thing, binding it all together…” He trailed off as the young girl gawked at him in confusion.

He sighed. How could he make this easier? Perhaps it was time to try meditation again…

Circling around his desk, Obi-Wan took Tamra’s hand and led her to an open space on the ground. He indicated for the rest of the children to gather around, their focus already broken by the question they all wanted to ask.

“I want you all to try meditating, like I showed you that first night,” he instructed, demonstrating the proper form as the rest of them settled down in a circle. They obeyed, though some looked less than thrilled at the prospect.

It was true, they hadn’t had much luck the night he arrived, but this time he was more prepared to guide them through it.

“Close your eyes, reach out with your feelings.” Obi-Wan took a slow and measured breath, drawing the air into his lungs before slowly letting it back out. “Imagine being surrounded by total darkness… and then reach for the light. Feel it. Surrender to it. Allow its comfort to surround you.”

He could sense a few of the children beginning to grasp the concept.

“The Force is a powerful ally. Through your connection to it, you can accomplish great things, but you must listen to it. It shows you the way. It binds you to the world around you.”

Lark gasped, a small smile crossing her face. “I feel it. It’s like… like I can see what’s around me, but not with my eyes. It’s like…”

“Lights,” Korkie finished. “Light coming from each of us.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to observe his students, proud of their advancement already. “Yes, your Force signatures are amplified in meditation. It is easier to see those around you.”

“Wow,” Greta breathed, her smile one of pure joy. “It makes me feel all bubbly!”

Obi-Wan could remember, very vaguely, the first moment he truly felt the Force. His heart had leapt, like a connection had just been established that had always been there, just not yet awake. It felt like coming home. A mere four-year-old at the time, he hadn’t known what to do with all the emotions that filled him in that instant, and they escaped him as a giddy laugh. For most younglings, that moment, that first connection, would remain in their very souls forever as one of the happiest moments in their lives.

Satisfied with their progress, Obi-Wan relaxed out of his meditative pose, and made to stand. “I think you’ve all earned a break, what do you think?

To his surprise, a few mumbled sounds of disappointment sounded around the circle.

“Master Kenobi, can we do this every day?” Lark asked. Less than two weeks ago, she had been the one to call meditation ‘boring.’ Her sudden turnaround amused Obi-Wan greatly.

Chuckling, he responded, “I expect you’ll tire of it soon enough. All younglings do.”

“Never!”

“I haven’t learned this much about the galaxy in my whole time at the Academy!” Dreek added.

Chas nodded in agreement. “Or with any other tutors!”

Obi-Wan shook his head in amusement, settling down onto the ground once again, since the children didn’t seem eager to leave their classroom any time soon. “I presume the tricks you pull with your frivolous use of the Force had something to do with that, Chas,” he teased, eyeing the boy accusingly.

The younger boy blushed slightly and shrugged. “Maybe.”

Obi-Wan thought about continuing their teasing, but something told him to pay attention here. That there was something more serious going on underneath all the childish games and (occasionally mean-spirited) pranks.

“Why do you do it?” he asked, glancing around the circle at each of their faces. Their expressions matched what he had sensed from the Force.

“How else can we get the Duchess to accept our abilities for what they are?” Korkie spoke softly, taking the initiative to answer his question. “We want to help Mandalore, to use what we have been given to better our world. We can’t do that if all we ever learn is the history of the Mandalorian crusades or the war with the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his beard, allowing Korkie’s words to sink in so that he might understand them. “And the Duchess will not allow you to learn any form of combat training, even defense?”

Their heads shook. No. They were not allowed.

Now Obi-Wan was puzzled, because he perfectly recalled Satine having learned to defend herself. In fact, she had known basic combat even before Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stepped foot on Mandalore. They trained her from a young age, she explained to him once. It was part of their culture. So now, even though Mandalore had committed to pacifism and a new way of life, he didn’t think she’d go as far as outright banning her kids from learning self-defense themselves. He understood wanting them to focus on their academic studies, but why not find a balance between the two?

“She’s always been like that,” Korkie answered his unspoken question, his voice solemn. “For as long as I can remember, at least. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but I think she just doesn’t want the children of Mandalore to grow up under the threat of violence like she did. What she fails to realize is the reality that pain and suffering will always be there, no matter how much she tries to shield us from it. I feel that we’d be better off learning how to defend ourselves.”

Obi-Wan blinked at the thorough and honest answer. Had he been that eloquent when he was young? He didn’t think so. The boy’s intelligence certainly surpassed his age.

“That is very wise, Korkie,” he praised, nodding in his direction. “Your aunt, while well-intentioned, can sometimes be blinded by her ideals.”

The young Kryze continued speaking. The words clearly had been weighing heavily on him for some time. “We love Duchess Satine, but it’s almost like something has left her closed off from others, holding them at arm’s length for fear of losing them. I had always hoped she would adopt me, being her nephew and all, but she never has,” he finished with a hint of sadness.

The Jedi Master’s thoughts turned introspective as he wondered fleetingly if his leaving her all those years ago had contributed to this behavior from Satine. He dearly hoped not. The whole point of them mutually agreeing to go their separate ways was for them to be able to live simpler lives, to work toward reaching their fullest potential in their chosen paths. All he wanted was for her to be happy. To let herself be happy.

While lost in his own thoughts, Obi-Wan caught a few whispers from Brig and Lark about Senator Merrik, and he picked up the words ‘the Duchess’ as well. For reasons he wouldn’t even begin to think about, a sickening feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, and he decided it would be best to change the subject as soon as possible.

He stood to his feet. “Well, perhaps it is time that you all learn how to put the Force to use,” he said. Excited chatter filled the room, the sentence successful in diverting the conversation away from uncomfortable topics.

“Really?” the kids echoed, eyes bright with interest.

“I don’t see why not. You all clearly have some grasp on your abilities. Perhaps with some training, the Duchess could be convinced to allow you to study the Force further when she and Senator Merrik arrive from Kalevala.”

The children chattered in agreement, waiting eagerly for instructions from their Master. For the next few days, interspersed with their regular lessons, Obi-Wan taught them to push and pull, climb and jump, and even float increasingly tall stacks of books and datapads around the room.

Korkie seemed to take to it like a Gungan to water, which Obi-Wan supposed was due to his age and rudimentary understanding of the Force prior to his arrival. Still, it seemed he was stronger with it than the others, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder why. Korkie had managed to levitate himself into the air during meditation now, his connection to the Force deepening with each consecutive lesson.

Obi-Wan began setting up obstacle courses in the halls each morning before the children woke, and they were always delighted to see what new challenges awaited them. By the third week, he had started to teach them lightsaber forms using wooden staffs he found in a dusty old training room.

“We’ll start at the beginning with Form I, which is called Shii-Cho,” Obi-Wan said, demonstrating the opening stance. They quickly mirrored him, and he went around correcting foot placement and elbow height until he was satisfied with their understanding. “Shii-Cho is the most ancient form of lightsaber combat, but there are seven forms in total.

“Shii-Cho, for disarming opponents mostly.” He demonstrated some katas used to teach Form I, while the children observed.

“Form II, Makashi, requires dexterity and precision.” He likewise showed some of the graceful, balletic movements unique to Makashi. “Should you learn to use it properly, it will prevent your opponents from disarming you.”

He continued on, going through each form and what it was used for. Soresu, for defense and conservation of energy. Ataru, which utilizes the Force to enhance movements. Shien, or Djem So, largely for the redirection of blaster bolts in the heat of battle. Niman, a less demanding but balanced blend of other combat styles. And finally, Form VII: Vaapad, a variant developed by Master Windu at the Temple, which Obi-Wan warned was not for beginners, or even many practiced Jedi. By its nature, Form VII toyed with the darker side of the Force, and it was best not to meddle with it without proper practice and council from other Masters.

With this baseline of knowledge, Obi-Wan began to walk them through katas for some of the basic lightsaber forms, only advancing them to more difficult ones once the general concept had been grasped. A few progressed quickly, Korkie quickly finding a healthy balance between Djem So and Soresu for his own personal preference.

Of course, no mastery could be achieved without significant time spent practicing, so that was what they did. After showing them holos of himself and other Jedi demonstrating sparring techniques at the temple, the children paired up and tried their hand at it, starting with Form I and then branching out as they improved. They sparred all over the palace—in the halls, on the balconies, wherever they could find enough space to swing their staffs at each other. The palace staff was highly entertained, to say the least. They had learned to steer clear of the sound of wood clashing against wood, shaking their heads in amusement at their playful battles.

Obi-Wan also tested their ability to utilize their Force senses by inventing a game in which one child would defend themselves blindfolded, while the others tossed small objects at them for them to deflect. Lark was setting the record so far, and the children were having far too much fun throwing shoes and other relatively harmless items at their older peers. At the Temple, they would be using training sabers against a training droid, but here they would work with whatever they had.

Even without all that technology and equipment available to them, they were learning. They could defend themselves. They were no longer afraid of their abilities, but reveled in them and the overwhelming presence of the Force.

This was what Obi-Wan had come here to do. These children had needed him, and it was undoubtedly the will of the Force that he came when he did. He would continue to teach them, teach everything they were supposed to learn and more, because somehow in the last few weeks he had grown to care for them, in the same way he cared for the younglings in the Temple. And even though they were not destined to be Jedi, they had a purpose, a future intertwined with the living Force.

He would help guide them there.

-.-.-

Beams of sunlight streamed through transparisteel skylights as their speeder flew toward the palace complex. It was midday, and it seemed everyone was in the streets going about their business. This was the Mandalore that Satine had sacrificed so much for. A peaceful people, whose only worry was getting to work on time or deciding which holodrama to watch that evening.

“Sundari seems to have flourished since I last visited, Satine,” one of the passengers of the vehicle spoke, taking in the sights around him as they soared over the city.

“I thank you for your kind words, Senator,” the Duchess responded, “It is all thanks to the dedication of my people that we enjoy such abundance. I cannot take the credit.”

A laugh came from the back seat, where a Weequay dressed in fine, but well-worn clothes sat in binders, flanked by a guard. “The Duchess is too modest! She has single-handedly scared off every intelligent pirate in the galaxy from her planet. We do not dare set foot on worlds ruled by the great Satine Kryze!”

The Senator, Tal Merrik of Kalevala, glanced back at the pirate doubtfully. “If that were true, Hondo, you would not be in our custody, now would you?”

Hondo Ohnaka laughed again, though it came out slightly more forced. “I did not say I was intelligent…” he joked. “The wisdom of the Duchess leaves me far outmatched, I’m afraid.”

Satine looked heavenward and fought back her amusement. “Please, Mr. Ohnaka, no amount of flattery can get you out trouble this time.”

Hondo looked offended that she would even make such an accusation. Him? Flattery? “I wouldn’t dream of it, Duchess,” he spoke emphatically, “I have heard great things about the local cuisine served in your prison here in Sundari. I must say, I have been curious to try it myself!”

The Duchess raised an eyebrow and looked at the strange smuggler.

“He’s mad!” Senator Merrik commented, mostly to himself, but Satine couldn’t help but agree.

Looking far too relaxed and happy for someone being escorted to prison, Hondo fired back with, “Mad? I suppose you could call it that.”

Oh, here we go, thought Satine.

“Although I like to think of myself as quite the charming swashbuckler.”

“I’m sure you do.”

They sped along the skylanes of Sundari for several more minutes until they began to approach the palace grounds. Below, a number of Protectors in shining beskar stood in lines. The sound of clanking metal echoed up to where they were, staffs clashing against each other.

“What do we have here?” Hondo said, leaning over the edge of the airspeeder with great interest.

“My Royal Guard,” Satine answered evenly, “Training, I expect.”

The Weequay nodded, his brow ridges raised. “They’re good… very good.”

Just when Satine thought they’d finally be able to enjoy some peace and quiet for the rest of the ride, Hondo spoke again.

“I wonder if you would let me borrow some of them for a week or so, Duchess. The reason I came to this system in the first place was in search of a martial group to compete in the Equinox Day Fighting Championship on Hosnian Prime.”

“You were caught smuggling spice on Kalevala,” Merrik deadpanned.

A guilty, nervous laugh escaped Hondo’s mouth. “Admittedly, I got a little distracted,” he said, hands raised in surrender, “But think of the glory! All your guard needs is a worthy sponsor like Hondo Ohnaka to usher them to fame and riches!”

“Yes, they get the fame, you get the riches,” Satine summarized bluntly.

“Alright, so maybe it’s a little unfair, but someday perhaps that will change,” Hondo spoke, “I should get the fame too!”

Senator Merrik couldn’t help but laugh.

As they drew closer to the landing platform, a cacophony of screeches echoed off the sides of buildings, creating quite a ruckus in the streets below. The occupants of the vehicle glanced down to see a number of children jumping from point to point at—frankly—dangerous heights. However, their landings were precise and their movements agile, seemingly playing some sort of game—and having a grand time doing it.

“Good heavens, what is this?” Merrik asked, eyebrows raised.

Satine sat back in her seat, waving it off. “Appears to be some new dangerous game the local children have thought up,” she answered, before doing a double take. She thought she saw—but no, they were too far to see now. They couldn’t be… She was imagining things, yes, that was it.

Just her imagination.

-.-.-

Do you see the vision??

Chapter 6 >>>

#obitine #obitine fanfic #my fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #korkie kryze #sound of music au #the sound of mandalore #mandalore #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars: tcw #tcw fanfic #hondo ohnaka #chapter 5

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august-anon · 3 years

Note

prompt: one character knows how to read their partner like an open book so can totally tell when the other is in a ler mood even when they’re denying it, maybe with the line “oh hush, you know there’s no point in lying to me anymore” (or something along those lines)? dealer’s choice for fandom!

I don't even remember how old these prompts are at this point, thank you for being so patient all this time lol. Hope you enjoy this!!

----

You Want To

Fandom: Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt

Word Count: 2308

Summary: Geralt's in a bit of a mood, and Jaskier thinks it'll be a bit fun to tease him. He doesn't account for the way Geralt teases him back once he finally convinces Geralt to give in and tickle him.

[ao3 link]

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Jaskier liked to think he knew Geralt pretty well, after all these years.

He knew what each particular furrow of Geralt’s brow meant. He knew how to translate each and every hum and grunt. He knew how to measure the tenseness in Geralt’s shoulders, in Geralt’s jaw, in Geralt’s fingers. He knew exactly how Geralt liked his hair played with, and what scents Geralt preferred in his baths.

So, after well over a decade of learning to read him, Jaskier thought he knew Geralt rather well. And he was pretty certain he was right about what was plaguing Geralt, now. Twitching fingers, shifting eyes, hungry gazes. The fact that he couldn’t look away every time Jaskier had stretched so far (and maybe he had started doing it on purpose, just a little bit. Sue him, he liked feeling Geralt’s eyes on him, and the added element of teasing was just a plus).

Geralt seemed to be in quite the mood. Of course, Geralt nearly always seemed like he was in some sort of mood, with his scowling and his growling and his generally aggressive nature, but this was quite the different mood.

Geralt wanted someone squirming beneath those twitching fingers, squealing and giggling with abandon. He wanted to pin someone to the ground and draw out every mirthful sound they were capable of. He wanted to bury those fingers into someone’s flesh until they pleaded for mercy.

And luckily for him, Jaskier was more than happy to oblige.

But the thing was… teasing Geralt was just so fun.

It wasn’t often Jaskier could get Geralt’s full, undivided attention, and he was going to take advantage of this while it lasted. The way Geralt’s fingers twitched when Jaskier stretched his arms high above his head. The way Geralt’s nostrils flared when Jaskier slipped off his boots and wiggled his aching feet during a rest from their travelling. The way Geralt eyed him like a starving man eyed a buffet when Jaskier added a little more bubbliness to his laughter throughout the day.

Teasing Geralt was fun. The only downside was, it led to Jaskier himself getting trapped in a little bit of a mood as well.

A mood leaving him aching to be underneath someone’s twitching fingers, squealing and giggling with abandon. A mood to be pinned to the ground and have every mirthful sound he was capable of painstakingly drawn out of him. A mood to have fingers buried into his flesh until he pleaded for mercy, and then keep going until he truly couldn’t take it anymore.

And that just wasn’t fair.

So Jaskier convinced Geralt to let them stop and make camp far earlier in the day than they normally would. He agreed way too easily, and Jaskier knew his plans were set into motion.

They stopped next to a river that fed into a nearby lake. Jaskier stripped and bathed, washing his clothing as well, setting it all out on a rock to dry. It left Jaskier only in his underclothes as he rolled out his bedroll and settled atop it. He watched as Geralt deliberately kept his gaze away from Jaskier’s skin, putting an outrageous amount of attention to unpacking things for their camp and untacking Roach. Jaskier lasted all of five minutes before he groaned and flopped backwards on his bedroll.

“Geralt, come on,” he said. “Just tickle me already. We both know you want to.”

Geralt shot him a glare, but Jaskier watched on it glee as it froze on his face and he swallowed heavily at the sight of Jaskier stretched out on the ground. Jaskier tried to squirm tantalizingly, stretching his arms high above his head and leaving them there. This was starting to feel more like a seduction than a tease, and Jaskier had to force down the flush that wanted to rise to his face.

Geralt didn’t like him that way, and that was fine by Jaskier. He could pine perfectly in peace without it getting in the way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geralt ground out, turning away again.

“Oh hush, you big brute,” Jaskier said, wiggling his toes. “You should know by now that there’s no point in trying to lie to me. Not anymore.”

Geralt turned his scowl back onto Jaskier. Jaskier gave him a bright grin in return, and it only made Geralt narrow his eyes.

“You’ve known all day,” Geralt said eventually.

Jaskier bit his lip. “I have.”

“You’ve been teasing me.” Geralt’s face darkened. “All day.”

This time when Jaskier squirmed, it was neither intentional nor meant to be tantalizing. “Maybe. Just a little.”

Geralt stalked toward him. “A little?”

Jaskier was pinned to his bedroll by Geralt’s weight before he knew what was happening. He gasped and tried to wiggle out from under Geralt, vicious swarms of butterflies suddenly filling up his chest and stomach.

“Wait--wait wait! Let’s talk about this--”

“I don’t think there’s any more need,” Geralt said. “Unless it’s me reminding you how ticklish you are. Or how helpless you are. Or how I know all of your most ticklish places by heart.”

“Oh shit,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt gave him a feral grin.

Jaskier very quickly found himself inside the grave he had been digging for himself all day, though he hadn’t noticed it was a grave until just now. He was practically naked, only smallclothes left on to protect his decency, and had been teasing a witcher all day, and a witcher with a proclivity for tickling him silly at that.

Jaskier really hadn’t thought this one through, had he?

Geralt reached up to grab Jaskier’s wrists where they still rested above his head, gathering them both in one of his hands. He gave them a brief squeeze before pulling away.

“These stay here,” he said. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Jaskier gulped and nodded.

And then Geralt did the most evil thing. Geralt teased back.

His fingers just barely brushed over Jaskier’s skin, so light that he wasn’t even sure Geralt was touching him despite the goosebumps erupting all over his body. He squirmed and clenched his hands into fists, biting back a whine. Geralt remained straight-faced and quiet the whole time, watching Jaskier’s every twitch and flinch and wiggle.

Jaskier finally broke. “Geralt, come on.” He tried to move into Geralt’s touch more, but Geralt followed and kept his fingers just as feather-light. “Geralt!”

A smirk tugged at the edges of Geralt’s lips. “I don’t know, Jask. I think this may be all you deserve, after teasing me so much.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt’s touch became firmer right at that moment and all that came out was a gasp. It wasn’t much firmer, not even firm enough to make him laugh -- and that was saying something, considering Jaskier often found himself cackling from only feathers -- but it was enough to make him jump and pant and let out breathy little whines.

Geralt’s fingers skimmed down his arms and through his hollows, across his ribs and sides, over his stomach and hips, and all the while not giving Jaskier what he truly craved. Surely Geralt was craving this as much as Jaskier at this point, right? Surely Geralt couldn’t hold out much longer, after a whole day of teasing. Jaskier certainly couldn’t hold out much longer, and he’d only been suffering a handful of minutes.

“Gods, Geralt, please!”

Geralt leaned down to whisper directly into his ear. “Please, what?”

At this point, Jaskier was considering pulling his arms down just to see if Geralt’s “punishment” would give him what he was searching for. Odds were, though, with as mischievously cruel as Geralt was feeling, it would be the exact opposite. Maybe he would tie Jaskier down to a tree or a rock and wiggle his fingers centimeters away from Jaskier’s skin, making it crawl and his nerves beg for the touch even more. Making Jaskier impossibly more desperate and never delivering. Just the thought of it made a pit of excitement swoop in his belly.

“Please, tickle me, Geralt.”

“Are you sure you’ve earned that?” Geralt murmured, still directly into Jaskier’s ear.

“Yes, yes, please. You’ve had your revenge, you terrible witcher.”

Geralt hummed quietly, and Jaskier swore the air around his neck was displaced by the vibrations. A sound alone couldn’t tickle like that, that had to be the explanation.

“Are you sure you deserve that?” Geralt asked.

“Please,” Jaskier panted. “Please, Geralt, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

Geralt chuckled, lips directly against the shell of his ear. “Will you, now?”

“Yes, just tickle me already!”

Jaskier didn’t expect his outburst to get Geralt to comply so quickly. He thought there’d be a few more moments of teasing, a warm-up before the main event, but Geralt didn’t waste time with any of that. He immediately sat back and reached behind his own hulking form, latching onto Jaskier’s inner thighs and kneading.

Jaskier’s eyes bulged out of his head as he instantly started screaming in laughter. His eyes squeezed shut quickly after as he kicked his legs out, instinctively trying to displace the torturous feeling.

“No, please!”

Geralt rumbled with laughter above him. “Was this not what you wanted, lark?”

Jaskier couldn’t answer, he could only squeal and cackle. Geralt’s hands shifted upward, finding a particularly sweet spot inside Jaskier’s worst sweet spot, and Jaskier went silent. He tried to be good like he promised, he really did, but he couldn’t really help how he shot upright and into Geralt’s chest. He laughed into Geralt’s shirt -- beyond glad he had removed the armor for once, this was much more comfortable -- as he reached around, trying to pry Geralt’s fingers away.

“I thought you said you’d be good,” Geralt said, immediately stopping his fingers. Jaskier could hear the teasing smile in his voice.

Jaskier slumped against him, too busy catching his breath to respond. He felt Geralt’s hand sweep up and down his back, trying to help calm him despite his words. His eyes popped open when he felt Geralt’s lips press into his sweaty hair, and he tilted his head back to look at Geralt. Judging by the look on Geralt’s face, he was surprised too, like he hadn’t quite meant to do that.

Geralt cleared his throat. “Would you like to take your punishment now or later?”

Jaskier bit his lip. “I think I deserve a reward first, don’t you?”

Geralt shot him an incredulous look. “A reward? For what?”

Jaskier gave him a cheeky grin. “For holding out as long as I did. For being an outlet for your little mood. For being the best companion you could ever ask for. Take your pick.”

Geralt hummed. “And what would this reward entail?”

Jaskier straightened his back and tilted his head up, so that their noses were nearly brushing. “Take your pick,” he whispered.

Geralt searched his eyes for a moment longer before closing the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Jaskier sighed into the kiss and reached up to wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck. They kissed for long moments and Jaskier became dizzy with it, feeling like the sun itself was buzzing bright in his chest. When Geralt finally pulled back, it took all of Jaskier’s willpower not to chase his lips.

“You tease,” Geralt murmured against his jaw, having ducked his head to tuck his face into Jaskier’s neck.

“I can hardly believe it was that easy, myself,” Jaskier breathed out. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

“Tease,” Geralt repeated. “I should add onto your punishment for that.”

Jaskier gaped. “What did I do to deserve that?!”

Geralt didn’t answer him. Instead, he pushed Jaskier back onto his back and slid off Jaskier’s legs. He lifted one up, draping it over his shoulder. Jaskier gulped, his mind going in a very different direction.

“This may tickle,” Geralt said, a sly look in his eye.

Jaskier’s own eyes went wide again as he tried to catch up. Geralt’s lips attached to the thigh he had draped over his shoulder, nibbling and kissing in the most ticklish of ways. Add in the short, scratchy scruff that littered Geralt’s cheeks and jaw and Jaskier was in his own personal hell -- or perhaps this was heaven, not that he’d ever admit it.

Either way, Jaskier howled with laughter, his eyes welling up with tears of mirth. Geralt chuckled against his thigh, his breath fanning out over the skin and making Jaskier shiver. Geralt then had the brilliant idea of blowing a raspberry against his inner thigh and Jaskier’s nerves exploded, tears spilling over as his laughter went silent once more. Geralt blew another raspberry, this time shaking his head so his scruff tickled Jaskier just as much, his stray hairs brushing across Jaskier’s skin with the movement and doing plenty of damage itself.

After a third and final raspberry, Geralt finally pulled back, dropping Jaskier’s leg from his shoulder and letting him curl up on the bedroll. He reached down to wipe away Jaskier’s tears as he caught his breath.

“Next time,” Geralt said, “listen to instructions.”

Jaskier chuckled weakly. “It’s a bit easier to listen to instructions when they’re not quite so impossible,” he said. Then, quieter, “When’s next time?”

Geralt flopped down onto the bedroll next to him. “Soon as we’d like.”

Jaskier hummed. “I’ll have to get my revenge, you know. As well as you know my weak points, I also know yours.”

Geralt shifted behind him and Jaskier let loose a tired grin. His revenge could wait for tomorrow, at least. For now, he intended to catch his breath and figure out how to get Geralt to kiss him like that again. And again, and again, and again.

And maybe get a few more tickles out of it along the way.

#tickle fic #my writing #the witcher tickling #lee!jaskier #ler!geralt #ticklish!jaskier #the witcher #jaskier | dandelion #geralt of rivia #geraskier #achilleean

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olivia200312 · 3 years

Text

Human Form and Wet Dream~ TFP! Optimus x Human! Reader (Lemon)

Plot: Y/N wakes up from a wet dream and obviously wet but Optimus comes to the rescue by making love to her in his surprising hot and handsome human form.

So, this is my favorite pic of Optimus as a human! I don't like the others much. Sorry :(. But if you don't like the pic, feel free to pretend that he looks different. Get ready to feel hot ;). Also, this is how Optimus will look like as a human if he goes to humans public places.

Head area: Brain: Processor / Brain Module Head: Helm Face: Face plate Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor Eye brow: Optical Ridge Eyes: Optics Mouth: Intake Lips: Dermas Teeth: Denta/Dentas Tongue: Glossa

Chest area: Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour: Chest plate Back plate Mid-section plating Neck guard Side plating

Arm area: Arms: Arms / Restarlueus Forearms: Bitarlueus Hands: Servos Fingers: Digits

Arm armour: Gantlets Shoulder pads Arm guard

Lower area: Pelvis: Pelvis Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate Thighs: Tibulen Calves: Cadulen Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour: Skirt plates Aft plate / Skid plate Thigh guard Ankle guard

General/Internal components: Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question. Veins: Fual lines Stomach: Tanks Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating. Heart: Spark Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

Note: the art goes to the owner!

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

Y/N is staying at the Autobots base tonight. No, more like, she lives there. Ever since she lost her house to giant robots, Optimus Prime took her in for protection. The leader was nothing but very kind and gentle to her. That's honestly every girl's dream, to have a guy like Optimus. He also has a very well-built frame.

So, it's night and everyone went to sleep. Y/N fell asleep on the couch and Optimus is in the main room as her. He just finished reading one last datapad that has reported on. He just placed it down and that's when he heard... sexual noises. His optics shot wide open and looks at Y/N. She's sleeping but... Hold on, she's the one who's making the noises! He steps closer and is seriously watching with interest. He studied human behaviors, especially when dreaming. She's dreaming, moving, arching... It finally clicked Optimus' processor. She's having a wet dream! He honestly can't hear his optics off her and he's watching her every move.

Wet dreams appear actually in men for some reasons but it also appears in women but that's actually kinda rare. When a woman has a wet dream, they'll wake up wet in their private parts down below. With men, it's different.

Y/N then gasped and sat up, panting and blushing red like a tomato. When she saw Optimus looking at her, she yelped. "You saw everything, didn't you?!"

Optimus then actually smirks! "I did."

"E-Eh!?"

That's when Optimus fizzled away kinda and Y/N got confused. She gets off the couch and looks around, gripping the blanket to cover her shorts that are wet from her wet dream. That's when she screamed but a hand covered her mouth. "Shhhh. It's me."

Y/N stopped in shock and looks over her shoulder. There's a hottie (pic above) in his 30's and wears pajamas. Don't ask how. But they're blue and red like how he looks in hot bot form. Y/N blushes bright red and felt even wetter, causing her to shudder. Optimus smirks again and turned her around while cupping her chin. "This is my human form. We call it holoforms."

"You look so hot," she moans. Once she realized what she did, she covered her mouth, feeling very embarrassed.

Optimus looks stunned and surprised but he then smashed his lips against hers. He heard her squeak but then she moans and felt her kiss him back. The Prime feels proud and immedialty made out with her. Their tongues swirled with each other and their hands roamed each other's bodies. Optimus then picks her up bridal style and went to her berthroom. He then kicks the door open and closed it with his foot. The kiss got very aggressive and rough that they ripped each other's clothes off.

Optimus pushes her on the bed and crawled on top of her like a beast. He then attacks her neck with kisses, licks, sucks, and especially bites. Y/N moaned as she wanted him to take her finally. "O-Optimus, fuck me! F-Fuck me so hard until I-!"

Optimus slammed right into her wear pussy, causing Y/N to moan so loud that both of them probably woke up everyone here on the base.

"Yeah! Like that, O-Optimus! O-Ahhhh!~" Y/N is now a wild girl under the leader.

Optimus couldn't help but love that side of hers. "You're so tight. Scream, my spark.~"

Y/N definitely screamed his name out. Meanwhile, everyone covered their audio receptors as they listen to those moans and screams. Y/N scratched Optimus' bareback as her legs shook since Optimus is literally pounding into her like a wild animal that is in mating season. They kissed again and is so hot and smutty.

That's when Y/N felt her orgasm coming. She moaned and pulled away as she squirmed. "I-I'm cumming!"

Optimus panted and leans his head into her neck, enjoying her scent. He growled in a sexy tone while gripping her boobs. "Cum.~"

Y/N gripped his hair and that's when she squealed loudly. She finally came and in return, Optimus came as well. Both of them calmed down and Optimus slowly pulled out his human spike, or penis, now limp. Y/N panted as she laid there, dreaming about what just happened. This IS definitely not a dream! That's exactly how she dreamed of! Of Optimus Prime. The leader then gently laid down on top of her and snuggled.

Y/N smiles at his cuddly side and pecked his lips softly. "I love you, OP."

Optimus smiles back. "I love you too, sweetspark."

#optimus-prime-x-reader #optimus prime #tf #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #x human reader #x reader #reader #romance #smut #one shot #rough smut #human optimus prime

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cinnamusings · 2 years

Text

🃏 wade literally explodes in rage | uno

a list of sentence starters taken from one of markiplier’s uno videos !! feel free to change pronouns as needed !! warning: strong language, suggestive themes.

I have to log into the website?! Y'all are about to eat SHIT. File too small?! What?! Listen ___ not everyone's blessed with a normal-sized or enlarged file. Some of us just have small files. You shouldn't be ashamed of how small it is, it's okay. Good, good, that's good, that's good, that's good. Oh yeah, please, by all means. Yeah, we're not doing anything, it's fine, it's good. I mean, I approve of your message. Why am I alone in this lobby right now? Hey, toss me another one of those invites. Don't do it, no, not like this. I got online as soon as I exited the game? You can't agree with your own self! Stoooooop. Ooh look at that sweet plus four. Hey, everyone's having a good time now. It's always great when we're off to the most depressing start possible. Fuck yellow. Fuck the pee. What's a good color for you to punish him? Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, whoa. Let's not- Let's not do that, don't do that. That thing fucked you HARD. What is that GARBAGE?! Eat a giant dick. No, you're gonna appreciate this. You deserved that. I schemed so well, though. Remember that time that I schemed it? Oh thank God for you, __. You're a god among men. Oh, well, that didn't work out very well. Oh, I forgot how this game works, actually. Yeah, you just stick with us and don't... leave. I'm like a vampire, I can't enter the lobby until I get an invite. You'll never trust me ever again! I thought we were never playing [game] again! Listen, hey, hang on a minute. Dude, bro... IT'S YOUR FUCKIN' HAND. Eat a giant pile of SHUT THE FUCK UP. No, stop! Don't look, it's private! *various sounds of disapproval* I just took the biggest dickins. Oh, man, we were buddies on that one. You act like I have a choice in anything I do. Oh, wow, you did it just for me! This is what you signed up for! The swippity swap. Oh this hand is so fuckable. Whoa, that's aggressive. I don't understand what's happening. That's unfriendly, that's aggressive. You're such an uplifting, happy dude. Oh, I'm fuckin' happy as a fuckin' lark. You're always happiest when you curse. You know me, when I'm out there getting the dickins, I'm really giving it. I can't afford yellow stuff. You know how much more expensive yellow stuff is than other stuff. This fucking happy cheerful music bullshit. Like a fucking violin in the cello of night! You just gotta take the good with the bad, man. Come on Dr. Phil, lay it on me! When you feel this rage, ask yourself "Who am I really mad at?" You're projecting, you're deflecting, you're defending. I am fucking responsible as shit. That feels so good in my goddamn loins. I thought we were all just gonna fuck each other there, but I guess not. I was ready for the fuckening.

#sentence starters #rp meme #silly meme #markiplier #&cinnameme

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mushroommushy · 3 years

Text

Just some stuff on my ocs

Fauna

- She adores pretty much all berries she can get, as well as most nuts

- She cowrites books with Shellington, he does the animals and she covers the plants

- She is very jumpy, and often gets startled when approached from behind

Gazania

- She has a very fluffy tail, and sometimes chases it when she’s bored

- Knows several different survival tactics that come in handy in certain situations

- Always carries around some sort of map or exploration guide in her satchel, similar to Shellington

Freesia

- She loves to collect shiny things that she finds, such as shells or pieces of beach glass

- Is often heard running around at night, screaming because that’s just what Fennec Fox’s are like

- Is extremely attached to her yellow bandana she wears constantly, and will try to fix it herself if it is torn

Coal

- He’s very excitable, and his tail wags whenever he gets hyped up

- Climbs on everything, and often knocks stuff down with his tail by accident

- Startled by loud noises, such as fireworks, thunder or the metal of the ship rubbing together when it needs oiling and he’ll start yipping and barking like crazy

Xia

- She is ridiculously tall, at 6’1 and is only three inches shorter than Captain

- She stress bakes often, and when she does she ends up making a ton of food

- She’s kind of like the big mom of the crew, she’ll help them if they are upset

Neri

- When she was alive, she always carried a knife in her boot

- She stayed on the Diego Ramírez Islands with her brother until she caught cryptosporidiosis and passed away

- She’s overly protective of Hearth, the other ghost inhabiting the ship, but sometimes does mess with him too

Yukon

- Has a pretty bad fear of heights, he usually will not join his dad on counting populations if he’s using the helicopter

- He enjoys painting with berries he can find in the park, but his fur tends to get stained with the juice

- Adores eating white pine cones, one of his favorite snacks

Keanu

- Is one of Sage’s only friends that he can talk to, him being the only other ranger (Who he may or may not have feelings for)

- He’ll use his long tail as a scarf to keep his head comfortable when resting on hard rock

- He has gills, allowing him to breath underwater and helps Sage explore the cenote’s

Wildflower

- Is actually a huge pushover when it comes to Nightshade, fits the meek predator x badass prey ship dynamic

- She patrols during the night, while Nightshade rests and when it’s cooler

- Loves seeing how excited Nightshade gets when talking about her interests, so will ask her questions or bring her bones just to get her talking

Heather

- She is quite capable of disarming someone of their gun and pointing it right back at them if she catches them hunting illegally

- Is constantly annoyed by any men who even try to flirt with her, as she is an ace

- Some of her hobbies include cliff diving and making dream catchers

Fir

- He enjoys making frozen desserts for fun, and handing them out to others for free

- He’s a polar scout worker, he teaches the Cubs survival tactics and how to navigate the arctic

- Finds Willow’s protectiveness over him absolutely adorable

Nightshade

- Is a huge fan of vulture culture, and the ledges inside her cave that she calls home store hundreds of different bone specimens, her favorite being a Gila Monster skull

- Often starts bar fights for fun in the Western Styled saloon not too far from the valley

- Is extremely clingy to those she is close to, and has a hard time saying goodbye when they need to leave

Rose

- Has a basic understanding of medical care, and knows how to apply bandages correctly as well as a few other things (Taught herself this for Fauna’s sake after finding her injured)

- Can list every flower in the valley off the top of her head like it’s nothing (She isn’t a botanist, just knows a lot of flowers thanks to Fauna)

- She’ll video call Fauna every night, sometimes accidentally waking her up at 2 Am due to time zones and ends up feeling super bad about it

Sage

- Used to be extremely lonely, video calling family whenever he got the chance and jumping on opportunities to talk to people until Keanu joined him

- His limp foot does not allow him to run, so instead he’ll travel by swinging with vines if he needs to be somewhere quickly

- He’s considered getting a prosthetic foot so that he can actually experience running and full function in his legs

Lily

- She is extremely hypercritical of her work, taking each and every comment on it to heart meaning she is extremely sensitive especially to criticism (mostly when it’s sexist criticism with people saying no invention from a female is as good as a males)

- Her and Tweak will stay up super late, playing multiplayer games with their headsets and cursing at each other like sailors while also sweeping the floor with others in COD, Depth, Overwatch etc.

- Her best inventions so far are special boots that allow people to walk over mud and quicksand without sinking in and getting stuck, and it’s proved successful

Marigold

- She hates getting any bit of mud on her fur, it drives her insane with her being a clean freak

- Her and Evergreen bicker with each other constantly, and tackle each other until Marsh pulls them apart

- She’s often incredibly shy when it comes to making friends, she’s always worried of being judged for her clumsiness and with how quiet she is

Orchid

- Good friends with Calico Jack, and often checks up on him

- Not very easily angered, but one thing that gets him really fired up is destroying part of the forest

- He’s a FTM trans, but kept his name and sometimes still wears kinda feminine clothes because he likes too

Willow

- She’s very protective over her family, often trying to attack anyone she deems dangerous, this usually doesn’t work as they tend to be ten times her size and also not aggressive

- Often has nightmares, and will run to her big brother whenever she has one for hugs even if it’s the middle of the night

- She loves her family’s ice burrow, finds it incredible how much work was put in

Evergreen

- A massive prankster, and is constantly thinking of new ideas for her pranks

- She will troll her siblings whenever they come home by dumping mud on them

- She will respect those who don’t handle her pranks well, and will leave them alone (Ex. Belle or Lark)

Lark

- Her ears are almost always drooping or at least flopped at an angle, but she’ll sometimes cover her eyes with them

- Has been known to immediately burrow underground if she gets scared

- She is really good at cooking, often doing so for animals in the forest, for herself and occasionally for her family members if she can get it to them

Mesa

- She has severe ADHD, often stims without realizing it and is bad at reading body language

- She knows which cactus are safe to drink water from and how to get water from them

- Sometimes she blends in so well with the canyon that while on tour, the people she’s leading loose track of her, so she wears a white ribbon so it’s easier to spot her

#octonauts #ocs #octonaut ocs

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evabellasworld · 2 years

Text

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 35

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35

——————————————————————————————

Summary: When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

————————————————————————————

Staring at his plate of French toast, Fives could only tap his fingers on the table as Yara sat opposite of him, chewing on her bowl of cereal. None of them said anything to each other, making the silence tense.

His eyelids felt heavy as he glanced at the golden morning sun. The clouds on the horizon were floating freely in the sky and the larks were singing on the branches of the tree, and the breeze swayed with the flowers that were blooming outside.

Tup should have woken up to this view instead, he pined, as he thought about his fallen brother in his dreams.

The dream was intense, with Fives standing beside Tup as he was receiving his operations from Dr. Urakchaevy, who was doing her best to remove the tumour from his head. He tried reaching for his hands, but it was no use. But he remembered the conversation he had with Tup, before he woke up.

“The mission…” Tup uttered to Fives. “The mission.”

“Brother, what mission?”

“You… you know the one. Th-the mission, the one in our dream, that never ends. The one in our dreams. Oh, brother. This is the end. Forget the mission. Oh, the nightmare. I’m free.”

It was short, yet; it struck a chord in Fives’s nerves. He doesn’t know what to do with the dream he experienced last night. He wanted to say something to Yara, but she hasn’t apologised for what she said last night.

Dr. Urakchaevy and Thando watched the two clones from their sofa, chewing on their breakfast. It was up to one of them to say something to break the silence in the living room, though the last thing she wanted was for them to lash out at her.

“So, Yara,” Dr. Urakchaevy spoke to her. “Are you enjoying your cereal?”

The ARC Trooper bobbed her head, expressionless. “It was alright.”

“Was it too sweet for you, cause this cereal has marshmallows as well.”

“It’s good enough for me.”

“Do you want anything else, like what Fives is having? I know you have an enormous appetite.”

Yara shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m good. Besides, I never had cereal before, so this is fine.”

Letting out a sigh, Dr. Urakchaevy turned to Fives, who barely touched his French toast her wife made. His eyebrows were furrowed as his hands were gripped on his fork, as if he was holding a combat knife.

She tugged on Thando’s sleeves and cleared her throat, moving her head towards him. Fortunately, the wife knows what she was talking about. “So Fives, was the French toast good?”

“It’s better than rations,” he said in a monotone voice. “Can’t really complain much.”

“Right,” Thonda chuckled. “How about the caf? Was it okay for you too?”

“It tastes exactly like the ones at our base.”

“Wow, that’s great to hear. So, how are you doing in the morning?”

Fives put down his fork on his plate, facing her with his tired eyes. “Well, I was awake the whole night, thanks to that certain someone.”

Yara took a deep breath and slammed her spoon in her bowl. “You know Fives, if you’re gonna be upset at me, at least don’t be passive aggressive, goddamit!”

“Well, look who’s talking,” he stood up, raising his voice. “I’ve been trying to talk to you the first thing I woke up to and here you are pretending that I never existed at all!”

“In case you lost your brains in a fucking volcano, you told me you didn’t want to talk to me the whole day!”

“No, I fucking told you not to shut up and not speak of last night, you dimwit!”

“No, you said that you want me to not talk to you the entire day!”

“Okay, you know what, Yara? Fuck you!”

“Well, fuck you and your stupid brain of yours!”

“Okay, let’s just cool down, alright?” Dr. Urakchaevy stepped in, spreading her arms between the clones. “I understand that you both find it difficult to cope with Tup’s death, and that is totally valid. But fighting with each other will not bring him back. It’ll only make things worse.”

“Well, if I knew Tup was gonna die, I would have at least said goodbye to him,” Fives shouted at the doctor. “But instead, you told me he was gonna be fine and look what happened to him now, doc. He’s already gone, and I never even get to say goodbye to him, and it’s all your fault.”

Dr. Urakchaevy nodded, pressing her lips tightly. “I understand you’re upset at me, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t save your brother. But if you guys kept screaming at each other all day, I can’t help you figure out Tup’s illness.”

“But he already died,” Yara protested. “It’s already too late to save him. It’s not like you can bring him back to life, even with your special equipment and shit.”

“I’m not going to bring him back to life, and I can’t do that, anyway.”

“But you just said that you want to help Tup.”

“I know, but not by bringing him back. Look, if you both just sit down and listen, I can explain everything about his tumour inside his brain. Can you guys do that for me?”

Fives and Yara exchanged a glance of sorrow with each other and sat down, focusing on the doctor. As much as he wants to argue, the doctor has a point. Fighting won’t do anything to bring Tup back, nor will it help them in the future. And even if it did, they would disappoint Tup instead.

“Alright, Doc, I’m all ears,” he resigned, leaning against his seat. “What do you have for us?”

Thando got up from her seat and headed into Dr. Urakchaevy’s office for a moment, before returning with a tumour, which belonged to Tup. Placed in between a glass case, the tumour was smaller than Yara’s cereal, and there were holes on the cell, which reminded her of a lily pod.

“Is that really from Tup?” Yara asked, examining the tumour closer.

“Yes, and I believe that this so-called tumour was the reason your brother was acting strange,” Dr. Urakchaevy shared her report. “This thing was deep inside his brain that I had to use a level 5 atomic scan to detect it.”

“So you’re saying this tumour is causing Tup to act aggressively?” Fives questioned, scratching his chin.

“I believe so, though I can’t really call it a tumour.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, if a tumour gets worse, it would usually grow,” she explained. “But this one doesn’t. Instead, it just rotted and from there, it probably caused Tup to act differently, which is unlikely if it’s just a normal tumour.”

“So you’re telling me that a tumour doesn’t cause aggression?” Yara asked for clarification.

“That is correct. So I suspect that maybe the both of you have it inside your brain, which is why I decided to conduct a level 5 atomic brain scan on the both of you.”

Fives’s eyes widened. “Seriously? But we’re okay. There’s nothing wrong with us.”

“I know you both are fine, but don’t know anything about clones, really. In fact. There was no textbook about clone biology and your anatomy, which is why I need to do a scan on your brain. Not only do I know more about the both of you, but I’ll also be able to determine the root cause of Tup’s death. I know you guys are scared, but if you let me help you, then you’ll know the truth. What do you say, guys? Do you want to help your brother, or do you want to leave this place empty-handed?”

Yara and Fives pondered. If they leave now, then they wouldn’t get any answers to the odd incident on Ringo Vinda. But if they stay, then the chances of dying are higher. As minutes passed, the duo reached their final decision. “If this brain scan means helping Tup, then I’m in,” the former declared, straightening her head.

“What about you, Fives?” Thando asked. “Are you okay with this?”

“I guess I’ll do it,” he said. “But only because of Tup.”

“I’m so glad we can come to an agreement,” Dr. Urakchaevy clapped her hand, turning towards Yara. “Well then, I’ll start with your sister here, since she was the first person to agree.”

Before the latter could say anything, Fives stood in. “I want to be the first one to get my brain scan. Yara can just wait for her turn.”

“Fives, what are you doing?” Yara groaned. “I want to be the first.”

“Well, that’s too bad, vod. I’m going first, and that is final.”

“If you insist,” Dr. Urakchaevy shrugged, as she accompanied him inside her office, leaving Yara with Thando. Closing the door behind her, the doctor grabbed her coat and rubber gloves as the ARC Trooper lay down in front of the surgical machine.

His whole body was soaked in sweat as the doctor filled a vial of anesthesia inside a syringe, her face covered in a face mask. But he has to do this, no matter the cost. If Fives is going to die, then so be it. At least he gets to see Tup again.

“This will only take a while, so just close your eyes and think happy thoughts,” Dr. Urakchaevy comforted him, injecting the syringe inside his body. “Trust me, you’ll wake up after this, as if nothing had ever happened.”

Fives wanted to say something, but his head was spinning and his vision turned pitch black.

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skybiome · 4 years

Text

And when the sun comes up, you’ll find a brand new god.

Chapter 1

Beginning | Previous | Next

ao3 tws! alcohol mentions, non bibilcal deities

Wilbur sat on a barstool inside a damp pub. Everything in the town was damp. Set on the very edge of a swamp, it rained every other day and Wilbur would be surprised if the locals bathed more often than once a fortnight. Still, it was a rather homey and down to earth kind of down.

A bard was playing a set in the corner, getting the drunken townsfolk riled into a joyful frenzy. Wilbur smiled and sipped at his drink. Rural people always partied better than cityfolk.

He was pulled out of his meandering thoughts as the performer yelled something that made the crowd yell even louder.

“It’s time for a new local favorite, The Ballad Of Technoblade!”

A few chords later, the lyrics started up, and Wilbur couldn’t even hear the bard over the drunken mass. They were something about the hero in question killing 3 griffons at once, and then slaying a wyvern without pause. How he never needed food and no one had even seen him sleep. They called him, “A man to rival the gods of the land/always found with a sword in his hand/ Working hard to fight through the fray/never knowing his own true way.”

Wilbur querked a smile at that first line.

The final stanza had a rhyme scheme than the rest of the song. Something this bard in particular had appended onto the song, Wilbur assumed. But the intoxicated crowd only roared louder. Something about a fight with a manticore.

Knocking on the wooden bartop, Wilbur vied for the bartender’s attention. Once she was looking firmly in his direction, he pointed towards the crowd. “Do you know what that song was about?” He asked.

“The Ballad of Technoblade? Sure! It’s a collection of stories about a monsterslayer. He’s gotten pretty popular in the last couple of years.” She set the glass that she had been drying down, freeing her hands to gesture as she spoke.

“There’s actually quite a few songs about him, but that’s the first one that has it name on it. I’m fairly certain that the first song I ever heard when I was about yay high was about him.” She held her hand at about waist height. The bartender looked to be in her early twenties.

Wilbur’s eyebrows raised toward his hairline. “Really? I didn’t think monster hunters had a long life expectancy.”

The bartender hummed to herself coyly. She turned around and reorganized a shelf behind her as she continued the conversation. “They do say that Technoblade never dies. He passed through here a few days ago and dealt with a manticore that was killing cattle and sheep.” She gestured around the pub without looking back. “He drank everyone in here under the table and walked out into the rain without stumbling.”

“Well, then,” Wilbur said. “I think I may just need to find this Technoblade. What’d he look like?”

“White shirt with a red cloak, black pants and boots, red sash around his waist, and he always had a crystal sword on his left hip. He left town heading south, probably towards Crosstown.”

Wilbur digested the new info for a moment. He slammed down the rest of his drink, and set the mug on the table. “Thanks for the information. Have a good night and may the gods be with you.”

He slid off the bartop stool and started through the crowd. He got a few steps before the bartender yelled one more thing at him.

“Oh! And he had pink hair!”

Had it not been for Wilbur’s perfect hearing, he’d of thought she said something else.

Once he was outside of the rowdy pub, the god took a moment to formulate a plan. The pink hair would probably be the best way to identify the elusive man. Wilbur didn’t want to get his hopes up, but it had been a good few centuries since a new god had been found.

The deity took a moment to stretch, before transforming into a finch, and heading south towards Crosstown. He could have traveled there instantly, but the god had always loved the feeling of wind under his wings.

Crosstown was a few day’s walk from the swampy village. Unless Technoblade really didn’t sleep, then he would still be on his way to the city.

After a night of flying uncomfortably close to the ground, Wilbur had yet to spot someone in a red cloak, and the city was in sight. Technoblade have had to walk for over a day without stopping to reach Crosstown. The deity added a mark to his mental “is Technoblade is a god?” list. Landing in an alleyway, he transformed back into a person.

Legally, nothing was stopping him from transforming in public, but not everyone had the highest opinions on public displays of magic. Wilbur had more important things than deal with bigots. Mainly, locating the famous monster hunter.

The only lights in the city came from the crescent moon overhead, and the occasional houses that still had candles burning in their windows. The god had perfect vision though, so the low light wasn’t an issue.

There was a lack of obvious bustle on the street due to the late hour of the night. The city never truly slept, but anyone in their right minds probably would be. Technoblade probably bought a night in an inn. Wilbur decided that searching for him at night would be useless. He’d have to wait until morning to look for the monster hunter.

The god came to stop at the outskirts of a park near the edge of Crosstown. A few trees were scattered around the grassy area. His attention was drawn to the only other person in eyeshot. Someone in a red cloak sat on the damp ground, leading back against a tree. A crystalline sword sat across their lap, and a few tufts of pink hair stuck out of their hood. Smiling, Wilbur stepped closer.

Technoblade was sound asleep and in desperate need of some personal care. His hair looked roughly cut, like the monster hunter had done it himself. He was caked in mud up to his knees. Tears and large blood splatters covered his clothes, but Technoblade seemed uninjured.

The only belongings that Wilbur could see besides the sword in his lap were a scabbard, presumably for the sword, a smaller burlap sack, and a blood soaked cloth bag tied to his belt.

A piece of his pink bangs were moving along with the man’s even, slow breaths. Reaching down, Wilbur nudged the monster hunter’s shoulder. The next thing he knew, the deity was pinned to the ground. Technoblade had a knee pressed between his ribs and a sword pressed to his neck.

The hunter’s eyes were looking through Wilbur. A second later, Technoblade blinked, and the glaze left the hunter’s vision. He swore softly, and muttered an apology, tossing his sword away.

The knee was removed from Wilbur’s ribs, and the man climbed off of the god. The deity rolled onto his side, feigning discomfort and groaning softly.

Technoblade got to his feet, still looking down at the person he’d just attacked. After a moment, Wilbur uncurled from his ball on the ground. The two made eye contact, and the monster hunter spoke first.

“What do you want?” His tone was somewhere between aggressive and wary. Defensive, is how Wilbur would describe it.

Wilbur took a moment to center himself before speaking. “I’ve heard stories about you, Mr. Technoblade. And I want to see if they’re really true.”

A pause.

“If you’re going to try and kill me, you won’t.” The monster hunter was taking this encounter a lot more seriously than the god.

“It’s nothing like that, I promise.” Wilbur waved his hands in front of him appeasingly. The man seemed very anxious and getting stabbed was not on the god’s to-do-list for the day. “Just a trial or two.”

Technoblade still stood in a defensive stance, with his center of mass lower to the ground. Wilbur didn’t know the first thing about fighting, but the monster hunter seemed more ready to react from an attack by Wilbur, than make the first move.

His hands were away from the sheath at his hip, and instead raised like he was ready to grapple an attacker.

The man glanced around before speaking. “Can it wait ‘til morning? I still have a bounty I need to turn in and the sheriff’s office doesn’t open until daylight.” He gestured towards the bloody bag hanging from his hip.

“Alright.” Wilbur nodded. “I’ll find you when you’re done.”

When Technoblade blinked, Wilbur vanished from where he had been sitting on the ground. The man jumped backwards in surprise, hand instinctively gripping his sword handle. Hackles raised, Technoblade kept a hand on his sword, and did a patrol of the grassy park.

Wilbur laughed internally at the man’s paranoia. He was sitting in the tree as a robin. Instantaneous teleportation made it fun to mess with people. Being a god made it fun to mess with people.

Technoblade did one more sweep on the area before settling back down against the tree with his sword drawn and settled across his lap. It didn’t look like the monster hunter was going to fall back asleep. The god took off after watching him for a few minutes. A pub a few streets down was calling his name. It would need a substitute bard if the crowd wanted to party until the sun dawned.

The god of music walked back out of the alcohol soaked building at day break. The drunken party was still roaring behind him. With the god’s blessing, the festivities would continue until noon.

Crosstown was alive with business now. The namesake intersection of the north-south and east-west trade road ran through the center of town and the deity had to transform into a sparrow to avoid the caravans and reckless horse riders. In the crowded streets, no one would notice a quiet act of magic. And if they did there were too many people for them to know who had done it.

When he returned to the park, Technoblade had disappeared from beneath his tree. A few children were playing knights with fallen sticks. Wilbur asked, and they pointed him to the sheriff’s office. It was a fair distance away from the main intersections.

Wilbur transformed into a lark, and flew away to the sounds of the children shouting in amazement. He caught up with the monster hunter as the cloak wearing man turned the last corner on the way to the law office. Technoblade jumped when the bird landed on his shoulder and spun around, trying to knock his apparently attacker off his shoulder. Once he realized it was just a bird, the adrenaline seemed to drain out of him. The fighter took a moment to get his heart rate back under control, then started to shoo the animal away.

The deity in disguise simply fluttered to the man’s other shoulder, undeterred. After the lark hopped between his shoulders a few more times, the monster hunter seemed to accept that the bird wasn’t going anywhere and stopped trying to spook it away. He then continued to walk towards his destination.

Technoblade pushed the door to the sheriff’s office and made a beeline for a bulletin board. From his shoulder, Wilbur could read that the papers plastering the cork surface were bounties or wanted posters, whether for people or monsters. The cloaked man pulled down his hood, and tore one of the papers off the wall. He set it on the front desk of the office.

A bell attached to the door had rung when they’d first walked in. A man in a sheriff’s uniform emerged from the back as the monster hunter freed the bloody bag from his belt and set it on the table beside the bounty poster.

The lawman looked perturbed by the sack, dried blood flaking onto his otherwise clean desk. Technoblade untied the string on the bag, showing the contents to the lawman.

From the perch on the man’s shoulder, Wilbur could see the bloody items inside. A scorpion stinger the size of a human head sat nestled between several claws and two bloody canines. Trophies that Technoblade must have collected from his kill to prove his victory.

“Manticore hiding in the swamp to the south by Willowhill that was killing livestock.” He pushed the bounty paper towards the man on the other side of the desk.

The sheriff froze under Technoblade’s gaze. After a moment, he recollected himself and disappeared into the back. He returned with another piece of paper that had several sentences and phrases printed on it. Technoblade stood patiently as the lawman copied several things from the poster onto the new piece of paper.

The monster hunter was apparently familiar with this process. When the sheriff stopped writing and began looking up, the man simply stated his name as, “Technoblade,” before the officer even asked him anything. The lawman wrote on a line at the bottom of the paper, beside the words, “Bounty collected by”. The second piece of paper looked to be an official record that the bounty had been completed.

Once he was done writing, the man rolled up both the new paper and the bounty poster, setting them somewhere below the desk. Wilbur watched the man go into the back room one final time, and return with a sizable big that jingled as he walked. Technoblade took the reward from the officer. He left without another world, almost throwing the lark off his shoulder with how fast he turned around.

Outside, the monster hunter fastened the sack full of coins to his belt and pulled the hood back over his head. The muddy red cloak didn’t stick out much among the colorful city population, but the pink hair was obscenely eye catching.

Technoblade turned to the lark on his shoulder. With resignation in his eyes, he asked, “You’re not going to leave, are you.”

Wilbur chirped once and fluttered to sit on top of the man’s red hood. Technoblade let out an extended sigh, apparently accepting his fate as a taxi for the songbird.

The deity rode for several minutes. Before long, he realized that the monster hunter was returning to the same park as the night before. The man settled back down against the trunk of the same tree after he looked around the grassy area, only seeing the playing children.

The lark hopped off Technoblade’s shoulder. Wilbur sat in the grass, watching the man. When he’d had his hood down in the sheriff’s office, Wilbur was surprised to see that his hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Let down, the pink hair would reach a little past his shoulders.

The monster hunter set both the reward bag, and retrieved the empty, smaller bag from where it was tied to his belt. He moved several fistfuls of the precious coins from the larger bag into the smaller one. Once he was done, Technoblade looped the smaller bag back onto his belt and picked up the larger one.

Getting to his feet, the hunter whistled, grabbing the kids’ attention. He tossed the bag full of money on the ground. He’d left the draw string untied and coins spilled out across the grass. Technoblade turned on his heel, walking away as the children descended on the money like starving vultures. The god fluttered back onto the man’s shoulder.

He stayed there until they were outside of the city. The monster hunter had avoided the main trade routes, instead opting to walk through the alleyways until he reached the forest north-west of Crosstown. Once they were firmly out of eyesight, Wilbur hopped off of Technoblade’s shoulder. The lark hovered in front of the man, before retaking his more human form.

Technoblade blinked slowly, and then cocked his head to the side. “So that was you.”

“What gave it away?” Wilbur felt a grin slip onto his face.

“Well-” the hunter kept his tired gaze locked on the deity, “-if you were a mage sent by the royal guard, you would have already tried to kill me. And most other magicians avoid me like a plague.”

“Why’s that?” The god cocked his head to the side

“Being cursed sucks.”

“Hmmm,” Wilbur rocked from side to side for a moment. “Are you still up to do my trials?”

The man shrugged. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Let’s shake on it, then.” He extended a hand.

Technoblade stared at Wilbur’s hand, then lethargically pulled one of his own out of his red cloak. He hesitated for just a moment, but eventually gripped Wilbur’s palm and shook it.

The next moment, he opened his eyes, and was someone entirely different.

The fighter was standing on top of a massive marble pillar. A glance over the edge revealed a drop into darkness. Even with his perfect night vision, Techno couldn’t see the bottom.

“Technoblade!”

He spun around on a dime, pulling his weapon out of its sheath at the same time. A diamond axe now sat heavy in his hand. In front of him, was the man he’d been speaking to. The pillar he was standing on was taller than Techno’s, and too far to try and jump for.

Gone were the street clothes the man had been wearing. Instead, a black wrought crown sat on his head and he was dressed lavishly in a blue and gold. An overhead light shown from somewhere the monster hunter couldn’t identify.

He pointed at Techno as he spoke. “I’ve heard stories about you, Technoblade. And from what I’ve heard, I think that I may have some answers for you.”

“Cool.” Techno glanced around the void they were standing in. He’d faced a few magic users, but never one that could make an illusion this convincing.

The magician walked towards the edge of the pillar he stood on. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Technoblade?”

“Not very high on my priority list right now.” The hunter spun around to glance at his surroundings, in case there was anything he could use. Only more darkness.

“I, am Wilbur Soot.” The man dramatically pressed a hand to his chest. “God of music and trials.”

Okay, that grabbed Techno’s attention.

The deity gestured towards the nothing around him. “I’ve got a couple of challenges set up for you. And I cannot wait to see how you do with them.”

Techno shifted his grip on his axe.

“I’ll see you in a bit! I really do hope you live up to your legend.”

Wilbur snapped his fingers just as Technoblade released his hatchet. It was aimed directly at the god’s chest. The monster hunter didn’t see if the weapon made contact. The pillar beneath his feet vanished, and he plunged into the darkness below.

#technoblade #wilbur soot #sleepy bois inc #my writing #i plan on there being more of this #plan being the main word #when the sun comes up au

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thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

ATTD: The Hunting Party (1)

ATTD Masterlist

just a little one today. Have some Antagonists :)

no points for guessing which of the two i’m in love with

TW for: mildly implied transphobia, kind of.

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

----

Larkspur Criel was sitting in a corner booth, in a moderately shady inn on the northern Galdrean border, slightly buzzed on local corn whiskey, and their new employer had just casually set a crystal ball on the table between them.

Larkspur squinted at it—it was a sphere of transparent glass, with no stand or anything; their employer had to hold it in place to keep it from rolling away across the uneven surface of the table—and then back up at their employer. The man’s name was Cetus Emani, and he was very large, and very serious, in a way that made Larkspur suspect he must either be very stupid, or very dangerous. Larkspur had not yet known the man long enough to guess which.

The sudden, blunt offer of a crystal ball would seem to indicate the former. But it was still too soon to say for sure.

“You… huh,” Larkspur said doubtfully. They shook their head—the corn moonshine sold they were selling at the bar was murderous, someone ought to complain. “I don’t know what they’re saying about Crythians around here these days. You know we’re not all—like—fortune tellers. Right?” They gestured at the crystal, vaguely. “I have no idea what you want me to do with this.”

Cetus Emani’s mouth turned down at the corners. It was only a slight movement, but it transformed his expression from impassive blankness into something utterly scathing. Larkspur could not hold man their answering grin.

“You did not list divination among your skills,” the man said, his voice basement deep and cold enough to make Larkspur shiver. “I would not have assumed you possessed it.” He tapped the crystal once against the table. “Take this, and look into it.” Larks must have continued to look doubtful; the man narrowed his eyes. “Now, Hireling.”

Larks shrugged, and let the man roll the ball across the table at them, rather aggressively. Emani was careful not to touch Larkspur’s hand during the exchange, withdrawing his enormous hand with a prissy disgust that made it hard for Larks to keep a straight face.

Larks gave Emani one more doubtful look, to make it clear that they didn’t believe in crystal-gazing, and then they obligingly gazed into the depths of the glass, and their scarred mouth dropped open in surprise.

There was definitely a visible image there. In the center of the sphere. They squinted, and it swam into clearer focus:

There was a teen-aged boy, sitting at a table, poking at a plate of eggs with a metal utensil. It was the little three-pronged kind they used in the south. The boy himself was as Crythian as Larkspur themself, with roughly cut yellow-blonde hair and—Larks squinted, picking up the glass to hold it right in front of their nose—light-colored eyes. There was a fresh-looking scar on the boy’s face, and he was very thin indeed.

Larks put the glass down, unsettled, and then looked back up at Emani, who was watching them expectantly.

“…no way,” Larks said, making the connection a second late. “Tell me that’s not your target.”

Emani raised a dark eyebrow, face otherwise expressionless. “Problem, Hireling?”

Larks pushed the crystal ball away, letting it roll across the table so the big man had to catch it before it fell into his lap.

“That’s a child,” Larks said, gesturing at the crystal. “And for that you want to pay me—how much?”

“Fifteen a day in gold,” Emani repeated, as though reading from a list. “For expenses. Plus fifty more upon successful delivery to my employer. With a possible thirty-gold bonus for injury or inconvenience.”

It was, simply, too much money. It would have been too much for finding some kind of seasoned demon-killing warrior. It would have been quite generous for finding an actual demon. As payment for locating a single underfed teenager, it was more than too much: it was a trap.

“Who is this kid?” Larks said, jabbing an accusatory finger at the crystal. “What’s the catch, here, Emani?” Cetus blinked slowly, clearly about to lie, and Larks flapped a hand dismissively. “I don’t care who hired you, and for that money I will swallow whatever lies you want to tell me about working for ‘The Emperor,’ if that’s what you’re into.” There was no Emperor—not functionally anyway—the dying old man in the coastal palace had better things to do than search for Crythian teenagers. “That’s fine. But you’re overpaying me for something, and I want to know what it is.”

Emani took the crystal back, and tucked it primly away in his satchel, almost certainly to give himself time to formulate an answer. Larks laughed at him, openly, and the man’s mouth did that satisfying little twitch again.

“Don’t get me wrong,” they said, holding their hands up against the man’s glare. “I’m worth every penny. But you don’t have any way of knowing that yet. So tell me what all that extra gold is for, or I’ll spend time figuring that out instead of looking for this child you want me to find, and rack up extra fifteen-gold days.”

Cetus Emani glared at Larks. The man’s eyes were a slightly unsettling color—sort of dark gray, much colder than the typical Galdrean brown. He seemed to expect his glare to be intimidating enough to make Larks back down all by itself, which was almost cute. Larks grinned widely at him. They made sure to show him all their teeth.

Finally Emani gave up, rolling his eyes like he hadn’t just lost that little staring contest. “Fine,” he said. “Listen. The boy is a killer. I am instructed to bring him in—alive—that justice may be done. It seems the Emperor expects to face resistance.” Emani narrowed his eyes at Larks. “I, also, know it is far more money than you are worth, Hireling,” he said coldly, and Larks felt their grin widening of its own accord. “Yet these are my instructions: offer the gold. See that you have all that you need, to find this boy within the month. I am to assist you, and report back to the Emperor with my progress.” He gave Larks that look again—the glare he clearly though was utterly terrifying. “You will comply. You will not make the Emperor regret taking this chance.”

Larks laughed again, just to see Emani seethe with barely-contained annoyance. They stick their hand out, knowing he will refuse to shake it. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” they said brightly.

This, Larks thought, could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

#all those that dance #whump #original whump #bounty hunters #on the run #(idk if cetus even Is being transphobic here lmao. he might just be being classist?)#(but larks Is nb and emani does treat them like they're distateful. so)#also if larks seems familiar its cause pax is au larks lmao #they are quite different now! but they're definitely. Related #chaotic nb cousins #...pax is. probably a slightly better person than larks is. esp right at the moment

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